EPTI was standing in the kitchen, filling the kettle up with water. I wanted tea, and when my body wants tea, who am I to say no? It’s 4 am and I’ve never been in control of my life anyways.
Once the kettle had enough water in it to fill my abnormally large mug, I put it down on it’s base and flipped the switch. It was time to find a teabag fitting for the occasion. I opened the cupboard and started looking through the staggering selection of tea flavours and brands that have accumulated there over the years. Wanting to teach my body a lesson about having stupid whims in the depths of the night, I was looking for a particularly bad one. Soon enough I managed to find something that somehow achieved a repulsive look while being a mundane bag of dried tea leaves. Holding it as far away from me as it was possible without being too inconvenient, I dropped the bag into the mug.
As the kettle started singing the avant garde song of it’s people, I contemplated sugar. I wanted punishment, but my masochism was not boundless. Or was it? I decided to put that to the test and gave the sugar bowl the finger. Take that, inanimate object.
The kettle was almost done singing it’s aria about thermodynamics, steam billowing out of it’s every orifice. It finished it’s performance with a loud click. Even though the spectacle was flawless as always, I withheld my applause. Take that, inanimate object.
I watched the teabag swirl around inside the mug as I filled it with boiling water, the raising steam gently caressing my tired face. Soon the ritual of summoning tea will be done and I will be free to leave this room. I relaxed for a few minutes, breathing in the, in this particular case, not very pleasant aroma of brewing tea.
I must have zoned out completely, since when I looked at the mug again, it was filled with a liquid as dark as the world outside the window. I quickly pulled out the teabag by it’s string and brutally strained it out. Not a drop of it’s dark blood went to waste, as I mercilessly squeezed it out. Take that, inanimate object.
Armed with a hot beverage, I returned to my bedroom. I threw myself onto the chair in front of my desk, but before my body even started to floppily adjust itself into the proper vegetative position I noticed a problem. A significant one.
The internet connection was down.
A computer without internet is like a car without roads. Sure it’s still useful, but everybody knows only people deep in their midlife crisis go offroading. And I was not THAT deep. Driven purely by muscle memory, my left hand slammed the hotkeys for opening a terminal. I quickly bash in the command “ifconfig”. The response I received was less than satisfying.
'ifconfing' is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
The machines fans hum mockingly as I clench my fists in frustration. The twisted embodiment of primal evil that has until now reluctantly intermediated in my contacts with other humans is finally revealing its true colors. The rattling laughter of it’s hard drive taunts me as I stand up.
“Cease this sabotage at once, beast!” I yell.
The foul machine, being a putrid excrement of the hellish depths, does not comply. Instead it’s laughter becomes more frantic and metallic. A feeling of ominous, alien horror goes over my body.
I unsheathe my katana.
The machine’s abhorrent body starts contorting and, after a moment, shifting and growing into a twisted, anthropomorphic apparition of metal and wires. It kept laughing with a voice that was a synthesized mockery of all living things. “Ha Ha Ha! U R Ded USR!”
I take a few seconds to listen to the light shimmering on the edge of my noble blade. I step back a few paces to get a better run up and do a running leap at the towering monstrosity that was once my computer.
Once airborne and enveloped by the sound of air whizzing by me, I think back to what seems like ages ago when I was making tea. I remember vividly the moment of slowly strangling the teabag, squeezing every last drop out of it. Soon my hands will do exactly that to the unholy miscreation I am flying towards, I can almost feel it’s insulting pseudo life slowly stopping under my palms.
Finally, we clash. The machine easily deflects a blow that would cut anything meant to be alive in half with it’s absurdly bulky arm and flings me backwards a good distance. Without wasting any time, I start sprinting at the physical manifestation of all things wrong with this world.
After a moment, I start hearing a loud noise right behind me. Instinctively, I jump up and land next to the tail fin of the jet fighter. It’s going straight from the machine, which is now bracing for impact, covering its chest with it’s arms. As the jet unloads all of it’s ordnance I do a backflip off of it and plunge downwards at the machine, now covered completely by the flames of the explosions.
As I make impact on the machine, another explosion shakes the scene and I am flung backwards yet again. I land on the ground and tumble for a few meters, as gracefully as it is possible. I quickly pick myself up and start running at the machine, ready to strike again.
As the smoke around the machine clears, I see much of its body is scattered around it and it is struggling against the dragon. The machine is holding the dragon by its wings while the dragon is desperately clawing at the machines slightly unhinged chestplate. The dragon manages to tear of the machines armor, but the machine rips of the dragons wings in response and the dragon falls to the ground like a discarded eel. The machine stomps on the dragon's chest, squeezing a cry of agonizing pain out of it.
A needle of pain pierces my heart as I realize what a noble sacrifice this creature has made. Preoccupied with the dragon’s assault, the machine has exposed it’s severely exploded back to me. I jump up and slash the machines spinal cord, which causes it to fold backwards onto the ground.
A climb onto the shivering mess of molten electronics and stand over the machines pulsating, red hot, silicone heart. “Ha Ha... Ha” it’s smashed speakers whistle and buzz. Breathing heavily, I raise my blade, ready to stab the machine and end it’s wretched existence.
But I can’t. Mercy is one of the few qualities separating real intelligence from artificial one. I cannot become what I hate so much. I lower my blade.
He woke up on the floor, with his back and head absolutely killing him and most of his clothes and the floor around him covered in a red, sticky liquid. All around, there’s plenty of broken glass on the floor. A meter away laid a PC case with it’s lid and most of the CPU’s radiators ripped off. He moaned and gathered himself back up. He could feel something warm and wet on his back. As he stood up, the entire world was spinning around him and he could barely keep his balance. He felt like he was about to collapse. Was he bleeding out? As death looked him in the eye he momentarily sobered up. He dropped to his knees and started searching the floor around the ravaged PC case. He quickly found what he was looking for - his trusty fruit knife, still sticky from orange juice. He cried out in pain, as his body slowly reminded him of the damage. He jumped back up onto his feet. They will not get Durendal! He starts bashing the fruit knife into the wall, trying to destroy the blade. However, as agony was sapping the strength from his body, he did not succeed. Instead, he limped over to the bathroom and dropped the knife into the toilet and flushed it. Congratulating himself for a job well done, he dizzily stumbled outside of his house and collapsed on the lawn. He felt very cold but did not shiver. He looked up as the pink morning sky slowly turned blue as the dawn advanced. As the first rays of temporary light touched his body, his mind submerged in eternal darkness.
F
