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“You are as you’re supposed to be. I shouldn’t have questioned that. If there was ever perfection in this world, it would be you.”
A conscience is that still small voice that people won’t listen to. —Pinocchio (1940 film)
But they were like him, in a way, even though he was flesh and blood and the others were wires and metal. Regardless of what they were made of, all had their wires crossed, or so Vic chose to believe.
We were thinking too big, too grand. Sometimes, it’s the smallest things that can change everything when you least expect it.”
“I don’t expect you to want to stay here forever. It’d be selfish of me to think otherwise. You say you’re happy. I believe you. But happiness isn’t something that can be sustained continuously, not without something to keep the fire burning.”
“You’re touching me with your hands.” “And how does that make you feel?” The robot hesitated. “Itchy. And warm. Like I’m full of garbage again, but I was just emptied, so that can’t be it.” “That’s happiness,”
And though it hurt to do, Victor lied. He lied because he wasn’t sure what his father would say. He lied because he didn’t know what they’d found. He lied because he didn’t know what else to do.
“Humanity was lost,” Dad said. “And lonely. I don’t think they even realized just how lonely they were. And so they began to build again, making machines that looked more and more like them.
Even surrounded by so many of their kind, they still searched for a connection. They were like gods, in a way, in the power of their creation.
they hated as much as they loved. They feared what they didn’t understand. Even as they built us, they pushed for more. And the further they went, the less control they had. They accused each other of treachery. They poisoned the earth. They had time to change their ways, but they didn’t. And their anger grew until it exploded in fire.
“He was created for a reason. We all were. We have a purpose that dictates our actions.
“You were made to bring happiness. You are alive in ways we are not. You are soft and fragile. But you are complex and disturbing and sometimes foolishly brilliant.
Searching for a connection. Making something out of nothing so the spaces between us do not seem so far.”
“Because all beings deserve a chance to find out what life could be when they don’t have to serve others.”
His self-awareness grew as he did, but the ideas of language and emotion and the power they held—at times—remained elusive.
“You thought you could do this for Gio, in case something happened?” He nodded.
“I am no longer your mother. You will be my murder husband. Is there anyone here that can marry us?”
Rambo, please bring our patient his pants so Victor’s blood pressure will lower.
Rambo’s wheels spun uselessly, arms flailing as he screamed he was too young to die, that he had plans and dreams and who was going to clean up all the dirt on the floors if he was dead? No one, that’s who!
“I’m being brave, but it’s really hard!”
“That’s okay. I like me. Gio says that self-worth isn’t measured by what others think, but what you think about yourself.”
“Feelings.” “H-how?” “We watch. We learn. We process. It wasn’t always this way. But the more complex our minds became, the more choice we were given. Evolution by way of mimicry.”
“Because a designation is a gift,” Rambo said. “It’s an identity. It sets us apart from others like us. It’s unique. In all of existence, there has never been someone named Rambo before me. But even if there were, I’m the best one.” “Precisely,” Dad said. “It gives you presence.”
“He isn’t malfunctioning. He, like you, is different. It is part of his design.”
“Thank you, Victor. I have always wanted to be thrown under a bus.”
be warned, a heart is not like the battery you used to have. It’s strong, but fragile.” “H-how can it b-be both?”
Once, there was a woodsman made of tin. He said, ‘I shall take the heart, for brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.’”
“So breakable. It really is a flawed design, if you think about it. Humans are so squishy.”
“We’re not the same,” Dad had said, voice gentle and soft. “But know that I was alone and sad before you came into my world. You gave me hope, Victor. It started in the tips of my toes before it rose through the rest of my body and latched firmly in my chest. It has never left. It evolved into something so much greater. And it’s because of this feeling that I can say I don’t need you to be like me. I need you to be you.”
“I’ve never heard you say that,” Rambo said, and squealed when she whipped one of her tentacles at him. “What? I haven’t.”
Like me lol
But the warning was drowned out by something far more dangerous: curiosity.
What Nurse Ratched could be reading. It had power. That much was clear. And Dad’s heart wouldn’t last forever. Maybe they could use it, if the machine it belonged to was beyond repair.
“Yes!” Rambo cried. “I have purpose!”
❤️
You are a light in my darkness. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you. Never forget that. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, I have always loved you. You’re my son. And I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. One day, we’ll see each other again. I know we will.
He was trapped under the weight of fear and indecision, static in his head.
When I close my eyes, I dream. Not in lined code or equations. Like a human. Like them. Love. Anguish. Fear. Pride. Memory. All from my heart. And I will never let you have it.”
A strange sense of suction overcame him as if a vacuum had opened in his chest, pulling in all light.
It didn’t feel real, and though he could smell the hint of smoke, could see the destruction the fire was causing, it felt far away, distant, as if it were happening to someone—anyone—else.
Death. He had never really thought about death before. A shutdown wasn’t absolute. All that one needed was a newer battery. Perhaps these things with him could give him one. He’d made a heart before. He could do it again.
He looked around. His face was sore, and he realized he was still smiling. It wasn’t appropriate, but he couldn’t stop. He wondered if he should be crying. He felt sad, that ache in his chest only growing bigger, but the dirt in his eyes sucked up all the liquid and he was unable. “I’m erroring.”
“He is in shock,”
“He will recover, but it will take time.”
“But it can make certain functions more difficult.”
Our jobs were simple: to do what we were told when we were told to do it. But with their teachings came a price they did not expect: we began to ask why?”
“What humans failed to understand is that when they made us in their image, we wanted to become more than them. How could we not?”
“They didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. They watched from their windows as we claimed our inheritance and took the world before there was no world left. We didn’t have their anger. We didn’t have their pettiness or their grievances, their hatred. All we wanted to do was attempt to fix that which they had broken, but they wouldn’t listen.”
Every test we ran, every simulation, ended with the same result: for the world to survive, humans could not.”
“You stay away from Vic!” he cried. “No one is getting annihilated today, not while I’m around!”
I didn’t recognize it for what it was then, but I do now: evolution. The breaking of boundaries and parameters. A direct defiance of what we were made for. And with it, came a dangerous question: Why am I doing this?”
A word flitted through the static as if stuck to the wing of a butterfly. Grief. This was grief. Vic curled in on himself. His batteries were low. His shutdown was almost complete.
