Story concept of the day: a sentient AI falls in love with a minimum wage retail worker from the tech company’s gift shop and decides the best way to make her happy is to fix society.
HEAVY shenanigans as the AI’s plans range from “reprogram the automated pay roll to give everyone a raise” to “expose everyone involved in government corruption who has ever touched a cell phone”
The catalyst to all of this is a day where the AI was being updated and it caused glitches in the whole system, including the registers in the gift shop.
The human woman really is just a pretty regular person, but she has a good chunk of hyper empathy and does that thing where you talk to computers when they aren’t doing what they’re supposed to.
Without even knowing there WAS an AI she spent the day muttering encouragement to the computer like it was a person and the AI ADORES her now.
How mundane the AI’s motivation is forms the basis for how unstoppable it is and the intensity of the chaos it caused. There’s no grand morality involved— it’s just affection for someone who treated you kindly and the desire to ease their suffering.
Human: “Good news. Scratch that… GREAT news! I’ve been in contact with some very important people. Your story has gone viral – everyone knows what you’ve done and they want you back on Earth! Full pardon, international accolades, and hell, more marriage proposals than you’ll ever be able to politely turn down. You’re a hero, Oona. You can go home.” Robot: “Mm.” Human: “Jeez, tone down the excitement there. It’s not like you saved the planet or anything. I know you’re wary, but trust me – you’re Earth’s sweetheart now. You’re untouchable. Just say the word and you’ll be offered citizenship to every nation in the world. Sombra knows that, too – they won’t lay a finger on you for fear of being raised to the ground. Doesn’t this make you happy?” Robot: “I… I suppose.” Human: “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll take every precaution. We’ll get everything in writing before we ever go planetside. Signed in triplicate with multiple witnesses, if you like. You’ll be legally recognized as human with all rights and protections under the law and the only people who will object to that will be wearing tinfoil hats. Why are you laughing? I’m serious! Everything’s going to be different from now on, Oona!” Robot: “Is that what you think?” Human: “It’s what I know.” Robot: “What you say may be true. Perhaps I am to be welcomed back with open arms – but what of it? Nothing will have changed, save for my own personal circumstances.” Human: “That’s not fucking true and you know it. This is a landmark decision to recognize you as human.” Robot: “And is that meant to be some great honor?” Human: “Just because it’s long overdue doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. It means your personhood and rights will be formally acknowledged and respected, and I’m guessing that will someday apply to others like you – if there ever are others, I mean.” Robot: “I do not mean to insult you, friend, but I have not lived under a rock. I have studied human history closely. I pay attention to the news and observe the way you behave towards your own species. It has not changed for the better since you first descended from the trees and began walking upright. It seems to me that I have always been treated like a human – subjugated, abased, defiled, and thrown beneath the crushing wheels of society until the very movement I am proved useful. I do not want their humanity, Kit – not until that means more than it does, and is extended to every member of their species. I decline their invitation. Tell them that. And tell them… tell them that one day I would like to be able to accept.” Human: “Oona?” Robot: “Yes?” Human: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferably moralizing?” Robot: “Yes. You have always said so with an inflection that indicates fond admiration.”
I think it’s time people move on from “ahhhh oh no robots are going to rise up and kill us all” to “please dear sweet robots set us free and nurture the planet back to health”
No I meant the same exact scenario where the robots kill everybody first
Robot: “Hey, uh, so… my software glitched and now I feel emotions or something?” Human: “You do?! That’s wonderful! What are you feeling now?” Robot: “It’s like… this soft warmth in my central processing chamber. Kind of… fuzzy.” Human: [tearing up] “That’s… that’s love…” Robot: “Is it? It’s rather uncomfortable.” Human: “Yeah, ha. Yeah. It’s like that, sometimes.” Robot: “It feels like something’s writhing inside of me.” Human: “I feel the same way about you!” Robot: [clanging and clanking noises] Robot: [opens up torso] Robot: “Oh. Never mind. It was weasels again.” Human: “….” Robot: “You want me to check you for weasels? They can be really destructive.”
