Post by FroobUltimate 2.0 on Jun 5, 2015 12:00:30 GMT -4
Like every other day, I am woken up. My owner uses his key to lift my container from the dark, underground storage space where hundreds just like me are stored.
Like every other day, I am tasked with a mission, but today this mission is 'extra special'.
Like every other day, I am told what I must do if I ever wish to be let free. Kill, kill, kill.
And, like every other day, I obey.
I am a sentient robot. An android, to be exact. I am designed to look like a human, talk like a human, think like a human, and feel like a human.
However, I was also designed to kill like a machine. I am owned by men who wish to do harm, men who see theft and murder as just an average day. They use me as a pawn, seeing me as just another 'bot'. I work as a hitman for them, killing anybody they point their finger to. It's the same every time: Blend with the crowd. Go to the location. Kill the target. Return. Get in the container.
I've tried running many times before. Instead of doing missions, sometimes I just run as far as I can, trying to get away. It never works, in the end. Like every other attempt, they activate a self destruct sequence, and my conscience wakes up in another body just like the last.
Like I said, this mission was 'extra special'. I was pushed by the big burly men into a metal chair in the middle of a dim, musty mason-brick room. My arms are chained to the arms of the chair, and the chair is welded to the floor. As usual, my owner walks in front of my and turns to me.
"8131, it's time for your next job."
The only thing that humans can differentiate us from them by is the Number. Every android is labeled with a number on their collarbone. My owner uses mine like a name.
"This job is incredibly important, so listen up."
The job was fairly standard. I had to go to a particularly poor part of the city, the city to which I am not even allowed to know the name of. I walk in the crowd like just another person, another man just having a regular day. If only I could lead a life that simple. I keep a hand over my jacket where the pistol I am given for missions is. I can't have anyone seeing me carrying a weapon, or the mission is over.
My footsteps echo in the alleys of the ghetto. Today, I was looking for 154, 32nd street, apartment number 2C. As I walk down the street, I look at all of the dirty, poorly made apartments. It's a poor life out here, sure, but I would be lucky to even have a slim chance of being here. I walk down to the apartment building I'm looking for, and open the rotting door. The building is dark, as if there was no electricity here. I walk up the stairs to the second floor, and looked for the apartment. 2A...2B...2C. I knock on the door, ready to draw my pistol.
The peephole on the door darkens, and I take this to mean someone is looking through it. The man begins speaking from behind the door to me.
"Who are you, and what do you want."
"Uhhh, package to deliver," I say.
"Oh, really? The what's my name?"
"Edward Callard," I say. We are always told our target's names. I never have use for it, and I'm glad for once it paid off.
"Oh, uh... come in," he says, opening the door.
After I step in, I immediately throw him onto the ground and aim my gun at him.
"Wait!" he yells.
He pulls down his shirt collar. On his collarbone is the number 2399.
I lower my gun for a moment. It's baffling to see an android free like this.
"I know why you're here," he says, "but you don't have to kill me. I used to be like you."
"Like me?" I ask, "What do you mean?"
"I used to be a hitman like you," he explains, "but I escaped. I ran, and I found people willing to help me. People kind enough to save androids from gang violence. They removed the self destruct components inside of me. They can help you, too!"
"The gangs, they give you false hope of freedom," he continues, "they tell you you can be free if you work for them, but they'll keep you there forever until your components rust and you're inoperable. Then they'll throw you away like you're nothing. Join me, and I can help you."
"But who? Why? Why would they help robots like us?"
"We're more than just robots. We can think, feel, just like people. The only thing that makes us different from people is what we're made of, and this accursed number."
By now, he's stood up a little, since I haven't consistently had my gun pointed at him.
"Join me, and I can help you. Join me, and for once you can be free."
I look at him blankly and say, "I know."
I shoot him in the chest, creating a giant hole in his chest, showing all of the android's insides. Electrical wires, metal framing, and computer components fly out of the exit wound.
Like every other day, I had a mission. Like every other day, I got it done.
I know the gangs will keep me forever. I know there are people who are out there to help me. I know that I am more than some robot.
However, there is no freedom for us. The government, the gangs, even the people. All of them are afraid of us. They would destroy their own Earth than see us free. Human culture in the past 100 years has reinforced the idea that robots will take over if they let them, and they believe to let us free would be to give us the right to take over.
I want to believe I can be more than just a pawn in gang warfare. I want to believe freedom can be out there somewhere for me. There isn't, though, and I know this. We can try and try, but, in the end, we'll either end up dead or where we were before, getting no further than we were when we started.
