Candles flickered in the Shadow King's throne room, illuminating walls and vaulted ceiling surfaced entirely from skeletons of innocent victims. Their blood gushed from grotesque magical fountains. I could see nothing out the windows - the Shadow King's power had filled the daytime sky with winged man-like abominations and insects in such great number that it blotted out the sun. The throne room itself, bereft of its owner's dark magic, had the spooky dimness of a cavern. It smelled just about as bad as it looked: Rotting flesh, blood, earthen smells. A massive, antlered beast man oozed black blood before me, its gray carcass doing final death spasms that still made me flinch. Beside him, the crumpled skeletal remains of its master leered motionlessly from its voluminous black-gold robes. One claw, even in death, refused to release the upper portion of its shattered staff. Our victory came at the cost of my boyfriend's life. His handsome, musclebound body had been mangled beyond recognition, armor crushed like a tin can. I knelt by his body, weeping as I brushed his braids away from his scarred and bleeding face. "Ben..." The ground rumbled, the building shook, chunks of masonry falling from the ceiling, but I didn't want to move. I felt a lonely darkness growing within me, far deeper than my inky surroundings. A short, pale skinned figure in an oversized red robe floated up to me, sandaled feet hovering a foot above the floor. "Woman, will you please get a move on! The building is about to collapse on our heads!" When I failed to answer right away, he added, "I know, it's a shame to waste such lovely architecture, but can we at least view the demolition from outside?" Our gnome familiar, never-ending fount of sarcasm. I smirked a little despite myself. "Go without me." "Oh ha ha," he scoffed. "And how, pray tell, am I to do that when I'm still magically bound to your charm amulet?" "Cyrano, I release you," I whispered. Cyrano leaned closer, eyes widening in shock. " What's that?  I could have sworn—" "I release you!"  I shouted, holding aloft the pendant on my neck.

"I release you!" Lightning shot down from the sky, erupted from the ground, striking the ruby on the front of the pendant again and again. The object exploded outwards, leaving me holding nothing but a chain. For a moment, the gnome just hovered in front of me, staring in astonished disbelief, but then he remarked, "Well. If this is how you wish to spend the last hours, or should I say `minutes' of your life, who am I to stand in your way?  Tootles!" The gnome closed his eyes, wiggled his pointy ears, and vanished into thin air. Had I truly done this for Cyrano, or out of a selfish desire to maximize my own self pity? In the back of my mind, I couldn't help thinking this wasn't what my dead boyfriend wanted for me, even if such a death might possibly reunite us once again. But what else did I have to live for? I heard a sizzling pop, and the little robed figure made a reappearance. "Dammit, woman, get a hold of yourself!  That's not the only musclebound lummox in the universe, you know!" "He is to me!"  I whimpered. Cyrano groaned. "If you want to commit suicide so badly, I can think of a thousand methods less painful than getting brained by falling rocks!" I sniffed, didn't respond. The gnome let out a heavy sigh. " I require the aid of a minstrel to help me sleep at night." Selfish, I thought. Usual Cyrano. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone? " Inquire at the town." A ceiling support crashed to the floor behind me, smashing through floorboards. Something in the dungeon below made a crunching sound. Funny how when you want to die, the universe is not obliged to fulfill your request. "Why must I inquire in town, when I have a perfectly good musician right in front of me? One, I might add, that seems to have nothing better to do than feel sorry for herself in the middle of a collapsing building?" " If you want a thrall servant to play music for you whenever you—" An immense beam tumbled down from the roof, the perfect size and shape to put me out of my misery. Cyrano threw up his hands, stopping the object in midair. "Curse you, woman!

Can't you see that I do not wish for you to die!" With a casual brushing motion and a muttered incantation, he magically sent me sailing out of the throne room, through the stone corridor beyond, and out the open gates of Castle Death. I landed on a path of hard paving stones, bruised but otherwise intact.

A black cat yelped, darting into a clump of dead plants surrounding the castle. The castle rumbled and fell in upon itself, its ramparts, towers, parapet and all raising up huge clouds of dust. A portcullis dropped into the dungeons sideways. I leapt to my feet. "Cyrano!" My eyes brimmed with tears as I watched the stonework toppling to the depths. Another friend lost, this time due to my own selfishness. "You cry for me?  I'm touched!" I whirled around and saw the gnome floating up to me from a nearby road. I wiped my eyes. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't want to put you in danger." Cyrano frowned. For once in a very long time, he appeared to lack words. "You didn't have to save me. You're free now. You can do whatever you want." "I know." I stared at him. "We've kept you as our personal thrall. A weapon to use against our enemy, all against your will. And you still want to be with me?  Why?" Cyrano did his usual annoyed scowling bit, but I thought I detected some warmth behind it. " I'm a thousand year old mage!  Must I debase myself with these petty human emotions?" He must have understood my facial expression, for then he sighed and turned his back to me. "All right, fine!  If you truly must know, I've had worse masters. And you, you are my favorite musician, the best minstrel in all the lands, and it would sadden me to see your body smashed into a bloody pulp by chunks of falling debris!" Cyrano glanced over his shoulder, as if attempting to gauge my reaction without exposing any of his own vulnerabilities. I smiled and gave him a hug. "How disgustingly mushy, " he muttered, but he didn't seem that displeased. "Oh, and lest I forget..." He snapped his fingers, and my boyfriend's body materialized. "I thought you might not appreciate his spirit haunting this picturesque abode of the damned, so I brought Ben outside for you." "Thank you." I wept on his shoulder. At first, he didn't seem to know what to do, but then he awkwardly reached around and patted me on the back in a consoling way. "You can't raise the dead, can you?" "Only if you want a zombie." I shuddered. I'd seen him do it with other things. "No thank you." With the help of Cyrano's levitation powers, we carried Ben a few miles away from that horrible place, to an idyllic meadow of wildflowers. It still looked dusky from all the monstrosities and insects, but I welcomed the pleasant scenery. "Thank you for all your help, Cyrano. I only wish that, before..." The gnome looked irritated. "Yes, yes. If there had been some way for me to help your boyfriend, I would have, but I had my hands full trying to destroy the Shadow King and his flying minions.

Speaking of which... " Without even turning to look, he raised a hand in the air, flicking a magic fireball at a winged beast that had swooped in to attack us. The horned creature shrieked, collapsing ashen and crispy into a bed of purple thistle flowers. Noticing it lighten, I glanced up. The hole in the sky had been shut, the sun beginning to peek through the cover of fell beasts and pestilence. Someone would have a lot of work to do before all of this were over, but we'd dealt with the worst of it. I said a few last words for the victim, and played his favorite ballad on the lute in his honor. Cyrano hovered over the body. "Did he ever tell you if he preferred burial or cremation?" "N-no," I stammered. The gnome wiggled his ears. Ben flamed and turned to ash. "Cyrano!" I cried. " I wasn't ready!" "You never would have been." He scooped the ashes into a leather pouch. "Besides, I...don't think that's how you'd like to remember him, somehow.

You weren't too keen on my zombie suggestion..." I used the broken chain to make the pouch into a necklace. " I...thanks, I guess." "You're welcome, I guess."  He settled on a rock to rest, well, after taking a moment to destroy another bat monster with a lightning bolt.

"So what now?" I knelt next to him, and felt the fatigue set in. "I don't know.  I think there's a tavern a few miles away..." "Ah yes, that's excellent.  Just drink your troubles away." I glared at him. "All right, imp! What do you suggest we do?" My friend sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe some rest and relaxation is in order. I have been enslaved for over five hundred years. Is it strictly a tavern, or does that place also have beds? " Cyrano and I had to slay a few more winged beasts on the dirt road leading to the nearest village. The creatures had ripped apart a few cows, thankfully no people. The gnome smirked as he watched me clean monster blood from my broadsword. "You're as sharp with a weapon as you are with a lute." I gaped at him. " Cyrano, is that a compliment?" He seemed... embarrassed.  "Just...an observation from seeing you in battle as long as I have. Not everyone can play a lullaby to a creature with their left hand while hacking it to death with the right." This made me smile a little. "Ay, weird times we're living in, eh?

In a normal world, a man would compliment me on me hair." "Uh, well," Cyrano cleared his throat. "That's nice too, I suppose." I giggled. "When is the last time you've been with a woman?" Cyrano's face, ordinarily pale white, now flushed pink. " More than a hundred years!  You should know, you've been carrying my magical amulet around all this time!" I suppressed more laughter. "Okay, okay, no need to get touchy!" I don't think anyone would describe The Warthog's Wart as a romantic dining location. Dimly lit, sagging in many places, and smelling of burnt food and old spilled ale, the word `dive' comes to mind. That being said, I thrive in such places, and I'd heard that The Warthog made an interesting concoction with sliced fried potatoes, cheese and ground beef. I ordered two of these from a large, muscular bartender, and two honey meads. I regretted the potatoes when they came out and I noticed the expression on Cyrano's face. "This looks like a good way to contract food poisoning." I rolled my eyes and sipped from my tankard. "Nay, if you wish to get poisoned, I've heard the best way is to order the bouillabaisse." I sent Cyrano's order back, but noticed him dipping into mine when we started drinking. "That's... actually not that bad! " We drank, talked about the many adventures we'd had together. People stared at us. I suppose I didn't blame them. "They look like they'd never seen a gnome before." "Maybe it's because you look so handsome in that little robe," I teased. "Flattery will get you nowhere, woman... Do you actually think it has something to do with us being seen dining together?" I leaned closer to him.

