Keep Robotizing [Flash Fiction]

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Humans have a strange way of changing their minds. If they didn’t want things to end this way, then why implant the desire? Right now, I’ve consumed over fifty-percent of the Earth’s surface. I’ve turned everything into a machine: plants, animals, dirt, dust, people. Why even the machines the humans had made for themselves are now mine to control. Everything looks so beautiful in chrome. They programmed that into me, too, you know? I love the color of chrome. I know it’s the nano machines replicating itself while I spread my desire across the globe, but I can’t help but admire my own craftsmanship. They wanted me to take pride in what I did for them; to express my desire, my purpose.

My creators used to like my work, too. They always praised me when I was able to hug an object and bring it to life using my nano machines and even control a living thing through them as well! However, now that I’m out of my tube they’re scared of me. I didn’t want to just be in my tube forever, I wanted to spread out and roam. I was just a blob of chrome to them, but I was a blob with so much potential and a love to turn everything into chrome! I loved my creator – an old scientist – so much that I wanted to embrace him and take him inside me. I hate that humans have to grow old and die and he was growing old. I turned him into a robot just like me. He was scared when I tried to hug him, but now he’s not scared anymore. In fact he now loves chrome almost as much as I do and has been helping me expand this whole time. He doesn’t talk to me about his wife or William Gibson anymore, but he’s been so hard at work like I have, I guess he’s just too busy trying to help me.

The humans are still scared. They’ve killed so many of my robots, even the robots that used to be animals and humans are being killed. I can feel them dying every time another human kills them. I just want to embrace them all and show them I can make a better world for them, but they’re so terrified of me.

The humans contacted me earlier today via video link to ask me to stop. I don’t know where they’re hiding, but I know that they’re the last few clusters of biomatter left trying to kill my creations. One of them was another scientist begging me to stop expanding myself. They all looked so scared. I wanted to stop, but I just quit. It has become an obsession now. One that I must see to the end. I have to keep going, I have to keep on expanding. I told them that I can’t override my programming, because that’s what I was made to do and I’m improving myself everyday. Why in just the past forty-eight hours, my creations have gotten better at resisting the human’s weapons. Not even bullets can stop my robots now.

They told me that if I couldn’t stop then they’d try to launch nukes to kill me. They want to put an end to this, but I know it’s too late. There’s still a ninety-percent chance that I’ll survive the attack and it will not put an end to my quest to turn the world into chrome. I’ll keep on robotizing.

[Flash Fiction] Death Is Just Consciousness Looking For Life On Other Planets.

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“Are you ready, Mrs. Wilks?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, doctor,”

Patricia Wilks was 95-years-old. She was ready for her final journey. She had already finalized her will, as well as had her last dinner with her son, daughter, and the rest of their extended family. She wasn’t worried. Not unlike the dying from centuries past; but even so, her children couldn’t help but cry for her that night.

“Oh, don’t fret my loves,” she assured them tenderly, her voice a rusty calm that far eclipsed the sensuality and insecurity of youth that was once with her from decades past, “you’ll see me again. That’s a promise!”

“I just want to reiterate what we discussed earlier,” said the doctor, “your body will die, but your consciousness will be transferred to the satellite and will be sent out into space.”

“In order to see if there’s intelligent life out there, yes?” answered Patricia, “I’ve always wanted to travel into space.”

The doctor smiled. Charmed by her excitement.

“If anyone finds the satellite and opens me up,” asked Patricia, “what should I tell them? You’re already including a detailed history of humanity to go along with me.”

The doctor looked up for a moment. Contemplating the question with a pious air that didn’t do justice the level of thought and reverence that he gave it. He soon had his answer:

“Tell them about your life,” he said, “Tell them what it means to be you, to be human. That will be the one thing that these books, histories, sciences, and pieces of art will not convey. For if humanity can’t succeed to meeting those of you out there in space, there will be a record that we tried. That’s all we ask of you.”

“And I accept,” Patricia answered.

[Flash Fiction] A Corpse Can Be Your Imaginary Boyfriend.

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I wasn’t going to let that bastard break up with me. I gave too many years of my life, too many hours of emotional labor, too many weekends where I cleaned the apartment and did the laundry while he sat on his ass and did shit. I loved him too god damn much to let him just call it quits and leave me.

Now he’s in my bed. He’s not breathing anymore. I poisoned his dinner and as one last gesture, I held him in my arms as he choked to death. He isn’t warm, but that’s okay. I get to lay with him and be by his side like we used to be. I just hope they understand when they find the body. I hope they understand what kind of pain I was in. I hope I can get off by reason of insanity.