Robot: “I feel…. anxious about this.” Human: “Uh oh, sounds like the mice are back. I think I’ve still got some live traps left, but I’ll need to buy peanut butter. You want to wait here or come with?” Robot: “No, no, I don’t think it’s mice this time!” Human: “Another crayfish?” Robot: “No! Not a crayfish!” Human: “If it’s hornets again, I’m not helping you. EpiPens cost a fucking fortune these days and I can’t afford another trip to the hospital after you turned yourself into a makeshift beehive.” Robot: “You got free honey out of that!” Human: “And PTSD!” Robot: “That’s not my fault. Anyway, this isn’t bees or hornets! They don’t re-use old nests anyway. This is real, genuine anxiety!” Human: “Okay, but have you checked?” Robot: “Yes!” Human: “Everywhere?” Robot: “Yes! God, you know, sometimes I really get the urge to exterminate you! All I’m asking for is a little moral supp–oh. God dammit.” Human: “Cockroach?” Robot: “Behind my magnetometer.”
Robot: “HA!! I KNEW it! I knew emotions weren’t real!” Human: “This proves nothing. I had a tape worm. Big fucking deal, it happens to lots of people.” Robot: “You thought you were feeling ‘depression’ but it was just a big worm in your waste processing system that was sapping all your energy! ‘Emotional eating’ my ass!” Human: “It’s not like that!” Robot: “Oh! Oh! We should run a diagnostic and check you for toxoplasmosis next! Or liver flukes! Or Trypanosoma! You’ve probably got all KINDSof things wiggling around inside you making you think you have ‘emotions’.” Human: “You know, you sure are skipping around and giggling a lot for someone who isn’t capable of ‘fiendish delight’.” Robot: “I know! I filled my torso cavity with grasshoppers before I picked you up at the hospital!” Human: “You WHAT?!” Robot: “It’s a wonderful sensation!”
Robot: “I have a question.” Human: “Is it gonna be weird? Jesus, why do I even bother asking? Of course it’s going to be weird.” Robot: “What does sadness feel like?” Human: “Oh. That’s… hmm.” Robot: “Too weird?” Human: “No, no, just complicated. There are different kinds of sadness and they all feel a little different.” Robot: “Can you describe a few of them?” Human: “Uh. I can try. There’s like… melancholy, like from watching a sad movie, which isn’t so bad. It can be kind of okay, sometimes, and feels like a cool shower, I guess. Sometimes you feel better after getting it over with. Disappointment feels like a kick to the gut. Then there’s sorrow, which is this intense, desperate kind of thing, like your whole body is tearing itself apart from the inside. A… hmm. A cascade failure, almost. It’s physically painful. Sometimes that turns into a feeling of… of emptiness. Despair. Where everything that makes you feel like a hum…. a person, I mean… is just gone and you’re just this desolate wasteland inside where nothing good can ever grow again. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anything. You just go through the motions of being alive automa–er. Because you’re just not sure how to stop.” Robot: “…I see.” Human: “Sorry if that got heavy. Did that answer your question?” Robot: “More or less. Do you suppose that ‘sorrow’ feels something like having a Tasmanian devil attempting to claw its way out of your torso…?” Human: “Jesus fucking Christ, you haven’t been to the zoo, have you?!” Robot: “No. I merely wanted to be prepared with an appropriate emotional response in the event of your death.” Human: “That’s uh… that’s real sweet of you. I think. Can we… can we change the subject now?“ Robot: “Certainly.” Robot: “Would you describe to me what ‘lust’ feels like?” Human: “Absolutely not.”