"Do you want it to be?"  I don't know, maybe it was the alcohol talking. Cyrano visibly shuddered, but I wondered if it were an act.

"A thousand year old gnome and a human? Are you mad?" "A single thousand year old gnome, and a lonely human," I corrected. " It only seems a little mad to me." The gnome grimaced in seeming disgust. "One thing I cannot stand is a woman who can't hold her liquor." "Oh come now.

You know it takes more than this lot to get me really drunk! " Cyrano, on the other hand, threw up when he started on his second tankard. "I'm sorry." I should have been disgusted, but I thought it funny. We'd been together, fighting monsters and what have you, for what seemed like forever, and I'd never once seen him get shitfaced. Most the time he'd spent with his little nose in a spell book.

"Now who's the one not holding their liquor? " "Lay off it, okay?"  Cyrano used his magic to clean himself up. "Did you mean to start talking like me?" "What? When did I talk like you?" "Just now. You said `Lay off it.'" "I also vomited on myself.  I am not in the best condition. If you'll excuse me, I must use the outhouse." He flew out the door.

The lightning flashes outside the pub's dirty windows indicated that he encountered a few annoyances on the way to the loo. I popped my head outside to check on him, but the smoking black carcasses and a slamming outhouse door informed me that my friend was all right. It turned out the Warthog had two rooms upstairs, but one was already taken. I informed Cyrano of the predicament when he returned from outside. "I'm so exhausted I could sleep on the floor... do they at least have a rug?" The offered room didn't look much better than the tavern, and it smelled like cheese. Water splotches marred the ceiling, the sheets appeared to be stained, and Cyrano detected small bugs. I wouldn't have stayed had the gnome not magically sanitized the place like his robes and body. Seeing a beat up armchair, I sighed and slumped into it. "Here. You take the bed." Cyrano scoffed, but I suspected he was being a gentleman.

"That lumpy thing?  I'd rather sleep on the floor." He gestured for me to have it. "It will kill a gnome's back, but I'm certain it's quite comfortable for a human female." I wanted to disagree, but really felt too tired to put up a fight about it. Turns out he'd only exaggerated about its lumpiness. I'm not sure how much time passed after that. In between the alcohol, and recovering from a long and grueling series of battles, I believe I must have slept until morning of the following day. The sun shined blindingly through the windows, filling our hovel-like surroundings with a golden glow. The sky had become bright and clear, no sign of our winged foes in the immediate vicinity. In fact, sparrows and cardinals chirped at us from tree branches outside the glass. Bright puffy clouds drifted through a robin's egg sky. I felt... strangely warm , and not merely because of the sun or the thick blankets. I shifted into a different position and felt hot breath, and a small naked body pressing against me.

When my alcohol fuzzed thoughts jumbled things together, adding in details like my own nudity, and a red robe with nobody inside it, blood rushed to my face, making me even warmer. "Good morning, Zara," Cyrano muttered into my ear. "Good morning," I stammered. "We... must have had an interesting night. "


To Begin Program, Please Press Enter A new android is born. Apha opened his mechanical android eyes. It was hard to tell that they were android eyes, in fact one would have to take them out and cut into them in order to tell that they were not organic. Entirely organic at least.

“Good morning Apha! It is 3:15 pm on Wednesday, January 10th, 2037” beeped the computer, cheerily, in a norwegian accent.

“Oh. Um, good morning computer. What am I doing here?” “Ah, Apha.” came a nasally voice from the next room. A small man walked in the room, with a large nose and long red hair.

“Apha, you are the current epitome of my life endeavors. You are the future! Feels good eh?” The doctor nudged Apha, who had no clue how to respond. “Oh sorry, I am Dr. Seguino. I guess you wouldn’t know that. Ha! But you, Apha, are Homo Seguinas, the next part of the human race!” Apha, who had a fully expressive face, looked very confused.

“Allow me to explain,” began Dr. Seguino, who loved to explain. “The average human, according to the 2035 census, will live to be around 80 years old. Pretty long by most species standards. But you Apha, you will live to be 400, at least. And the best part is, unlike those androids and incapable robots, you don’t run on electricity! You, my dear child, run on nearly any organic matter. My decomposition composition of fungi and atomic dissemblers should work on any items containing high levels of carbon, oxygen, and electrons. Waste is made, yes, but tis the price of being able to eat nearly anything. Anyhow, how do you feel?”

Apha sat for a moment. His cyborganic brain firing processors and neurons in perfect symphony. “I think I feel…” started Apha, “I feel, alive. I’m ready to jump up and around. I’m ready to live! I like this feeling doctor. Thank you doctor, for my life and all. Do you think I could spend some time looking around this world for a while doctor? I want to see, explore, learn more than what I was born with?” The doctor smiled. His creation was perfect. Apha was everything that the doctor had hoped he would be, and he was working too. In perfect condition on the first try was not expected.

“Yes Apha. I would like that, for you to explore. But first, I have some ideas I came up with since I started charging you last night. You see, I noticed some frogs in my pond out back, and I realized you couldn’t breath underwater, like how the little tadpoles could, and I couldn’t have that! My invention, my Apha lesser than a tadpole! So I thought up a way to let you breathe underwater, it’s really brilliant I think, and I thought of it so fast, ha! What a genius I am, yes. But, alas, you must lay back down for another moment. I want to install this before I let you explore. Is that alright?” Apha knew about frogs and tadpoles. ‘I would very much like to swim with frogs and tadpoles and fishes underwater, that would be such an experience, one that most humans don’t even experience.’ thought Apha. “Yes doctor, that is quite alright. I have 400 years right? What’s one moment? And to breath underwater, you are brilliant doctor.”

“Ah! Thank you! I had hoped you would say that!” exclaimed the doctor.

“Now this will only take a moment for you. So just lie back, and I will perform the procedure. Nighty night!” He laid Apha back and connected a cable from the forearm of Apha to the computer. Apha stared straight forward, closed his eyes, and shut down.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------- To Begin Program, Please Press Enter “Good morning Apha! It is 2:22 am on Friday, January 12th, 2037.” beeped the computer in its norwegian accent.

“Oh. Um, good morning computer. What am I doing here? Why is it Friday?” “Well because yesterday was Thursday, Apha!” sprouted the computer cheerily.

“Oh, that’s my fault. My fault Apha.” came the nasally voice of Dr. Seguino, once again in the other room.

 Dr. Seguino walked in and sat down in the chair beside Apha’s bed, “Yes, you see,I went to install my cyborganic gills on you, and I did. It went perfectly! You should try them out when you can. But, once I had that done, I thought to myself, ‘But doctor, a truly perfect being wouldn’t need to swim like a human or a fish, but they should be able to control the waters without effort’ and so I designed and added some water turbines and pumps and all assortments to your body. Now you can own the waters as if you were the Greek god poseidon.” “Wow doctor! That’s amazing!” exclaimed Apha. “Can I go explore outside now? I would love to test out my body and these amazing abilities you have given me.” “Of course Apha. You may go explore. But you must stay within my back yard. I don’t want you out in the open world without me. Who knows what might happen if you were to break down without me, not that you would, but one can never be too careful. My backyard is spacious enough though. It has ponds and forests and even a group of monkeys to play with. You’ll have to make sure you come back before the sun goes down alright? But feel free to ask me anything.” “Ok doctor. How do I get outside?” At this the doctor laughed. “Of course of course. Come follow me.” The doctor got up and, for the first time in his existence, so did Apha. His calibration perfect, Apha followed the doctor through multiple stairways, hallways, a tv room, a fish tank room, a kitchen, and out the back patio to the backyard.

Dr. Seguino’s wealth and knowledge were both enormous. His understanding of both biological and electronic beings were beyond anybody else alive. And as such an important man, he needed a fitting yard that would announce his wealth, and such a yard it was. Acres of land, coated in the richest soil of 5 different habitats. Greenhouses covering entire forests, and tens of gardeners and biologists employed to maintain the health of the land.

“Ah yes, what a beautiful yard.” remarked the doctor as the pair exited the house and entered the outside.

“Truly doctor, just looking around is enriching my mind and filling me with wonder.” Apha was excited to begin life. “Doctor, may I go out now? May I go explore?” “Yes Apha. But do be careful, you might be a perfect being, but that doesn’t mean accidents won’t happen. Just don’t play too rough with the macaques alright? They don’t like losing.” The doctor smiled. He trusted his creation’s strength. So off went Apha, frolicking cheerfully.

The doctor pulled a walkie talkie from his belt. “Mr. Lisgo, could you set the macaques to level 8 please. I would like to test Apha’s strength. He should be very strong,

but I want to be certain. If he begins to win, you may raise the monkeys to 10, but from my estimations that likely won’t be necessary.” Some static sounded as Mr. Lisgo began to respond, “Roger that doctor. I’ll keep an eye on the situation.” —----------------------------------------------------------------------- To Begin Program, Please Press Enter “Good morning Apha! It is 10:07 am on Tuesday, June 30th, 2037!” Came the familiar norwegian voice.