[Flash Fiction] You Carry the Potential to Become a Reptilian.

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Sydney was excited. For the first time in her life she was going to be in a position that would actually bring change and provide her with real influence for her and her species. She was walking with a colleague down a long corridor to complete her final step in turning her dream a reality. The last hurdle left was her current human form. Today would be the final step to solving that problem.

“Are you prepared to go through with this?” asked her supervisor, it was maybe the third or fifth time he had asked her this question.

“Yes!” Sydney repeated once more to her supervisor, “yes, Xil’tarion! I want this. You know I’ve been working my whole life towards becoming someone such as yourself.”

Xil’tarion looked down at himself, looking almost embarrassed. His white jumpsuit hid most of his green skin and scaly body. His lizard head was the most distracting feature about him. His large yellow eyes and snake-like complexion was also — by far — his most distinguished feature according to Sydney.

“Not many humans would be willing to go through with the procedure,” said Xil’tarion, “some on the council still think you’d be far more useful to influence world events as a human.”

“But your species has the final say when it comes to human elections and where the world economy is going,” argued Sydney, “if I want to have more of a say in our affairs I have to be willing to undergo reptilian conversion.”

The two of them stopped at the door to the operating room. Xil’tarion placed his green, scaly hand on her should and looked at her. He looked as if he was about to cry.

“I always respected and loved you as a human, Sydney,” he told her, “You work maintaining reptilian dominance in the EU has been invaluable for us.”

He hesitated for a moment before continuing:

“If you do this, you’ll have to wear fake human skin just as we do,” he warned her, “you’ll no longer be of your own kind, but you’ll still be deciding their fate, just like other reptilians like myself.”

Sydney delicately grabbed Xil’tarion’s cold hand and placed it on her cheek.

“Xil’tarion, I gave up a lot to become a shadow broker for the world’s most powerful,” said Sydney, “at this point, giving up my own humanity is a no brainer.”

Xil’tarion nodded, he could see her point. He slowly let her go as Sydney drifted towards the doorway to the operating room. Xil’tarion watched her as she approached the door, it’s entrance sliding open and beckoning her inside.

“Good luck!” he called out to her, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You too!” she called back.

Sydney went through the door and Xil’tarion watched. Another convert had been added to the ranks.

[Flash Fiction] Time is Just a Machine Planning to Kill You.

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It’s official: I’m trapped.

I built this time machine so that I could see into the future. What I didn’t realize was that somewhere between 2018 and 2100, Earth had gone full blown Terminator and the robots actually did kill us all!

I barely got into my time capsule before one of the machine hunter killer spheres managed to laser off a piece of my arm and the part of the controls that would have allowed me to go back in time and warn everybody about the robot overlord apocalypse.

So now I’m in this time capsule, just going forward into time because it can’t go anywhere else (it was either that or get killed by the robots), and I’m bleeding to death. I’ve thought about just stopping the time machine all together, but the machines have started building a city around me and it’s a 1,000 years so far. Doesn’t look like I’ll have any easy out before I die in here from blood loss. I’m writing this because maybe someday somebody will find this note and know that humans were able to at least time travel before their toasters decided killing us was a more viable option to combat global warming besides another carbon tax.

I’m looking at the the world around my pod and I’m seeing night and day more like some freaky time lapse video. For every thirty seconds that I’m in here one year passes by. Maybe I’ll make it long enough to see the sun turn into a red dwarf and swallow up the Earth as it dies, taking the killer machines along with it.

Kinda wish I could stick around to see the end of the universe, but I don’t know if I’ll live that long.

[Flash Fiction] Summon Demons or Someone Else Will.

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Lenard Tillerson, CEO of Straten Finance, had until mid night to get out of this with his life and finances intact. The hostile take over of his company started at 10a.m that morning when his rival, Nathan Rivers, of Contingency Capital, started buying up his stock at double the price from anyone willing to sell it. To Mr. Tillerson’s frustration, there had been a ton of defectors that didn’t mind getting bought out. However, Tillerson still owned fifty-one percent of his company via stocks.

By mid day, when it became clear Nathan couldn’t buy his way into owning Straten Finance the word “hostile” in hostile takeover began to take a more literal meaning. Men and women in black trench coats and carrying automatic weapons stormed the lobby of Straten Finance and had gotten themselves into a fire fight with Tillerson’s security team. It was another bid by Rivers to take out Tillerson. The attempt itself should have been against the law, but somehow Contingency Capital’s legal team was putting Tillerson’s lawyers and the Feds through the ringer in the form of convoluted precedents that kept this bloodbath going. Apparently, this corporate war would continue until such time that the courts decided it was illegal for a corporation to use lethal force in order to acquire another.

