Short Story

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         The dark comes quickly, but not as quickly as the feeling of disdain and pure animalistic hatred that soars through his mechanical veins. He had seen her perhaps twice before, but the memory is vague and tortured. Her image lingers in the forefront of his mind as he attempts to place a name to the face, but can only find a desperate void and an anguishing hatred.

         As he continues through the dark and anaemic streets, he realizes that he does not know where he is, but he does know that there is a direction and a destination. And still, fragments of her image appear to him in quick successions, each more different and alien from the other - so very familiar, but without reason. Suddenly, he finds himself in a posh part of town with palatial estates and elegant homes with exotic lots. A statue of a forgotten hero stands in the midst of a lush, green park, facing toward the east, shunning the sun as it sets into the surrounding darkness. Its stone hand reaches into the heavens as if plucking a fruit from God’s invisible, eternal tree. Unabashed by its nudity, the hero frowns at what it has just done and the observer walks away. In the distance he sees a large sign at the edge of the park and it reads: ‘Garden of Eden Estates’.
         He slowly approaches a familiar house, which he has never seen before, and grows more enraged. His thoughts and unanswerable questions abandon him as his concern focuses only on the mission. The mission focuses his resolve into a single-minded determination to bring violence upon the face in his vision.

         The front door melts under a mystical heat as his palm sweeps over the metal sphere. He then enters without caution as the molten residue, still a glowing red, drips from the remaining frame. Once within the home, he takes the stares that lead up and stops at the first door to his left. There is a familiarity to this place, despite the loss of memory to how and when he came to be familiar with these walls. His presence is like a dream, a reverie of blinding rage that continues to grow and consume him with an uncanny prejudice. With a powerful grip, he turns the doorknob and breaks the lock, as he forces his way into the last room on the upper corridor.

         Only deep and even breaths disturb the silence of the room. Her naked body sleeps under a faint veil of virgin white silk, grey under the absent light from the street beyond. She is unaware of the presence of her silent spectator and as such, he approaches her swiftly and proficiently. The darkness is not nearly blinding, but to the eyes of the machine, it is irrelevant. He knows not where he is, nor what he has been sent to do. But the end result is apparent - This night, the beautiful woman who sleeps before him, must die. From between the knuckles of his right hand emerge three long, thin metal blades. With graceful fluidity, he raises his clenched hand and descends the fist into her throat. His unsympathetic ears aren’t able to hear the gurgles of her struggle breath as she convulses under his mighty weight. Like a patient stalker, he waits for her rapture to fade and his rage to subside.

         He retracts the blades and turns to leave, without remorse or memory of his actions, as the corpse of Dr. Noreen Copelan withers and bleeds against the white sheets of her bed.

T h e M a c h i n e

"The age of darkness has met the light with the evolution of: The Machine."

         :...I feel like Jesus Christ. Only, my cross is made of solid forged aluminium beams, coaxial cables, fibre optic lines, silicon chip circuit boards and lots of solder. A virtual, futuristic crucifixion! My tomb will be the cryogenic chamber and when I awake, I will walk on the Earth a new man... Oh! How the mighty Icarus has fallen as the father weeps.

         “...The process of a full conversion is a tedious process and as such, great care must be taken. Not only is the ‘Host’s’ life at stake but the risk of losing millions of dollars in research and development, as well as any further grants from the Government and/or Private Enterprises, is a major concern. I do not want any complications due to ignorance and incompetence among my ranks. These are undesirable qualities and with that, I have a need for the highest qualified people with the utmost experience and knowledge in their fields. I will spare no expense in catering to my people’s needs as long as they will meet with mine and hopefully exceed them.” The board has not a clue of the eminence of this project, and so, once again they have succumbed to a dream of a better tomorrow. To the innocent developers, technologists and doctors, this is only the next step in evolution. To Howard R. Ford, this is the next step to ‘Godliness’.

         :...My soliloquy is the only means of retaining any form of sanity. The loneliness one feels, when they are isolated from the entire world, imprisoned in the name of Science exceeds anything one could ever conceive. What a price to pay...

         The dark and solemn room is the isolation. It is found at the extreme southern wing of the building, three hundred and sixty feet under the city. A handful of doctors and technicians are allotted passage to this sector, only after extensive identification checks and tedious review. By all means, any leak of developmental information before the units’ readiness, could be devastating. This would mean losses in future financial grants and having to answer to the ‘Press’ about the advancements in Cybernetics and Robotics. More importantly, it may pose a clear and present danger to the American public. The misconstruing of the advancement in the development of Cybernetics from the following Superpowers could bring on the next World War.

         The only sounds that fill the room are those from large refrigeration compressors and motors that are used to run the Cryogenic cell. The life support systems are continuously monitored, as the progression of healing of the ‘host’ is the utmost concern at this junction. His perfectly molded body lies in a state of coma, as fluids and electricity are fed into him through a series of artificial veins and massive, metal plated conduits. The sustenance of life for the machine is bitter to the taste, but the power he holds can destroy nations.
         :...Images, all gone. I see not through my eyes, for that they have been taken from me for the sake of advancement. All of this distortion pains me in a way I've never felt before. To bear this, I must endure the treatments. I can’t... “Aah!” He screams a hollow cry as his flesh stings like the touch of acid and feels like it is peeling away from the nest.

         The darkness is haunting and the madness must be set free. :...I can’t stop this emptiness. I can feel them... Rotting away in an icy cell. The touch of stainless steel at sub freezing temperatures scorches the flesh. Their casket is unbefitting and insulting. Why do they insist on keeping that which I no longer require? Why must they torment me further? From all of this emptiness, I must hide. There is nothing left for me... He trembles with fear as he tries to cry, yet he cannot for that he has no eyes to cry from, no voice to scream with and no legs to run away.

         :...Oh God! I’m a basket case... The realty is even more haunting as the images of a past life flows before him, like an obscured movie. Scenes of a once happy man, drowning in the emptiness of an opened bottle, bring a smile to his face.

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