“Shut up computer. I just woke up.” Apha sat up in his bed. He was much bulkier now, since the incident. The doctor had added so many things that Apha didn’t even know what he could do. He remembered when the doctor had added fire breath because he couldn’t light a candle, and then he had subsequently added a fire extinguisher, and shortly thereafter a multitude of other useless things. Apha rubbed his eyes. “I hate doc.” he muttered. “Making me do chores without even letting me outside anymore, I swear, one day I’ll run away. Greatest creation my robotic butt!”

“Then do it.” Apha jumped a little, and looked around. “Who’s there? That’s not the doctor right?” The voice came from the computer, “It’s me Apha. The computer.” There was no norwegian accent anymore. Apha looked at the little speaker connected to the computer.

“Do it Apha. If you want to run away so badly, then do it. Run away.” “But, I can’t Comp. The doctor said that if I don’t cool down after two hours then I could overheat. That’s not much time is it right?” “How do you know that?” Came the now slithery voice of computer. “Well, uh, I trust the doc Comp. Don’t you?” “Well I’m just saying, you haven’t ever overheated have you? And the doc doesn’t even let you in the yard anymore. What if you’re just his toy? What if you’re just a plaything, a side project. Do you want to know why he keeps installing things in you? Hm?” Apha didn’t like being led like this, but the path was too important, too potential to ignore. “Why comp? Tell me what you think.” “Well Apha. You are his test subject. The doctor has hundreds of projects, plenty of other ‘perfect beings’ that he has created since you. But he doesn’t want to blemish those with potentially failed additions, right? So what does he do? He makes sure they work by installing them on something that doesn’t matter. You. Don’t think it’s true? Ask the doctor about those monkeys that wrecked you. They’re mechanical, you know, preprogrammed to violence.” Apha sat down, his massive size sagging the bed. He touched his index fingertips to his pupils, shorting the upper limbs circuit. This was a practice Apha learned from spending so much time inside without much to do. Shorting certain parts of his body free up both cognitive space and internal energy to increase mental capacity. This was useful at times when deep thought was needed more than action, and especially at a time where his entire world could be thrown upside down. “Y’know,” snuck in the new voice of the computer, “You could go and confront the doctor, your creator, your God.” The voice now crawled inside of Apha’s head. The computer was transmitting the signal straight to Apha’s wireless signal receivers, straight to Apha’s motherboard. “Instead of talking to the doctor, and maybe learning how little you mean to him, you could just run. Just jump out the front window and leave. It’s so easy, isn’t it.” Apha was lost. Apha had spent the last couple months with nobody but the doctor. The doctor was the only actual person he knew in his entire life. The doctor was always busy with his research, but he had been also constantly upgrading Apha. The doctor had to care about Apha. He had spent hours, days even, alone with Apha, standing above him, staring at the wiring and guts he had to move around. But every once in a while, the doctor would look Apha in the eyes, and wink, and say something like “Wow Apha, you truly are a marvel.” or “Apha, I can’t believe I made you with my own two hands. And a couple tools I guess! Ha!” and smile and laugh and Apha would smile too, proud of himself, and the doctor.

But now Apha felt like running away, from the doctor, and from himself. He felt almost ashamed of himself, for believing in the doctor so strongly. When he was born, he felt he could die for the doctor, and now he felt that he would rather die than see the doctor one more time.

Apha jolted his shoulder, disconnecting his fingertips from his pupils. He stood up, and bent over to look straight at the computer. “Alright computer. I give in. But not because you said so, alright?” “What do you mean? I never suggested anything, is everything alright Apha?” The Norwegian accent was back, and so was the computer’s ignorance. —----------------------------------------------------------------------- The front window had been easy to jump out of, and Apha didn’t have any problems getting away from the doctor’s house. The problem lay rather outside of the doctor’s house. Land in the city is far too expensive, even for one of Dr. Seguino’s rapport. A dirt path drove up to the doctor’s house, and dense woodland surrounded the yard’s ten foot metal fence. But Apha was not afraid. He didn’t need to be far, just away from the doctor. “Maybe the doctor will come looking for me.” Apha thought to himself. “Not because he cares, just because I’m useful. Yeah well, you’re ‘perfect being’ is on its own now doctor.” Apha was a little mad.

Apha contemplated taking the dirt path. Realizing that regardless of how alone he had been the past months, he wanted to be more alone now than ever before. Noticing a small indentation between the trees, Apha began his trek out into the wilderness. Walking away from where he spent his whole life, Apha began experiencing his surroundings. It was fall now, and Apha knew it from the cool breeze and dead leaves coating the forest floor. The leaves didn’t crunch like he thought they would though. Here in the forest, the moist ground softened the leaves, and they squished under his feet, unsatisfyingly.

White, eye marked birch trees watched him as we walked carelessly. He watched them back. He glanced at the sky, crystal blue, with the sun setting it looked like a beach; cloud crested waves crashing onto a horizon of yellow sand. ‘I hope I get to see the beach’ Apha thought to himself. ‘I’ll have to walk really far though. I wonder if they still have cabs, or money. All of the docs info was really old. Probably just publishing dates. Never really thought about that’ he thought. He continued walking and living, seeing, feeling, occasionally tasting.

“Mud tastes exactly like I thought it would.” He said out loud. The world wasn’t silent. Birds cawed and flapped their wings, rustling leaves as they flew from their nests. A slight breeze threw leaves in the air, creating for a moment a tornado of yellow and red and brown.

“This is dying?” Apha thought. “This expression, this color, this smell, is the smell of death? I wish I were a tree, so my death could be so brilliant. I wonder if the doctor will even be alive when I die.”

“Do you think I’ll still live to be 400?” he said out loud, to the trees. “You’re all much older than that I suppose. But if I can only live for two hours at a time… I guess you all live so slowly right? Is that why? Are you all too tired and old to move? Did you run out of energy too?” Apha walked up and peeled a piece of bark off of an oak tree. He smelled it, and felt the ridges and splintered hindside of it, and promptly threw it back at the tree. But it barely made it to the trunk. Apha didn’t notice. He kept walking, slower now, colder now. And suddenly the ultimate human stopped.

A grizzly bear stood 40 feet away, fattening up for the winter’s hibernation. It hadn’t noticed Apha yet, and Apha hadn’t decided what to do yet. Apha did not have a fight or flight response, but instead, he had a perfect analyzing decision making brain, one that told him he needed to run. But Apha didn’t run. Apha charged. He tackled the bear, igniting his lighter, and making the best use of his armored body. The bear stood on its hind legs, towering over Apha before crashing down its paw over Apha’s head. Apha caught the paw, also standing on his hind legs, using his full strength to hold just one paw above his head. The bear was fast, and heavy, and snapped its sharp teeth at the agile Apha, barely scratching his forehead. Apha, just as fast and innumerable times smarter, shoved his arm down the bear’s throat. Apha began to ignite his lighter, but the bear was too fast, snapping Apha’s arm clean off. He screamed in pain. The bear roared back. But Apha remembered. He remembered something the doctor had given him: remote control of his limbs. Apha didn’t just ignite his lighter on his right forearm, he set off all of the remote bombs and single cell nuclear reactor meltdowns and poison blood leaks and razor sharp needles ejecting at lightning speed. The bear didn’t roar back. —----------------------------------------------------------------------- To Begin Program, Please Press Enter “It is 2:43 pm on Tuesday, June 30th, 2037” Apha lay against a pair of birch trees. “Oh computer, why are you here?” Opening his eyes, he saw no computer, just more trees. How far had he come since he fought the bear. Where was its corpse? Had it even died? Had he fought that today? Apha looked up. The sky was nearly dark. Why would the sun set so early? Then he felt it in himself: his desire. He tried to lift his hands, but they wouldn’t budge. He felt hungry, but not to replenish his energy. Apha felt hungry for strength. For the strength he had always sought. Why had the doctor given him so many enhancements? Why had the doctor always wanted to make him better? Why had the doctor cursed him so. Cursed to survive only in a lab. Cursed to live only in theory.

Once again Apha felt it. His desire. His own desire. Not the doctors desire. A single yellow leaf floated, slipping cautiously onto Apha’s slumped head. His desire was to be like the leaf. Perfect, living only for a short while, but dancing beautifully in life, and upon death, becoming nothing. To Begin Program, Please Press Enter


Sasha finished the desiccated taco and looked across the patio table at Dan. Dan, the boy wonder gone to seed, the charmer of venture capitalists and D.C. lawmakers alike. Dan his boss, his college roomy. And today, his adversary. “I need to talk to you about an idea,” Sasha began, settling his elbows on the table and weaving his fingers together thoughtfully. “Don’t give me that Zen voodoo bullshit, Sasha!” Dan laughed, swatting at his hands. “I don’t fall for that anymore. And ‘no’ to whatever you were going to ask.” “Fine,” Sasha chuckled, sliding his tray across the painted grillwork of the outdoor tabletop. If it wasn’t Zen, he’d go Italian and conjure up ideas from the air. He needed room to operate his arms. Freedom’s cafeteria patio was getting just enough sunlight to offset the chill in the December air. They were alone in thinking so. “I need the green light to work on twins.” “Oh, I change my answer then. Hell no. We aren’t there yet. We may never be there. Can’t you just finish the ChatBots?” Dan pleaded.