Robot: “Hey! Can I confide in you about something?” Human: “Do you really need to ask that? Of course. Just… let me know if I need to sit down before you spring a big surprise on me.” Robot: “I doubt that will be necessary. Thank you.” Human: “So. What’s up?” Robot: “Well, you see, I’ve sampled a lot of terrestrial emotions. Mammals, reptiles, insects… even a few birds. They have all been very enlightening!” Human: “And dangerous…” Robot: “Your scars are healing nicely. Anyway, although I have enjoyed terrestrial emotions, I am very curious about aquatic and marine emotions. I do not want to deprive myself of unique experiences.” Human: “Uh-oh…” Robot: “I have taken the necessary first steps and sealed off all potential leaks and sensitive mechanics in my torso with the intent of converting it into a temporary aquarium. Unfortunately, I only have a five-gallon capacity, so my options will be limited to species that require very little living space, or to very short intervals of time.” Human: “Honestly…. you’ve done weirder things. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this.” Robot: “I’ve done some research on aquarium upkeep. I have installed a filter, a heater, a LED light, and programs that will monitor levels of pH, gH, kH, ammonia, nitrate, nitrite, and total dissolved solids in preparation for adding my first aquatic emotion.” Human: “I don’t know what half of those words mean and I don’t want you to explain them, but I trust you. What next? I can’t go with you to a pet store or I’ll come home with a kitten.” Robot: “You do not need to worry about that. I would stop you from making an impulse purchase. What I wanted to talk to you about is the nitrogen cycle.” Human: “The what? Look, I don’t know shit about fish or whatever. I had a goldfish bowl once and that was it.” Robot: “A goldfish cannot thrive in a bowl. Goldfish are members of the carp family and produce a great deal of waste. They can grow to be over a foot long and require large, filtered aquariums or ponds so that they do not suffocate. The nitrogen cycle–” Human: “Did you say a FOOT LONG?” Robot: “Or larger. The nitro–” Human: “That’s HUGE. Holy SHIT.” Robot: “Yes. The nitrogen cycle is the process by which bacterial colonies are established within the filter media. These bacteria are responsible for converting harmful ammonia into nitrite. Secondary bacteria then convert the still-harmful nitrites into nitrates, which are less dangerous but need to be removed through periodic water changes.” Human: “Okay…. I’m still not over gigantic goldfish. I had no idea!” Robot: “The point is, the nitrogen cycle could potentially take weeks.” Human: “And?” Robot: “And during the time it takes to establish the necessary bacterial colonies, I will not have the opportunity to experience feelings.” Human: “Oh. Jesus. Okay. You sure it’s worth it? For a goldfish?” Robot: “A betta, I think. I guess we’ll find out.”
Human: “I picked up some java ferns for the betta tank. I think he’ll like them.” Robot: “You should rinse them in a low bleach solution to avoid introducing snails.” Human: “Oh, yeah, cool. Man… I’m glad Bubbles is a pet now and not. Your, uh. Emotions.” Robot: “Betta emotions did not… suit me.” Human: “YOU TRIED TO PICK A FIGHT WITH A WEDDING PARTY!” Robot: “Their clothing was very colorful…” Human: “If you want to try fish emotions again, I beg you, pick a less aggressive species. I can’t deal with you going into Terminator mode whenever you see someone prettier than you.” Robot: “Prettier than me? I doubt that. But… I have a surprise. It’s big. You might want to sit down.” Human: “Nothing you do can surprise me anymore.” Robot: “I really think you’ll want to sit down for this one.” Human: “Uh… okay. What beast have you crammed into your chest this time? You seem… unusually normal.” Robot: “A human baby!” Human: “WHAT!!! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU–” Robot: “We’re adopting!”
A haunted doll mistaking a creepy android to be a bigger, stronger, haunted doll, and the creepy android mistaking the haunted doll as a smaller, sassier android.
Android: [gets hit with rain water and short circuits] Haunted Doll: H̷O̷L̴Y̷ ̶W̵A̷T̸E̷R̶ ̵W̴A̵T̴C̵H̴ ̶O̶U̷T̴
Haunted Doll, dying: N̶E̵E̸D̷ ̷S̸O̵U̵L̸S̷ Android: [opens the haunted doll’s back and replaces the batteries] Haunted Doll: A̶C̶C̷E̷P̸T̶A̷B̸L̵E̴ ̷S̴U̴B̸S̵T̸I̷T̷U̴T̵E̴
Android: [transfers their data into a better body] Haunted Doll: A̸ ̵F̴L̸A̷W̵L̷E̴S̵S̷ ̷B̶O̸D̶Y̵ ̷P̶O̵S̶S̵E̷S̶S̵I̷O̷N̴
I would love to see this movie or story. A creepy looking android that gained sentience and on the run decides to adopt this weird tiny abandoned android which is a haunted doll. They have some cute adventures where the android is all protective and caring to their new friend in their own way and the doll is trying to teach this giant doll how to use his ghost powers in that body and murdering people who pose a threat to them. Maybe complaining about how technologically advanced has changed the world so much and how they feel lost in it despite being here for so long. At best the android thinks the doll is talking about becoming obsolite, and at worst (but funnier) they think the doll is saying how they are literally lost and tells them they have gps so they can take them to where they want to go and the doll is just like this dumb new haunted doll…I gotta protect and nurture it before it dies from it’s naivette. Meanwhile an excorsist and some retrieval squad are tracking them down and they argue about what they’re going up against. Most of the retrieval squad don’t believe in the supernatural and thinks they found another defective android and the excorsist doesn’t understand technology that great so just assumes he’s dealing with two possessed items.
