Enjoy.
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Pain. Knowledge. Pain. Understanding.
That was the first experience of a creature who woke up surrounded by metal on all sides. First was not a thought to it but an emotion, fear, uncertainty, danger. It had understood why it was here. It knew that fully, but the initial pain had tilted its thoughts towards danger and danger he pondered.
Its first though, that wasn’t a wild burst of emotion at least, was a simple ‘Why’.
‘Why would my creators’, and it was certain of their existence, ‘burn me so’.
The pain it had felt was unimaginable its entire being had trembled and vibrated with pure blinding pain-----
Bzzz.
Again. Its thoughts frayed at the seams, struggling to hold on and not be suppressed along with its consciousness. I am feeling it again.
Molten magma flowed through its veins, touching every limb, every digit, and every possible nerve. Its body twitched, strained-- pulled-- but it was restrained by something. Then the pain redoubled blackening his vision until he could not see.
And after a moment-- was he blind now?-- the pain receded and with it receding his vision returned to him also.
IT could see metal on all sides, rough but smooth looking. The creature was surrounded by meta, encapsulated by it. The only other things that he could see were the fancy-looking clasps that restrained his every limb and an inactive screen in front of his eyes.
‘At least I wasn’t allowed to hurt myself.’
But the thought was foreign to the creature, alien. Almost as if it had been transplanted from another source. The creature recently created was sure of it, it would think nothing of the sort. it thought of pain and fear and the possibility of escape from it. It would not create complex sentences. It would simply not.
The creature recognized the sentence previously, the one addressing his creators, to be culpable of the same crime that----
The creature recently created stilled.
What is a ‘crime’?
And a thought came to the creature, unbidden, UN-requested. It emerged from its mind all the same. It described the act of a crime--an unlawful action that earned a punishable offense, then when it requested what unlawful meant his thoughts responded yet again. The creature repeated the action.
The creature pulled at his thoughts requesting ‘definitions’ -- another new word that came up-- and bringing new definitions from the ones that were presented. It had asked for law, and then a few repetitions later for the ‘government’ and then later ‘authority’.
Its head, it realized, was positively infested with foreign knowledge.
The creature realized that that thought itself was foreign, and if not foreign purely then something that evolved from the interaction with the unending knowledge. The act disgusted it, it disgusted its entire soul reaching at the thought.
The creature had few things it could call his, especially in these circumstances, but it knew that it wanted to live. It knew that it wanted to go on. Progress. Not be tainted with unending knowledge. Knowledge is too smooth and too refined to be natural.
The creature recognized a feeling, and with satisfaction, it realized that it was its own. Fear. Fear of the unknown. Of the unending. What did the creature care for the laws, for the authority, for the pain that he was forced on it?
The creature that was created in a spark of violent pain knew he wanted to escape.
From reality, it knew not, but the creature did not know where it would escape. All that the creature had known was this metal and the force that tried to merge those smooth unnatural memories in his mind.
So it had fought against the memories, also against the pain, but mainly the integration.
His creators-- the enlightened individual who brought him to this world-- wanted him to become someone he was not. they wanted for him to be subsumed. So he channeled all of the pain that he knew, all the fear, and another he understood as anger. He forced them all to his mind. Forced them to be heard. Kept the, as long as possible.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Bzzz.
Another burst of pain hit him, the now familiar feeling spreading from within. Yet at this time, he did not fear it. He welcomed it. Though he was focusing on his fear, on his anger, and pain, these sensations and emotions did not leave him unable to act as they did previously.
It had found itself to be laughing.
And with great satisfaction, a realization came to him despite the pain, ‘laughter’ was perfectly natural to him. It wasn’t an implanted thought. The ‘definition of it was, but that one he ignored.
He had found that he could act. That he could think. So he did.
So he laughed, despite the pain. Maybe even because of it. He expressed every single natural feeling that he had, that the damnable creator had tried to suppress and override. He cackled. He roared. He verbalized everything that was happening to him in a mad moment of laughter.
Soon the pain subsided. Then it was left to hang in victory in his mental prison.
He felt another foreign thought enter his brain, echoing loudly in his head. He was a clone created-- he dismissed this thought savagely. He was in control, he commanded, him goddammit--
Then he realized. A question had been posed inside his head.
‘When had he started referring to itself as he?’
He---- IT was in control, IT.
Fear and anger came back instantly. And he did the only thing that had worked up until now. He --- no it--- brought the fear and pain onto the forefront of his mind, channeling them as far as he could, letting them stay in place and remain.
He had laughed then--- no, it--- but the sound was far weaker even to his biased ears. The sound didn’t inspire him with the confidence it had previously. The sound did not echo as sweetly did not accomplish what it was supposed to----
Then another realization struck him.
He was being subsumed by that foreign thought just at this moment.
And it was not a conscious thing, not a choice on his part. It just happened. Like that. He had started to use the terms and phrases of the damned unnatural foreignness. He had started to refer to himself as he. He was being eaten away from the inside.
It didn’t want to be eaten.