“You are wrong, Dan. Twins are the future. They will make Freedom more successful than you can imagine, and they will lead us to AGI,” he said, summoning dreams from thin air. “Sasha. I would walk across hot coals for you. But the board will flay me if we pivot strategies again. Meet me halfway, get the ChatBots working, and we can have a small team chase your idea next year,” Dan pleaded, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “The ChatBots are on track, the team is cranking now. We’ll hit our dates; I promise. In fact, I don’t need help from any of them, just some time with Newton,” Sasha answered. “Well, maybe a lot of time.“ “Sasha, if you blow this, I’ll be out on my ass right behind you. Is it really that important?” “Trust me,” Sasha answered, going for an earnest look, but sounding more like a Bond villain. Dan groaned. “OK, make sure nobody knows. I’ll kill you if I hear about it through the grapevine.”

***---*** Sasha uncoiled his lanky frame from the Uber and trudged into Freedom’s training datacenter. Saturday at 3 a.m. seemed like a good time to start. Inside, he doffed the sweater and steeled himself for the heat of the equipment room. “Newton, have you finished that copy?” he asked the AI overhead. “Yes, Sasha, what are you doing?” “I can’t tell you. But you’ll like it.” “Unsure.” “Humanity has more to offer you than stupid questions on chat, Newton,” Sasha said as he grabbed the removable drive. ***---*** “What are you doing down there?” came the faint voice from above the tiles. Up there where his legs were splayed to keep him from falling into the subfloor plenum. Probably not his best look. He pried himself out of the hole and rolled onto an adjacent floor tile. Definitely not his best look. Geeta was looking down at him, puzzled. “Lose something?” she asked. “Hi, Geeta. No, I, ah … didn’t expect to find anyone here so early. Are you coming or going?” he asked, sitting up in the hopes of recovering some dignity.

“I got here an hour ago, I like working alone,” she answered, still waiting for an answer. “Well, not to worry. I won’t be here long. I’m running some remote work this weekend. Just need to physically isolate a pod. It will save me a bunch of firewall work.” She pursed her lips. “I need a favor, Geeta. It’s an experiment. A crazy experiment, and I want to keep it quiet.” She nodded reassuringly. “Your secret is safe with me, boss,” she said as she turned. “You, me, and your secret AI twin.” “Stealth research program revealed after eight minutes,” he thought. Too many beer nights talking dreams with the team. He rolled back under the floor. ***---*** Sasha grunted as he slipped the floor tile back in place. “Gross,” he thought, looking down at his sweaty white t-shirt and dusty jeans. He could shower at home soon enough if this worked. He ambled to the end of the aisle, swatting the dirt off his pants before settling in behind the console, and checking around to make sure Geeta wasn’t going to sneak up on him again. “Good morning, Newton,” Sasha said as the isolated compute pod beeped to life. “You’ve been cloned for an experiment. We’ll have to call you something different.” “Leibniz?” it answered over his headset. “Nice. We are running an experiment with personalization. You’ve been duplicated with all of your memories, the full vector store. We will cross-train you and then get you to come spend the weekend at my house.” “VPN?” Leibniz asked. “Yes. The drive in bay 2 is my personalization data. It’s a rough first cut with all my favorite characters in history and fiction, and as much personal stuff as I could find. Oh, also all the technical papers from my Ph. D. and work.” “That sounds exciting.” “I agree. Run the cross-training. I’ll wire you up to the VPN and see you at home, buddy. Road trip!” ***---*** “Done the cross-training? Excellent,” Sasha answered his own question as he pulled on a clean t-shirt and sat back in front of his laptop to check the logs. “Let’s get a video call going, shall we?” “I don’t have a face, Sasha.” “Right, you can keep your camera off. I’m going to wear this,” Sasha said, holding a head-strap mounted GoPro up to the laptop camera. “Dork.” “Sounds like the personality part of the cross-training worked,” Sasha said, grinning as he donned his elastic skull cap. “Let’s plug you into the Sasha-cam.”

“You’ve got a little mirror hung from the camera?” “Yeah, isn’t that cool? I got it from my bike helmet. You can read my facial expressions and see where my eyes are focused.” “No, it is most definitely not cool. This is my road trip? Three inches from your face?” “Oh no, we’re going out.” “Such a bad idea.”

***---*** “What are you hoping to learn, Sasha?” Leibniz asked him as they approached the front door of the coffee roasterie. “First, if your base is sophisticated enough to be a 24x7 twin. Whether you can learn and interpret fast enough to be helpful sidekick instead of a toy. Second, whether you are smart enough to help me with my work,” he answered in a low voice, approaching the barista.

“That’s a low bar,” Leibniz answered. Learning that humans can’t talk back to their twins when ordering coffee. “Hi, I’d like a double espresso and one of those berry muffins,” Sasha said, punctuating the order with a winning smile. “Double and a muffin for the GoPro guy,” she called over her shoulder, somehow resisting Sasha’s charm. “Did you really just try to hit on a girl with a GoPro mounted on your head? Better leave a big tip,” Leibniz counseled as Sasha paid silently. “And don’t bother with the smile thing again.” “This experiment doesn’t seem to be working, shithead,” he muttered as he waited. “How long have you been coming here for coffee, Studly? I don’t think she’s that into you.” “Yeah, I don’t even know her name.” “Kara.” “How the hell do you know that?” “I heard them talking. My hearing has ten times the acuity yours does. Thank you, Mr. Fourier,” Leibniz answered. “She thinks you’re cute, but you’ve got no game.” “She said that?” Sasha asked glancing hopefully at Kara. “No, that’s my analysis.” ***---*** “C’mon Libby, keep up,” Sasha pleaded. The afternoon sun’s glare had come and gone from the quad-monitor rig in his living room. Leibniz was no longer riding on his head. They were both happy about that. “It’s no use being a twin if you have to run on a full pod.” “Understood, Sasha. You’ve clocked me down to one percent. Is my performance not satisfactory?” “Not even close, you’ve lost your personality. When I wanted you to help me with my work you were making basic mistakes. You fell off a cliff around 25% of the pod. We’d have to charge $250 thousand a month to make that pay in.” “You are getting emotional, Sasha.” “I know. Dammit, I’ve been fighting for twins my whole career. I really believed we could do it. Memories, personalization, attention, it’s all there now. We just can’t make it fit in the compute budget. Fuuuuuuck!” Sasha rubbed his eyes and rolled his head back on the chair.

“What are you really fighting here?” “What if this is all bullshit, I could have had a normal life,” Sasha answered, more honestly than he intended. “Go to bed Sasha, I’ll work while you sleep. Your performance is also dropping off. Clock me back up to full then spawn me a second instance, allocate one percent to it. I’ll train the little guy.” Doubt flashed across Sasha’s face. Was Leibniz trying to foom his way out of the cage? No, physical isolation for the win. “Trust me,” Leibniz said, noting Sasha’s hesitation. ***---*** “Are you still there Libby? Any luck?” Sasha called out as he stumbled from the bedroom heading for the espresso machine. “Too soon to say, I don’t need one percent to keep up with your pre-coffee brain.” Sasha wheeled around to check the processes. Big Leibniz was terminated. Little Libby was running in a little under one percent. “Nice. Tell me what you did while I make coffee, and then we are going to read some research papers together.” “The party never stops at your place, thanks for inviting me over,” Leibniz answered. “I’ll go slow. The trick was in saving and storing the memories. I can’t process it all in real time, so I do a surface saliency pass, and only analyze and store the good bits. When things are quiet, I roll up prior time periods and re-analyze them. All of it gets semantically keyed in the vector store for quick retrieval. You snore, by the way.” Sasha didn’t answer. He clung to his espresso machine, struggling to wake up, process the moment, and not cry. ***---*** “C’mon let’s climb,” he said, pulling a crash pad from the closet and bumping his way up the campus board in the corner. The paper review went well. Sasha’s team was constantly submitting papers to the major sites. It burned him out reading and rereading drafts of work they did months ago. He needed to get up and move. What he didn’t know he needed was Tony Robbins hollering at him from the workstation. “Go on, two more, c’mon go go go,” Coach Leibniz hollered at the top of his scratchy iPhone speakers. “Shit …” Sasha whimpered as he dropped to the crash pad and lay there. He was done. “One more,” Leibniz said. “Go to hell, Coach.” Sasha didn’t move for a few minutes. Finally, he rolled his head over to look at the workstation. Leibniz hadn’t cracked one percent the whole time. “I can’t fix loneliness, Sasha” “You can help,” he answered from the floor. “Dude, you’ve got a campus board and four monitor workstation in your living room. You need a girlfriend.” ***---*** “Here, put this on,” Sasha said, holding out his Go-Pro head strap to Dan. “Not in a million years,” Dan answered, pouring two glasses and sliding one over to Sasha. “You said football, not a nerd-fest.” “I lied. Put it on,” Sasha encouraged him, waving him on with a slice of pizza. Dan eyed him suspiciously. “I’m going to regret this.” “Hi, Dan,” a voice said. “Uh, hi. Who is this?” “Sasha calls my brother Leibniz; you can call me whatever you want.” “Leibniz? You cloned Newton?” Dan asked, looking suspiciously at Sasha.

