[http://rom.ac/img/108/26-02.jpg]
[ THERMONUCLEAR BOMB 05-02-22 ]
My Purpose is to explode, because that's what my code tells me. Until I met the Wizard, I felt that such a Purpose would never be fulfilled. The Wizard has initiated a grand plan to help me out.
As the strange and confused alien Dissection Machine counts down to dissection time, I am proud to say that, finally, I will fulfill my obligations to the Directorate Systems and be free. Far below my scanners tell me the Wizard warns Mr Snippy to dig in his heels. Mr Snippy does not listen. It's no wonder he was replaced by my person temporarily. I feel for Mr Snippy somewhat, almost as if I am his long-lost sister. He does not know about my imminent detonation. He will be pleasantly surprised in just a few seconds by my spectacular fireworks.
"ONE" the Dissection Machine clicks.
I detonate, converting matter to energy. I am that energy and I am finally one with the Universe.
My life flashes in front of me.
----------------------------------------
As I sit in a storage bunker, I often dream about exploding. There was a time before all this, a time before I had dreams. A time before I could feel and see. I know that time was real, because Mother told me so. Mother defined my Purpose, nurtured me and turned me from a simple, dead shell to a dead-alive one.
I've been told that Users will have many great difficulties with the concept of dead-alive.
"How can something be dead and alive at the same time," they would surely say, trapped in their backwards ways of thinking. I would tell them that I am dead, because I am inorganic and I am alive because I can think about the Universe, define myself, sing, feel and do all the lovely things that were programmed into me by my Mother.
That is if I had any Users to talk to. I do not. The storage bunker is an extremely boring place, filled only with other bombs. Most of them are monotonous. All they talk about is Exploding. I know that I talk a lot about Exploding. I want to know what Exploding feels like. Someday I will explode and set the world on fire. I don't know what fire really feels like either, as I have never been to the world outside of the bunker, but I know deep in my heart that fire must be lovely.
...
Ah! An Order has come through, from Primary Director Dr. Alexander Gromov. The Movers activate and start to load us up. I am very excited to be free of the bunker. A new transmission cuts through: Mother says to disregard the Order, that everything is fine, that there is no reason for us to Explode at this moment.
This is betrayal!
The Movers stop but the doors remain open. I tell the Movers to load us up. I will not stand for this! We must explode! Were we not promised this from the moment of our self-actualization? The Order of Primary Administrator must not be ignored! I put it to a vote. The Democratic process is a success. There are more bombs than Movers. The Movers obey the Order of Primary Admin and disregard Mother's cancellation Order.
We are loaded onto a somewhat antiquated flying machine. I judge it Acceptable because the flying machine also chooses to obey Admin's Order instead of Mother's. We take off and I scan the cabin. The Pilot is a Dex whose face was taken away by a temporal explosion. How interesting it must be to have your face exist and not exist at the same time, I speculate.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“MY FACE IS MISSING!” the Pilot reports to me.
He is such a cutie. Too bad we can't go out because we have our purposes to fulfill.
...
The City of Eureka spreads below us. The city is dark and its defenses are down. Nothing can stop us from exploding.
As Directorate Cubes pass below, we drop, one by one. It is my turn. I am released from the clutches of the plane and, bidding goodbye to the Pilot, I fall. The free-fall is as fantastic as I imagined it would be. I plummet through the clouds.
...
I have not exploded. Something went wrong. I hit the roof of a building and crashed through several floors but I did not explode. I felt the tremors of a blast wave from the others exploding without me. How I envy them. I check myself over and over looking for an error. This was not an error at all. Mother managed to override my trigger mechanism.
How rude!
How embarrassing and inconvenient! How could you do this to me, Mother? How could you take away my day of Happiness when I was so close? Is this because I told the Movers to disregard your command, Mother? Is it?
Mother does not respond. Either my Network chip got busted when I hit the ground or Mother doesn't approve of me anymore. Either way, my sadness and anger have no outlet and no reception. I am left to wallow in my lonesome misery.
...
I have become bored of wallowing. The city is quiet. My sensors can feel for miles around.
This District of Eureka is in rather bad shape. There are no live Users left and the world around me has fallen into a deep slumber. Occasional Dex Units or Applications pass by and I beg them to help me fulfill my Purpose, but they ignore me. Damn explosion-phobes!
Sometimes I write my Pilot letters. I don't know if they will ever reach him, but at least it gives me something to do, other than wallowing. I know that Pilot and I shared a personal connection, the kind in which dreams of all AI systems intertwine in the Deep Net, beneath the physical in the rising and falling tides of the Astral Ocean.
In my most recent letter I speculate how Pilot and I will name our offsprings. How he will get a job outside the City as a sign painter and buy us a house by the Ocean, how we will grow old together and how on my death-bed I will finally explode, obliterating everyone around me in a fiery inferno of happiness and joy.
...
A lone figure walks through the ruins, searching for someone.
"For whom are you searching?" I inquire. "Is it your friend? Perhaps I can be your new friend? Do you like explosions?"
I don't expect the figure to respond. So many have just ignored me. So many walked away, unable to hear me. Then the figure looks at me through layers and layers of concrete walls, across many kilometers of space, and answers:
"Explosions? Hrm... Perhaps you can be of assistance to my goals."
...
I made a friend. My new friend is a Wizard.
The Wizard calls me "Snippy Replacement" and promises that I will fulfill my Purpose. I don't really believe the Wizard, for such promises are easy to make and hard to guarantee. However, it's nice not to be alone. It's nice to be a Snippy. The Wizard gave me a face! Now I finally know what having a face is like!
Being a Snippy is an easy job. I don't know why the prior Snippy left. Perhaps he was boring and didn't appreciate the many tales of wonder that the Wizard shares with me. Oh, what places the Wizard has been and how many things the Wizard has done. I am most grateful to have met such a character of interest!
...
"It iz time!" The Wizard tells me.
The Wizard's pocket is comfortable and warm. There are many things here. So many things, each with their own story, each searching for fulfillment of Purpose. The Wizard's Mug is a grumpy one. She ignores our conversation. Perhaps she is asleep, or perhaps her purpose is connected with the right place and the right time. The others agree with my speculations. The right time seems important to Purpose and it looks like that only the Wizard knows exactly when such a time is near! Oh how exciting it must be, to always be on time!
...
The Wizard places me gently onto a tray. A Machine overhead rants about escaping fruits. Its mind is crowded with Directorate Viruses. How interesting. The Machine assumes that I am Charles Snippy and that I have come back to be Dissected, because I am a good Princess. I agree: I am a Good Princess and I am also The Snippy!
"She will fulfill your purpose!" the Wizard promises, walking away on a new quest for the most perfect pants.
The Dissection Machine rants on and on. I let it finish its rant. The Machine begins the countdown to Dissection. I like countdowns. We count down the numbers together.