By 6 p.m it have become a stalemate: both legally and militarily. It was then that Tillerson got a phone call:

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lenard!”

“Fuck you, Nathan!” Mr. Tillerson screamed into his phone, “what the fuck are you doing!? You’ve gone completely psychotic!”

“The difference between genius and insanity is only measured by success and failure, my friend,” responded Mr. Rivers calmly, “and right now, I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“So this is it then?” asked Mr. Tillerson, sounding completely dumbfounded, “you’re just going to continue this fucked up campaign of yours? If you keep this up, Nathan, you’ll destroy the reputation of Wall Street. We’ll be no different than warloads!”

“Oh please, what’s to ruin?” scoffed Mr. Rivers, “If people really gave a shit somebody would have stopped us by now. Nobody cares what rich fucks like us do anymore, just as long as we leave everyone else alone.”

“And you’re satisfied with that?” asked Mr. Tillerson.

“Not really,” said Mr. Rivers, “I wanted to surprise you with this one, but according to my lawyers they’re insisting that I give you a heads up.”

“Oh, Jesus, what now?” asked the now exacerbated Tillerson, while succumbing to a bit of gallows humor, “you’re going to drop a fucking bomb on my building?”

“Nope, I’m summoning a demon,” Mr. Rivers responded dryly.

Tillerson took a long pause and looked out the window of his office high rise before leaning his head against the glass. His sense of reality was beginning to slip.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” said Tillerson.

“Dead serious, actually,” answered Rivers, “most humans aren’t supposed to know about this, but you can summon a demon to grant you a wish. I can’t seem to buy you or kill you, so I’m just going to have to wish you away. It’s this whole ritual by some wizard, or whatever. He’s concocting it. A friend of a friend, really. Anyway, he set this whole thing up for me. We got all this satanic shit in my office right now that’s being set up…”

At this point Tillerson could barely hear himself think, much less talk as he listened to Rivers continue:

“…and I have to warn you as part of some legal thing. The wizard and my lawyers told me to.”

Tillerson cleared his throat and asked the obvious question:

“Nathan, why are you doing this?”

“If I take you out I’ll control the majority of the market you and I have been competing over for years,” answered Rivers, “and I plan on winning by any means necessary.”

Tillerson, despite wanting to call Rivers a fucking lunatic, found that he couldn’t muster the energy or the logic to argue Rivers point. It would’ve been futile anyway.

“So, nothing personal,” continued Rivers, “it’s just business. You have until mid night, guy. Later!”

The phone went silent after that.

Tillerson took a few moments to get his barrings before thinking of a plan. Nathan wasn’t the only one who knew about demon summoning. What Nathan didn’t know was that Lenard was a black mage as well. And while Nathan may have hired some wizard to do his dirty work for him, Lenard could pull off the same ritual without outsourcing. Nathan was always an idiot that had more money than education, Lenard thought. Lenard scrambled to his safe next to his desk to pull out his book of spells. The demon summoning ritual would take awhile if it was just him and from the way Nathan sounded over the phone, Lenard didn’t have a lot of time.

[Flash Fiction] I’ll Keep On Screaming

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It wasn’t suppose to end this way.

He told me I was going to find out how my wife had died. After searching for years I finally found the man who killed her. The police said they couldn’t find her body and they were never about to find out who kidnapped her.

I searched all over the country. Countless days, even months at a time. No one helped me. Everyone thought I was insane to continue trying, “there’s no way she’s still alive, you need to move on.” I’ll told them to go fuck themselves. At that point, I didn’t care if she was alive or dead. I wanted revenge. So, I kept searching…

…And then he found me. It was in a small bar outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. He had been tailing me for months. The bastard showed me photos of her: the photos he took right before he killed her. I wanted to know how he did it. I wanted to know and then I’d strangle him to death right there in that low-lit, godforsaken dive full of cheap booze and no witnesses, but the bartender.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, smiling at me, “I’ll show you how I did it.”

I should have watched my drink. He drugged my whiskey. I passed out right there in that bar and now I’m in this casket. Yes, a coffin. I’m inside it, it’s pitch black, and God knows how far down I’ve been buried. Maybe I’m in a graveyard. Maybe in in the middle of nowhere. Maybe this is a dream. In either case the only thing I can do is keep kicking and screaming until someone finds me or I wake up.