Robopocalypse (Robopocalypse, #1)

by Daniel H. Wilson

The true knowledge is not in the things, which are few, but in finding the connections between the things.

These things don’t seem real. Cars and planes and elevators don’t kill people; they’re just machines. But a small, wise part of me doesn’t give a shit whether this is real or not. It just reacts.

All things are born from the mind of god. But in the last month, the mind of god has gone insane.

We all frown at him. Carl looks around at us. “Sorry. I’m an engineer,” he says.

Chinese survivors later reported that at this time it was possible to cross the Yangtze River on foot, the waters were so choked with corpses washing out to the East China Sea. Even so, some groups of people simply learned to adapt to the never-ending onslaught.

Strange how being hurt can be embarrassing. Like it’s your fault that an eye or hand or foot isn’t working right. Course, being hurt isn’t half as embarrassing as being dead.

People need meaning as much as they need air. Lucky for us, we can give meaning to each other for free. Just by being alive.

But my new eyes don’t show me everything. They can’t show me people things. Now, I only see the machine things. It’s dangerous to be people-blind.

I never knew how much I needed to cry until I had no eyes.

It is very beautiful but also frustrating, because I can’t explain how pretty it is to anyone.

Talking to the machines takes such concentration. I can hardly see people anymore. It is so easy to lose myself in the machine.

Query: What is happening to me? Maxprob response: Life. All is darkness.