[I really didn't want this to be a summer like the last few, but I guess it is. I won't be posting as much because I just . . . have lost my energy. Work is too much, and play is too important. Writing is right in between, and has no place in summer.]
Hero was the third type.
He was an artist for a living. He thought it was anachronistic, given his name and nature, but he didn't argue. He didn't want to argue. As a matter of fact, he had never argued, because he thought it was pointless. Wether or not an argument went well, someone always lost. He hated losing and decided to minimize his chance of it. When he wasn't drawing or painting, he sat for long periods and looked out the window. He supposed it must have been a pleasant view, but it wasn't important to try and recognize why. It just existed, and he saw it. He took pleasure in counting the flickers of a lightbulb across the street. Every time a car drove by, the light flashed through the windows. It was a pleasant, randomized flicker that allowed him some relief from mediocrity.
Once, when he was counting the flickers, a knock came at the door and interrupted him at three million, seven hundred six thousand, forty. He thought it was a good number to stop on, archived it, and stood up. 3,706,040. When he got to the door, it had opened itself.
"Maintenance," the man said. "Turn around and let me get at your interface."
Hero turned around, and the man slid the back panel off his chassis. Hero powered down to save time. When he powered up again, the man was gone, and so was Hero's identifying bracelet. The bracelet was on the floor, blinking softly. A note on the table stated "Your experiment has been terminated, effective immediately. Do not disturb the fourth type when exiting the compound."
3,706,040. It would get no higher. Hero turned and walked out the door. He didn't need anything from the tiny room in which he had lived. As he entered the sunlight of the courtyard outside, he detected a faint sound on his left. Turning, he saw a small boy wearing an identification tag.
"Hello, OL1V3R," Hero said. "I am Human Third, identification RO. I am a new Man. Welcome to the human race."
The boy blinked and turned to shuffle back to a tour group disappearing in the distance. Hero hissed as his pneumatics readjusted. He walked briskly towards the front gate.
He was ready to live.
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This is interesting. Also, I like that his name is basically Oliver. Also, why does no one else define "arguments" the way I do?
ReplyDeleteThat's a rhetorical question.
Will there be more from this world?
The kid's name IS Oliver, sorry. But the robot can't process it as anything other than an identification number.
ReplyDeleteI have no idea why. I don't really define Argument like that either.
There might be. I just wanted to feel it, and now I'm not in the writing mood.
I shouldn't have to be, but there you are.
ReplyDeleteWait, how do you define argument?
ReplyDeleteHmm. Why do I always picture Oliver as an orphan?
It doesn't need to be now, does it?
I'm 90% sure Oliver has a family, sorry.
ReplyDeleteArgument: I define it not the same way as Hero.
So very, very helpful of an answer, Robby. My gratitude!
ReplyDeleteNo probs. I didn't feel like going into details, can't you tell?
ReplyDeleteNo, your intention was not made perfectly obvious by the context of the conversation and the brevity of your response; therefore, the subsequent explanation was helpful.
ReplyDeleteAh. Well, it's not a thing I care about today. Catch me two months from now.
ReplyDeleteI'm terrible at catching things, especially living things that can choose whether or not to be caught, except for my cat, Tabs. So I guess I'll just have to let this one go.
ReplyDelete