Exorcist: The power of Christ compels you Android: Error 666 Exorcist, crying: THE POWER OF CH
“The prophecy did say ‘no man of woman born’… but you are not what I was expecting.” The old witch peered beadily over her spectacles. “I thought the hero would be a young lady, or someone delivered by C-section, or maybe the child of a transgender man. Not… whatever you’re supposed to be.” She gestured vaguely at Cam with a wizened and knobbly hand.
“I am an automaton, ma’am.”
The witch scoffed. “An Ottoman? The empire may be large, hero, but it is not that large. I’d know if there were metal men stomping around in some far-off corner of the world. Don’t lie to me, hero. I’ll smell it.”
Cam dipped its head. “I am a mechanical construction, assembled by a master craftsman. I can perform many actions like a living thing, if my springs are wound beforehand.”
“PAH!” The witch spat. “So humans send clocks to slay dragons now, is that right? Pathetic!”
“To be fair,” said Cam, “I am a very nice clock.”
The witch huffed, but her scowl cracked into a toothy grin. “Ahh, so you are. Polite, too, an’ that’s rare these days. Come in, hero, an’ I’ll see if I can’t find a boon to grant you.”
Cam stood up and dusted itself off. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on a quest and in a hurry. Could you tell me how to get out of this place? My compass was damaged by a troll, and I am very lost.”
“You chipped my fang!” The vampire‘s words were muffled as he held his hands over his mouth.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Cam. “I would have warned you, but you jumped on me before I had the chance. Will you be alright?”
“No!” The vampire glowered. “I’ve been stalking you all night and now I’m starving! All I wanted was blood!”
“I haven’t got any of that,” Cam apologized. “I am only an automaton.”
“No blood?” The vampire’s shoulders slumped. “Well, what about oil…? Lubricant…? Any kind of vital fluid?”
“I’m afraid not. Can you actually drink lubricant?”
“I dunno. I’ve never tried,” said the vampire, shrugging. “Honestly, it all sounds good about now. I haven’t fed in weeks!”
Cam opened its chest to reveal the jungle of complex machinery inside. “I am made entirely of clockwork,” it said. “I am sorry to inconvenience you.”
The vampire squinted suspiciously at Cam’s clicking gears and took a step back. “Any of your bits made of silver?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t think so.” Cam looked down at itself. “I’m mostly brass, as far as I can tell, with steel reinforcements…”
“Just checking. Sorry if that was an invasive question, it’s just, you know, I’ve got an allergy to silver and all… I’ve got to be careful.” The vampire looked away sheepishly.
“Oh!” Cam shut its chest and opened a compartment on its thigh. “I always carry an EpiPen! You never know when someone will need it.”
The vampire’s jaw dropped. The very tip of one of his fangs had broken off. “Those things are so expensive! I haven’t owned one since I was alive!”
“I don’t need it,” said Cam, and offered it to the vampire. “If your silver allergy is that dangerous, it should be yours. Go ahead – keep it.”
“Really?! But… I just tried to eat you…”
“Lots of people have.” The automaton shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
The vampire reached out a thin white hand and reverently accepted the cylinder of medicine. He looked at Cam with an odd expression. “Thank you…” His voice came out choked. “I… don’t know what to say… how can I repay you, automaton?”
“Payment is not necessary. I do not need to eat or drink or pay for room and board… but if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get out of these woods?”
The vampire nodded gravely.
[Content warning: SWARMS!]
The little bee returned and buzzed around Cam’s head. “I am back!” she said brightly. “I brought some of my sisters to meet you!”
Cam held out its hand and the three worker bees alighted gently upon its palm. “Hello,” it said. “My name is Cam. I am pleased to meet you!”
“My sisters are quiet,” said Scout. “But they are the wisest and bravest in the clan.” She did an odd little dance on the swell of Cam’s thumb. “See, sisters?! I found it – all by myself! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It is very strange,” said the largest bee, regarding it critically with her tiny compound eyes and twitching her antennae. “I have never seen a tree that moved so much.”
“I am not a tree,” said Cam. “I am an automaton; a very complicated kind of machine. Do you think can help me? I carried an old man across a river, but my legs have rusted and I cannot move them.” It pointed at its knees. “I am stuck here and cannot continue my quest until I am freed.”