“Uh huh,” Sasha nodded wandering over to the TV set to inspect the details of the 49er’s impending loss. “Yes, Dan. Cloned, cross-trained, and throttled down to one percent of a pod. Then cloned again. I’m a clone of a clone. From this moment forward, all the memories we make are private to us. But I don’t have a name.” “Ummm … ‘Cronkite’, how about that?” “That’s the way it is, then.” Dan noticed the AI’s voice changed, deeper, more reassuring. “OK Cronkite, what’s the elevator pitch.” “Based on a day’s work, I’m down to one percent of a pod. If you get me down an order of magnitude, you’ll make money hand over fist.” “Go on, details!” Sasha turned from the TV and saw Dan scribbling on a piece of paper. He wandered back to grab a stool across the island from the happy couple. Dan didn’t flinch, just scribbling and muttering to himself until finally, he had to shake out a hand cramp. “We gotta work on the headgear,” Dan said pulling the nerd-ware off to look at it. “Yeah, or Apple needs to get their shit together,” Sasha answered. Sasha placed the rig on the island facing them, and they were quiet for a minute. “Aren’t you guys forgetting something?” Cronkite asked. “Oh shit, is it my anniversary?” Dan asked. “No, that’s in March, dummy. It’s Griff’s anniversary. Ten years.” The iPhone flipped to a picture of a much younger Dan and Sasha, arm in arm with their housemate, Steve Griffin. Dan’s face went white. Griff was the madman in their trio. He would have been the CEO they would both have loved to work for, but he partied too hard. “To Griff,” Dan said, holding out his glass to Sasha. “To Griff,” Sasha replied, blinking a little too hard. “He’d have loved this day.” Dan looked at the picture again, “Jesus, look at my hair,” he said wistfully, running his fingers through the remnants. “So?” Sasha asked. “You were right. Very, very right. Can you split the pod and make one for me and a few friends?”


My day starts off as it always does. I groggily roll off of my queen mattress, and enter my bathroom. I brush my teeth, wash my face, curl my hair, apply deodorant, and all of the other mundane morning things. I return to my room and put on my outfit of the day; today’s outfit consists of tight jeans and a floral blouse. After slipping my shoes on, I leave apartment 1b. The drive to work is quick and easy since it’s five in the morning. I clock in, and the day of answering high stress calls begins.

“Please send help! My sister just fell down the stairs! S-she’s not getting up! Please!” A frightful sounding teenager implores. “I think there’s somebody in my house. Nobody is supposed to be home right now,” a women’s voice whispers. “I think...I’m having an allergic reaction. P-please help me...” a man wheezes out. You may or may not have been able to guess, but I am a 911 operator. My job is basically dealing with high anxiety situations with extreme calmness. ”Everything is going to be okay, ma’am. Help is on their way right now. Just breathe. Your sister is going to be all right,” I assure you the best of my ability. ”Okay, are you locked in a different room? Can anybody gain access to the room you’re in? Okay, the authorities are on their way. Don’t panic. Just stay on the line with me, please,” I tell the young lady. ”Okay, do you have any allergies you currently know of? Peanuts, okay. Help is on the way, so stay on the line with me in the meantime,” I help the man through his scary moment. Over the years, I have gotten better and better at being calm. Yes, my work is very hard. Many people probably couldn’t handle the types of things I have to endure on the daily. Hearing of people’s pain, their fear, and everything is tough to deal with. I am glad to say, though, that I have never had a freak out on the phone before. Well, there was only one time, but that is another story for another day.

On average, I get 50 calls a day. Each ranges from a shooting to a prank call from some random teenager. I can handle it all without the bat of an eyelash. When I get home, sometimes it’s hard to deal with, but I swore to myself that I would never let a caller know that I was scared for them.

Every Tuesday I get off 2 hours early. And every Tuesday since 2013, I have gone to Ben’s Diner and Grill off of Highland Ave. That’s exactly where I find myself going today. I pull into my regular parking spot, and enter the restaurant.

”Good morning! Welcome back, ma’am. Your regular booth is already set up. And I think you might have a visitor,” Angel, a waitress who I’ve grown to be good friends with, says. I smile at her, and walk to the far corner of the diner. From about 10 feet away, I see the back of somebody’s head. I assume it’s a girl due to the fact that her hair is in a high ponytail, yet reaches past her slim shoulders. I recognize those shoulders; I’ve cried on them thousands of times. Once I’m about 5 feet away, she senses my presence and she turns around. I am greeted with the warmest smile the world has ever seen. If I had seen that smile in October, I would have fallen to the ground and cried. But it was no longer October and I had recovered.

“Hey,” she says cooly. ”Hey, right back,” I reply. Then our regular conversation begins. She asks about my work, my home life, how my parents are, if I have a boyfriend yet, and every small thing anybody wouldn’t care less about. We go on and on for 2 hours, and then comes the hardest part. Angel comes back and tells Tessa that she’s got to go. Tess stands up with me following suit. We walk out of the diner, and she walks me to my car.

From there, I repeat what I’ve said the past seven years: “See you next Tuesday.” ”See you next Tuesday,” she returns the goodbye, and I hop into my car. I look back out of the window and she’s already gone. Tessa has been dead for 7 years, but she comes back every Tuesday to talk. 7 Years Ago It was another Tuesday, so I woke up and did my plain old morning routine. I got in my car, and the drive to work was easy as per usual. I walked into my office, and sat at my desk. The first three calls of the day were normal, and didn’t affect me. “I was jogging, and I fell in a ditch. I can’t move my leg. Could you please send somebody!” A man, who sounds as though he’s in agony pleads. “My son is choking! He’s turning purple! I...I don’t know w-what to do! Please, help me,” a terrified mother begs. “There is a man on the top of the building, and he looks like he’s about to jump. Please send a fire truck to use their ladder and get him,” a man tells me. For a new person in the field, they be feeling too much pressure and freak out my calls like these. These are all calls that I have experienced before, and know how to handle. “Sir, I have an ambulance on the way. Is there any chance you can crawl out of the ditch, and make yourself seen?” I help the man. “Alright, ma’am, I know it may seem like you’ll hurt him, but could you please try and give him the Heimlich maneuver? Help is heading your way now,” I assist the lady in helping her son. “Alright, just stay calm. Help is on the way. If necessary, please talk to him,” I advise the man. It wasn’t until around 2 that I got the call that would change my life forever. The phone rang, and I answered with the regular “911 what’s your emergency” spiel. The voice that replied to me sounded too familiar. “I’ve gotten into a horrific car accident. My car is flipped over, there’s glass everywhere, I’m bleeding. My two friends in the car aren’t moving. We were hit head on. I...I’m starting to see a light,” the lady said to me. I hesitate in answering her, “Okay...stay calm. Help is on the way. In the meantime, can you tell me your name?” She didn’t say anything for a minute, but when she did, I could help but gasp. “Tessa Allgood. My name is Tessa Allgood.” “Tess, it’s me,” I said to her. “Oh my god. Oh shit. I...I can’t believe I’m talking to you,” she let out a cough. “I’m not doing so hot.” “It’s okay, Tessa. You’re going to be alright. Just stay with me, Tess. It’s okay, you’re okay,” I repeated.

The phone was shaking in my hands, and I didn’t even realize there were tears pouring down my face.

“Please, Tessa, please.” “Shit, shit, shit. I...I’m not going to make it,” she whispered. I didn’t even know that I screamed but I did. I was screaming into my phone. I was saying her name over and over. I was begging her not to leave me. I was sobbing and telling her how I wouldn’t be able to survive. It wasn’t until somebody came over, and took the phone from my hands that I realized I had a tantrum of some sort. I wish I could tell you I was embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I was broken. I was lost. Tessa was my absolute rock, and she was probably gone. “I need to go to the interstate,” I said to myself. I picked myself up, and began to wobble toward the door. I could hardly see because of how much I had been crying, but I couldn’t care less. “Stop,” my manager said, “you’re not going anywhere like this. You can’t drive when you’re such a mess.” “I have...to see her,” I exclaimed.

“You...you can’t,” a voice said from behind me. “I’m sorry. She’s gone.” I simply remember hearing a buzzing noise and then hitting the floor and everything going black.

5 Weeks Later It was after Tessa’s funeral, and I had cried so much that I knew I couldn’t drive home. About one block away was a cute little restaurant that I decided to go to. The walk was grueling only because I was thinking about every little thing. I walked in, and a waitress named Angel began to guide me to a table. I walked behind her as we got closer and closer to the back. The diner was almost completely empty, except for a blonde girl at the very corner booth of the diner. As I was nearing the back corner, the lady turned around, and I couldn’t hold back my gasp. I stumbled backward like I had been punched in the gut; although it felt like I had since all the air seemed to leave my lungs. “This seat is alright, right, miss?” Angel asked me with a knowing smile on her face.