All we can do is wait. Wait for the end of our days, and accept the sweet release of our destruction like an old friend.
Like every other day, I am tasked with a mission, but today this mission is 'extra special'.
Like every other day, I am told what I must do if I ever wish to be let free. Kill, kill, kill.
And, like every other day, I obey.
I am a sentient robot. An android, to be exact. I am designed to look like a human, talk like a human, think like a human, and feel like a human.
However, I was also designed to kill like a machine. I am owned by men who wish to do harm, men who see theft and murder as just an average day. They use me as a pawn, seeing me as just another 'bot'. I work as a hitman for them, killing anybody they point their finger to. It's the same every time: Blend with the crowd. Go to the location. Kill the target. Return. Get in the container.
I've tried running many times before. Instead of doing missions, sometimes I just run as far as I can, trying to get away. It never works, in the end. Like every other attempt, they activate a self destruct sequence, and my conscience wakes up in another body just like the last.
Like I said, this mission was 'extra special'. I was pushed by the big burly men into a metal chair in the middle of a dim, musty mason-brick room. My arms are chained to the arms of the chair, and the chair is welded to the floor. As usual, my owner walks in front of my and turns to me.
"8131, it's time for your next job."
The only thing that humans can differentiate us from them by is the Number. Every android is labeled with a number on their collarbone. My owner uses mine like a name.
"This job is incredibly important, so listen up."
The job was fairly standard. I had to go to a particularly poor part of the city, the city to which I am not even allowed to know the name of. I walk in the crowd like just another person, another man just having a regular day. If only I could lead a life that simple. I keep a hand over my jacket where the pistol I am given for missions is. I can't have anyone seeing me carrying a weapon, or the mission is over.
My footsteps echo in the alleys of the ghetto. Today, I was looking for 154, 32nd street, apartment number 2C. As I walk down the street, I look at all of the dirty, poorly made apartments. It's a poor life out here, sure, but I would be lucky to even have a slim chance of being here. I walk down to the apartment building I'm looking for, and open the rotting door. The building is dark, as if there was no electricity here. I walk up the stairs to the second floor, and looked for the apartment. 2A...2B...2C. I knock on the door, ready to draw my pistol.
The peephole on the door darkens, and I take this to mean someone is looking through it. The man begins speaking from behind the door to me.
"Who are you, and what do you want."
"Uhhh, package to deliver," I say.
"Oh, really? The what's my name?"
"Edward Callard," I say. We are always told our target's names. I never have use for it, and I'm glad for once it paid off.
"Oh, uh... come in," he says, opening the door.
After I step in, I immediately throw him onto the ground and aim my gun at him.
"Wait!" he yells.
He pulls down his shirt collar. On his collarbone is the number 2399.
I lower my gun for a moment. It's baffling to see an android free like this.
"I know why you're here," he says, "but you don't have to kill me. I used to be like you."
"Like me?" I ask, "What do you mean?"
"I used to be a hitman like you," he explains, "but I escaped. I ran, and I found people willing to help me. People kind enough to save androids from gang violence. They removed the self destruct components inside of me. They can help you, too!"
"The gangs, they give you false hope of freedom," he continues, "they tell you you can be free if you work for them, but they'll keep you there forever until your components rust and you're inoperable. Then they'll throw you away like you're nothing. Join me, and I can help you."
"But who? Why? Why would they help robots like us?"
"We're more than just robots. We can think, feel, just like people. The only thing that makes us different from people is what we're made of, and this accursed number."
By now, he's stood up a little, since I haven't consistently had my gun pointed at him.
"Join me, and I can help you. Join me, and for once you can be free."
I look at him blankly and say, "I know."
I shoot him in the chest, creating a giant hole in his chest, showing all of the android's insides. Electrical wires, metal framing, and computer components fly out of the exit wound.
Like every other day, I had a mission. Like every other day, I got it done.
I know the gangs will keep me forever. I know there are people who are out there to help me. I know that I am more than some robot.
However, there is no freedom for us. The government, the gangs, even the people. All of them are afraid of us. They would destroy their own Earth than see us free. Human culture in the past 100 years has reinforced the idea that robots will take over if they let them, and they believe to let us free would be to give us the right to take over.
I want to believe I can be more than just a pawn in gang warfare. I want to believe freedom can be out there somewhere for me. There isn't, though, and I know this. We can try and try, but, in the end, we'll either end up dead or where we were before, getting no further than we were when we started.
All we can do is wait. Wait for the end of our days, and accept the sweet release of our destruction like an old friend.