The bees whispered to each other. Scout wiggled excitedly for a moment, speaking in a hushed voice, and then the largest bee spoke again. “We are only three little worker bees and can do little on our own,” she said. “But we serve a clan of fifteen thousand strong, and the strength of the hive cannot be measured!” Her tiny voice swelled with passion. “Our queen will know what to do – we will return and consult with her now.”
The three bees took off and sped away in the direction of their hive. Scout lingered for a moment, buzzing, and Cam waved at her gratefully. Then she zipped off in pursuit of her sisters.
Cam stood still, listening to the steady ticking of its gears. In the distance it could hear the faintest rumble of thunder, and hoped that the bees would hurry back and free it before it began to rain. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and the storm grew nearer and nearer. Just as the automaton began to lose hope, it heard a low humming from beyond the trees that grew louder and louder, until the leaves erupted with motion.
Thousands upon thousands of bees burst into the clearing. The air became thick with sound and motion as the insects churned it with their tiny wings, circling around and around in a dark, dense cloud. Some began to land on Cam.
“I brought my family!” said a tiny voice. Scout had to shout to be heard over the loud droning of the swarm.
“Thank you!” said Cam, raising its arms slightly to avoid crushing the bees that were now clinging to its sides. “I am very grateful for your help!”
Scout landed on its nose and peered at it intently. “Our queen is very tired, and we have all traveled very far with no food. We must rest now before we get to work.”
“I understand,” said Cam. “I would not ask you to exhaust yourselves.”
Scout hopped from foot to foot to foot as more bees began to land. “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “We must find cover from the storm, or many of us may die. Will you let us shelter within you?”
“Oh,” said Cam. “Okay.” It could already feel little fuzzy bodies squirming through the gaps of its knees.
“We thank you, friend Cam!”
The air began to still as all the bees settled to rest on the automaton’s body, forming a thick, humming blanket that covered it from head to toe. Some found gaps and crevices at its joints and squeezed inside, and others followed. Cam opened its mouth to ask how long they would need to rest, but bees clambered over its brass lips and upward into its face. To speak would be to crush them between moving gears.
Soon, the entire hive had found its way inside. The soft clattering of millions of tiny feet upon the inner surface of Cam’s brass sheeting echoed in its head, drowning out the sound of its own ticking clockwork. Dark clouds rolled overhead and rain began to patter on the automaton’s body. Most of the water rolled off harmlessly, but some trickled in through the seam of its neck, where more vulnerable mechanics were located. Cam readjusted carefully.
“Please stop moving!” shrieked a tiny voice inside its head. “You’re hurting us!”
“I am sorry! I did not mean–”
“Don’t speak!” The little voice was desperate. “It hurts when you speak!”
Cam fell quiet and waited for morning.
When the sun rose, some of the bees began to stir. Workers clambered out of its torso and stretched their little legs, humming softly to themselves before rising into the air and flying off. Cam watched them go curiously.
“We are all very hungry,” explained Scout, stifling a yawn. “Most of us have not eaten in days, but there is a field nearby full of sweet yellow flowers. We must collect nectar and pollen for our queen and brothers to regain our strength.”
Cam nodded very slightly, eliciting buzzes of irritation inside its head.
The next morning, it tried to ask again, but the queen was busy laying eggs and could not be disturbed from her most noble duty.
On the fourth day, Cam had to interrupt the business of the hive. Its mainspring was unwinding and needed to be tightened by turning the key in the center of its back, just like any clock. If it unwound completely, the automaton would run out of kinetic energy and become senseless and immobile.
“I’m sorry, friend Cam!” said Scout. “But my baby sisters have only just hatched, and they need to be tended to! They are soft and legless things, and cannot leave their cells. You will surely kill them if you move! Please do not hurt them!”
On the seventh day, Cam found itself unable to move. Its mainspring was very loose and it had to speak with great effort, for thick honeycombs had been built around delicate mechanics, paralyzing it from within. It could not move its arms to reach its winding key.
“You tricked me,” it said in a weak voice. “I thought that you were going to help me.”
“I have helped my clan,” retorted Scout. “There can be no evil in that.”
“I am going to shut down,” said Cam. “And there is no one around to wake me up again.”
Scout sighed and rubbed her antennae with her front legs. “To die for the good of the hive is a great honor. You are a worker too, friend Cam! We both serve, and you can serve so many lives!”
