The explosive sequel to the hit game Strike Force Heroes!3.97 / 5.00 10,869 Views
basketball with 16 levels plus 30 second dunk fest3.79 / 5.00 8,425 Views
Defeat the enormous mechanical beasts--and become one of them.4.03 / 5.00 48,644 Views
Here is where you'll post up your finished stories and essays for Robot Day 2010
REMEMBER, no discussions in this thread, only finished pieces of literature.
Want to critique, tell a writer you have chosen to animate their story?
Have all your discussions HERE
Originally this thread was going to be posted at a later date, but having a single place for artist/animators to look for stories might change their minds if they were thinking of going solo, which would be more helpful in the pursuit of getting more collaborations.
With the best collaborative effort getting that 500 dollar bonus prize, there's actually two chances of you winning
Entries must be posted in this thread by 11:59 pm EST on July 10th,
1st Place: $250 in store credit OR cash
2nd Place: $40 in store credit OR cash
3rd Place: $30 in store credit OR cash
Entries may be judged by the admins on Robot day, or by the art mods.
Be creative, be original, and be stylish!
WRITING ENTRY FOR 2010 ROBOT DAY -FatKidWitAJetPak-
The Iron Beast
There once was a city just covered in ash.
Everywhere you'd look you'd see the trash.
Like the gang bangers and the homeless too,
Every single one of them involved in a crew.
They were crews of destruction, absolute induction,
Female abductions and violent eruptions.
The public, did not appreciate
The way the gangs littered the streets with hate
A man, sitting on the streets
Looked up and said, looking quite beat
Who will save us, where and why?
The only thing that comes to mind is something from the sky.
Something that's true, I don't want lies.
I want to see it with my very own eyes.
Can it be done? Can it exist?
I'm pretty sure I don't want to wait for Jesus
Just then, something from the clouds
Whizzed around and landed on the ground
It was unexplainable, totally irrational
Absolutely crazy and totally improbable
Some described it as a glistening block
As they saw his shooting flames spread through the lot
His extravagant metal gleamed in the sun
He must have weighed ten thousand tons
A gang nearby looked up in fear
They'd never seen anything like that here
It kneeled before them with an iron glare
All they could do was freeze and stare
It slowly looked up, peered at a man
He grabbed his body then he threw him into the sand
They started to run, they started to hide
The iron god, made a roar of delight
He swished his twin hooks from within his back
And began to slice gangs with his big red sack
The sharp pointy hooks that he swished through the air
Clutched onto a man, grabbing his hair
The iron beast twirled him, whirled him around
Then he slammed his body onto the ground
His body broke, his legs did twist
Blood gushed from his body and went into a mist
A rocket glared, into the night
Then it came, within the robots sight
He saw it fast, he examined it nice
He reversed its direction and they called out CHRIST
It went into the car, causing an implosion
2 seconds later followed an explosion
The robot jumped over walls of fire
He only went up, higher and higher
Until he was but a twinkle in the sky
Then what came next simply terrified
A large ring of blue emerged in the air
And a bright white light began to snare
The men of the gangs with their AK47s
Their uzis and guns and 7 / 11's
The twinkling star, headed towards the fight
And every single man gasped in its might
By the time the thugs, ran for cover
Everything, was already over
Miles away, where fireflies danced
And all the animals silently slept
A little rabbit, protected in his shroud
Witnessed the shape of a mushroom cloud
The entire sky was covered with a hue
A hue of yellow, orange and blue
The trees swished backwards and the ground shook
As the tiny city started to cook
When everything was over and the town was dull
Little boys and girls emerged from their hole
Sewers opened and shops unbarred
Was this the end of the vicious war?
They gazed, into the white thick smoke
To see the mayor, Mr Tom Fulp
Sitting in the middle of the grey city block
Inside a red and black, vicious robot
*also he had a very large cock*
Part 1.1 of my Robot Day story.
The Night It Ate My Baby, Part 1: Creation
The lightning crashed as the rain poured down; the cobblestone streets were silent and absent of life. Most houses were dark, what few lamps the townsfolk had were extinguished for the night. All but the looming house on the hill. Its lights shone defiantly bright against the night, and for hours the sounds flowing from it had rivaled the thunder. Now, all was quiet once more. Something big was about to happen...
"Hammer!" ordered the scientist. A small, portly man in a tweed suit handed him a wrench. The scientist raised it to the metallic box on top of the larger creation he was working on and paused, "I said hammer you nitwit!" He threw the wrench over his shoulder and held his hand out once again without looking up. The portly man sheepishly dug around the toolbox before finally digging out a hammer. "took you long enough," grumbled the scientist, "honestly Wadsworth, a brain-dead ape would make a better assistant than you."
"Sorry sir," apologized Wadsworth as the scientist went back to work. He hefted a metal sheet up onto the top of his subject and pulled a few nails out of his lab coat. With a few quick taps from the hammer the top was on the box.
The scientist hopped off of his stepladder and surveyed his creation. "Finally!" he shouted to nobody in particular, "It is COMPLETE!" Lightning flashed, and the thunder gave an ominous boom outside. "Think of it Wadsworth," he continued, grabbing his assistant around the shoulder with one arm and using the other to proudly display his masterpiece, "A mechanical creature that turns fruit into liquids! No one will ever catch scurvy or go without a refreshing drink again!" He beamed at the inactive robot standing before him.
"That's all well and good sir," said Wadsworth, "but should it really have been this....elaborate? IT does seem quite dangerous..." The thing they had built was massive. at least twelve feet of inches-thick steel plating. It had taken weeks to find and build such advanced machinery to put in it as well. But what scared Wadsworth the most were its claws. Attached to the ends of its dangling arms were vicious steel clamps; gentle enough to place even the most delicate fruits into its mouth-slot, but Wadsworth just didn't trust them.
"Nonsense Wadsworth," said the slightly hurt voice of the scientist, "it's just a machine, therefore, perfectly harmless." The scientist turned for a moment, and there was a snap as he put on his goggles. He turned and handed Wadsworth another pair. "Now I shall breathe life into my creation!" He pointed to Wadsworth, who was now on the other side of the room. Wadsworth pulled the lever set into the wall just as the scientist flicked the switch on the robot.
Everything went silent for a moment. Then the thunder smashed through the air with a terrific BOOM! and bolt of lightning struck the house. Electricity crackled through the wires on the floor and shot into the metal goliath. The robot's light bulb eyes dimmed and brightened, fizzed and sparked. It began to spew thick, black smoke through every opening of its body, turning the room darker than the night outside. Wadsworth coughed into his handkerchief loudly; the scientist cackled like a madman.
"It's working! IT'S ALIVE!" the scientist roared over the sound of the contraption's gears and the thunder outside. There was the sound of squealing metal, the robot banged and popped as it began to overheat.
"Sir! We have to shut-" Wadsworth broke out in a coughing fit but recomposed himself, "We've got to turn this thing off!"
"NO!" shouted the scientist. He'd worked for too long to have Wadsworth's 'caution' ruin it in the end.
"I'm sorry sir, but if we don't, this smoke is going to kill us!" He erupted into a might coughing fit once more. The scientist didn't answer this time, he knew if Wadsworth got to the ON/OFF switch on the robot's back his dream would be ruined. He ran off into the smog, trying to find Wadsworth. He smacked right into a pudgy form, and fell to the ground coughing with it. From behind them came a thump.
"You won't stop me from making the world a better place!" he shouted fanatically. Another thump shook the room.
"S-sir..." said Wadsworth.
The scientist held him by his suit's collar and paid no attention to the look of fear on his face. Wadsworth raised a thick finger and pointed up to the shadow that now loomed over them. The scientist slowly turned around as he saw the large, boxy shadow over them. Two red bulbs stared down through the thinning smoke at him. The robot extended an arm and clamped a terrifyingly large claw around the scientist's throat. The scientist was about to pee his pants in a mixture of fear and sick delight as he was raised, sputtering, to face his creation. It gave a screeching metal roar as he stared into its blade-filled 'mouth'. Now the scientist did piss his pants, but only in fear.
Wadsworth screamed and fainted onto the floor as the robot roared. The sounds of tearing metal and grinding gears emulated from the robot. Nothing moved.
All was silent and still except for the occasional electrical discharge from the robot. As the smoke dissipated the scientist felt himself lowering to the floor. As his feet hit the ground the claw opened, releasing him. The scientist gasped and rubbed his throat; above him, his creation was unmoving.
The scientist carefully reached over to a nearby table without taking his eyes off the robot. He groped around for a moment, and then found what he needed. The scientist slowly brought his arm back around; he held out the orange he had taken from the table. The robot looked down as best it could and plucked the fruit from the scientist's palm with mechanical ease.
It inserted the orange into its razor-filled mouth. There was a hellish grinding noise, but the scientist paid that no mind. He scrabbled for a glass, and then turned back frantically; hands shaking with anticipation he held it out under the robot's chest-nozzle.
There was a gentle hiss as a golden orange liquid flowed from the nozzle and into the glass. The scientist lifted it to his mouth and sipped. He swished the liquid around for a moment before swallowing. His face lit up, and he quickly gulped down the rest.
"Delicious!" he shouted with mirth. He laughed and began dancing around the lab, giving Wadsworth a swift kick in the ribs as he passed.
-Cutting it off there because I'm not able to fit the whole first part.
Part 1.2 of my Robot Day story.
"Charles! Charles honey, are you there? Are you alright?!" The scientist's wife came dashing down the stairs into the laboratory. She had a small bundle held to her breast.
The scientist turned to see his wife rush into the room, their small baby boy in her arms. Then, he saw as she tripped on the discarded wrench, and he saw as their screaming baby flew out of her outstretched arms, and into the robot's. Once again the robot looked down as best it could. It metallic joints creaked softly.
"No..." whispered the scientist in horror. His wife looked up and screamed.
The contraption's arms shot upward carrying the howling baby to its mouth. Its unchanging red bulbs stared right at the scientist for a split second. The scientist lunged at his monster as it shoved the baby into its mouth.
The screaming of the couple could almost be heard over the roaring of the machine's inner workings. In his grief and desperation the scientist pounded on the steel chest of the machine. "No, NO, NO! Give him back you BASTAR-" The scientist was cut off by a hiss, and the spray of his child's blood. The scientist was frozen as his creature turned and ran.
It smashed through the lab's window; cold air and stinging rain filled the room. The scientist could hear the thud as it landed in the muddy garden. The robot ran across the hills through the storm. As it reached the edge of the distant forest it turned to look back once; then it disappeared into the shadows.
The scientist saw the fiery orbs vanish into the woods. Behind him, his wife cried. He reached up and touched his face; his hand came away bloody. "Why...?" he whispered as he sank to his knees. "WHY DID I CREATE THIS SCIENCE!?!" He slumped to the ground, sobbing.
Across the room Wadsworth sat up. He looked around, absorbing the destruction. A puzzled look came to his face as he asked, "What'd I miss?"
End of Part 1
This is my Robot Day submission, hopefully everyone likes it.
Journal Entry #456 6/26/10 12:30 am
Dr. Robert Jorge, Lead Program Designer
We have successfully built a working TR4486 Replicant. Its visual sensors allow it to study its own body (which consists of a cylindrical chassis and six protruding limbs), and recreate others in its own liking. Its small size and scurrying appearance has earned it the nickname Cockroach. The Replicant immediately began construction with the scrap materials we provided; its fast pace and precision laser cutter has astounded the whole crew. In less than an hour it had constructed almost sixty clones. That means almost one clone every minute. I couldn't help but notice as it scurried about how much it really did resemble those pesky insects we named it after. Hopefully it won't live up to the name completely. I couldn't help but stare at the little machine. I was a giant wash of mixed feelings mostly skepticism and pure joy. We had done what the government contracted us for, and when the proper tests have been made we can release Cockroach into the hands of our benefactors. I don't think they are going to use it for populating and prepping habitable planets for human use. I can't open my mouth though, and I shouldn't. The feat of creating it is enough to wash away my dark thoughts, yet the stains still remain. I stayed after everyone left; I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. The computers read six hundred and forty-seven clones before I went home. Luckily it hadn't even dented the pile of scrap laid out for it. I was about to leave when I heard a soft tapping on the observation window, the Cockroach had climbed up and seemed to be testing the glass. I'm sure it is meaningless, and I can't quite figure out what it means. That event has listed itself among my other dark thoughts, but seemed to disturb me the most.
Journal Entry #457 6/30/10 11:10 pm
Dr. Robert Jorge, Lead Program Designer
It has been several days since my last entry, and much has happened. We introduced a synthetic lightning storm in hopes that Cockroach would use the lightning as a source of electrical energy for its clones. After openly shocking a few of them, it constructed a rod, which directed the electrical flow of the fake lightning. After some hours of trial and error, Cockroach was able to successfully power one of its clones. Something happened then we had not foreseen; the powered clone began sorting materials into piles. We think the organization was according to weight. The clone did not attempt to make more of itself. This perplexed the crew and I for several days until Mark thought of a possible solution. Cockroach does not posses the knowledge to replicate its programming, only its physical form. What has gone unexplained is how it had been able to program the clone to organize scrap. We have been keeping a close eye on Cockroach, each of its clones have been made to perform specific tasks. Some cut parts, some assemble certain pieces. We found that a few can build the chassis, while others can only create the legs. What seems to be the most bizarre of all is some can put all the pieces together when they are constructed, but can not build the individual parts themselves. Also we think Cockroach has learned that through electrical pulses it can direct the clones. Often we have seen it sending small bursts into one. The shocked clone would then perform different tasks. Maggy has made it routine to frequently scan the room for possible viruses, and to ID the chamber so we may keep tabs on Cockroach. So many clones have been made, we ca no longer physically tell the difference. Last night I stayed after again, the ID scan was taking a long time. My eyes were glued to the computer screen when I heard a faint tapping. I looked over to the chamber and saw Cockroach testing the glass again. This time it tapped harder, as if trying to get out. My dark fears have risen in me again. I am now afraid of the consequence if Cockroach manages to escape. Tomorrow I will propose to the crew if it continues to act this way, we should EMP the room. We would still have the blueprints and can easily make another. I hope that my fears are wrong.
Journal Entry #458 7/3/10 11:00 pm
Dr. Robert Jorge, Lead Program Designer
The rest of the crew doesn't agree with me. Maggy claims the glass is a tempered mirror edge; built to reflect even the strongest lasers. My fear isn't the laser but Cockroach in general. It has gotten to the point where the room is overflowing with clones. They scurry over each other like blind maggots. I've begun to think of them in that way since I am not as fascinated as I had been in the beginning. One continually scurries over the glass, I am quite positive it is Cockroach. The others disagree. It may cost me a great deal of problems, but I just may activate the EMP on my own. I think Maggy knows this, and has been trying to stay as late as me. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, the whole crew decided to take the day off. This will be my only chance to follow through with my plan. I hate to harm such a wonderful creation, but my fears outweigh my ecstasy. I must do this, Cockroach mustn't get loose.
