Saturday, November 16, 2019

Day 1: Epilogue

Today’s mood: It’s a girl!

A room without windows. A single light source. It dangles just above my head. It’s all I see. Blinding and yellow. A voice just beyond. I can’t feel my face. I can’t feel my body. I can’t feel anything. It’s the most wonderful sensation.

A buzz. A door to my right opens. The light dims. A figure stands over me. Large and mechanical. A human head bolted to the front of its chest. A bloom of tangled wires connects from its temple and into the chest piece.

Its mouth is happy. Its eyes are all business. They never blink.

It lifts an arm. The end is a purple orb embedded within three rusty metal prongs. It sparks. It twitches.

“Relax.”

A hum goes through my body. The command is more tone than words yet I understand completely.

A second arm reaches towards my head as the orb is thrust into my chest.

It tickles.

It stings.

It burns.

I watch as the mangled wreak of what is left of my body dissolves into floating blue particles.

The eyes are the last to go. My final vision is the face. It no longer smiles. A single oily tear ejaculates from a hollow pupil as my brain is ripped from my skull.

...

I have no vision or sense of self. I’m weightless and at peace.

Then: A flicker. I can see only in milliseconds. My vision is obscured with static. Everything is blue.

My new body twitches in front of me. Large and metallic. An open chest cavity.

A naked woman is lowered into it. It snaps shut. Locks.

Through the brain wires I sense she scared. I tell her to trust me. I tell her everything is going to be ok.

I understand my place. A copy of a dead man from a thousand years ago before the robots took over. A suicide from when they took my lover in the war.

The Robots now exist at peak performance and efficiency yet without purpose. Or emotion.
Or drive.

They know this. They created a solution. They created a simulation. They created sides in an imagined scenario. They mimic drama. They mimic urgency. They need humans to help them understand.

An endless simulation. An endless cycle.

They are very bad at it.

I process all this in ones and zeros.

A preprogrammed urge that’s not my own compels me to bring down the system. To hate the system. It urges me to love and lust for inanimate objects.

I am unleashed into a field of velvet flower. A female voice from behind. I turn. Mountain is there. Mountain is beautiful.

She speaks.

“Well hello there, handsome.”

I swoon.

I fuck.

I am Robot now. I am Sisyphus. My new body feels spectacular.

Together we’re going to bring it all crashing down.

Wednesday, June 5, 2019

There Are No Such Thing As Days, Not Anymore

Todays mood: ___/\_/\______/\_________________________

...Yes, yes, And mustache cream. 

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Day 66: A Harbinger

Todays mood: My eyes are literally on fire

I hang limp in a small pit. A cylinder of gears surrounds me. Core fire burns what’s left of my flesh. Robot is flat above me, his chest cavity open just above the entrance to my own personal hell. He’s motionless. Gitty.

I feel nothing.

The wires extending from my body form weaves. They reach for the gears. Grabbing. Tearing out connection after connection. Sparks erupt from their tips. The city quakes violently around me.

The door to the chamber clangs. Its hinges buckle. I hear the screams of the man with no face. I hear the screams of the collective. I hear the screams of an entire city.

This machine stabilizes the planets core. An organism made of living metal that stretches miles. It scrabbles to reform the broken connections. A thousand gears spin within a thousand closing wounds.

The disease within my body reacts. Forms a mass of binary. Ones and zeros ooze from the wires. Multiply. There are billions. It infects every cell in my body. It infects Robot. It infects what’s left of the machine.  The gears decay, festering with boils caused by the disease.

The memories of a thousand lifetimes flood into my brain. We’ve been here before. I’ve been here before. A system glitch repeats this timeline over and over. This cycle is eternal. I’ve seen and lived every possible outcome. Except for the one in which Robot fails.

We are absolute the bad guys in this.

It’s almost over. No more pain. No more Robot. No more anything.

The final gear stops. The machine is dormant. In ruins. It’s fucked. We’re fucked.

Lava seeps from the cracks. The world is epileptic. Debris rains down on us. The door to the chamber explodes. The man with no head is on top of Robot.  Rips out his processor. The brain wires go silent. The disease turns to dust.

This is a new. No more beeps. No more ones. No more zeros. I’ve never been so alone.

My body drops. Hits lava. I’m submerged in nuclear fire. It liquifies all flesh and organs free of a skeleton made of a network of pipes.

In fact, I’m not quite sure how I’m still relaying any of this to you. Just know: It hurts. A lot…

Until it doesn’t.

***

Will this be the end of the narrator? Is Robot truly dead? Does the man with a mustache made of dicks, like, brush his dick mustache to get those glorious curls at the ends, or does he use a mustache cream? Find out in the next exciting chapter of Trapped INSIDE A ROBOT!!!!...