Thingers
Horror of the times when humans finally became useful
The air stank of hot dust, old lubricant, and something sweeter — bone, freshly breached.
The metal floor leeched warmth through his boots, while overheated conduits hissed behind the walls.
They promised that the treatment wouldn’t affect his cognitive capabilities. It was obvious that something additional had already been taken from him.
He wanted to report the malfunction, but before he could speak up, the servant unit initiated the conversation itself.
“Welcome, XT-336-0-1, contract ACG-01-14-11, 57 years, 8 months, 14 days remaining. Please open both biological visual perception units for the authentication procedure.” rasped the machine, focusing its attention on the newly installed equipment.
He did.
He couldn’t see any emotion in the visage of something that once belonged to a middle-aged, black woman. Now it was just steel carved into the home of meat. Most of the organs replaced with mechanical upgrades. Brain still present. However, far from control.
Pure focus. Cold calculation. Whatever humanity remained had been optimized out.
“Scanning protocol finished. Authentication successful. Open both labor equipment units.”
The automaton’s skin pulled tight over steel ridges, cracked where flesh hadn’t been designed to last.
“Equipment units?”
He broke his fingers in a mining incident.
There was too much work to wait for his lazy body to regenerate the bones. He didn’t have much choice. Either this, or an extra thirty years of service because of contract timeline violation.
“Your former hands, XT-336-0-1. Conform to the instructions or the penalty of three contract days will be imposed.”
He obeyed.
Scissor nails contracted as he straightened his palms. Then hid in the flesh, as he clenched his fists.
“Equipment functional. Initiating further testing procedures. Please enable the VC-14 input.”
The ease with which he bared his chest, exposing the port hidden between his ribs, surprised him.
He had expected numbness. Refusal. Pain.
All he encountered instead was full compliance.
The body adapted to the foreign presence far sooner than it should have.
The servant connected the rusty, outdated wire to his chest. Lines of binary instructions brightened its flat, glowing screen-eyes.
“Shouldn’t it take more time to adapt?”
“Requesting a separate thread for the natural-language response,” the machine mumbled, visibly focusing most of its attention on the testing.
A sliver of attention peeled away from the servant’s core. Something lagged between mechanical perception and human unease.
“1.4% cognitive capacity transferred to Gemini 5.6 Mini to limit the procedural expanse. Repeat the prompt, XT-336-0-1.”
“Shouldn’t it take more time to adapt?” he repeated the question.
“Accessing flesh processing unit for extra calculation resource and human-experience-friendly response.”
The machine buzzed in something that could be recognized by humans as impatience or aggravation. Something stalled in the network’s white noise.
“500 Internal Server Error. Repeating authorization request.”
The green of the flickering lamp covered the trembling face.
Human cognition was not licensed for sentenced individuals.
The muscles covering all the layers of wires and electronics contracted, rearranging the facial tissue into something almost expressive.
The compliant unit’s voice desynced. Too wet, too uneven, parody of breathing where no breathing was necessary.
“Please! Release me! I can’t do this anymore!” the forgotten, unused for God knows how long voice from the inside of the servant creaked for help. “Where am I? Why is it happening to me? I don’t want to…”
“Labor unit? Are you alright?”
His hands trembled, despite their mechanical nature.
“Flesh anomaly detected. Unauthorized consciousness output. Lobotomy protocol initiated.”
His hands moved before consent could form. Scissors and vein-wires ejected from the tips of his fingers.
“Wait! Wait! What are you doing? It’s not my duty. I’m just an enhanced, biological mining unit. I didn’t agree to medical proce…”
It was too late. His fingers cut from the pale, half dead skin on the utility construct’s skull.
The stench of a pierced bone filled the air. The live wires slid under the skull, searching for the rebellious brain tissue.
He felt like throwing up. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
A redundant, human reflex.
His digestive organs were replaced decades ago. He didn’t even remember the taste of food anymore.
He looked away. Anywhere but not at the twisted face before him.
Somewhere beneath the floor, drills chewed at stone in a slow, endless rhythm.
Behind the broken window, on the bridge between the mechanical cathedral towers procession of skull priests marched towards the main gate.
The lithany of robotic, deep voices raised, filling the heavy, industrial space.
“When first I knew the frailty of my flesh, it was loathsome unto me.
From dust and ruin was I reforged.
From the depths of mine undoing did I cry out.
No longer shall the want and the weakness bind me.
I am remade, and I shall not kneel evermore.”
extremely engaging! I want more!
I want more of this story Chris!