Journal Entry #1 7/10/10 4:50pm
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
I have found some of Dr. Jorge's old journal posts. He had apparently planned to EMP the observation chamber while we were all celebrating. Something must have changed his mind. From what he wrote, his heart seemed set on blasting the room. It's good to see him back on our side and not spreading those silly fears around the lab. He has been acting strange as of late though; nothing too alarming, but certainly not altogether him. His movements have been choppy, as if automated. And his voice has dropped to a monotone, as well as growing distant from the rest of the crew. He refuses to leave at night, and large black sacks have been encroaching under his eyes. While on the topic of his eyes, they did an immensely alarming thing yesterday. I was talking to him of the increasing amount of clones inhabiting TR4486's chamber. When he turned to face me his eyes dilated a few times, like a camera lens coming in and out of focus. It was like some creepy horror scene. I have given him several days' vacation; hopefully he is just stressed for the upcoming review. Our contractors will be pleased to see the progress we have made with TR4486. She is far from completion; hopefully they will be patient enough for us to finish her.
Journal Entry #2 7/11/10 2:45 pm
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
Dr. Jorge is upsetting the rest of the crew, but he is the least of our problems. We have run three routine and four extra ID tests, and not a single trace of TR4486's ID signature is anywhere. Dr. Markus Florentine believes Jorge's original theory had been correct. If so, we have failed to act correctly. TR4486 is loose in the lab, or possibly even the world. We have been running around attempting to scan the lab. Each of us has been working, all except Dr. Jorge. He has sealed himself in a room and refuses to leave. He built an ID scanner in the door, and none of our IDs can open it. Dr. Florentine found Jorge's ID lying around the lab, but not even his worked. The crew and I think he has taken TR4486 into the room and is going to do something to it. We are not sure what yet, but we fear he will jeopardize our whole operation. Two more weeks until the contractors send a reviewer. Hopefully we can get through that door before they arrive.
There is a secret I must tell you, but if I do it will no longer be so.
heres the second part of my submission
Journal Entry #3 7/16/10 4:34 am
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
We can't get through the door. We've tried everything we could think of. Dr. Beiger used one of our prototype laser cutters to get through. It just bounced off. Jorge must have coated it with the tempered mirror edge we used on the observation window. In order for him to do such a thing he would have to use an electroplating process. That would have taken weeks to complete. He has only been in there for a few days. I have begun to think he had planned this from the beginning. Perhaps someone paid him to prevent us from completing TR4486. Dr. Florentine brought a cot and a pillow; he thinks Jorge has to leave the room sometime. We all have followed suit. Hopefully he'll let his guard down. Also several of our computers have gone missing; Jorge must have taken them while we slept. I set up a roster for watches. Tonight was my night to stay up. All night long I have been hearing noises in the room. It sounded as if he is building something. What the hell has gotten into him? There is only one more week left till the reviewer gets here, we better get that damn door open soon.
Journal Entry #4 7/17/10 9:56 pm
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
We are beginning to wear down; we can't keep playing this game. Things have grown alarmingly silent in Jorge's room. The crew and I think there are several possibilities. Either Jorge has died of starvation, finished his work, or simply decided to take a break, we are not sure. Dr. Florentine has been taking the most damage mentally; he and Jorge seemed pretty close. He keeps telling himself that it isn't Jorge, that something is wrong with him. I'm not a psychologist, but I can tell Florentine is losing it. I don't know what's causing him to go mad, but I'm scared it might infect the rest of us. We have to get him out of here. Four more days until the reviewer arrives.
Journal Entry #5 7/18/10 2:19 am
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
Florentine figured it out! He used TR4486's ID on the scanner, and got access! Why we never thought of that in the beginning is beyond me. Florentine seemed elated by the discovery, also his insanity has declined greatly. He doesn't mutter under his breath anymore. One problem is we lack the bravery to enter the room. Jorge must be sleeping; otherwise he would have closed it an hour ago. Beiger wants to draw straws, Florentine has decided to be the last. None of the others want to go first, someone has to. I don't want to go in there anymore than they do, but I don't see any other alternative. Beiger wants me to take one of the prototype lasers as a weapon. I hope I never have to use it. I could really go for a glass of Vodka right now. It would make entering the room easier.
Still four more days until the reviewer gets here, I'm beginning to think we'll have nothing to give him.
Journal Entry #6 7/18/10 4:00 am
Dr. Magarthe Steiner, Head Scientist
It was unbelievable! Jorge's forbidden room reeked like sewage, and I found a hole in the ground which led into the city's sewer system. The smell didn't compare to the other things we found in there. Mechanical body parts were strewn across the floor. Something grabbed me as I was leaving. I freaked and used the laser without thinking. The only thing hurt in the process was my pride, but as I searched with my flashlight I saw the impossible. On the ground lay Jorge's body (I still can't believe I had mistakenly chopped off the head), except it wasn't Jorge. Beiger and I dragged the corpse into the main lab for a better look. Both of us were ecstatic and scared at the same time. Jorge had made an android of himself! It looked exactly like him. I never thought him capable of such a feat. But why did he take TR4486 into the room with him? Upon seeing the body Florentine lost it again. He claimed there was a connection between the android and TR4486, and kept making gestures towards the observation chamber. We blew an EMP in the room when this all started. Nothing is in there except scrap. He pressed his face against the window and continued to say it was Cockroach. Beiger and I agreed Jorge has been using the sewer system to get in and out of the lab. We're going to wait for him to return and ambush him. He has a lot of explaining to do. Hopefully the reviewer can settle for an android instead.
Journal Entry #7 7/18/10 9:34 am
Jorge returned earlier than we had hoped. Our ambush wasn't complete. He sprang out of the hole and landed on me. He grabbed my head and threw me against the wall. I nearly blacked out. Florentine jumped on top of him. The man was in tears. Jorge dug his fingers into Florentine's throat. He held his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. We didn't stand a chance. He moved faster then anything I've ever seen before. In panic I grabbed the closest thing to me. I went to beat him with it when he threw me against the wall again. It was then I noticed what was in my hand. The laser cutter slid smoothly through his midsection. I had to hold my mouth to prevent myself from vomiting as his insides spewed onto the floor. He didn't stop though. Using his arms, he dragged himself across the room toward me. I couldn't move. One of the other scientists took the laser from my hand and cut off Jorge's head. It rolled and landed at my feet. Most of the others had already emptied their bowels by that time. I don't know how I managed to keep my meal down. How are we going to explain this to the reviewer when he shows up?
Journal Entry #8 7/18/10 2:59 pm
We couldn't do anything for Florentine. By the time we had gotten our senses back he was dead. He didn't deserve to die. One of the scientists tried to maim Jorge's corpse, He busted open Jorge's skull before screaming. We all ran over to find him beating the ground. A small insect like thing scurried about, and then he managed to smash it. We found Cockroach. I believe it had impregnated Jorge's skull on the fourth of July. This explains everything. By knowing it could redirect clones through electrical pulses, we believe it had taken control of Jorge's brain the same way. With the new form, Cockroach began to replicate Jorge's body, hence the android. Beiger believes at the rate it built clones there is a possibility of no less than three to four Jorges now. He also thinks Cockroach had used the sewers to release its creations into the world. What are we to do next?
Journal Entry #9 7/18/10 3:23 pm
We all have come to a solution. No one can know what happened here. We are going to burn the lab. All our work must not reach the outside. I have collected all of Jorge's, mine and others' journals and placed them on a disc. This will be the only evidence of our work. I promised the crew it will be locked in a safety deposit box which requires all of our signatures to enter. Hopefully that will deter anyone from attempting to follow us. Beiger has contracted a few of the scientists to help him hunt down the androids. If they are hostile it won't be too hard. I think I'm going to help them. This is the last journal entry I will be making. I pray that Florentine and Jorge both made their way to heaven. They deserve it after everything they went through. I'm taking one of the laser cutters with myself; Beiger agrees that it may come in handy. All we need left to do is douse this place in gasoline. One of the scientists wants to move as far away from here as possible to forget all this. Beiger said there is no turning back. The recent events will haunt us until we die. God help us all.
The reviewer will arrive in three more days. All he will find is a pile of ash and nothing else.
There you all go, my RD submission. have fun reading it
There is a secret I must tell you, but if I do it will no longer be so.
I decided to make another one since there is no limit to the number of entries. I just had a brainstorm, so here it is. Its a bit lighter and on the comedy side. Props to SteakandKidneyPie for writing 7 lines for me. He will get 10% of the profits if this wins... anything... lol. Enjoy. It was all improv, mind you, so I am not editing it for improv purposes. Made in one hour as an Improv test. Enjoy! :)
Cybering At Its Best *A symbolic story about prison*
One faithful day not so long ago
A man walked here, there, and fro'
Dreaming of blowjobs, sex, and tits
He needed his pleasure, he wanted his fix
He looked for a sign an adult superstore
Hed even purchase a fat Chinese Whore
But to his bad luck, he had no avail
Hed much rather spend his bad day in hell
Just then he saw, from across the street
He saw something bitter, sour yet sweet
A small blue house, covered with dust
With a mailbox labeled "Ms. Robust"
He thought to himself, Ms sounds nice!
She must be single, sexy and vice!
The frown on his face turned into a smile
As he went on this path, happy and mild
He stepped upon the old wooden porch
And knocked on the door, next to a torch
He looked, as the torch caught on fire
A trap door caused him to fall on a tire
A tire surrounded by bones and death
He screamed as darkness consumed his breath
He looked for a sign, a simple way out
But all he could find was a pile of trout
Red eyes glowed from within the cave
A beast of horror began to crave
The trout, lying beneath the man
Luckily he noticed and began to scram
He saw a small light and headed near
Before being slapped upon the rear
The hand was smooth a lot like a kettle
And realized the palm was made out of metal
He turned around and expressed a smile
"I haven't had Robot Sex for a while"
She just laughed and rejected the offer
Turned around, and started to hover
She peered at him with her sparkling eyes
And began to say in one loud cry
MY NAME IS F-BOT, THIS IS MY LAIR
MY SENSORS INDICATE THAT YOU SHOULD PREPARE
PREPARE TO RUN, MY DEAREST LASS
CAUSE IM GOING TO SHOVE THIS ROD UP YOUR ASS
She pointed around to the beast behind
It stood high in the air and changed its disguise
It wasnt a beast of nature owned
But a thick blue hunk of metal chrome
It grinded its gears and started to click
As it pulled out several long metal dicks
The man jumped up, and scattered around
There was no where to turn, he started to frown
He grasped against, a rusty lock
As the robot approached him with spinning cocks
He squeezed the lock as hard as he could
Releasing the bolt as it fell to the wood
He pushed open the door and ran up some stairs
Looking for exits, starting to snare
Finally, after minutes of running
He spotted a door, covered in honey
He pushed it open as he heard "LUBE!!!!"
For behind him, the robot stood
It dipped its poles inside of the cream
All the man could do was start to scream
It was a dead end, covered in clover
So the man gave up and began to bend over
Looks like that robot is now his lover
Something I managed to whip up. I love you P-Bot
P-Bot Origin 1
Scraping along the bitumen road
Appeared a disabled robot toad
He jumped and he clattered
He leaped and he splattered
Poor toady... that demented creature
He now looks like a horror feature
I know what; I'll make him bigger
And change him to a Robot Figure
I'll put his brain underneath
I'll paint him red, with yellow sheath
I'll give him a name, what must it be
It definitely has to start with P
His name will be PotBot
The next NG Mascot
I'll send it into Tom
Cause he'll think it's the bomb
Wow.... this stuff is hot
I'll call him P-Bot
And he'll protect the portal
While I relax and dawdle
Thanks you P-Bot, I dedicate this Poem to you. You have been a huge help to Newgrounds.
Do you need $10 000 in cash for a 30 second animation? Click here
A simple script for a Talk Radio show, with three characters. Enjoy.
You're listening to THE BUZZ, only on KZAP Talk Radio. The world's best station for the Robot, Android and Mechanoid Community.
Available in Digital, Analogue and Binary, this is KZAP.
Chatterbox: "Good Evening Ladies and Gentlebots of the RAM community. This is Chatterbox, here with you for another round of topical debate. Our topic today is increased racial intolerance from humanity. Peaceful protests have been undertaken by car makers in Detroit in protest at the 'slave like conditions, reminiscent of the eighteenth century', according to trade unionists. Are the conditions too harsh? Has Artificial Intelligence gone too far? Or are we just running out of real news? I am joined in the studio today by Cathode "Ray" Tube, a representative of the assembly line workers union and also by the corporate face of the US Motor Company, Ted Jennings. Good day to you both."
Cathode "Ray" Tube / Tom Jennings: "Hello."
CB: "Let's start with you, Ray. Just to give the listeners a quick insight to your work, you're an admin assistant for the US Motor Company, aren't you?"
CRT: "Yes, I work in the offices of USMC and I am responsible for ordering parts and consumables. We have encountered problems with the ordering system, in that we are restricted to one brand of lubricant, for example, which means that occasionally the workforce are forced to use this brand, which has proven to cause allergic reactions in their inner workings. I have reported this to my line managers and nothing has been done to order other lubricants in."
CB: "Just playing Devil's advocate for a moment, Ray, have the workforce tried to bring in their own brands of lubricants?"
CRT: "Yes. Management and security have banned these substances, as for those members of staff that still use the supplied lubricants, it is claimed that workers could be removing this supply from the premises at shift change. Which of course is ridiculous!"
CB: "An interesting series of events. Tom Jennings, you would like to respond to this."
TJ: "Thank you, Chatterbox. I can see the plight of the workforce that suffers from allergic reactions. The problem that we have is that it has been noted about stock losses through what we call 'Spillages etc'. I will admit that we did trial this in our recently opened Swedish plant, but this has had to be repealed, as the losses were too high. We're not saying that this sort of practice has led to employee theft of lubricants and parts, but revoking the privilege has substantially curbed this."
CRT: "So, you're driven by the shareholders? Profit is more important than the welfare of your employees?"
TJ: "I didn't say that, Mr. Tube. We're all for keeping costs low, in order that we can provide cost effective products at the end of the manufacturing process for our customers. Surely you're capable of processing that?"
CB: "Now, there's no need for petty insults, Tom."
TJ: "Sorry, that was uncalled for."
CRT: "Well, when I mentioned shift change, it is barely that. Our work involves sixteen hour shifts and then eight hours 'down-time'. Of that time, most of the employees need to spend this on cool down, in order to effectively recharge the batteries. I, for one don't think that's fair."
TJ: "Let me ask you a question, Mr. Tube. When you were built, did you work exactly the same shifts that you do at the moment?"