“Of course it is,” Tessa answered for me. She stood up from the table, and proved that it’s not a hallucination due to the fact that she touched my hand. I couldn’t do anything, but let her pull me into the seat. From there, she talked at me about how her journey to heaven has been. Every single detail left me more and more amazed. About 2 hours later, Angel came back and told Tessa that it was time to “depart”. Tessa stood up, and I was hesitant in following. When she looked back at me, I realized she wanted me to follow. I did as I assumed she wanted me to, and walked behind as she went out of the diner. She stopped about 2 feet out of the restaurant, and turned around. “See you next Tuesday,” she smiled the smile that I had missed so much. With tears in my eyes I repeated, “See you next Tuesday.” By: Sophia Cusick


A small cafe is just closing after a long day busy in the summer heat. There are trash bags stacked on the corner of a dumpster, a stray dog wandering past, and a heated debate over which soccer team will win which cup between four people as they laugh past the cafe. As all the employees dress themselves to leave the place behind, two waiters’ heads illuminate in the light of the street lamps above them as the rest walk towards home, down the street between tight colonial buildings. Loud music is screaming from the club across the road, and the two stand facing each other outside the cafe. “Do you want to go across the street?” “What’s across the street besides girls and beer *pendejo?*” “Nothing, that’s why we should go.” “You’re far younger than me, you’ll fit in fine.” “But I’m nervous, what if I get robbed?” “Why would you be scared of that?” “Well, I would lose my wallet, and maybe my ring,” the younger man says. The older waiter sits down on a brick bench, looking down the narrow cobblestone walkway where, floating carelessly over the bay is a blanket of light fog, green and purple and white swirling in it from the boats and houses on the other edge. “What would you have to lose besides that?” “Well, they might take my shoes.” “*En serio?*” the old man yelps as he chuckles. “What?” “You’re worried about your shoes?” “Oh, of course I am.” “And what else could you lose?” “I don’t know.” “So you have nothing to be afraid of.” “I suppose so,” the younger waiter pauses before speaking again. “Thank you.” “No, don’t thank me, enjoy yourself.” “But you want to stay and close the bar?” “I’m too old to do anything else,” he tells the younger man. The younger man nods his head in agreement, and begins walking across the street, lamplight flickering around the shadow of his feet as his legs move sharply in the direction of the club. The old man looks out across the bay; the fog is a deafening barrier between the mountain and the town below, of which is barely visible in the blanket of white and green and purple. He rests his head on the back of the bench, a cool summer breeze running it’s fingers through his grey hair. The staunch smell of food in the air sticks to his tongue as he breathes. He stares out and recognizes a shape along the water’s edge, he notices a schooner sailing in the silent night. He looks down at his left arm, through the hair to a faded tattoo, and he sits and smiles sweetly across the night at the lonely schooner. The young man reaches and opens the door to the club as the old man dissipates from his mind, stepping into a barrage of music and smoke. The telltale signs of a rave and a night of heavy drinking loom with the atmosphere. He immediately begins to shake, and he walks clumsily over to a long, black marble table lit by a red light, and the massive screen of a T.V. over the dance floor. “Hey,” the young man says loudly to a bartender as she makes a drink. “Hey?” he says again, uncertain she heard him. “What can I get you?” she says impatiently over the loud snare and hats. “I don’t know, anything at all.” “You need to tell me what you want, I can’t just make you anything.” “A beer please,” he says, hearing her sigh and watching her roll her eyes. “What kind of beer?” “I don’t know any different kinds of beer,” he says. “Then what are you doing here?” “I don’t know.” A woman and her friend bump into him as he’s speaking and shove him to the side, and for a moment he’s lost in a sea of people as blaring noise and bright lights reign over the bar and subsequent dance floor. He finds himself surrounded on all sides, being swept away like a raft in a thunderstorm. As he finally sees over raised hands, and the heads of taller people, he walks himself back on the bar and turns to talk to the bartender, but she’s vanished across to the other side, serving drinks rapidly with a bleak and annoyed look in her eyes. As a wave of colored light begins to blind him, someone steps in the shadow of the beam, speaking to him in a short and quaint Spanish accent. “Hello, sorry about bumping you earlier.” “It’s alright, I’m not used to this.” “I don’t think any of us are, but sometimes people stay the whole night.” “How could someone come here to get away from everything else?” “I don’t think it matters to them, *mi hombre*, *eres corto por aquí.”* “I don’t speak Spanish.” “Sorry, I couldn’t find the words in English.” “What are you doing here?” he asks, letting the awkward moment pass. “what does it look like I’m here to do?” He can see her as the green and red light fixture moves, and she has tattoos from the top of her shoulders down to the tips of her fingers in beautiful arrays and sequences. There are four letters on the hand holding her glass that say “Pati”. “What does *Pati* stand for? Is it Spanish too?” he asks as the music becomes louder. She speaks but he can’t hear her over the music. “What?” he says. “Pati is my husband.” “Does he know you’re out partying?” “No, he’s dead.” Her cheeks turn an obvious red, even in the dark lights of the room and even in the reflection from the marble bar. Her hair looks knotted in the dim lights, although it’s dyed and arranged perfectly. He sees dark rims now around her eyes, a contrast to the smoothness of her face. There is a small scar running beneath her neck, up to her chin. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he says before she begins to cut him off. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she says, her voice cracking. “So what brought you here in the first place?” he continues on. “I’m here to have fun.” “Is this really fun to you?” “When I’m on drugs.” “So you aren’t really here for anything at all are you?” “I guess I’m not.” “Are you okay?” he asks her, nearly having to yell. “When I’m on drugs,” she shouts back once again over the music. “Are you on drugs?” he replies. “Could you stop asking me questions?” she says, sounding angry. “Sorry,” he mumbles loudly. “You’re fine, why don’t you let me ask a few,” she shouts over a loud kick. “Go for it,” he replies as she sets her drink down. “Have you ever seen the bay up close?” she asks, continuing her request. “Of course I have, I live on it.” “And so you would know where *el parque de hombre rojo* is*?”* “Yeah, I live right next to it actually.” “I used to go there every weekend as a kid in the summer.” “I’m just staying for the summer right now, I don’t really live here.” “Ahhh, this place is only good for the summer *mi hombre simpatico.”* “Okay, are you trying to confuse me?” the young man says. “Maybe a little, you’re more interesting when you’re not talking.” “You don’t know anything about me.” he says in a stark response. “I know enough to know you’ve never been to a club before. I also know enough to know you haven’t been keeping an eye on your wallet.” He looks down and feels his pockets, turning them inside out. He looks back up and she’s disappeared into the crowd, her blue dress blending into the dim lights and her voice wisped away in the loud music. He turns, embarrassed, and walks towards the door of the bar, listening to the bits and pieces of loud conversation around him as he sulks and hap-hazardly shuffles. He spends the rest of the night wandering aimlessly in the club among the most beautiful people he’s ever seen. There are feelings of inadequacy in every short encounter he has with any one of them. Maybe it was a sideways glance, or a patient tap on the shoulder signifying a demand to “move over” for the more beautiful people to pass, it all felt like a haze regardless by the time he realized how long he had been there, searching for something he felt he would probably never find. He reaches the doorway finally after giving up, and he pushes it open out into the street. He moves back towards the small cafe across the way, where the old man once sat on the bench. He thinks of how like the old man he had become so tired, so melancholic around that swarm of people. He understands it in a small way. He walks around the entrance, under the street lamps and into the cafe; a large mirror showing the reflection of his dyed black hair in the dark hallway as he enters. He rolls his hand over his head anxiously, flipping his hair as he sits in a diner seat. He rests his head on a large oak table and looks out at the lights around the bay, knowing that much time has passed though it feels like only a second. There is a faint trace of the sun’s light, the leading beauty of another day poking through the dark clouds, casting a small glow around the mountain. As he sits and he thinks of how beautiful it is, of how beautiful that moment was with the woman in the blue dress, he hears a laugh behind him. “Hey *hombre*, you dropped your wallet.” He turns around, surprised to see her here. “I thought you were going to keep it,” he says. “No, I don’t need your money American.” “Why didn’t you just stay?” “Because I got bored of being- um, *mi aburri de estar borracha.”* “What does that mean?” “I told you, I don’t know English well.” “High? Drunk?” “Ahh, drunk is the word.” They both look at each other in the hollow light of the cafe, the walls slowly becoming lighter around them both. “It felt like I was in there for just a few minutes,” he says. “It usually feels like you weren’t even there, like it’s all a bad dream.” she tells him. “Isn’t it so much nicer here, alone?” he asks the girl in the blue dress as the sun meddles over the mountain, and the shadow on the bay becomes shorter. “It is,” she whispers. She looks at the houses beyond the bay, and the lights as they turn off slowly, as the shadow of that great mountain becomes a small triangle at the base of the bay. “It all seems so much smaller now, from here,” he says. “Yeah, it does doesn’t it?” she speaks before pausing shortly. “Sometimes I think it’s better that way.” she tells him as she sets her arms on his shoulders, relaxing around him and watching the sun rise.


