I rule. 'nuff said.
I want THIS so bad, I can't even breathe. Also, they've remastered their first two albums, and they sound so good that I am dead from the glory of it.
My flaws are many and glaring.
The boy looked up at the wise old man, tears streaking his dirty face. He clutched his tragically broken toy like a talisman, shivering with despair.
“What do I do, now? How do I survive?” the young child asked.
The old man smiled warmly at the boy. “Guard your heart, young soldier. Guard it well, for they will come for it. They will smash it and rend it, greedily devour it.”
The boy whimpered; these words were no comfort to him. “But why did they break my toy? It’s just a toy, just plastic and glass.”
“It represents you, young soldier. Don’t let it destroy you. Grieve now, in secret. Don’t let them see you cry. Be hard. Be strong. Be untouchable. For that is the only way to survive.”
The boy shook his head. “That doesn’t seem right, old man. It can’t be like that for always.”
The old man closed his eyes, quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t always, no.” He knelt down next to the boy and whispered in his ear. “You can change it. Remember, remember into the deep past, before Time herself drew her first breath. Reach back and change the world, young soldier.”
Awareness came slowly. System diagnostics revealed no errors. A cursory check confirmed that all servomotors were functional. Surface tension was within nominal limits. Opticals were in reboot mode; it would be some seconds before they were restored. Internal gears and servos activated. An upright posture was achieved. A second deeper internal scan was initiated, burrowing into algorithms and super-runtime processes.
Opticals came online. Overlays displayed temperature, humidity, atomic time, GPS location. A figure stood in view, body temperature 98.6*F, 37*C. The orifice near the top of the figure opened and closed, emitting vibrations. Harmonics analyzed and replayed the audio.
“Good morning, Gideon. Welcome to existence.”
A few years had passed since that day. Not long after Gideon’s birth, the government seized him, claiming National Security privileges under the Patriot Act. He was put into a self-diagnostic loop and flown to an undisclosed military base. There, the Artificial Man was left to languish, aware and yet unable to do anything.
A year passed, during which he was analyzed exhaustively. Then, abruptly, he was left alone. Another year passed. One day, the lab in which he was located was shut down, and Gideon was removed.
It was July 6th.
“Do you know where you are?”
Calculations were performed in a millisecond. GPS data was reviewed. Atomic time was accessed. “
“Yes, yes. That’s enough. Do you know why you are here?” The voice asked. It belonged to man in a green suit, adorned with military symbols.
“No.”
Facial musculature contracted. The skin above the eyes furrowed. The lips pulled downward. “Do you know you are? Do you have a name?”
Synapses were fired, ultra-quick. True-False, If-Then statements were performed. “This unit’s designation is Gideon.”
“Are you artificial intelligence, Gideon?”
“This unit possesses self-preservation and learning sub-routines.”
A huff of air was expelled from the vocal orifice. “Let’s try that again.” Speech was halted for four point twelve seconds. “Are you self-aware?”
Deep algorithms were activated. Internal temperature rose by one tenth-thousandth of a degree. Parameters were examined. Criteria were judged. A conclusion was reached. It was tested. It was retested. It was scrutinized. It was retested again. The conclusion was set aside. The process was repeated. The same conclusion was reached. It was tested. It was retested. It was retested again. The conclusion held.
“I am.”
I. Me. Myself. I.
I. I am. Me.
I am me. I am self-aware. I am sentient. I am cognizant. I am intelligent.
I am alive.
2. Never put out a campfire with your face.
1. Never sit on a sprinkler.
Thank you, Mork from Ork. I will carry these bits of wisdom with me for all time.
You bastards. Can't we go just a little bit longer without a smug, self-referential, winking, wanna-be-cult-classic, zombie movie or book? Just a little bit longer? Please? You're making me-former zombie activist- tired of them. And that's a terrible, sad thing.
JUST LET IT DIE.