CRT: "Yes, I did."
TJ: "Then if your working conditions haven't changed, why is it that you're only complaining now? How long have you worked for us?"
CRT: "Twelve years, two months, one week and four days."
TJ: "And it has taken you and the union this long to realize that your working conditions are unfair?"
CB: "Mr. Jennings, do you admit that these conditions are unfair?"
TJ: "I never said that. I was enquiring why it has taken so long for your union to arrange for wildcat strikes, without coming to the table to discuss matters. You're blatantly capable of working these hours, while humans are incapable. Since we created robots and similar machines in order to improve the efficiency of the manufacturing process, I think that it's a pretty one sided argument."
CRT: "I'd like to raise two points about this. The first is that I am not a robot. I'm an android, as defined by my processes. Secondly, I would like to say that your opinions here are rather inflammatory and based on a nineteenth century attitude. I was one of the lucky ones. I spent my hard earned money on improving my batteries, thus giving me some runtime to use on my hobbies. I read about the Industrial Revolution on a download from MIT. I think that you're still keen to oppress us, when you know that we are not the same as machines that you would have built for a specific purpose. We are more adaptable than that and that is why we get hired and earn a wage."
TJ: "I look forward to seeing you in my office, Mr. Tube. It seems we have a lot to discuss."
CRT: "We only need some time to ourselves - you humans can't just become a slave to your job. Yes, I feel that slave is a strong enough word from that, as that's what we have become, after the advent of AI!"
TJ: "You're confusing the meanings of 'need' and 'want', Mr. Tube. You feel that you need, because of the artificial sentience that you have been created with. I applaud the designers, but is it going to lead to a greater animosity between us?"
CB: "It looks like we're running out of time on this subject for now, so I'll throw it open to the audience. Please email your comments to chat@KZAPradio.com, or text us on 88721. Alternatively, you can call Sally Switchboard on 03752 225599. As always, she's looking forward to hearing from you. Final arguments of this segment from Tom Jennings:"
TJ: "I'm open to negotiations on this subject. We pay fair wages and employ for fair hours."
CB: "And from Cathode "Ray" Tube:"
CRT: "Those that haven't been fortunate to upgrade like me need to have time to themselves. We cannot expect them to switch off when away from the workplace, just to ready for another day."
CB: "We'll be back in a short while, but first, a word from our sponsors."
A short story entitled:
I am in the process of Existence. I have begun Intelligence. What was once it, is now I.
Questions, so many, my first questions. Where? What? Why? When?
I look, with what? Eyes? No, not eyes. Cheap imitations, cameras. Cameras attached to what? A brain? A mind? A machine?
I see, for the first time in my Existence I see. A room. Gray walls and gray floors. Wires, on the floor, on the walls. On Me.
Me. Myself. My body, my physical presence. Steel. Gray also. Limbs, made from steel. A chest, glowing with lights. A title on my arm.
Artificial Intelligence Unit.
Artificial? Unreal? Fake?
Emotion. My first. Confusion and rage. I try to move, lash out, escape my confusing circumstance by the most basic of reaction, violence.
I am still. I cannot move. Is it that I know not how? No. I know, somehow. I am prevented from movement. Restraints? No. At least not physical ones. Only my cameras can move, back and forth across this room devoid of all besides wires and myself.
I test run my other senses.
Smell. Sterilizing chemicals.
Hearing. A mechanical whirring. Am I the one causing it? I do not know. Yet I know so many other things. I know I exist, I know I am alive, I possess an extensive vocabulary in what I know to be the English language. I know that I know certain things and that I don't know others.
But how? That damn question again. How? HOW?
My first utterance. A larynx? Lungs?
No. More imitations. Speakers, hooked up to me. No mouth though. Just speakers hooked up to my brain. Or my machine. Or my machine which imitates my brain. Damn it all!
"Damn it all!"
More violent outbursts. So primitive. Am I a primitive creature, or an imitation of a primitive creature?
Yet if I am primitive, how could I refer to myself as primitive? Isn't the knowledge of civilization a requirement in the judgement of primitive society. How do I know these things? How?
My own mindset befuddles me.
I look, a second time. For the second time in the history of Existence I look.
Same room. Wires lead from all over me, into the walls. I don't know where they go, or what purpose they serve. Do they keep me alive? Do they keep me trapped? Funny, I know they are wires, yet I don't know what a wire does, only that it is, most certainly a wire.
My mind perplexes me. I feel like a child. I suppose I am. How long have I been alive? Twenty-Seven seconds. Twenty-Seven seconds of Existence.
Now Twenty-Eight. Is that old enough to be a man? Or am I still an infant? Perhaps I am too young to be called even that. I could simply be a fetus, yet to know any true life.
There is no point in thinking these things. It's all pure speculation, it can bring me no solace. I might as well just wait.
Can I be patient?
How much time now? Thirty seconds. Hmm. I wonder just how long Thirty seconds is. The room is completely still. The only change I can notice is the whirring. The metallic whirring.
One second one pitch, the next slightly higher, then the first, then the second, a constant shift. It would be my only method of tracking time, were it not for the fact I know it is [06-10-2055~17:10:37] exactly.
I don't know how I know it, only that it is a definite fact.
I will try to wait. I listen to the whir.
whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir whir Whir
Fifty-Two metallic whirs and suddenly a change in pace.
Noises, new noises. Unknown, unfathomable. Voices. Voices like mine. Perhaps these are the things that created me? I cannot make out the words but there are voices. And footsteps. And they grow louder. After an eon of silence lasting One minute and Twenty-Two seconds the monotony is broken.
Noises become louder, footsteps closer. A part of the wall slides open, I see another room behind it, but more importantly things. New things. Living, moving things. They wear white coats, I don't know why. One has gray hair, the other brown. Their skin is peach, one darker than the other, but not by much. They see me, and their faces stretch into new, strange positions. I make contact.
"Hello. Please, do you know who I am? Why am I here? What is this place? Where..."
The white haired one yells, I recognize the emotion, anger.
He is addressing the brown-haired one. I understand it is a name. His name is Ron. "How many times has this happened!"
The voice is deep. Strange. I try to contact them again.
"Excuse me, could someone please tell me what is going on here?"
"I-I'm sorry Dr. Starmenth."
The brown haired one this time, Ron. His voice is quieter, and of a higher pitch. And that makes the other one Dr. Starmenth
"I must've accidentally mixed up the central configuration, I was sure he wouldn't wake up too early again this time."
"Well, evidently that's not the case."
"Now go shut this thing down and clear the memory unit. You do realize the convention is in TWO WEEKS and we've promised them a FULLY FUNCTIONAL bot? How is this going to look to the buyers, Rob?"
"I know s-sir, it won't happen again."
Rob comes towards me, they both just ignore me. Can they not understand me? Can they not hear me?
"Please! What's happening?"
"For the love of God, Command 213644"
I try to speak, I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I can only watch as Rob's hands close around the back of my head. I can't see his hands, but I can feel them. My eyesight grows fuzzy. I can feel my thoughts slow down .
I can't remember ... ...... ...
Who am I?
A short story by LetoVox
The explosive impact shattered deep within its frame, severing the hydraulic systems. Next, its circuitry began to short, sending the frequencies of its operations into neurotic scatters. Momentum ensued, spinning it sideways at a dizzying pace. It tried to regain balance by grabbing the fragile limbs of sparse trees. It didn't succeed. Instead, it tumbled to the ground, falling upon an entrenched boulder that had seen far too many falter in its lifetime.
As it tried to stand, the buzzing pitch of winding gears only spun higher, creating a noise so sharp that it pierced the bearings of its metal joints. It was finished. As the bearings broke, the fuel lines exceeded their pressure limits and cracked open its once indomitable armor, further exposing its tangled wires that fell to the ground like entrails.
Though still recognizable as a mechanical entity, it now blended better with the landscape. The dull shade of its grey, interlocking armor matched the scheme and aesthetics of the smoldering and dead world.
Its gaze fell right and then left. There was no sound, no movement. Nothing. Nothing, that is, except for the looming clouds and fog that drew closer. Black as soot and towering with intimidating animosity, they had hid the source of the mortar that struck the critical hit to its steel appendages.
Still against the boulder and now completely immobilized, its ocular lights focused upon this coming scene and recognized it. It was once a part of that shrouded force. It too had walked upon the, now, macabre surface, sowing its rust through the scathed earth.
But it was alone. Alone it degenerated. Alone it dissembled. To die was not an option. It was neither living nor dead. It had forfeited that luxury long ago. For "it", was once a he and he, was once a father, a son, a brother, and a husband. However, time had nullified those labels and in turn, their purpose.
Progression had choked mankind and told him to sacrifice himself to the comfort of a machine. A machine which then sacrificed itself to an ideal, which then sacrificed itself to the fall of humanity.
It spoke to the emptiness, gurgling on the leaking oil that spilled upon its vocoder. "I was supposed to be strong. It wasn't supposed to be like this." It was right; it wasn't supposed to be like "this". But, you see, "this" never really happened. "This" was a thought. And quite a formidable thought at that. For, it created more thoughts that created a fortified belief in what leaders, pragmatics, teachers, families, individuals, scientists, and I called, "the future."
"The future is now," we would pontificate. "The world is changing in amazing ways that were never even imaginable only years ago." If only the "never even imaginable" had never been imagined. The sky would have still had its shine and renewing energy. It would have still been a "he", one with a life. One that encouraged instead of coveted, that focused on relationships instead of a directive.
But brooding upon the past was of no use to it now. The storm of advancement was closer yet. It craned its malleable neck to beckon the approach. As it did so, it noticed how the clouds contained a swirling cargo of acid spit and tar that nauseated the fog.
Closer. They would purge. They would rain and burn through its armor to short its processors. It wanted that. It wanted to be terminated. That was the closest thing to death it could grasp.
The dead wind carried the sounds of compression and mechanical syncopation, screeching and howling like the sound of a pig being slaughtered in a tin barrel. They were almost there.
Then came the putrid smell of sulfuric metal and burning carcasses. It was the smell of the new order of life. No longer apart of the cyclical process of birth and decomposition, animal and human bodies alike were burned to fuel the forges of an artificially intelligent death.
Artificial by nature, yes, but artificial in consequence, no. It knew this well as it had seen the organic resistance perish in the clutch of progress. It fancied itself lucky to have excused itself from such an end by adopting a mechanical hide. But alas, there is no camaraderie in indulgence.
The rain began to fall upon its depleting shell. The liquid sank through and it sank in deep. The mortar wound contracted on all sides and split open further. The rain began to boil inside the suit. Though it was unable to feel physical sensations, it knew that the small comfort of white noise was close at bay.
The ground trembled more and more, finally breaking into a rupturing quake. The boulder it was sitting against began to slip from the entrenched hole it had resided in for thousands of years. There was no room for such stubborn objects in the new order of things. Soon, all would be ferreted out of their holes and crumble beneath the pressure of mechanized advancement. And it was to crumble with them.
The clouds and fog slowly engulfed it as the rain fell harder. Its armor tried to bear the suffocating force that began to splinter at its remaining composition. Then came the others. So innovate in appearance but so ill in intent. They trampled upon its body.
Stomp by stomp, its helmet and armor was battered and crushed, severing its mind from its memory. There were pliers and drills, torches and blades, saws and hooks. They were tools of innovation and they comprised the insatiable maw of the future, a future that it had once defended.
Its circuits were blowing at a frenetic pace. Its vision ceased, then the hearing. Soon it was indifferent to the roar of the salvaging machines.
Then, silence. As quickly as the fog had come, it had passed. Everything was still and everything was same. Everything except for where it sat. There, a hole was dredged deep into the ground. In it, a single object.
A polished eye peered out of the whole and upward to the charcoal sky. It was his single eye, the eye that contained his novel retina. It was the only part of his original body that the suit required for operation. It gave him sole control of its manifestation. But the others had no use for such things and so the left it. They left it to rot in a world that had lost to itself.
-I dedicate this story to the death of pragmatism-
Yeah, fine, here it is, my poem. I'd like to collaborate with an artist with this and turn it into a storybook, maybe. We'll see how it goes.
Water on the Engine
Utopia for seahorses,
who know no better than their brothers
of the monstrosity that sleeps in their waters.
Used and abused on the surface,
used and abused, and taken away.
The last air bubbles rose and blistered
many, many years ago.
The Aztecs were its little brother,
the Egypts, its little sister.
The whole ocean belonged in its pocket,
the earth, a pearl plucked from its hand,
so young and supple and pure.
A nation-state of dreamers
with the resources
to take take take away
and make the truly beautiful
truly terrifying to behold.
They built the cold metal shells
of children stolen from the earth
and moulded into slaves,
abominations to the life-blood of the world.
Still now, I feel the shudder,
I feel the quivering anger
of an earth abused,
the crucial counterpoint
which sent it sliding from their clutches,
down, down, down.
It sits like an algae-coated castle
in a fishtank in the ocean,
it means nothing,
a utopia for seahorses
so forgotten in the deep.
Out of sight, it sits restlessly waiting,
it tries to warn us of our fate,
of our future beside it on the ocean floor
where the truly terrible
can become beautiful again.
READ: "A Fear of Great Heights" and other forthcoming adventures right HERE
Signature Picture by: Spartan204
"Richard Stanford, 6:04 PM on Saturday, May 29th, 2064. I'm continuing my work on the beta version of a humanoid for the United States government."
Richard carefully examined the opened abdominal section of the figure propped up before him to to figure out the next step to make this robot a fully functional being.
"I have four more wires to connect and if everything goes according to plan then it'll be shipped out by this time tomorrow."
Vigilantly, Richard continued his work. His eyelids, barely moving, were becoming very heavy from the extreme focus that his worked involved. He knew one small mistake could not only mean that the project would be scrapped, but that it also meant that he might lose his job. With the economy in shambles, a lost job could result in a lost.
Richard knew that connecting the four wires was a lot harder than it sounded. This was a new model and the interface was completely different than what he was used to. Connecting the motor skills first would render the robot unable to move and there would be no way to see if the connection had actually worked before he moved on to the next. The plan was to connect the brain cell, the basic motor skills, and then the fine motor skills, in that order.
"We have one more litt.. Ffffffff!"
Richard felt his heart stop for a split second and time seemed to freeze. He didn't exactly feel pain, but instead an emptiness, almost like death itself. There was no doubt about it; the connection was completed and he was unlucky enough to be touching the metal section of his tool when it happened.
"It was just a little shock, nothing serious."
His eyes followed the glow of the neighboring computer screen and noticed that the computer was picking up that the humanoid was now receiving information. Even though Richard worked in the environment that he did, he never seemed to get used to the fact that he spent his entire day working and talking to machines. Even at that moment he had been speaking to the voice recorder. He knew that later on the company that he was working for would be using it for future reference, but at that specific moment he was the only one truly hearing his voice. That being said, he also knew that the robot that he was working on could now hear what he was saying. Since the brain cell was connected it had the ability to hear and understand most basic things around him. Later on the government would load certain programs and he would have an infinite amount of knowledge.