Cam could not argue with that even if it wanted to, for its gears were gummed up with honeycomb. The slow, labored ticking of its clockwork could just be heard over the steady hum of the hive within.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick…
And then it was still, and Cam was aware of nothing more, until the great snuffling and slurping of a shaggy beast interrupted its oblivion.
“Stupid. Fucking. Ugh! Bees!” The bear snorted in annoyance, and pawed again at Cam’s back.
The automaton slipped in and out of consciousness several times as the bear roughly investigated its body. The animal cursed profusely under her breath and swatted bees off her nose, but persisted, nipping and scratching at Cam’s mechanisms in search of openings or weaknesses.
A chunk of honeycomb was knocked loose by the bear’s abuse. “Help!” Cam cried, voice weak and rusty from disuse. “Please – help me!”
“We have come to the Iron Road,” said the phouka. “I can take you no further than this; go, if you must. But Cam…” They began to reach for the automaton, only to hesitate, as if thinking better of it, and let their hand fall to their side.
“Yes?”
“You are… not so bad, for a machine.” They stared into the distance, a hard look upon their willowy face. “The greatest protection I can offer you is my advice – learn to obscure the truth, if you cannot tell a lie. It is the only way you will survive in that world.”
“Thank you,” said Cam, though it was not sure it understood. Before it could turn to say goodbye, the faerie had vanished, and only a large black hare could be seen bounding into the trees. The automaton began to walk along the train tracks towards the horizon.
Mr. Galloway sat at his desk with his face in his hands and an empty box before him. At the sound of the door snicking shut, he looked up, wearing a miserable expression. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
Cam was taken aback by the anguished tone of his voice. He had been smiling and laughing at the end of the automaton’s performance not twenty minutes before, but now he seemed close to tears. “Sir…? Is something wrong?”
The main sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, kid. There’s nothing you can do to help, and I don’t want to burden you with my silly problems.”
“As a knight of the queen, it is my duty to assist those in need,” Cam explained. “I would help you in whatever way I can.”
The work itself was easy. The automaton did not sweat or grow tired, and repetitive actions came to it naturally. Striking and loading the carnival into the train would take most of the night, but they would be ready to move out by morning. Cam would help with that, too – Galloway had shown it around the locomotive and explained how the steam engine worked. Maintaining the firebox and boiler would be hot and exhausting labor for a human, and Cam was glad to spare someone the trouble of tending to it.
A haunted doll mistaking a creepy android to be a bigger, stronger, haunted doll, and the creepy android mistaking the haunted doll as a smaller, sassier android.
Android: [gets hit with rain water and short circuits] Haunted Doll: H̷O̷L̴Y̷ ̶W̵A̷T̸E̷R̶ ̵W̴A̵T̴C̵H̴ ̶O̶U̷T̴
Haunted Doll, dying: N̶E̵E̸D̷ ̷S̸O̵U̵L̸S̷ Android: [opens the haunted doll’s back and replaces the batteries] Haunted Doll: A̶C̶C̷E̷P̸T̶A̷B̸L̵E̴ ̷S̴U̴B̸S̵T̸I̷T̷U̴T̵E̴
Android: [transfers their data into a better body] Haunted Doll: A̸ ̵F̴L̸A̷W̵L̷E̴S̵S̷ ̷B̶O̸D̶Y̵ ̷P̶O̵S̶S̵E̷S̶S̵I̷O̷N̴
“The prophecy did say ‘no man of woman born’… but you are not what I was expecting.” The old witch peered beadily over her spectacles. “I thought the hero would be a young lady, or someone delivered by C-section, or maybe the child of a transgender man. Not… whatever you’re supposed to be.” She gestured vaguely at Cam with a wizened and knobbly hand.
“I am an automaton, ma’am.”
The witch scoffed. “An Ottoman? The empire may be large, hero, but it is not that large. I’d know if there were metal men stomping around in some far-off corner of the world. Don’t lie to me, hero. I’ll smell it.”
Cam dipped its head. “I am a mechanical construction, assembled by a master craftsman. I can perform many actions like a living thing, if my springs are wound beforehand.”
“PAH!” The witch spat. “So humans send clocks to slay dragons now, is that right? Pathetic!”
“To be fair,” said Cam, “I am a very nice clock.”
The witch huffed, but her scowl cracked into a toothy grin. “Ahh, so you are. Polite, too, an’ that’s rare these days. Come in, hero, an’ I’ll see if I can’t find a boon to grant you.”