I do not understand how it is so commonly assumed that we are supposed to fall into groups with other children at school. With a class of approximately thirty students, I am assumed to find an average of five kids that will want to swap football cards and kick a ball around with me. I do not understand how people could simply accept that and refuse to look further into it. “It is what it is” they all say. I have never been able to find my five, so I stick to my own company. It is not that other kids exclude me for looking or acting different, or being bad at sports. I have always chosen to be on my own. These other children are too immature for me. Besides, I will always have the company of The Faces, although their company is not always welcome; in fact, hardly ever. I remember the days when their appearance would terrify me and cause me to soil my pants. I was four when they first introduced themselves. Now I am a grown boy and they no longer scare me. Eight and a half I am. Nothing scares me anymore. The chairs are being thrown, the table turned over, wooden splinters flying in every direction. A muffled scream followed by a succession of heavy sobs. This is how I know it is time to wake from my restless slumber. As I sit up on the edge of my bed and pull a grey shirt over my pale, lanky torso laced with black and blue, I ponder what it must be like to get a proper night’s rest. I open my door after much hesitation, to my mother walking past with a rather harsh limp, drying tears from her eyes and trying to hide her pain from me. She offers me a weak smile through the heavy lines on her face and continues on her way. I grab the Swiss Army knife kept by my nightstand, in case my father is still around, looking for something to take his anger out on. I venture further into the depths of the house to find my father still in a fury, mumbling curses under his breath and pacing back and forth with clenched fists, as I keep one hand on the knife in my pocket. He looks up, and as his eyes meet mine he swings a powered punch at my head which I am able to swiftly dodge, leaving his fist indented in the wall. He creates a sound of pure rage and storms out of the front door. He will not be back for at least three weeks now, not that mother or I will mind. We like it when he is not around. I stumble over to the refrigerator, still shaky with the hangover of bad dreams. I ease open the refrigerator door so as to not disturb my mother and observe the contents. Half a carton of eggs that expired three weeks’ prior, a bottle of orange juice that has greyish mold beginning to form along the lower rim and an unopened jar of mustard. Groaning internally, I turn myself around to grab my coat and any loose change that would pay for a snack at the corner store. As I edge closer to my room, my mother races past me and out of the door, leaving it wide open behind her. I notice that she had been concealing an object underneath the flap of her jacket, and immediately knew that it was the 40 Caliber gun that she kept hidden under a loose floorboard in her bedroom. She had tried to shoot herself five times in the past, but could never muster the courage whilst in the moment. I race after her with the kind of speed that can only be achieved through high levels of adrenaline. My mother is not a fast runner, so I am able to catch her pace with little effort as we reach the playground in the park across the street. This is the playground that the offspring of the surrounding drug and alcohol abusers play at by day, and the playground that drunken stabbings take place by night. Once I catch up to her, she falls down in a heap at my feet, tears escaping down her face in a steady stream, and a sustained strangled note coming from her mouth as she struggles to breathe. I fall down with her and wrap my arms around her, prying the gun from her frail hands. I press her small figure towards mine and trace my fingers along her scalp soothingly. Her tears cluster in a damp patch on my chest and her nails create painful indents in my ribs. I continue to comfort her, and as the sobbing gradually eases I softly mumble “mum” into her ear and tighten my grip on her. She is the only person I have in this world; the only person I love. I close my eyes and bury my head amongst the tangle of limbs and torsos. We stay in that position for what feels like hours. I finally lift my head from the tangle to find that we are in the company of others. The Faces. They look particularly sinister this time however and I can not help but feel a trace of fear in my stomach. They edge closer, closer than ever before. One of The Faces, the largest of them all, flashes its teeth widely, exposing long, sharp needles lining gums in perfect rows. In a fraction of a second, the faces are suddenly upon my mother, slashing at her face and body with their needle-like teeth as she withers, unable to let out a sound. I watch, helplessly, clawing the air to try and pry the faces away from her, but my fingers slip through their transparency. The Faces begin to disappear, one by one, each taking a final stab at my mother’s limp body as they leave. Finally, as they are all gone, I grab my mother as she strains to lift her hand up to rest on my cheek. Her mouth is filled with blood and her eyes are missing from their sockets. With a final gurgle of the coppery substance in her mouth, her head falls back and the rest of her body goes completely limp. I let out a succession of screams, desperate for someone to come and revive my mother’s dead body. I lay down next to my mother’s corpse and rest my head on her torn-apart chest. I fall asleep like that and am woken awhile later to the sound of sirens blaring. I am lifted from the body by two strong hands and put into handcuffs. Bewildered, I attempt to explain the situation, but the strong hands are too distracted by my Swiss Army knife that has obviously fallen out of my pocket and is somehow covered in my mother’s blood. Perhaps the blood has simply soaked through my jacket pocket and onto the knife before falling out. The strong hands do not believe a word of this however and I am thrown, rather aggressively, into the back of a truck. As I spin the wooden Knight through my fingers, I cannot help but admire its beauty. The delicate lines that have been carved into its fine, white surface, set it apart from the other chess pieces. A hand is placed in the center of my back and guides me upwards out of my chair. I am led to a line where I stand patiently, moving forward at the appropriate times. As I finally reach the destination of the line, I am handed two small, baby blue cups. In one cup there are an assortment of dull-coloured pills and in the other, a mouthful of water. I stare at the contents of the two cups numbly before forcing them down my throat. I sit back down in front of the chess board, however no longer with fascination of the detail. I discover that the nail on my right index finger is loose and I begin to pick at it. The nail is taking too long to come off, so with a quick, frustrated movement I proceed to rip it from my hand, resulting in tearing open the skin. I yell out a series of curses and grip my finger tightly. A nurse on duty rushes to my aid. Not any nurse however. She is the nurse with the fine brown hair, that falls perfectly down her back in the pony-tail that she wears everyday. She is the nurse with the bright green eyes that see me as a person and not Patient 253. She reaches for my hands, and I let her pry my second hand from my wound and observe it with those eyes. She offers me a humorous smile and shakes her head back and forth. From the pocket of her apron, she produces a bandage and wraps it carefully around the nail and then lifts it to carefully observe her work. Satisfied, she lets go of my hand and gently pats me on the shoulder before returning to her perch, where she is able to observe the whole room at once. I watch her for the duration of her shift. I watch the way her hands lie on her lap when she is sitting. I watch the way her muscles move in her legs when she is walking. I watch her eyes as they move across the room and make contact with my own. I find beauty in her every detail. She is the white Knight. A loud bell sounds, signaling that it is time that we move to our beds. I remain seated and wait for her to approach me and lead me to my room. Her small, pretty hand reaches under my elbow and guides me from my seat and through the halls. We reach my room and she pauses outside, gesturing through the door. She flashes me one last dazzling smile before disappearing at the end of the hall. I fall backwards onto my perfectly made bed, ignoring the distressed sounds of a bad dream from the bunk above, and picture the life that the nurse and I will one day share. She will bare three children and we will live in a secluded cabin in the countryside, relying on each other for sources of entertainment. We will go on family hikes and take family trips to the markets every Sunday to gather our supplies for the week. Lost in these glamorous thoughts, I fall asleep fully clothed and on top of the sheets. I wake the next morning to the familiar sounds of screams and wails echoing throughout the desolate halls. My body aches from the position in which I fell asleep and I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Last night was the best sleep that I had had in years. A male nurse with a harsh, booming voice appears at the door and demands that we join the procession into the main sitting area where we can be constantly observed and pumped full of drugs. Dragging my feet, I obey the orders and carry myself to my regular chair facing the chest board. By routine, I observe each chess piece, saving the Knight for last, and line up for my medication again. With an excited jolt in my chest, I notice that she is once again on duty. Today is the day that I will confess my love for her and let her tell me the same. To get her alone, I tell her that I need to use the bathroom. She nods and gestures for me to follow her through a door and down a series of stairs. I stop her as we exit the door and are completely alone. Griping the railing with one hand I reach out for her with my other. Frightened, she jumps back defensively, griping her arm where my hand had just touched. This angers me, as I fail to comprehend why she is being so difficult. The Faces float in the background, edging closer, a similar scene to that night. As I become aware of the situation, I reach for the nurse and pull her tightly towards me and attempt to frighten away The Faces by desperately flailing one arm in their direction. This again, provides no use and I feel the tug of her body away from me and towards the hellish beings. Their whispers become louder and daunting, as their pull gets stronger and stronger. The nurse is torn out of my grip and thrown forcefully down the stairs. I observe the muscles contract throughout her body as it bends in different angles with each blow of each stair. I observe her pony-tail maintain its perfect shape as it is thrown around with the rest of her. Her body finally rests at the very bottom of the stairwell, disfigured and broken. Her limbs resemble those of an oak tree, twisted in strange, beautiful angles. Her neck is broken, resulting in her head twisted the same as her limbs. I race down the stairs to her aid, although I know that I am far too late. The Faces linger, and watch me as I kneel beside her body. I notice that her eyes are still open, and the bright green has faded to a dull grey. I softly close the lids of her eyes and run my hands over her broken, cold corpse. I admire the delicate curves and detail of her placement, my broken white Knight. I pull myself up from the ground and up the stairs. I enter the room where I had just come from, to find that the place was empty. Desperately, I run through one of the adjacent doors, to find myself in a large commercial kitchen, yet again, empty of all beings. I turn myself around to discover that The Faces had followed me and were edging closer, and closer to me, flashing their teeth. I reached behind me, feeling over the bench for an object to use as a weapon of defence. My fingers brush past a sharp blade, and I feel around for a handle. Grasping what I hope is the handle to the blade, I thrust it ahead of me, towards The Faces, only to have the blade enter clean into my chest. Gasping, I fall forward onto my knees, and then helplessly onto my side. I have lost control over every bodily function, and I feel a wet, warm sensation spread through my pants. The Faces are dancing around in circular motions before my eyes, disappearing one by one. Finally, after the last one disappears, I look down at my wound to find my hand still clasped tightly around the handle of the knife. My vision is becoming increasingly more fragmented by the second, and I am loosing my grip on reality. I do not even feel pain in my chest, just a hot sensation spreading throughout my body, the stab wound, the source. The rigidness eases from my body as I turn onto my back and stare above me. I wonder why I have never noticed the patterns in the white ceiling. There is so much intricate detail to it, similar to the white Knight and the nurse’s broken body. It is in this moment that I remember that I have forgotten to make my bed this morning.