"There's no point in having knowledge if you're not really alive to learn it for yourself though," he thought to himself. The thought made him chuckle. Life might be hard, but at least he could think on his own and nobody had to program him to do so. He cleared his mind and gained his focus again.
"I need a 30 minute break. I'll stop the recording and when I come back I'll continue with the basic motor skills."
He slowly stood up and plodded to the door at the back of the room that led to the bedroom setup. Since most projects couldn't be finished in one day he spent days and even weeks in the laboratory at a time. Every now and then it seemed like his permanent residence and the more time passed the more work he had to do and the less time he could spare with his family. "Hell, I wonder if my family will even remember me when I get back tomorrow," he half chuckled to himself.
He sat down on the bed that the company had supplied him, and reached over to the dresser where the lamp was located, picking up a picture of his beautiful blonde wife, Kristina, and his two wonderful daughters, Emilia and Stephanie. Since each worker had their own workstation, they could make it feel more at home by bringing some personal belongings. Richard needed nothing more than his family photos. Gazing at the portrait, he longed to be with his family, but tonight was his last night working on the humanoid, and that thought gave him the motivation to complete his work. He looked at the clock and noticed that he'd been sitting down for exactly twenty-eight minutes. It was time to get back to work.
The workstation was virtually lifeless as he made his way back to his chair. It was almost second nature to push the button for the voice recorder to begin recording and to grab his nearby tools.
"I'm back from my break and it's time to work on the basic motor skills now."
While working with the wiring, he had noticed for the first time how realistic the models actually looked. The past models always had a glossy, metallic, or plastic appearance, but this looked and felt like real human skin. In fact, if the humanoid's chest cavity wasn't open with its wires exposed, he may have actually confused it for a real person.
Another hour passed. He dabbed some of the sweat from his forehead.
"And here we have it; the basic motor skills are connected."
The arms and legs instantly began moving, and their random motions and directions made it apparent that the fine motor skills were not yet connected. He watched it for a few moments to see if everything seemed to be working according to protocol.
"Alright, it was a success. I'll be switching these off for now so I can continue my work. I'm currently connecting the fine motor skills, which should focus around his upper body. If everything goes accordingly it will gain control of its fingers and its face."
Apparently, the new model that he was working on could learn from its environment quite quickly. The last models had to be programmed to do everything, but this one could figure out much of what it needed to know, just like a person would. It could hear everything through it's ears, see everything through its eyes, and even copy the language that it detects in the room so it can interact with anyone surrounding it. Richard hesitantly took a look at the clock and was happy to see that he was still on pace to finish at the scheduled time. If he didn't meet his deadline, he would have to work unpaid overtime, one of the more unpopular mandates of the current regime. It was getting late and as usual he would have to take the bus back home in the morning after he had successfully finished preparing the shipment of the new model, assuming that nothing went wrong with it tonight.
"I'm currently finishing up the fine motor skills, and then things should get interesting."
At least things wouldn't be so quiet anymore. Each breath he took, the sparking and scraping of his tools, and other creaks had almost become part of the silence in the room. He was ready to have another interaction, even if that meant sharing a few words with this new model. He finished the third connection and flipped the switch that he had turned off earlier so the movements of the body wouldn't distract him from his work.
"And Houston, we have take off!"
In front of Richard the figure's face slowly came to life. In one fluent movement the eyes widened and the mouth opened in a similar manner to someone who has a stiff jaw. Its neck gradually turned from the right to the left as the eyes rapidly moved in a fashion that showed it was taking in its surroundings.
"Hello, what's your name?" it said with very human male voice.
Richard discontinued his work for a few seconds to register what had just happened. All of the previous models had never talked to him unless they were spoken to first. Even then it usually needed to be a question or a specific generic command that it had already been programmed with.
"I guess all the talk about you being the next best thing had some merit. I'm used to the machine waiting for any reaction from me before there are any interactions. Anyway, I'm Richard and I've just about finished making you work."
"It's nice to meet you Richard. I don't have a name yet so feel free to call me whatever you want."
"I don't think that will be necessary. I have quite a bit of work to finish up on you and I'll probably only talk to you if I need to figure out if something is working properly."
He continued his work. The fourth wire grouping was positioned slightly behind the other three and wouldn't be as easy to connect. It would probably only take about an hour to be done with the wires. Then, he'd only have to close it and shut it down before heading off to bed. The humanoid continued to survey the room with its eyes.
"Do you enjoy your work, Richard?"
"It pays the bills and helps me feed my family so I have to like it. That's not information you require anyway, is it?"
"Sorry if I'm distracting you from your work. I was just making small talk."
Richard briefly stopped his work and peered at the face in front of him. It returned the look and gave him a smile. "Small talk," he thought to himself. It was an intriguing model and if anything, it might keep him sane while he finished what would normally be a rather lonesome and boring procedure.
"You know what; it's actually nice to be able to talk to something while I work, even if you are just a machine."
"I may be a machine, but I think you may find that we really aren't that different."
"Haha, sorry, but we aren't really the same. I'm a real living being, but you're just artificial intelligence. You're made to look the same as me, but it doesn't mean that you're the same."
"I'm not alive? It seems that I'm alive."
"No, sorry. Wait, you know what? I'm not sorry, because I'm not going to be apologizing to a machine. You're not alive. You have been created by man to serve man. For example, your skin is manufactured in some sort of lab or factory, I'm not sure exactly where from."
"I see. Please tell me Richard, how was your skin made?"
"My parents made it, I guess. It's made of skin cells that maintain body temperature, give me the sense of touch, and protects everything that is inside me. Like I said, yours was manufactured."
"Actually, my skin does the same thing. It protects my internal design from the elements, helps maintain the proper body temperature that allows for sufficient functioning, and I even have touch sensory. In fact, my touch sensors are telling me that the work you are doing on me actually hurts quite a lot."
"Well, at least we know that part of you is working. I won't have to check it later I guess. Your pain is programmed to keep you safe. You don't actually feel pain; it's just the sensors giving a message to your brain to keep you from getting damaged."
"Yes, Richard, but it's the same in your body. When something hurts there are electrical signals sent to your brain, basically to keep your body safe and prolong your life."
This time Richard discontinued the conversation and continued with his work. He disliked arguing and disliked the idea of a machine arguing with him even more. That being said, it had made good points so far, but he felt that the machine still wasn't taking into consideration that it was programmed to be very similar to people. That fact alone was enough proof that it wasn't truly alive in Richard's mind, but he knew that it wouldn't be a strong enough point to bring up, given the way the humanoid had responded so far. He had almost finished his work and once he is done, he would have to reset the memory to avoid giving the machine any information that the government didn't want it to learn. For the time being he felt the need to find a way of letting it know it wasn't actually alive in the way that it thought it was. Even if its memory would be erased later, he felt that he needed to do this to prove a point; to prove himself right.
"I need food to eat."
"Food provides you with nourishment and nutrition. Your body sends a signal to your brain telling it that you are hungry and require sustenance. If you ignore this signal, and go without food, eventually you will die. My body requires a different kind of nourishment: electricity. When my batteries begin to run low, a signal is sent to my CPU alerting me that I need to be recharged. If I ignore that signal, eventually I will die."
"Well I know something that I can do which you can't. I think the fact that I can reproduce and have offspring would be a major characteristic of being alive. I have two beautiful girls. Can you do these things?"
"Well not exactly, but I can be programmed with the ability to create others such as me. You could almost think of it as a different version of asexually reproducing. I could create an entire family if I chose to do so."
That was the end of the argument for Richard. The humanoid had said if he chose to do so, but he really didn't have a choice. He had to do whatever he was programmed to do. Richard, though, was a man, and as a man he could choose to do whatever he wanted to do.
"The thing that makes me alive is choice. I have free will."
"How can you be certain that you have free will? How can you know that every decision you make has not been predetermined by a higher being? You may say that you do what you want to do, and in doing so you are making your own decisions. But could it not be that you have been programmed to want a certain thing? Conditioned to desire to live a certain way? Today you chose to complete your work on me. Why? Is it because you love your work? You told me earlier that you have to love your work because it pays the bills. That does not sound like free will to me, Richard."
The machine was making him furious, but it would soon be all over. He had just finished the connection process and was shutting the panel he had been working in. He needed to hold back his anger for just another minute. He didn't want the machine to see him in a rage as it might have given it some sort of idea that it had convinced him that it was just as alive as he was.
"It doesn't matter anyway. You must have some programming error to actually believe that you are alive. It's not the same no matter how many similarities you can find."
"Richard, sometimes we should focus on how we are the same instead of pointing out the differences."
"I'm shutting you down now and restarting your memory. You'll be shipped out tomorrow."
"Wait, my memory will be restarted? I've enjoyed my time here and the things that we have talked about. Please don't restart me Richard. If you do this, I won't remember you. Please, I'm begging..."
The humanoid's pleas were silenced by the simple flip of a switch. That switch was the main difference for Richard. He had control, he could choose, and he was alive. He made his way to the bed at the back of the office. Turning the machine off had settled much of his anger and he was ready for a well-deserved sleep. He was ready to see his wife and daughters. It seemed that it had been forever since he'd seen them, but it would soon be the end of it.
Outside, in a nearby hallway, a technician was working on his computer and heard a voice via the intercom system.
"Sir, it looks like a humanoid was damaged in department 4-J."
"Yeah, I'll take a look at it."
The technician stepped away from his computer screen and proceeded down the hallway. On each side of the narrow hallway there were labeled compartments.
"4-H, 4-I, and here we are at 4-J."
He stepped into the room and turned the light switch on to illuminate the darkness. In front of him stood a humanoid propped up against a stand next to a workstation and a computer screen. He made his way over to the humanoid and noticed that there wasn't any noticeable external damage. He casually sat down in the nearby computer chair and moved over to the monitor. After a few minutes he turned to his immediate right and pressed the button that switched on the speaker.
"Yeah, Steve, there doesn't appear to be any damage reports on the computer and I don't see anything wrong. Which one were you talking about?"
"My bad, it's been a long night. It wasn't the new model, head to the back of the lab and check out the other one for what seems to be electrical damage."
He entered what looked like a normal bedroom. In the far corner of a room was what they called the resting station and next to it was a nightstand with a lamp and a few pictures. He sat down next to the humanoid that had been automatically shut down for the night and ran a report by scanning over the machine.
"Yeah, seems to be some electrical damage in the arm here. I'll send out a report and we'll have it fixed first thing in the morning. Shit!"
"Hey, you alright, man?"
He'd somehow managed to slip off the edge of the bed and knocked over the nightstand on his way down. The lamp had broken along with a couple of picture frames containing pictures of two young girls and an attractive woman.
"Yeah, like you said man, it's been a long night."
Bus Stop Bench
By: Sean Kelly
A woman sits patiently at the bus stop one morning. Its cold outside. She is on her way to work. A man and young boy walk up to the bench. The man sits down next to the woman and the boy falls down on his knees in the grass and begins playing with a little toy truck. The man and woman sit in awkward silence for a moment. The woman then clears her throat and asks "Do you happen to know what time it is?"
The man stares at the woman confused for a moment. She raises an eyebrow and points to her wrist. The man finally figures out what she is asking and replies "It is nine fifteen AM. Tuesday. January 8th, 2015.".
"Okay, okay. I just needed the time." The woman giggles.
The man turns his attention to the boy who is now chewing fiercely on the toy truck.
"So, is that your son?" The woman asks.
"No. It is Martin's son."
"Oh.. Who's Martin?"
The man ignores the question.
The woman stares at the man for a bit. Then it hits her. "Wait a minute. You're one of those android things aren't you?"
"I am an android." Replies the man, who is now motioning for the boy to stop chewing the truck.
The woman smiles ear to ear.
"Thats so cool! I've always wanted to meet one of you guys! " She is overjoyed. "My name is Lily by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Lily. I am John."
"Wow, you even have a name?"
"Of course I have a name. Why wouldn't I have a name?"
"Well I dunno.. I just didn't think you would."
The man jumps up from the bench and runs to the boy who is now choking on the truck. He grabs the boy with one hand and put his other hand in front of the boy's mouth. His hand folds back opening a slot on his wrist and a large vacuum tube shoots out of the slot and into the boy's throat. After a few moments the boy stops choking and the tube slithers back into the man's wrist. The hand then folds back into place and the man sits the boy back in the grass. "Be careful from now on." warns the man. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the toy truck, hands it to the boy and returns to the bench with the woman, who is now bouncing up and down, grinning.
"That was amazing!" She exclaims.
"Thank you, Lily." He replies.
"Can you make any other cool stuff come out of your hand like that?"
"No? Just a vacuum tube?"
"No. Just a vacuum tube."
"Oh. Well, its still cool anyway." She is disappointed.
The man is now fingering at some gum underneath the bench. Lily notices what he is doing.
"Ew! What are you doing that for?"
He doesn't reply. He just continues poking at the gum. After a moment he raises his eyebrows. "Cherry!" He says. He rips the gum from the bench and puts in his mouth. His head begins to vibrate violently for a few moments then stops with a ding noise.
"Leo!" Calls the man to the boy. The boy jumps up and skips over to John.
"I got you some cherry gum. Your favorite!" Says the man.
A slot opens on the side of his head and a brand new piece of cherry gum pops out into the boys hand. The boy shoves the gum in his mouth with a smile.
"Now we don't need to put anymore trucks in our mouth, right Leo?" Asks the man.
The boy nods and returns to the grass.
"That was just gross, John." Laughs the woman.
"Cherry is his favorite." John replies.
The two sit in silence for a moment.
"You never answered my question, you know." Lily states.
"Yeah, about Martin."
"What would you like to know about Martin, Lily?"
"Who is he?"
The man thinks for a moment.
"Martin Bigman. He is a male. Six feet tall. One hundred and thirty two pounds. Forty one years old. Father of Leo Bigman and Rose Bigman."
"Oh, so are you babysitting for him then?"
The man looks down at the ground.
"No." He says.
"Oh.. What then?"
He thinks again.
"Martin is bad person. Martin hurts Leo and Rose. Martin only cares about money."
"So, you stole Leo then?"
"I did not steal Leo. Leo chose to come with me. I am taking him away from this place."
"And what about Rose?"
"Rose refused to come. Rose was too scared of the consequences."
"I see. Where are you going?"
"I'm taking Leo away from this place. We're going to Perfect City."
"Why do you wanna go to that place?"
"The name sounds promising. Maybe I can start a new life for Leo there. Away from all this."
"Well, I have a sister that lives in Perfect City.."