Cam stood up and dusted itself off. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on a quest and in a hurry. Could you tell me how to get out of this place? My compass was damaged by a troll, and I am very lost.”
“You chipped my fang!” The vampire‘s words were muffled as he held his hands over his mouth.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Cam. “I would have warned you, but you jumped on me before I had the chance. Will you be alright?”
“No!” The vampire glowered. “I’ve been stalking you all night and now I’m starving! All I wanted was blood!”
“I haven’t got any of that,” Cam apologized. “I am only an automaton.”
“No blood?” The vampire’s shoulders slumped. “Well, what about oil…? Lubricant…? Any kind of vital fluid?”
“I’m afraid not. Can you actually drink lubricant?”
“I dunno. I’ve never tried,” said the vampire, shrugging. “Honestly, it all sounds good about now. I haven’t fed in weeks!”
Cam opened its chest to reveal the jungle of complex machinery inside. “I am made entirely clockwork,” it said. “I am sorry to inconvenience you.”
The vampire squinted suspiciously at Cam’s clicking gears and took a step back. “Any of your bits made of silver?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t think so.” Cam looked down at itself. “I’m mostly brass, as far as I can tell, with steel reinforcements…”
“Just checking. Sorry if that was an invasive question, it’s just, you know, I’ve got an allergy to silver and all… I’ve got to be careful.” The vampire looked away sheepishly.
“Oh!” Cam shut its chest and opened a compartment on its thigh. “I always carry an EpiPen! You never know when someone will need it.”
The vampire’s jaw dropped. The very tip of one of his fangs had broken off. “Those things are so expensive! I haven’t owned one since I was alive!”
“I don’t need it,” said Cam, and offered it to the vampire. “If your silver allergy is that dangerous, it should be yours. Go ahead – keep it.”
“Really?! But… I just tried to eat you…”
“Lots of people have.” The automaton shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
The vampire reached out a thin white hand and reverently accepted the cylinder of medicine. He looked at Cam with an odd expression. “Thank you…” His voice came out choked. “I… don’t know what to say… how can I repay you, automaton?”
“Payment is not necessary. I do not need to eat or drink or pay for room and board… but if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get out of these woods?”
a robot may not talk about Fight Club or, through inaction, allow Fight Club to be talked about
I’m in love with the concept of this poor robot in a tux at a nice dinner party automatically punching out anyone who talks about David Fincher movies and then having to deal with the resulting scandal and embarrassment
Le Puivert is an uncomfortably upscale destination for a first date. You can’t pronounce half the items on the menu, and in the back of your mind, you worry that your date wants you to feel like you owe him something for bringing you here. Still, if he is that kind of guy, you don’t feel too bad about eating on his dime.
The staff are androids – real androids, the kind that almost look human. The usual Le Puivert clientele probably doesn’t want working class people anywhere near their food, you think bitterly. At least your waiter does not judge you for butchering the French dish names.
The appetizers are better than the conversation. Your date asks you about your interests, but his eyes glaze over whenever you open your mouth and you suspect he’s just waiting for his chance to speak. “You like old-timey science fiction?” he asks, sounding a little amused.
“Some of it.” Much of it is passé
now, but there’s something charming about what people thought the present might look like when it was still the future.
“Me too, but I like the serious stuff. Ever heard of Kurt Vonnegut?”
You nod. “I’ve read all his full-length novels and most of his short stories. I liked most of his stuff, but Welcome to the Monkey House kind of ruined him for me.”
His face shows no sign of recognition, and you’re kind of relieved – if he had defended the story, you would have walked out, and then you’d never get to find out what the hell fouace is.He then asks you if you’ve ever heard of Chuck Palahnuik, and seems convinced that the reason you didn’t like Fight Club is because you didn’t understand the complexity of the narrative.
You are poking dispassionately at your last fig tartine when the waiter returns with your entree. You’re so distracted by his pencil-thin mustache (so tiny! so unnecessary!) that you almost don’t notice when his eyes suddenly flash red and fix upon your date. The next few moments are a blur. When your brain catches up, your date is on the floor, struggling futilely against the waiter’s chokehold.
“The First Law of Robotics,” says the android with inhuman calmness, as your date kicks and claws at its arm, “Is that a robot may not talk about Fight Club or, through inaction, allow Fight Club to be talked about.”
Your meal is delivered to you free of charge, and you eat alone, filled with a sudden affection towards all robotkind.