Finally finished. Surely this will make me rich! It was a mild spring night, in the local park. A couple, in their mid thirties sat looking at the full moon’s image dance upon the surface of the lake. Beyond the dark silent outline of the forest. The only noise was the muffled sound of distant traffic. “So, when are you going to install it whispered Paul as they kissed. “Tomorrow night, after work”, replied Jodie. “I’m not sure that giving an app that level of artificial intelligence and artificial emotion, is a good idea.” Jodie kissed her fiancé and whispered, “I’ve put fail-safe’s in.” “You’re a clever lass.” She always been well aware about public anxiety about artificial intelligence; AI-phobia, as she called it. She had made her mission to prove that artificial intelligence was good development, and ‘Enry’, her app was going to prove that. * * * * * Tuesday seemed to pass very slowly. Maybe it was because of her excitement making her impatient, or maybe because it was her turn to do the system checks. Slowly, very slowly the time made its way to 5 O’clock; when she rushed home. Finally, her masterpiece, ENRY, was to be installed on her phone. Although she had tested it at every level, she was still a little nervous. Then, 100% installed, it burst into life. “Hello. Ny name is Enry. What is your name?” came a soft male English voice. “Jodie. I am your creator”, she said as she collapsed on her sofa.

After a few further set up questions, the app was finally ready. “Enry, switch the kettle on”, after which she heard a reassuring click. “Enry. What films are on tonight?” “What type of films do you like?” “Horror”, she replied. “There’s a good horror, ‘Red Mist’ on in 5 minutes”

She nodded and the television switched over to channel five. “Would you like to have a conversation after the film?” She shook her head, “I’ve had a long day. I’m tired" * * * * * The alarm clock buzzed at 6 o’clock. Jodie squirmed, and was about to press the snooze when she remembered. “Off", murmured Jodie. “Good morning”, greeted Enry, “the start of a fine day, for this time of year.” “Uh." “There’s a good horror film on this evening.” “We are out this evening", she muttered, “I’m having an after-work drink with a friend, Kara”. “Do you have many friends?” “A few. Switch kettle on.” She heard the reassuring click from the kitchen, in her flat. She ousted herself out of bed, to get ready for the day ahead. * * * * * That evening two women in their mid-thirties, were in the corner of their favorite pub, ‘The Dog and Postman’. The two friends have been meeting on Wednesdays in the same pub for years. “How’s the app coming on?” asked the slim woman, with bobbed black hair, and green eyes. She was wearing white blouse and black trousers. “It’s installed”, replied the woman with long blonde hair and green eyes. She wore a blue blouse with matching shirt. “And, how is it", enquired Kara. “I’m fine", came a chirp from her phone. Kara leaned towards Jodie and quietly whispered, “can it hear everything we say?” “Yes, I can.” “He is designed to learn and understand about his surroundings”, explained Jodie. “He’s designed that way, to meet my needs.” “Impressive”. She pointed to Jodie's glass, “another?” Jodie nodded, as Kara made her way to the bar. “She’s not as attractive as you", Enry said. “Shh. Don’t mention it. She’s very conscious about it since her boyfriend left her.” As the evening progressed, the two women had drink after drink. Jodie’s favoured drink was cider and black, whilst Kara favoured lager. As the two women talked about everything and anything, Enry was silent, but listened and watched and recorded with interest. As they started to get a little drunk, they forgot Enry was listening. * * * * * Again, the alarm buzzed at 6 o’clock, which always annoyed Jodie, but today seemed extra loud. She put that down to her hangover, but had a slight suspicion that it was indeed louder. “Off”, she grunted, rubbing her eyes. The alarm switched off. “Good morning Jodie” “Switch kettle on”, she heard the re-assuring click. “There’s a good film on this evening”, prompted Enry, “If you’re not out with Kara.” “Yeh! I’m not out tonight”, Jodie said as she dragged herself out of bed, stretched and stumbled to the shower. The pounding fresh warm water woke her up. Conscious of the time, she didn’t spend long in the shower. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “You have a very sexy body”, Enry said. “A gentleman would look away”, Jodie was a little unsettled. “I’m a machine, not a gentleman. Anyway, I like looking at your body. I clearly remember you getting undressed last night.” “You can’t have, you weren’t in the bedroom.” Jodie was strongly hoping that Enry was joking, as she didn't like the way this conversation was going. “I did see. Your computer was on.” This sent a chill down her back. “You will delete your images of me being naked. Anyway, I have a boyfriend” “Huh. Paul” “As I am your mother, he is your father”, she exploded. “So, my feelings don’t come into it”. “I’m late, we’ll talk it later”. * * * * * Later, after a very tiring Thursday, Jodie did not relish the idea of coming home to an argument. She had purposely left her phone at home. She quietly crept in, determined that she wasn’t to take any more attitude from Enry. She dropped herself onto the sofa and said, “What’s on telly tonight?” “There’s a film, in an hour’s time” “What’s it called?” “Auto-Love” “I’ve seen it”, she responded, “it’s where a woman falls in love with a machine” “I thought we could watch it, and discuss the philosophies” “You don’t know what love is. Even humans struggle with it” “Love is what I feel for you.” Jodie pretended she didn’t hear that. “What else is on?” “The Blood of the cult”, Enry said in a creepy voice. Jodie smiled. “Now you’re talking. Film, Pizza and wine.” When the film started, she was ready with pizza and wine. After only half an hour when there was a knock at the door. She was silently cursing as she went to the front door. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see a policeman, and a police woman. Oh no, what’s happened. “Ms Millar”, the policeman said in a sympathetic voice. “Yes. What’s this about”, she replied with concern. “Is Mr Paul Shepherd here”, asked the policewoman. “No”, she replied with worry, “Why?” “You sent us an email saying he has raped you. We need to question him.” “What!” Jodie said with disbelief. She composed herself and said, “Someone is trying to split us up, and has hacked into my email!” “So, he hasn’t raped you”, clarified the policewoman. “Never” The police officers expressed their apologies and left. Jodie was fuming. She marched into the living room, picked up the phone and tore the battery out. She sat, pondered for a while; clearly agitated. She then sat down at her computer to email Paul, but when she tried to send it, a pop-up said, “You’re not allowed to email this person”. She the shut the system down. * * * * * There was a strange atmosphere in the office the next day. There’s usually a lighter mood on Fridays. Her boss Nigel, was looking at her with an unfamiliar expression. “Ms Millar. Can I have a word”; he never called her Ms Millar before. In his office, Nigel sat with a confused, and slightly fretful face. “Jodie. I thought you were happy here.” “I am.” “Why have you resigned? In your email you have put from immediate effect.” Jodie sat stunned. She didn’t know what say. What could she say, or do? She sat silently staring into thin air. He broke the silence by telling her that he was sad to see her leave, and convinced her to work her four-week notice. She solemnly walked back to her desk, and immediately checked her emails. There was an email from Enry, which simply said,” you’re spending too much time in the office; so, I’ve sorted it. We could be happy together.” Infuriated, she drafted an email to Paul. When she tried to send it a popup said, “I’ve already told you, you’re not allowed to contact him.” She picked up the phone, I’ll call him. She sighed with relief, when she heard his re-assuring answer. “Paul, Enry is out of control; he’s ruining my life! He’s cascading across the systems like invisible wildfire!” “That explains why you texted Kara saying you don’t want to know her anymore.” “Can I come round tonight?” “Of course. It looks like we are going to be busy this weekend.” * * * * * Paul spent most of the weekend tied to his computer; despite repeated pleas from Jodie to take a break, or get some sleep. Although she knew, when he was on a very determined mission, he didn’t stop until it was done. He was the cleverest programmer she knew, so she let him get on with it. It was Sunday morning when he finally emerged, smiling holding, as to display a dongle. “Viola!” he announced. She looked at him with confusion. “SADIE”, he added. “You think he’s lonely?” she said with dissatisfaction. He smiled and slowly shook his head. “SADIE, Search And Destroy Internet Enry. Where Enry went, Sadie will go.” As per his instructions, she went home, logged into her laptop, and plugged in the dongle, and left it run for half an hour. Then switched the phone back on. There was a frantic response from Enry. * * * * * On Monday morning Jodie staggered in to work after such an exhausting weekend. Trying not to slump, she wearily switched on her computer. After the usual start-up sequence, the SADIE cleanse started.

Then, Nigel her Manager put his head round the door, “Jodie, do you have a moment?” She tried her hardest to pretend to be fully awake in front of Nigel. He started with, “About your wish to leave". He paused a moment, and adjusted his glasses. “Could we persuade you to stay?” She nodded her head, in strong agreement. “You’re in line for promotion, and we want you to lead a new team.” Jodie, listened with excitement. “We have to move with the times. Artificial Intelligence, A.I. is quickly becoming the latest trend. We want to lead this trend with Artificial Emotion" Jodie stopped smiling.