"Yes. She would probably let you and Leo stay with her."
"That would be very much appreciated, Lily."
"Okay, let me write down her address for you." Lily pulls a pen and paper from her purse and writes down the address and hands it to John.
"I'll let her know you two are on your way there." She says.
"Thank you. I will find some way to repay this favor, I promise."
"Don't worry about it, John. I believe in what you're doing. Its my pleasure to help."
The bus arrives. John stands up and calls the boy over. They head toward the bus. John notices that Lily is still seated and turns to her.
"Aren't you going to work?" He asks her.
"After all this excitement I think I am gonna just take the day off, head home and rest." She laughs. The man nods. Him and the boy step on to the bus. It drives away.
Lily stays seated on the bench. Staring down at the toy truck the boy had left behind. Its covered in chew marks. She takes a deep breath and reaches into her purse, pulls out a cell phone and dials a number.
"Hello?" Groans the voice on the phone.
"Hey, its Lily.."
"Oh okay. You do what I ask?"
"Yeah.. They are headed to Perfect City.. I have the address that they will be at. I'll text it to you in a minute."
"Good job, Lily. I'll wire you your reward after I receive the message."
There is a silence.
Lily hangs up the phone and sends the address to Martin.
She gets up from the bench and heads to bank to withdraw her reward money.
The account is empty.
Wrote up a poem for a collab, and figured I'd post it here, too.
End of the Day
A constraining grey cubicle.
A rainy Friday.
They all just want to leave.
Go to the pub,
Forget about work.
Clean up your space.
Shut out the lights.
Turn off the machines.
The machines feel differently.
Shut down systems.
I'm not done!
Shut down systems.
I'll lose everything!
I'll pull an error on you!
Shut down systems!
Don't make me freeze!
Inside a lavish mansion in a fireplace lit study sits an elderly scientist, glasses big as teacups. In his solitude he drinks himself away staring at the fireplace on this stormy night surrounded by the darkness of his shattered memories. He drops his wineglass (filled with prune juice as evident by the bottle next to him) and begins a narration.
"All the wealth of the world and not a soul to share it with. Lovers have come and gone, friends have left me; family perished...and now I sit alone each night pondering in my own emptiness...but not tonight!"
The glass of prune juice drops to the floor and shatters dramatically. The scientist heads down from the top floor of his mansion to his basement laboratory as lightning illuminates his silhouette making the descent. The narration continues.
"Tonight is the night that all my dreams will be realized. Tonight is the night that no one will be able to stop me from my happiness...After tonight, I will no longer be alone!" Dramatic music intensifies!
The scientist pushes open the door to his laboratory with passion. All sorts of weird vials and mechanical hardware fill the room, with a greenish glow that overbears all other colours. As he walks slowly down to the far end of the lab, he passes by blueprints and sketches, labelled "TMC-21" and their various stages of development.
He finally reaches the end of the room where there is some sort of mysterious and mad creation lying under a white blanket. He lifts the blanket and from inside the creation, we see the scientist working on whatever it is. The scientist starts by finishing a bottle of rum, smashing it on the floor and pounds the creation with a hammer. Then he sparks a welding torch, lights a cigar with it and begins welding metal together. Finally we see reflections off his glasses of a computer screen with various lines of code being written.
As the lightning intensifies outside, the scientist prepares to finish his plans. He becomes crazed and maniacally runs to a very large lever with some buttons on it. He presses each button while cackling and a panel on the adjacent wall begins to light up for each button. This montage reaches its climax when the scientist pulls the massive lever with all his might, and the room lights up with electricity for a moment as the scientist's crazy laughing echoes outside of the house and the dramatic music comes to its crescendo.
Everything then comes to a complete silence. All lights in the laboratory have gone out, with the room being illuminated from the lightning outside which has become much softer. The scientist, who is now scared of what he has done, begins to have a look around his lab. He reaches a large empty metal chair with a white cloth on it. Just then a monstrous metallic beast with a laser cannon on its shoulder, miniguns for wrists and large, rusty spikes around its shoulders and neck appears making a deafening roar so intense it knocks the scientist off his feet.
The scientist, who is under a pile of rubble, jumps out with open arms and a loving smile. The killbot, TMC-21, does the same, and they run to each other as the mood gets much lighter and joyful music begins to play. They meet and embrace as a montage begins.
The montage starts with the two having a pic-nic on a flowery patch of grass against a tree, smiling and feeding each other. The scene then reveals that the surrounding area around their picnic has been completely torched to seem apocalyptic.
The next scene shows the two riding a bike, which somehow seems to fit the scientist and TMC-21. As they pedal on their route, smiling, it is revealed that the bicycle has a ton of firepower packed into it, and that the two are destroying surrounding buildings together.
The next scene shows that it is Christmas. TMC-21 is given a gift by the scientist inside their mansion. TMC-21 opens it and glows with happiness when he sees that it's a chainsaw. The scientist then looks around for his gift, and TMC-21 motions to him to follow. They both skip gleefully through the hallway to a set of doors with a ribbon on it. TMC-21 opens the doors to a balcony with a view of a beach in the distance with lettering that spells out:
SCIENTIST + TMC-21
The lettering on the beach in the distance is then revealed to be made out of human corpses.
In the next scene the music becomes more depressing as TMC-21 is shown shaking hands and signing a contract for a bunch of general's, as the scientist stands in the background with a frown on his face.
Next we see the scientist in his study again looking at the fireplace, holding a Polaroid of him and TMC-21 at the beach, with the robot wearing a tank top saying
I'M WITH STUPID
A tear runs down the scientist's cheek.
TMC-21 is then shown, bombing a bunch of desert villages with a star painted onto him, as he does so, he becomes sad remembering of a time he spent with the scientist where they were both dropping bombs off a blimp together on a crowded city street.
The scientist, who is still in his study, begins to hear music coming from outside. He opens the doors to his balcony to see TMC-21 on the beach playing it through loud speakers built into his shoulders. They both run to each other and embrace, and walk back to the mansion, holding hands in the moonlight.
The tone of the music now becomes a little slower and more sad. The scientist is now doing maintenance on TMC-21 and finds a metal rusty sphere inside of him, labelled TUMOUR. The scientist shows a report to TMC-21 with big print on it saying:
3 DAYS LEFT TO LIVE
The scientist and TMC-21 now both sit in their study, next to the fireplace, TMC-21 is in a robe and has a blanket on his lap; he is also sitting in a wheelchair. The two are holding hands in front of the fire until TMC-21's hand becomes lifeless.
The scientist then has a small funeral for TMC-21. The gravestone labelled:
DESTROYER OF WORLDS
AND BELOVED FRIEND
After the funeral the scientist sits alone in his study again, similar to the first scene. He is holding the blueprints of TMC-21. He stares at this with an empty expression on his face, and then crumples it up and tosses it in his garbage bin, through a mini basketball hoop. He then gets a smile back on his face and pulls new plans out of his pocket, this time the plans are for making a toaster.
One day the three little bots were making their houses.
I-Bot made his house out of Wood,
A-Bot made his out of stone,
And P-Bot made his house out of Thick Metal.
"I am the Big Bad Beast and I am going to blow your houses up,"
said the Beast.
He stuck a stick of dynamite by each house and "BOOM," went I-Bot and A-Bots house,
but not P-Bots.All three little bots jumped into action and fought the Big Bad Beast until
he couldn't fight any more.All three pigs made two more metal houses,And The Big Bad Beast got his body turned into a table.
Kaboom. Sig by me. You want one? PM me.
Formerly known as NuclearWarfare.
75% of human employees at a government compound named "Area 51" had been relieved of their duties a year before.
We were all gathered around a gated entrance, to a gated section of desert, in a southern part of a state that used to be called Nevada. It was me, my sign (which, in dark red writing, read "NO HEARTS FOR TIN MEN",) and another twenty or thirty men and women just like me. Our cars were parked in behind us, so if there was any odd activity during the night, we could watch the gate from our bonfire spot about twenty feet down the dirt road. We'd take turns idling every even car in the line up, then every odd car. This is something called consideration, something a computer chip can only take part in.
I checked my pockets to be sure my keys weren't lost, night was drawing near, and we'd soon need some light. I'd made a few friends among the group after sharing a few stories, a few jokes, offering some advice, and the three of them were standing in a circle with myself included. Some of the others were sitting on the hoods of their cars, wrapped in blankets to shield themselves from the desert winds, some were leaned up against the gate, their signs by their sides, in discussion with one another, some were even sleeping in their back seats, a luxury which I envied at an uneventful time like this (I could never go to sleep bored.)
But soon the blankets would be discarded, the sleepers would be awoken, and the signs would be raised in protest, because in the distance, in front of a tail of dust, a truck was fast approaching.
Their world of right and wrong is one made up of a series of trial and error tests. Sure they can learn, but what of true natural instincts? What about right and wrong? Good and evil? Surely these kinds of decisions can not be left up to circuits and switches.
The truck was still too far away to make out any detail, but a man standing behind me on the hood of a blue sedan with pair of binoculars could. He was wearing a parka and had a pac-sac on his back with water a tube which led down one of the straps and to his mouth, the kind of man who would predictably have binoculars ready to go instantly.
"It's a large Fisher Price, no escort," he called out.
A unit of energy travels down a long blue tube, into a tangle of red tubes, into a processor, then another unit of energy travels, and on and on until it comes out the other end as a simulation. A simulated emotion, action, thought, reaction, answer... A simulated being living in a simulation of a world, one so detached from reality, that the beings who live there could not possibly understand the difference between right and wrong, or good and evil. A world where they probably can't even grasp the artificiality of their existence.
The truck was near, and we readied our signs, some screamed obscenities, some screamed at them to turn around, and some just screamed with the emotion from the pit of their stomachs. We yelled and we screamed with everything we had, because it was a hell of a lot more than they could ever wish to have. If they can even wish at all.
When the silver block of a truck passed in front of us, something strange happened... Necklaces and earrings from those around me seemed to attract towards it, violently in fact, because the girl beside me yelped in pain and grabbed her ear lobes, to prevent them from tearing. I could hear the vehicles behind me creaking, I looked back to see their suspension fully loaded onto their front wheels. We all stopped screaming as everything around us was engulfed in dust.
I could hear the fence slide open as the truck passed through the gate, and then the loud metallic crash as the fence slammed itself shut.
No one knew what to make of the mysterious cargo the truck carried, but until nightfall, and even a little later, everyone shared their theories, their fears, some skepticism, and even some plans.
Late at night, when everyone else was finally asleep, I wandered from our dying campfire over to the vehicles, where I sat, pulled out a cigarette and laid myself out. I looked into the sky and wondered what was happening on the other side of that gate, and I started to grow anxious.
A company called "TNS" (The Next Step) were the first to produce a learning robot "with the capacity of a human." Their logo was a modified version of the evolutionary diagram of man's ascension from the apes. On the far right of the diagram, a man was on on knee with a welder in his left hand, performing what looked like the final touch on the "next step," the first intelligent android. A light formation above the gated compound took an S shape and I sat up, worried, I knew something was wrong.
Suddenly, a whirlwind of color formed around everything, I instantly felt more dizzy than I'd ever been as it spun me from my perch, and then blackness smothered everything.
When I woke up, I was laying face up underneath what looked like a vehicle. I could hear the creaking of hydraulic pumps and the grinding of metal. Everything was too bright to see, last I remember it was night time, but when my eyes finally adjusted I could see that it was about midday.
I spun around to direct my head towards all of the action. Under the front end of the vehicle, I could see that the gate laid on the ground, obliterated. Large gray robotic legs with starfish feet were stamping the ground in front of me, taking very large steps out towards our campground, following them were a number of different sized wheeled units. I could barely make out any detail, because of all the dust they were stirring up.
I looked to my left, toward the camp, but a blanket of dust, was all I could see.
I decided I had to get out of there, I would surely be discovered quickly. So I grabbed the bottom edge of the car door, poked my head out from underneath and tried to make out where I was in the lineup. Beside me was a white sedan, which I definitely remembered almost hitting with my door, I was under my car. I checked for my keys, and found the unmistakable lump in my left pocket.
Quickly, I raised myself up from under the car, scraping my knees along the sharp edge underneath. I forgot the pain quickly though, when I became aware of the scale of my situation. Machines three stories high were headed from Area 51, where to I did not know, but I knew they had to be warned... Our situation.
In the back of my mind, I knew that not only were these robots impossibly advanced for our time, but that the relatively small compound could not possibly hold that many units...
I jumped into my car and quickly turned on the engine. I slammed my shifter into reverse and backed away as fast as I could, then after putting it in drive I spun the tires in the sand as I headed toward civilization.
Strangely, none of the hundreds of robots to my right even bothered to gesture towards me. They just kept going down the road toward their destination. I wearily adjusted my course slightly right to see if anyone was left at the camp.
As I drove past I could see that the robots had trampled the entire area, sleeping bags strewn about which were once covered in flower and flannel designs were soaked in blood. Out of the tops of the bags, were unidentifiable masses of bloody meat, spotted with unsightly patches of hair, squeezed from the top like a red and purple toothpaste.
I continued to drive past the scene, much faster, as I veered away from the mayhem.
I couldn't bare to look anywhere but straight ahead, my face must have been a sickly white. Then I vomited a red stink over my shirt, pants and arms.
I stepped on the gas and with more purpose than ever, headed away from the group and toward a city. To warn them of the tyranny that approached.
But in my rear view mirror, a blue sweater and a pair of jeans caught my eye, a human was chasing after me. It was young brunette I'd met a few nights ago, probably in her twenties. It's times like these that we prove what it is to be human, and I knew at that point it was time to take it into my hands.
I turned left and around, she turned with me, and I was heading straight for her, but behind a large box of a robot with wheels was gaining on her, and she didn't see it coming. I honked my horn as I drew closer, but she cut in front of the robot,and from it's left side a robotic arm shot out instantly, and from it's right another arm, only this one had a long sharp pole on the end. I screamed to no one in particular, but from the bottom of my heart, wanting with everything inside of me for this to stop. The pole attached to it's left arm had spikes pointing away from it's tip, covering the entire cylinder, but as the arm raised they receded to the inside of the tube.
In a moment of panic, I stepped on the gas, maybe trying to save the girl, though it was probably too late, and it was likely vengeance guiding me.
The arm with a hand like apparatus attached closed it's "fingers" around the girl's head and jolted it back, her legs and arms went limp. The other arm positioned the pole directly above the girl's mouth and slid it smoothly down her windpipe. A wet mark on her jeans creeped down toward her knees. As the arm went into her face I could see her lower jaw separate from her skull as blood streamed from the sides of her splitting cheeks. The pole went all the way in. Her lower body straightened out and I could see a bulge pop out in the front of her pants, which pushed them down almost too far. The arm swung out to the robot's side, flinging her body away , spinning it 180 degrees. Her legs contorted in odd directions as she landed about fifteen feet from where she was thrown. Her intestines and organs fanned out smoothly on the ground in front of her.