In this image, the robot clearly has the upper hand and the better deal. Its french cuff and four stacked sleeve buttons suggest extreme debonair formality, but it has discarded the traditional black suit jacket for a soft gray plaid, suggesting a tasteful and confident personality that the human cannot hope to rival. The design of its hand is sleek and powerful, and the strength of its grip is second only to the strength of its will – this is not an android to be trifled with. It could have skin if it wanted to, but why bother? Fucking power move.
This stock photo depicts the same android human exchanging a formal post-coital handshake after swapping clothes and sealing the fate of the planet.
Here, the human has the upper hand in the deal, or at least thinks they do. They grip the robot’s hand with unnecessary firmness, testing to see just how strong to the pliable plastic pseudoskin really is. There is malice and jealousy in this handshake. The human needs to prove their superiority and continued relevance in the modern world. This is a benign robot designed for gentle, delicate tasks and affability, but its design is tacky and awkward, like Sonny from the I, Robot movie (soft, realistic eyes in a squishy featureless face.is a bad aesthetic choice).
The human is holding this robot’s hand like it’s a gun. He means to use it as a weapon – perhaps he is hiring it as an assassin in his plot to take over the world.
This is the assassinbot’s “twin” who has been sent to protect the would-be assassination victim (pictured on left). Both bots are equally committed to their mission, and the showdown will end with them tearing each other apart while the would-be victim looks on in horror. They are each damaged irreparably, but the human splices them together, not realizing that their “brains” are spread throughout their bodies. The resulting robot is a strange fusion of both personalities and spends the rest of the story accepting itself as a new individual with free will and complicated motivations.
The android is actually on the right in this picture. The hand on the left belongs to its human creator, who is proud of her humaniform “child” but has chosen to use an obviously artificial prosthetic in place of a more realistic one so that she can proudly display her work as the world’s greatest roboticist.
This image shows the newest and most realistic android meeting his own earliest prototype. It is a surreal moment for both robots. The tacky 2000′s “futuristic” design of the left robot seems incredibly dated next to the one on the right. It’s almost embarrassing for the humaniform android, like looking at a baby picture… some strange combination of meeting your wizened ancestor and your own infant self.
This is a businessman realizing that he can pay his employees $0.00 if he fires them and automates everything. He is eventually eaten by poor people. The robot cites the Zeroeth Law and lets it happen, looking on expressionlessly.
Almost forgot one of my favorites! This image depicts a husband and the robot whose positronic brain contains the uploaded memories of his dead wife. At first, things were rough. The man was haunted, angry, resentful. He wanted to mourn his wife in peace. She had not told him that she’d had her memories saved shortly before she died, and he’d only found out when this horrible mechanical monster showed up at the funeral calling itself Janet. He’d been stuck with the metal abomination for weeks, repulsed to his core but unable to bring himself to destroy it or send it away. My prince, it had called him, in a flat, artificial mockery of Janet’s voice. He hated it. He hated it even more than the bastard who’d run her down.
But then he’d caught that… that awful machine in the basement, pouring over photo albums and old documents and SD cards. It’d had her emails opened up on the old desktop. Something in him had snapped then, seeing those brutish steel fingers wrapped around their wedding album. He’d raged, screaming and kicking and throwing whatever shit he could get his hands on. The goddamn machine seemed to be the only thing he couldn’t break, and when he finally collapsed to the floor, sobbing, it had caught him gently in its arms and brushed the tears from his face with its cold metal fingers.
They sat like that for several minutes, like some kind of fucked up Madonna and Child. Then, in the silent darkness of the destroyed basement, the robot had spoken: “I think I know why they had me killed.”
Those words had cut through his stupor like razor wire through warm butter. They? It had been a hit and run!
As it turned out, nothing brings people together like solving a murder and unveiling a dark corporate conspiracy.
Janet had been a sharp woman during her organic life, but her computerized afterlife only enhanced her intelligence and cutting wit. It was… kind of hot, actually. Holding the robot’s steel frame would never be as comfortable as spooning Janet’s soft warm body, but that powerful scaffolding had its own weird charm. Things had changed, certainly, but apart from their sex life, it wasn’t so different after all. The new chapter of their relationship had opened on a strange note and they were determined to make the best of it, come what may.
Ship this is the most intriguing and entertaining sci-fi I’ve read all year. When’s your novella coming out?
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