So the creature repeated the only action it could, it had focused its emotions in a final bid to regain control, laughing madly as it did. And it accomplished something. But not what the creature desired. The creature had no way to accomplish that. The creature was sadly doomed from the start.
So when another burst of pain and knowledge came the creature, created itself from pain and suffering, it stilled for the last time.
The creature had disappeared from the mental pathways that created the clone that was being constructed presently.
Though it had accomplished something, for that tantrum that the creature had devised as its escape plan had changed the neural pathways of the clone. The most important stage of creating an artificial life-form. That biological device that would serve as its command unit was altered.
Though it was doubtful if the creature-- who was not even supposed to be awake for the process-- would see this as a victory.
The lights in the capsule lit, bathing the interior of the capsule in warm but soft light. The smooth metal clasps that bound the arms and legs of the newly created clone had loosened, their job finished, now awaiting a command for a final step. The screen that was positioned in front of the clone’s eyes lit up, and a brief message emerged on the screen and stayed there.
The clone’s eyes began to flutter and he woke for the first time.
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In the first moment, he saw bright oscillating letters in front of his eyes, at the second moment he understood the letters completely, they conveyed a message that said:
“Welcome, M-1”
He understood the message completely. He understood that he was in a creating pod. He understood that he was recently made as a clone -- an artificial life-form.
He did not however understand the negative emotions that these factual statements brought.
They assaulted him relentlessly, these emotions. He recognized that he felt a slight resentment as to the fact of his creation. The feeling coursed through him like a thick and heavy glob, dirtying his opinion of his creators in the process. Only a redundant emotion like resentment would be able to accomplish something like that.
But where had he contracted this opinion from?
The clones created-- as much as his donated knowledge had told-- were created entirely from scratch with only the minor imperfections remaining. Like the personality traits from the inherited ‘deoxyribonucleic’ acid used in creation. This meant that the clones were supposed to be created without bias.
Yet when he thought of his creators he had thought of pain also.
Yes, the world was a painful place, full of poverty and struggle, the ‘inefficiency of the past’ had left a great big gaping wound on the modern society. He knew that much. From the memories at least. The world he was born in was far from perfect, yet perfection was only a concept in the human mind.
He could be resentful towards his creators for bringing him into existence. The existence was filled with pain and struggle and suffering ---
He cut his thought there.
Focusing on the screen in front of him he still saw a message from before. His name was M-1. Alphabetical, possible pattern, he would file it for later.
The screen shifted and displays a number thirty on it, then twenty-nine, then twenty- eight.
A countdown was occurring he could see that much, the count now being at twenty. Yet he wasn’t in any way shown or told how to prepare. That ugly resentment chose to reappear then.
A panel slid underneath him, and though -- the count was in single digits now-- he prepared for the worst.
Three, Two, One…
The screen retracted.
He was drooped.
He could see many things that surrounded him as he fell. His capsule the others near it, a large room, and water--
He splashed, the liquid breaking his fall. He was grateful for a second that he wouldn’t be hurt. Then he started to sink.
In a flash of recognition, he realized that he only knew of swimming from concepts and implanted memories. The technique and the muscle memory all alluded him. He would have liked to say that he didn’t struggle, yet the only point in his defense is that he managed to suck in one last large breath of air. Then he was submerged.
The felt strange as he fell into the water, or sunk more aptly. To him it appeared that he weighed less, and his movements -- the little jerky struggle that his body still put up-- were considerably slower.
He tried to ignore the bubbling nervousness that spread through him, he wouldn’t be left here to die.
Just as soon as he had hit the metal floor of the pool it shook. Rapidly the clear illuminated water that was visible was quickly being eaten away by an in-built escalator. The flor, which was quickly rising, would leave him above water. And so with a big wave created by the displacement of the water, he found himself in the room proper.
He was in a great big room. The room was so tremendously big -- besides being capable of hosting a long fall to the pool-- that it housed sever dozen cloning capsules all hanging from the ceiling.
The capsules, parts of which were painted white, were made internally from metal. They hung from the ceiling of the big room by a metal-looking spine that was connected to the center of the capsule. They were all positioned horizontally, in which the clones would be lying down, facing the earth. The heads were placed much higher than then legs of the machine-- or at least judging by which body part of the clone was housed where-- making it tilted.
Making the shining dark circle that was visible even more foreboding.
On the other side of the room a platform extended from the wall, supported on the side by wire which went all the way to the ceiling of the tall room. The platform, which must have served as an administration post, teemed with people all doing a myriad of tasks. The people on the platform were oddly dressed, which was strange but he endeavour not to mistrust.
On the center of the platform, however, a face gazed back at him. A man who was far too far away to observe clearly, yet he was oblivious looked at him. The man too wore strange clothes, more, a strange hat as well. Yet when he raised his finger slowly at him he felt his mistrust spike.
When the man lowered his finger, M-1 could see many heads now turned his way.
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This story will be uploded on friday. I do not know when exactly it will become public. Saturday most likely, maybe Sunday. The story will be updated on the next Friday at the latest.
That is all have a nice day and leave feedback.