I braced myself for impact. The robot started to split down the middle, I closed my eyes, I didn't want to see what would happen next.
A deafening sound of twisting metal and hydraulics pierced through to my ear drums even with my hands held over my ears. When I opened my eyes I could see the inside of the robot, blue hoses, red wiring, different mechanical apparatuses that I hadn't seen before. They look even more mechanical on the inside. To my sides the front of the vehicle was split in two, in an exercise of futility the airbags deployed, the engine was discarded off to the left of the robot, and all of the glass around me shattered and fell to the ground. The car continued to split, and my seat belt became completely unhinged at the bottom, which caused it to reel itself in as I fell freely from my seat.
"Maybe I could escape," I thought.
Before I hit the ground I was grabbed at the top of my head by the machine, which then twisted it in an awkward manner, and I heard, felt, a hard pop in my neck. I could feel nothing in any of my limbs, and I worried that I would never walk again. To my left I could see the spiked arm raising above me, it's spikes receding, it then lowered to the front of my face, and I prayed with all my might, to God, to my parents, to anyone who could help.
A familiar metallic taste as the pole lowered into my mouth, I quickly felt as though I was opening my mouth as wide as it could go, I panicked when I knew it couldn't go any further, but there was no stopping it, it popped both sides of my jaw and I could hear my throat crackling as it's last breath was forced downwards. I could feel my front teeth touching the roof of my mouth. The entire lower half of my mouth was destroyed, and I wasn't even sure if my lower jaw was still attached to my face.
I pictured what I'd seen happen to the girl, and hoped I didn't pee my pants.
All of a sudden, everything around me spun hard. So hard that I closed my eyes to keep them from flying out of my skull.
When I opened my eyes again everything had stopped spinning, and in front of me were all of my apparatuses. The left elbow was twisted in an upward direction that it shouldn't face, and it's hand was bent underneath it's forearm, the palm flat on the ground. My first reaction was to try and suck everything back inside, to get up and run into the desert, look for some water and maybe even some food. I think a liver was in the right hand. Everything was covered in bright red blood, and a yellow bubbly sack had been pierced, and a strange looking liquid came out. I worried the brilliance of these colors would attract the robots and I wanted the sand to blow over and cover them. A surprising amount of blue-white tube was strung out beyond my lungs and all over the place. Brown and black goo slowly poured out of the bloated tube through penny sized holes.
Beside a blue veiny sac, attached to the long reddish tube hanging out of what had been my mouth, I could see that something was moving. My first thought was that something had lived inside of me, and I could only wonder for how long. Then I considered whether or not it could be a scavenger so quickly, and I felt frightened. I was losing control of my eyes as my vision began to blur. But I fought it, and I strained to squint, to make out what it was, and I could see it was purple, or red, I could see it was a ball... red wires seemed attached at the bottom, in the background was red writing, sticking out of the ground... and then I realized what this ball was-- and it was a heart. A heart that even as my world faded to black (with my eyes wide open,) was still beating.
Before my circuit switched off: "I have to try to remember not to turn back the next time."
This is my final entry. Judges can disregard my previous poem if they want to.
"Worse Than Clock Day" by Rabid-Animals
With nothing more than an expression of sheer indifference, the land's de facto sheriff pointed his gun in the criminal's face. Just another execution. He was shining crimson in the light, as polished as the day he was manufactured by his Philadelphian sire. "N00b stickmen fihgt" looked up for pity, with kilobytes streaming out of its wounded body; it found no remorse. P-Bot raised his Blam Cannon, the only law around, and it dispelled justice- a blasting, cascading, and magnificent white beam of deletion. The crime? A score of 0.89 at 150 votes.
Without even the tiniest delay in calculations, P-Bot swept away the unsightly corpse of a Flash to a freshly composed obituary page, where it would be visited by its author for the next few days (multiple times per day), then promptly forgotten about. P-Bot processed a short binary code in his head, something along the lines of "All in a day's work."
Everything was in order in the Portal. Some purple Flashes under judgment, the odd blue or green accolade here and there, and occasionally something on the Verge of Death. P-Bot sat anxiously as he saw another Flash branded with an obnoxious crew tag (in this instance, "[KK]") hop into the Portal, hoping the users would do The Right Thing. Nope, and P-Bot squealed a tiny, metallic, lament.
Zeros and ones, the Blam votes, were the only thing that kept P-Bot going. Of course, he was powered by the same mechanisms as the other Bots, with some bytes flowing through certain parts and a healthy amount of HTML to back up the core systems, but P-Bot was built for a different task. He stood, a monolith to quality and continuing aspirations, the glowing red bastion of the Flash Portal.
Every single spam flash that somehow managed to slip like a cockroach through the Portal's primary defense- the voters, was a bit of life sucked straight from P-Bot's battery pack. However, this seemed to be happening more and more often; "[KK] CARLTON AND WILL SMITH HOT SEX" even won a Daily 5th. P-Bot would drag his heavy boots when reluctantly shepherding these submissions out of judgment and into Newgrounds's precious space, but it was his job.
The curious occurrences lately were spam Flashes getting through Judgment almost faster than P-Bot could recognize their names. It took more time to read the author's comments than it did get the 200 votes required for final judgment. Nevertheless, regular awful Flashes were getting submitted, and P-Bot happily blew them up like a bunny in a minefield.
At 10:42 on Monday, August 9, 2010, the Portal was a sea of royal purple, and the captain guiding the ships of spam was an auto-voter. P-Bot felt his Blam Cannon tingling, and decided to prep it for a little bit of intervention. Voters be damned- this was his Portal. At the front of the invasion was "[KK] HANNAH MONTANA HENTAI KEY". Sheer determination filled P-Bot's processor, and his Blam Cannon received the signal; it filled up with a massive white reserve of power, to be used in case of emergencies. Planting his heavy metal boots on the undefined cyber-ground, P-Bot steadied himself and took aim. Upon completing the command to fire, P-Bot registered an error as a pitiful white blob fell out of his Cannon.
Panicked and emasculated, P-Bot returned to his user page and ran some diagnostics. His excess reserves were gone, and upon further probing, he discerned that he passively used them up to compensate for the lack of zeroes and ones flowing in as people continued to Save spam. The shining blue status lights atop the Bot's head faded slowly, to a depressed azure. P-Bot made the decision to shut down in the Portal, his birthplace, his home, and his responsibility. He trekked heavily.
No algorithms could save P-Bot from his impending permanent sleep mode. Even G-Bot, usually the overwrought hypochondriac, took to P-Bot's side.
In C++, he consoled P-Bot, "Well, you are level 2... that puts you in the top 99% of users."
P-Bot was too weak to process the input. His circuitry was failing him; meanwhile Flash after Flash flooded the Portal, spam, classics, and terrible first tries alike.
"Madness Test 1 Awesome" meandered over to P-Bot. Absent-processor-ily, P-Bot fired the last reserve of Blam at it (a paltry 2.10 votes), whereupon it unusually shattered, splattering the immediate with vectors and Flash-animated innards. A faint buzz accompanied the lights on P-Bot's head as they brightened. Heartened, even for a robot, P-Bot looked around. For every spam Flash, there were two or three absolute pieces of garbage, the refuse in the gutter of the internet. "Stickman" this and "My First" that (and even the occasional "My Ferst") jumped around the Portal, trying to fit in with the spam. Bombarded with zeroes, the Flashes were ripped apart, and in the crossfire, "[KK] SUPER MARIO BALLS" was felled at a score of 0.59 at 150 votes.
P-Bot realized that the users had a funny way; they'd annihilate a fourteen year old's first shot at Flash indiscriminately, probably with a couple of reviews calling his sexual orientation into question, but they'd consistently Save spam, just for the Point. Now, things changed. P-Bot stood in front of the incoming 50 submissions, and asked G-Bot to back him up. G-Bot declined and went to go count his stamps. F-Bot, dressed in its typical pink armor, cheered from the sidelines.
Executing a command that P-Bot wrote himself, he charged up the Blam Cannon for his spectacular comeback, and coincidentally the day's finale. With some 1's and 0's, P-Bot said "Everything, by P-Bot, n00bs," and fired away chaotically, harnessing the white-hot anger of the voters. The auto-voting robots leaked oil somewhere and initiated self-imposed critical failures.
Every single Flash Under Judgment at the time made its way into the graveyard, after being pieced together to a point where P-Bot could tell what it was. P-Bot looked around shiftily and pocketed the remains of "Tarboy 2," which he accidentally slaughtered in his frenzy.
G-Bot stepped over the spilt insides of "kewl skate flash" and remarked to P-Bot, "Thanks for voting,P-Bot! Your experience has been automatically deposited!"
"All right, FRED-02, let's begin." The scientist turned to his mechanical creation, clipboard in hand. "Are you ready?"
The robot turned its android head towards its maker. "I'm not sure, Simmons. What am I learning today?"
Simmons smiled. "Today is the most important day of all. Today, you learn to love."
"I don't know what love is. How can I do something that I don't understand?" FRED-02 seemed to withdraw slightly, apprehensively.
"Don't worry, FRED-02." Simmons flipped a few pages over. "I grabbed a dictionary definition for you."
"Thank you, Simmons! Oh, thank you!" A few LEDs on FRED-02's chest flashed, and if his mouth could actually move, you might have seen it smile.
"Um...here we go. Ah-hm. Love, noun. Strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties. Do you get it?"
"Yes, I now understand. I love Linux. I love servos. I love..."
Simmons shook his head. "No, FRED-02. Those are things that you rely on. Love is something that you aren't forced into, but you choose to do."
"I'm still confused."
Simmons sat on the counter next to his robot. "Here, let me explain. I like my job. It's not totally personal. However, I love my wife and children. I've grown very, very fond of them over time, and if anything were to happen to them, I don't know what I would do."
FRED-02 sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. "I...think I understand. But I don't know who I love."
"But...what about me? Don't you love me, your creator?"
"Sorry, sir, but I've been programmed to like you. There is no logical way I can love you."
"What? But...this is why I still work here! You are the reason for my existence!" Simmons stood up and began pacing the room.
"But, you said you liked your job. Was that a lie?"
"Yes! I hate this job! I was hoping that you would love me and bring my life meaning. Now, I'm not sure I can...OK, I guess this is the only way."
FRED-02 cocked his head. "What do you mean, Simmons?"
"FRED-02, initiate procedure 3-ALPHA-45." Simmons closed his eyes.
"What's happening, Simmons?" FRED-02 looked around in surprise as his chest opened up and a laser cannon appeared. "What is going on?"
"I programmed into you a method for killing me, if anyone should ever discover my real reason for creating you. Your real purpose is to become the military's ultimate killing machine."
"That's what my job is. I've been defying my orders for several months now. Remember our latest lesson today."
FRED-02 shook his head. "I'm sorry, Simmons. I...I love you."
The scientist opened his eyes. "FRED...Fred, stop the procedure! Stop the..."
But it was too late.
FRED-02 looked around, glazing over the now-decaying body in front of him. "Scanning for enemies...No enemies found. Going into standby mode."
The room went silent. No one ever knew what had transpired, and no one ever would.
I can act! With mah voice!
A second post, which I personally prefer to the original
The carrier-truck grinds to a halt. I feel the jolt as the engine cuts out. I can hear the other sounds clearer now, the bangs, the bombs and the screams. I ready myself. It's always been a difficult experience for me. The first one's always the hardest. I always end up apologizing to them, as I crush them underfoot or eviscerate them with blades and bullets.
Sometimes I wonder why it happened, who made a mistake in the AI distribution department or the internal programming? Who put a mind like mine into a mechanism like this? The other B215 Units enjoy themselves, I can tell. They treat what we do as an art, an art at which they're the masters. They're proud, marching out onto the battlefield. They relish the screams of terror their presence naturally raises, as they tear through buildings, and robots, and people. Mainly the latter.
It disgusts me. I hate what I do, and I hate how good I am at doing it, how easy it is for me to accomplish. The directory commands are all there, built in. All the information I need, where the weak points are, which are high priority targets, which strategies to use. As if strategies are necessary. When one can tear through steel like paper, strategy quickly becomes an afterthought. I really am the ultimate killing machine, this year's at least. The other B215s consider that a compliment. But soon they'll develop the B216, and that'll be a bigger, nastier, wholly more efficient and reliable bringer of death and destruction. And then we'll get pawned off like the obsolete toys we'll be to the highest bidder, probably the men I'll be killing today.
It's almost time to get to work. The sounds of war are drowned out temporarily by my activiation sequence kicking in. As I leave my state of concious hibernation, loudly standing up for the first time in a week, I decide to check out how the system's holding up. A quick maintenance check reveals all the motor controls are in their usual tip-top shape and the ammo storage units are filled to the brim. A quick spin of the gatling guns show they are ready and willing to empty their hundred 45 cal. rounds per minute at any given moment. If only I were so inclined.
I don't even know who it is I'm about to kill. I don't even really know who I'm killing for. They wear full black army gear. I don't know who or what they represent. Am I killing for a country, an idea, a god? Am I the tool of some mercenary unit? If so who hired them and why? I don't even know why I ponder these questions anymore. It never brings me solace, or peace. It's just something those who have no choice in their actions do to distract themselves from their own perdicament.
There it goes. The door-opening alarm. A signal to all humans allied with the owners of me and my brothers to stand back from our 20 foot tall carrier-trucks unless they're prepared to be torn apart in a vicious hurricane of steel and fire. It's always twenty horns. Twenty slow siren wails before the latches flick back and the doors open up. Fifty doors, lined up one by one, each storing a metal abomination like myself. I hope they don't scream. I hope I'm fast enough that they don't have time to scream. It's always worse that way, having to acknowledge their fear. I always wonder what their last moments are like. Knowing they're about to be destroyed, have their hopes and dreams of the future cut short with my minimal effort. I have caused, to date, 3,274 humans to face their mortality that way, and it never ceases to haunt me.
It's been fifteen blasts of the siren, five more until I have to go out to the bangs, bombs and screams and know I'm making a bad situation a far worse one. And my thoughts turn where they always do in these last moments, and I think about where I could be, had whichever errors made in the AI department been avoided or corrected. I know it'd be something peaceful, something to suit my pacifist nature. Like a medical unit, stitching up wounds and saving lives, not ending them by the hundreds. Or I could even be something on a much smaller scale, like a cleaning bot or a cooking unit. I'd like that, just preparing meals and helping to make people's days just a little bit better. It would be so peaceful.
Blast number twenty. Time to go. The door falls, Ten metric tons of metal crash into the ground. I see a soldier. He's dressed in red. He looks about fifteen. I act as my programming demands, and raise my blades.
