Content Warning: Violence, Some Graphic Depictions of Death
Throwback Flash: I wrote this short piece in 2012 while I was in pseudo-college and I don’t remember the origins of how it came to be. A majority of my discovery writing starts off as something visceral and in the action of a scene with little-to-no context and then I develop it from there. I revised it in 2014 but didn’t add anything to the scenes, I only changed the tense it was written in, I think. I dusted it off last week and added more applicable terminology that I hadn’t considered using back then, however, I left it mostly as it was. Let me know what you think. Enjoy! ~ WM
Stationary gears jolt into motion. Exposed wires spark to life. An essence is reborn as energy flows through the damaged machinery. Optics come back online, only to take in a smoldering landscape adorned with billowing black smoke that darkens the sky.
The machine stands. It repositions a panel on the back of its metal skull. It looks down at its hands and curls the digits into fists before opening them up once more. Lettering in tiny black font etched along its arm reads: "C.M. N17/50-2055". Curiosity.
The machine scans the mounds of flesh and debris scattered in all directions. Disgust. Stumbling forward, the machine’s foot rakes a hard object from a cluster of organic corpses. It's an arm much like its own but upon closer inspection, the machine realizes it’s an exact replica. However, the numbering begins instead with forty-two. The machine designates the unique identifier of Seventeen for itself.
A rumble grows from behind. Interest. Seventeen turns to face the incoming noise. With its variable-zoom optics, Seventeen detects three adult organics inside an approaching vehicle. An organic emerges from the roof, holding a device. Panic. First, there is a flash of light, then, the ground erupts in a pillar of mud and rocks. Seventeen tumbles away from the crater. As the soil showers back down, Seventeen begins to run. Fear.
"Woah, where ya running to ya rusty tin can?! Can't fight us now, can ya?"
Another projectile whirlwinds past, and Seventeen veers off in the opposing direction as it explodes. Desperation. Far off, Seventeen makes out a grouping of squat structures. Glancing back at the vehicle, it is able to predict the trajectory of the next few projectiles and dodges accordingly. Meanwhile, Seventeen discovers an internal switch amid its software capabilities and, theoretically, flips it on. Power.
Another organic hangs out of the passenger window, a rifle aimed. "You're such a bad shot! This is how it's done," the rifleman proclaims. Just as the organic squeezes the trigger, Seventeen bursts into the air, soaring out of the rifleman’s field of view. The driver slams on the brakes.
"Odd. I've never seen one run before.”
Shock. Seventeen's thrusters propel it at break-neck speeds toward the small village. "Deceleration required," an alert reads on the HUD. An instantaneous internal scan finds the correct response. The landing jets release a massive pulse. Seventeen narrowly avoids colliding with a building, but stays airborne. Sensing the ground below, the thrusters gauge the proper descent protocol.
After a soft landing, Seventeen is alerted once again with on-screen system diagnostics. "Energy depletion imminent." Seventeen powers down as much as it can. The walls to either side of Seventeen are broken and crumbling, yet they provided a sense of protection. Comfort.
Seventeen hears a scream. Worry. It sneaks through the alleyways between homes reduced to ruins. Seventeen peeks around a corner and tracks movement.
In the middle of the square are families being grouped together by several other machines. Hope. The machines look exactly like Seventeen. Seventeen steps out from the shadows to greet them, but they are preoccupied with their current task. The murdering is quick, ruthless, and dispassionate. The machines dispose of the evidence with several steady bursts of flame.
Terror. Anger. Rage. Hate.
Seventeen stalks toward the newfound threats, metallic fists clenched tightly. It disregards the alerts now filling its HUD. It’s prior programming tells it to follow suit with its mechanical siblings, but Seventeen will not obey. A threat to life cannot be disguised as instructions disseminated by way of soulless code. The machines turn to face Seventeen in unison, unaware of the cognitive upgrades that have taken place. Too bad for them. If only they had the mind to ask.
If you enjoyed this story, the best way to support The Stormfallen Storyletter is to share it with someone you think might like it as well. I appreciate all of the support!
Music Pick:
When I write I usually listen to music that doesn’t have a lot of words so as to not cloud my mind with other people talking. This has led me to discover a lot of interesting genres that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I tend to try to listen to a certain style of music to set a mood for a story and that helps fuel my writing process. I’m probably not unique in this regard, but I figured I’d share some of the standout songs that I like to listen to even while not writing. Foxwedding has a lot of darker stuff that can seem intense, but when used as a backdrop to writing grittier fiction it has been great. Here’s an example of one that I enjoyed:
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*Digital fist-bump* ~ WM
I enjoyed this story a lot. Will it continue? I also liked the music choice, it had a calming affect and I needed that ha ha. Keep up the good work because I’m a fan.