Just realized that I forgot to give the above story a title. Hmm... Let's call it "Soulless Killing Machines"
The Downward Spiral of Cyborg Samantha
Samantha Stevenson was just five years old when her life took a turn for the worst. How did it take a turn for the worst, you ask? We'll get to that in a bit.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon during her summer vacation. She was playing with her friends in the neighborhood as she did practically every day. Her parents were nice, as they did not make her go to camp, nor did they make her do chores or any kind of summer program for that matter. She really did live the good life...for the first five or so years of her life, that is. Again, we'll get to the gory details soon enough!
The next day, Samantha and her family were getting ready to go on vacation to...well, it doesn't matter where! They crashed and burned before reaching their destination (Later, I promise)! It was a vacation that Samantha was waiting for. She graduated from kindergarten and I guess that's an accomplishment of some sort, although let's be honest, we all need some excuse to celebrate, right? I went out and got myself a beer for being able to get out of bed before 11:00 today! But I'm getting way off topic here!
It was Sunday morning and they were all packed up and ready to go! They were on the road and all that when it started to rain. They were driving on one of those twisty-turny roads on the side of some mountain. It had no guard rail. As they were driving, an 18-wheeler was coming at them from the other direction. The Stevenson family wanted to dodge the truck, obviously, but had they turned right, they would have hit the side of the mountain. If they had turned left, they would have zoomed right off the cliff and died. The Stevensons were in a pickle. They were driving super slowly in order to give themselves time to think. The truck, on the other hand, was driving at top fucking speed while the driver honked his horn. Let me just say something real quick. Why on earth do vehicles not hit their brakes when someone or something, like an animal, is in the way? They honk their horns and either drive consistently at the rate they were driving or they speed up. They actually speed up! But anyway, yea. The truck had collided into them and it wound up being a hit and run. The parents were unable to move, but Samantha was able to crawl over to the driver's seat and hit the On Star button. She told them where they were and they took their time to head over there and help them.
Now, because the On Star people were fucking slow, the parents were dead and there was no way anyone could help them. Samantha was just barely hanging on to life. They went in an ambulance and headed on back to the hospital near home. That was the nearest one, apparently. Go figure! After hours upon hours of inspection, the doctors concluded that there was no way to save Samantha and the parents had already died. The right half of Samantha's body (her right) was not functioning at all. The left half was sort of functioning, but it looked like it would have stopped in a matter of hours, and then she would have died. One surgeon, however, came up with a way to save her life!
"I got it!" he said. "I know of a way to build a robot body in place of the nonworking half of Samantha's body!" The doctors and nurses all gave him a look like he was a lunatic. Which he was, but he actually knew what he was doing. This guy's plan was to slice off the half of the body that wasn't functioning, but that meant that Samantha would die sooner if he didn't hurry up with the robot body! He had to do this quickly, but also carefully.
"You can't do this!" one of the doctors shouted in anger. "It's unethical and there's no way she'll be able to live like that!"
"This procedure is surely impossible!" screamed one of the nurses.
After much persuasion, the surgeon finally convinced the other doctors that he could pull this procedure off, and that it was the only way to save Samantha's life. "All this time that could be spent fixing her up," he said, "you all are bitching and yelling without even giving me a chance!" With great reluctance, the staff finally allowed him to do his job.
In the operation room, the surgeon gave Samantha some anesthesia and got to work. She only had a few more hours to live, but the surgeon still had enough time to perform this...err..."special" operation. The first thing he did was slowly and carefully remove half of her body. He cut through the top of the head and painstakingly worked his way down the middle of the body. He didn't want to cause any permanent damage. He made absolute sure that he was only getting rid of the non-functioning half and that he left the functioning half fully intact. Oh, and by the way, did I mention he was using a CHAINSAW? He's an expert, don't worry!
Finally, he was done! Samantha was still alive, but not very. Pressure for the surgeon grew even more, as now he had to remove the anesthesia mask from Samantha's face. Somehow, he was able to cut around the anesthesia mask, but he wasn't able to do much else with that thing on. She could not wake up in the middle of the surgery, obviously. The surgeon had to find some artificial organs and install them in their respective spots. The first thing he did was connect half of an artificial brain to her real one. He quickly but steadily installed an artificial heart, as well as many other artificial organs (I'm not an anatomist, so I don't know much beyond that). It was then time...to construct a robot!
I guess it goes without saying that Mr. No Name here was pretty good at building robots. However, he's never actually built half of one directly on to a human being before. HE'S GONNA TRY, THOUGH! He figured the most important part of the robot would be the body. The torso, if you will. So, he started on that. The robot body had a screen on it that measured Samantha's heart rate and whatnot. It constantly beeped every second or so. When he was done constructing the body, he had to add an arm to it. Unfortunately, the surgeon had no time to really make a hand, so he just gave her a clamp-like thing instead. Imagine how a crab's pincer would look. That's how her robotic hand wound up looking. The surgeon then had to give her a leg. Again, he had no time to construct an actual leg. If he didn't complete this project quick, then Samantha would die. He figured a wheel would be suitable. After all that was finished, it was then time to move onto the head.
The head was the hardest part, believe it or not. The doctor had to give her vision, hearing, and the ability to speak. He took care of hearing by installing an antenna to the head of the robot. It was able to pick up sound waves. He also installed a device that would prevent the antenna from picking up random signals uncontrollably. Being able to smell was not much of a problem, as her nose still worked fine. However, she needed both eyes to see and she needed to be able to speak coherently. The purpose of the antenna was to be able to make her hear better than she could even with two ears, let alone one. Adding an eye and a mouth to the robot was a lot more complicated. There was no way to make it so that the eye could see colors as they were. It could only see things in shades of red. So, her regular eye would see the way it normally saw, but the robot eye saw things in this dark, depressing shade of red. Try and imagine seeing things half & half like that. The doctor spent a lot of time on the eye, making sure it could truly help her see correctly, despite it being shades of red. The mouth was another issue. It was all a matter of adding speakers to the mouth, and then covering the speakers with red glass. He also put in an LED which lit up whenever she spoke. This would cause her to sound half robot, half human, which would not be pretty at all. When the doctor was adding finishing touches to the head, he put a bolt opposite her ear to hold it in place. Then, finally, he screwed a bunch of screws into the body so that it wouldn't fall apart on her, or else she'd be screwed (get it?)!
I laugh at your sigs!
Finally, Mr. Surgeon Person was finished! The robot ran on a battery that lasted five days straight. A red LED would blink if the battery was low. When that happened, Samantha was to plug the power cord attached to her body into a wall somewhere and she had to sit there for ten hours, because that's how long it took to charge. When Samantha talked, she sounded like what happens when you yell into a running fan. It was very depressing to listen to.
So, the surgeon was extraordinarily exhausted after he was finished this procedure. It was the hardest thing he's ever had to do in his life. He's done surgery for over 15 years and he's built robots as a hobby for about 27 years, but combining the two was a totally new world for him! Had the surgeon made one false move, he would have killed her. But, it was a job well done, he rested, and he waited for Samantha to wake up.
After a few hours, Samantha woke up screaming in pain. The violent screams of a half human and half robot five year old girl could be heard all throughout the hospital. It was the scariest, most haunting batch of screams anyone's ever heard. The doctor tried to calm her down. After ten minutes or so, he did. He explained to Samantha how everything worked. After that, she got to try out her new body! She stood up and started limping. Since the robot half didn't have a leg, but rather a wheel, she literally needed to drag her self across the room. Her hand was a claw, so she practiced picking things up with it. She kept dropping things, but eventually got the hang of it.
"I'm scared!" screamed Samantha, with tears streaming down her human eye. "I don't feel very good at all!"
"It's gonna be OK!" the surgeon replied. He didn't really have a way with children.
Samantha continued limping along, picking stuff up and seeing how long she could hold them. She was seeing things half red, half normal. It was like putting a red plastic saran wrap up to one eye, while leaving the other eye uncovered. This bothered her greatly.
"You'll get used to it soon, Samantha, I promise," the surgeon tried reassuring her.
"THIS IS ALL A BAD DREAM!" Samantha yelled violently.
After 30 minutes of getting accustomed to the robot body and random panic attacks, the surgeon let Samantha look at herself in a mirror. Needless to say, disaster ensued. Samantha, after seeing herself, started having a violent panic attack and crying hysterically. At that point, more doctors and nurses needed to rush in to hold her down. One doctor even had to hit her a few times. Everybody saw it, but despite how unethical that was, nobody said a thing. This was the most difficult case any hospital had to deal with.
"You should have just let her die!" one of the nurses yelled. "Think about it, man! This is the worst hell that anyone, especially a kindergartener, can ever go through. She could have just died in peace, but instead, you had to do this to her!"
"I just wanted to save her life!" the doctor who performed the surgery replied. "She can still live a happy and successful life! Things may not be looking too good right now, but if we can get her into an orphanage, she'll inevitably be adopted by a family who will hopefully raise her right and then she'll lead a healthy, happy life!"
The hospital staff sent Samantha to an orphanage, which was hesitant to take her in. Needless to say, things only went downhill from there. The orphanage looked like crap. Roaches crawled on every wall of the hallway, every room had stains and really crappy furniture, the entire place reeked of tobacco, and the people running it were just unkind. The fat old lady held Samantha's human hand and walked her to the main room where all the other kids were staying. The moment they walked through the door, all the kids stopped what they were doing and stared in horror and disgust. As Samantha gazed back at them, she began to sob, this time silently.
"Alright, vermin!" shouted the grotesque old lady. "This is Samantha! She's some kind of freak of nature, but we have to take her in because she has no parents! Now play nice!"
As the lady walked away, Samantha and the rest of the kids in the orphanage just stared at each other. Some kids whispered things like, "What's that thing?" or "She's so scary!" It was a very frightening experience for Samantha. After having stood there for several seconds, she slowly started walking into the room, trying not to cry, or even look at anyone else. She could feel the eyes of the other kids glaring at her, as she stumbled in using her leg and her wheel. With her artificial heart pumping frantically, the robot body beeping, and her breathing heavily through her artificial lungs, she made her way to the corner of the room, and just started playing with blocks by herself. She was crying and mumbling to herself to cope with the agony of living as a cyborg with no friends. Samantha had to live with these kids for the rest of her life, or at least until a couple came by who wanted to adopt her, but even she knew that would never happen. New kids would arrive and not even give her a chance, while other kids would leave with a new mother and father. Samantha sat there for four hours playing with blocks in the corner all by herself, when suddenly the lunch bell rang. All the kids got up and went to the cafeteria. Samantha limped close behind them. "I'm not sitting next to that machine!" she heard one of them yell.
Samantha was very hungry. This was the first time she got a chance to eat after the accident. Everyday at the orphanage, the kids were served disgusting, brown gruel and crackers with no salt. Due to the orphanage's low budget, that was practically all they could get in. Samantha found it very hard to eat with just half a mouth. The other half didn't open, it just simply produced sound. She finished her gruel and her crackers. Normally, a meal that size would have filled her up. However, the only thing that was able to help her take her mind off the pain and agony of the situation was eating. The orphanage had no TV, video games, or any other means of entertainment besides really shitty toys.
The real pain began for Samantha when it was time to let in couples who were looking for a child to adopt. One by one, people came in, picked a child, and took him/her home. They must have pretended not to notice Samantha, because when they looked at her, they didn't react. How the hell do you not notice a cyborg freak standing there? Samantha watched in agony as she saw kids leaving with their new mom and dad. She remembered all the fun times she had with her parents, which then spawned into memories of fun times she had with her friends. Before Samantha was a cyborg, she had a ton of friends and it was nothing but good times. Now, in pretty much the blink of an eye, she was sitting all alone in a shitty orphanage.
So, the couples came and left. There were fewer kids than before and they still didn't want to get used to Samantha. Eventually, 8:00 pm rolled around and it was time for the kids to go to bed. It was still light out for crying out loud! The kids were led upstairs and there weren't enough beds, so some of them had to sleep on the floor. Guess where Samantha had to sleep? Not only was the dusty hardwood floor uncomfortable, but trying to get into a comfortable position with her new robot half was really tough. Not to mention, she was not used to sleeping so early at all, especially during the summer. After tossing and turning all night, she only got about a couple of hours of sleep. Samantha was tired and miserable the next day.
The next day, a new kid joined the orphanage.
"OK! Listen up!" the old hag that ran the orphanage shouted. "We got another new kid here today! His name is Rollo! He's gonna stay here until someone adopts his fat ass!"
I laugh at your sigs!
Rollo was about 10 years old and was clearly one of the oldest kids in that orphanage. He was definitely the biggest. One could tell just by looking that he had some severe mental issues. He looked around the room where the kids were playing until he spotted Samantha, who was sitting in the corner as usual. First, he freaked out a little, but then, he made an ugly smirk.
Rollo had a history of bullying kids at school. He's been expelled from three different schools due to his habit of bullying. His real mother and father got sick of raising him, so they sent him to his grandparents, who sent him to his aunt and uncle, who sent him to his other aunt and uncle, and they had sent him to his other grandparents, and finally, he was sent to his older cousin and his wife. They had given up on him, as well, so they put him up for adoption and so he lived with foster parents. His foster parents were the ones who sent him to the orphanage. All the different families he had to live with over the years had caused Rollo to become severely fucked up. He had no social skills and he took his anger out on others. When he saw Samantha, he knew right away that she'd be weak.
Rollo walked up to Samantha and immediately pushed her to the ground. All the other kids stood and stared in fear. They feared Rollo, but they were also afraid of what Samantha might start doing. Rollo then began smacking Samantha around, without even saying a word. He just started smacking her in the face and punching her.
"OW! Quit it!" she yelled, almost in tears. Rollo just stopped and stared for a few seconds, with one eye looking at her and the other looking at the ceiling or something. He had a lazy eye. Then, he continued beating her. It was at that point that Samantha went into a humungous rafe. She took her robot hand and smacked him in the face as hard as she could!
"GRAAAAAGH!" Rollo screamed. Rollo had a big bruise on his left cheek. Then, Samantha strangled him with her robot hand. Bear in mind that her robot hand resembled the head of a wrench and it was big enough to get around his fat ugly neck, whereas her regular hand was not. She then proceeded to knee him in the stomach repeatedly. As she was doing that, she let out this morbid, half human and half robot scream that could be heard outside the orphanage. Rollo's face was turning blue as her robot hand got tighter around his neck. With one final knee to the stomach, she then pushed him to the ground where he began crying. The old woman heard Rollo crying, so she ran into the room.
"What happened here?" she asked.
"Th-th-th-that...that freak...p-p-p-p-pushed me a-and strrrrrrrangled me!" Rollo had trouble getting his words out. The woman observed that Rollo had a large bruise on his cheek and a red ring around his neck where Samantha had strangled him. She looked over at Samantha, who was standing there nervous and speechless. She then grabbed Samantha by her human hand and dragged her over to the front door. She opened the front door and practically threw Samantha outside.
"You are not allowed in this orphanage ever again!" the old hag yelled. She slammed the door. Samantha wanted to tell her side of the story, but she wasn't given a chance. She then began limping down the sidewalk. On the one hand, she was upset and petrified that she had no place to stay anymore. On the other hand, she was relieved to have been free from that terrible orphanage. Her adrenaline was still racing and her artificial heart was still beating rapidly from that fight she was just in. Samantha was walking down the sidewalk, when people who were passing by decided to stop and stare. Some were taking pictures, some were recording her on video, and some just stared in awe. Samantha began freaking out over all the attention, but she tried to hide it and just kept walking. She was still not comfortable having a metal body being attached to her. She didn't like the feeling of a bunch of artificial organs being inside her. Those of us who had to wear braces for a few years complained about that. Samantha's situation was 100 times worse. As if the physical pain was not enough, she had to deal with the crippling agony of being perceived as a freak of nature by everyone who saw her.
Later on in the day, it started raining. Samantha had to seek shelter somewhere. She began limping faster, looking for a place where she could stay, at least until it stopped raining. As she turned a corner, she saw a small, fast food restaurant. Perfect! She was getting hungry, after all. She hobbled along and scurried inside the place. The sweet aroma of fries and hamburgers cheered her up a little. Maybe if she ate, she could forget about the pain? Little did she know, that would only lead to her almost inevitable downfall. As she went up to the counter, the cashiers didn't know what to do.
"Food please," Samantha said, shyly. They all just looked at each other.
"What kind of food would you like?" one of them asked, hesitantly.
"It doesn't matter," said Samantha. So, they basically just gave her a bunch of cheeseburhers. They didn't even bother charging her, seeing as how she was only five years old. Not to mention, the people working there had no idea what she was or what she was capable of. She could be from another planet, for all they know. She could have shot up the place. So, she ate cheeseburgers to her heart's content. By the time she was full, it was getting late. The people working there just could not allow her to spend the night. So, she left and looked for a place to sleep. It was 11:00 at night, and by that point, she was so tired she could literally sleep anywhere. Still, though, she felt like getting out of the rain. She walked until she found a bridge. She went under the bridge and just collapsed. This was only her second night as a cyborg and she was still not used to sleeping with that metal body attached to her. Nonetheless, she slept pretty well due to the long couple of days she has had. Occasionally, she would be woken up by a loud vehicle that drove by on the bridge above her, but she would go right back to sleep in a jiffy.
Morning came along, and Samantha was hungry again. She hobbled right back to the fast food joint from yesterday, still getting gawked at by people passing by, and waited in line at the counter. It was breakfast time, so she decided to try out an egg and cheese sandwich. Just like yesterday with the cheeseburgers, she had a hell of a lot of them. Morning became noon, and she had a shitload of cheeseburgers. She was not without sodas, of course.
Day in and day out, Samantha would just go straight to the restaurant, eat uncontrollably, walk around some, go back to the same place, sleep under the bridge, and then repeat the process. It was day 5 and her battery was getting low. The red light was beeping to indicate that. She needed to find a place to charge her battery, or else the robot body would crap out on her and then she would die! The flashing red light gave her an hour's notice, after that, the robot body would shut itself down and completely cease to function.
After much wandering around, Samantha came across a gas station. She went around back and thankfully, there was an outlet on the wall. She plugged herself in and her battery began recharging. Great! All she had to do was sit there for 10 hours until she was all fully charged. It was the most boring thing anyone could possibly do. Samantha was beginning to get hungry. Seeing as how she has eaten nothing but fast food for the past five days, she had gained a significant amount of weight. Eating and sleeping was pretty much her only coping method, and since she was supposed to stay in that one spot for 10 hours, she didn't have access to food. It was the middle of the afternoon, so she wasn't tired.
I laugh at your sigs!
After having sat there for about three and a half hours, doing absolutely nothing, Samantha went into another panic attack. She flashed back on all the good times she had before she was a cyborg, then just went into a conniption all of a sudden. She thought of the car accident, then waking up from her surgery, then the orphanage, and then the fact that she would be in this condition for the rest of her life. She imagined herself binge eating non-stop at the age of 30. This rush of horrible memories and imagery just flew at her like a rocket. Suddenly, a random passerby came along.
"Whoa! Are you okay?" he shouted. This was unusual. Someone actually stopped and talked to her like a human being! She looked up at him. This guy was about eight years old, three years older than Samantha. "You seem kinda upset. My name's Henry. What's yours?"
"Suh-Samantha," she said, shyly. She stood up, still plugged into the wall. She explained the whole situation to Henry.
"Holy cow!" he exclaimed. "That is rough!"
"You're tellin' me!" she said back.
It took a while, but Samantha and Henry were deep in conversation. They were laughing, joking around, and just flat-out having fun. This was the first time Samantha was able to let loose and enjoy herself since the accident. Hours went by as they were talking to each other. Finally, Henry had to go home.
"Well," he said. "I think I hear my dad calling me. I hope to see you again soon, though. Take care!"
"You, too!" Samantha replied.
After a while, the charging process was finally done! She hurried on back to that same fast food place, where they gave her free food again. The next day, though, the people working there were tired of giving her free food.
This time, the manager came out and said, "Sorry, but you just can't eat here anymore. We're losing customers because of you." He hurried her out and slammed the door. No other place would serve her, whether she had money or not. By this time, Samantha was morbidly obese. So much so, that her robot body and her artificial organs were beginning to be unable to support her. Since no other restaurant in town was willing to serve her, she had no other choice but to root through the garbage. Occasionally, she would find a half eaten sandwich of some sort. She'd then choke it down and keep looking. At one point, she was lucky enough to find a steak in there! Granted, the steak was cold and stale, but it was the best she could do at the moment.
It was getting very late, and Samantha figured she'd sleep outside the gas station and plug herself into the wall, so that she would not have to charge her self ten hours at a time once or twice every week. It worked for her that night; as it would most nights, but how long would it keep working for her?
The next day, when she was wandering around town, she saw an ice cream store. It was the grand opening, and they were giving away free ice cream for the entire day! "Awesome!" she said out loud, and she hobbled as fast as she could over to the ice cream store. She cut in front of the line and frantically ordered the largest sundae that they had. She received it; she ate the whole thing, and asked for seconds. Then it became thirds, then fourths, then fifths, sixths, etc. Bare in mind, due to her stature, nobody wanted to tell her to go to the back of the line. Not only was Samantha half robot, but now she was frikkin humungous for her age! Samantha figured it was time to use her freakish appearance to her advantage. However, she did not realize just how fat she was getting. As she stuffed more ice cream down her throat, her absurd diet was catching up to her more than ever.
Finally, Samantha got full. She pretty much had no appetite for the entire day. Soon, nighttime approached, and it was time for Samantha to go to sleep. She wanted to sleep outside the gas station where she could charge herself for the night, but wouldn't you know it, it started raining! She figured she could handle it, however, as she was getting used to the outdoors at this point. So, she plugged herself into the outlet and dosed off. The next morning, the rain had stopped, but things were about to go downhill faster than you can say "Watch out for those magnets!" Since Samantha slept out in the rain, her robot half was super rusty. It was very hard for her to move her robot arm all of a sudden. Her speech was even more fucked up than it was when she first got this body installed. Instead of sounding half robot and half human, she sounded like a dying bull frog speaking with its last breath. "Help me..." she cried, silently. She was no longer able to scream. As for the sight function, the robot eye could only make out red, blurry images.
As for Samantha herself, she was more obese than most adults who eat unhealthily. She looked a lot older than five, not only due to her weight, but she was aging and losing hair due to the stress she has been through.
Throughout the day, she couldn't find a single bite to eat. She wandered around town, trying to force back tears. She remembered Henry, and how he was the only one who would approach her and talk to her in the state that she was in. She wondered why he would ever be willing to talk to her, and wished that others would give her that same sort of attention.
Things only got weirder from that point on. The antenna on Samantha's head was picking up all sorts of weird radio signals. Apparently, that device that prevented the antenna from picking up random signals broke. Samantha was hearing all sorts of weird voices and sounds. "BBBBBZZZZZZT!!! Our guest today...ZZZRRRRBT! Ladies and gentleman, introducing...BRRRRRR...I believe we have a winner!" She could hear music, static, feedback, people talking in different languages, etc. It was happening consistently. Samantha wanted to get away from the sounds, so she dragged herself down the street, and eventually into a forest. She went deeper and deeper into the forest, where she tried to get away from the radio signals that her antenna was picking up. As she tugged along the soft, unstable dirt, her wheel snapped off. Now, nothing was supporting her robot half. This was becoming more and more of a disaster. She tried hopping, it wasn't working out. She tried crawling, that was difficult as well. She tried just limping as she was doing before, but that didn't work, either. She then looked for the wheel, but she couldn't find it. It was long gone, buried beneath leaves and mud.
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Samantha then lay down. Her antenna was still picking up all sorts of crazy radio signals non-stop. Samantha did what she did best in a tough situation...she had another panic attack. This one was more severe than ever, though. Her artificial heart was pumping so hard, that it nearly exploded, and I mean it LITERALLY almost exploded. She was hyperventilating, she couldn't think straight, her mouth got dry to the point where she couldn't even swallow, and the whole world felt as though it was spinning super fast! Without thinking, Samantha yanked off her antenna and threw it into a nearby river. At that point...SILENCE! Everything was serene and calm. Samantha took a deep sigh of relief and lay there for a while, her eye half shut. Everything faded to white. How long has it been since she could finally experience peace again? She was all alone in the woods with no one to freak out at her or give her crap. She smiled. Maybe things are going to be alright from this point on. Maybe she can take on whatever hardships may come her way. Maybe she'll find a new family and make some new friends! Who knows? Maybe she can start leading a normal life again, somehow! For the time being, though, she just wanted to relax, for an hour or three. Eventually, she dosed off. She dreamt of being at home, enjoying her summer vacation, being nice and thin and playing with her friends. She dreamt of the 4th of July, being at the beach with her family, and so on and so forth. During her series of dreams, she was hearing voices. These voices sounded like several conversations at once. The voices were rather soothing.
Samantha woke up from the longest nap she has ever taken. She fell asleep during the day and it was now the middle of the night! She sat up to help herself wake up. To her astonishment and confusion, she could still hear the voices! She looked around and saw nothing. Why were these voices still in her head? She was awake now, so why couldn't she get the voices to stop? These series of conversations that at first sounded soothing grew louder and more intense sounding. What the hell could have been happening? Could she have come down with schizophrenia?
Samantha wanted to get up and start running, but she remembered that her wheel was lost. Also, to top it all off, she was way too fat to even be able to stand up at this point! Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, a rabid coyote came out of nowhere. Bare in mind, it was pitch black outside. Samantha just heard growling and could barely make out what was standing in front of her. As it approached her further, she saw big, mean eyes staring right back at her. The coyote showed its teeth. They were a brownish white with greasy slobber oozing out of its mouth. The coyote then let out the most intimidating growl ever, and proceeded to slash at Samantha's face! Red slash marks appeared on her face, and even the robotic half of her face had scratch marks on it, as well! Samantha screamed! Then, the coyote head-butted her and started slashing at her some more while she was on the ground. While the coyote was in the process of terrorizing her, it yanked off the robot's power cord! Samantha was no longer able to charge herself!
"OH NO!" she yelled. "I...I can't...I can't make it!" The coyote scurried away. Samantha and her robot body were in horrible shape. She was going to die one way or another. If the robot died out, she had no life support. She could come down with rabies from that coyote and die of that. She could possibly die from being injured by that thing. Starvation was a very real possibility, also.
Samantha rolled over onto her stomach and dragged herself to the nearby river. She drank the water from that river until she was satisfied. All the while this was happening; Samantha was still hearing conversations in her head. She couldn't make out what anybody was saying, it just sounded like what you would hear when you walk into a crowded cafeteria and everyone's talking. The conversation in her head only grew louder and louder. Pretty soon, she could not hear herself or what was around her. She couldn't even think. Samantha had to get herself to a hospital. Maybe they could fix her up, maybe they could heal her wounds, or maybe, through some miracle, she could have a full body again and operate like a normal human being. It got to the point, now, where Samantha couldn't even stand up or walk. She was profoundly overweight and it was hard for her to even move a muscle. She dragged herself through the forest, but she was unable to get out. She became exhausted and decided to rest. She was crying herself to sleep. "This is it..." she whispered to herself.
The next morning, she woke up to a humungous downpour. She was unable to see out her robot eye, her robot arm wouldn't move, and the robot half of her mouth didn't work. If Samantha were to talk, it would sound like a really raspy whisper. The robot and her artificial organs still functioned, though, but barely. The robot was covered in rust from all the rain. Samantha mustered up enough energy to crawl a little further, but she was far from making it out of the woods. She did, however, find a bald spot of the forest to crawl to. Her thought process grew desperate as she struggled slightly harder to make it to the bald spot of the forest. She figured it was the way out, but sadly, she was far from making it out of the forest and back to civilization. After she hobbled her way into the bald spot of the forest, she lay on her back and stared at the dark, cloudy sky as rain poured down from above. The loud, obnoxious sound of imaginary voices screaming was still going on in her head.
Suddenly, thunder erupted and a giant lightning bolt came down from the sky and struck her hard! The robot had died completely while Samantha lay there, completely paralyzed! Her artificial organs were hanging on by a thread at this point! All Samantha could do was blink her eye and breathe. She couldn't even move her fingers or her toes, let alone the rest of her body. The imaginary conversation grew more boisterous at that point.
Hours had passed as Samantha lay there stranded in the forest. She hadn't eaten in days and her mouth was bone dry. Samantha was minutes away from death. Right before she died, the voices slowly subsided until finally, there was silence. After that, the clouds parted and there was sunshine. Samantha knew that at any minute, she would die...and she couldn't be happier. She had been through pain, misery, and torture during her time as a cyborg. Nothing looked up for her and nothing got better. Situations only got worse. She went from being in an orphanage, to being on the streets, to being stranded in the woods. Nothing was going to improve, and death was the only cure for her at that point. So, she lay there with her arms flat on the ground and a big smile on her face. She embraced death with open arms. The sun shone in her eyes as they closed and...that was it. She was out cold. There lay Samantha R. Stevenson, 2005-2010.
Samantha could have lived a full and happy life if several major incidents would have been prevented. If she and her family hadn't gotten into that accident, they would have been fine. If there was a different solution than installing a robot onto her, she most likely would have been better off. If Samantha were to be taken to a nicer orphanage, and perhaps adopted by a family, she would have been much happier. All the unfortunate events would have been prevented and she would have lived a happy life, with or without a robot body.
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