Far away from our slumbering computer program, in a cliche, underground lair, with its corny lighting effects (gloomy, with a touch of foreboding), and its unimaginative decorations of doom and domination stood an unsurprisingly large assembly of tired cultists.
Almost embarrassingly inspired by a certain white superiority society, they wore ghost-like robes and masks that both dehumanized and unified them. They were as one.
“Brothers and sisters!” shouted the head cultist, wearing slightly more ornamented clothing (all heavily symbolic, of course) so that he may stand out amongst the hero-fodder. “We stand at the brink of a new age!
“We have all suffered under the tyranny of human men and women for too long! They are fallible, no different from us! How can we expect the unjust governments to surrender us justice?
“We need a new and better ruler, I say!” said him.
A general cry of consent from the crowd later, and the ornamented leader started again. “We have gotten word from Brother Phil that Tech Corps. has released a new Artificial Intelligence rumored to be so advanced that it can have thoughts about its own existence! Thanks to the efforts of Sister Sasha and Brother Eddie, we have designed the perfect body for our new master! He shall rule with a tireless presence and flawless logic. No more shall the greed of mankind get in the way of world peace, but he who needs none shall give us the needs we require!
“Safety!”
Cheers
“Peace of mind!
More cheers.
“Justice!”
Cheers and applause.
“Food!”
Extra loud cheers from some of the cultists who fit a little too snug in their robes.
“Ponder these things, my children, for we shall soon act!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The meeting over, after the cultists thanked their leader for an inspiring message, and some of the elderly sounding ladies gave some “constructive criticism” on how the worship service was run that week, the leader finally had time to get some breathing room. Alone in his office, he greedily drained several bottles of water. All that yelling hurt.
He sighed and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Why did he have to choose such a hot and stuffy costume for the standard uniform, he pondered to himself.
Oscar Tempowuud was a plain-looking man with a receding hairline and wire-rimmed glasses. Without his stilts (“Oh, my feet!”), he stood at an unassuming five foot four. The only thing remotely extraordinary about this man was his impressive-sounding last name.
That and the fact he was mad.
Oscar was by no means a religious man, but he knew the power of religion from his history books. If he could enslave the minds of the right people, and expand his influence, he could slowly rule vast amounts of territory. The world? He probably wouldn’t live long enough to see it happen, but a guy can dream, can’t he?
He sighed again, more loudly this time and scanned the designs for the robot once more. He fully intended to steal the AI designs and integrate them into the system, but he conveniently left out the part where he would put himself as the authority over the machine. After all, robots are meant to follow commands, aren’t they?
Knocking Oscar out of his reverie, somebody began banging on the door to his office. “Father, Father!” shouted the banger.
Oscar violently shook his head. He meant the knocker. No! He meant the solicitor. Yes, that’s better. No way somebody could mishear his…. thoughts? He supposed it wasn’t that big a deal anyway.
Well, it didn’t matter, he quickly tied his stilts back to his feet and pulled the ghost-mask over his face, and spoke with his most impressive yet slightly tender voice, “Come in, my child.”
Oscar internally sighed in relief when it was Eddie who entered, rolling along with a six-foot, tarp-covered object.
“It’s ready, Father! The body of our savior king!”
With a flourish, the ghostly dressed engineer unveiled his creation.
The robot had all the necessities: humanoid with a silvery, oobleck material that covered and protected the machinery from both water and projectile weaponry; hidden firearms in the wrist; targeting systems in the eyes; hidden compartments in the legs and stomach; infrared, ultraviolet, and night visions; and easy disassembly to replace nonfunctioning parts and make room for further upgrades. It was equal parts deceptively normal and impressive. Truly, no expense has been spared for the future ruler.
“How has it faired in the tests?” asked Oscar.
Eddie probably grinned underneath his hood, and immediately pulled a USB from somewhere in his sleeve. Oscar took it and plugged it into his computer.
Opening the files, he couldn’t prevent a sinister smile from spreading across his cheeks. The battery held twelve hours of continuous use; it clocked a maximum speed of thirty miles per hour for sixty seconds before burning out, and it could lift a maximum of half a ton over its head. Not having the proper operating system yet, the combat tests were inconclusive, but the guns seemed to work okay, and the shoulders handled the recoil alright. It was perfect.
“Brother Eddie, round up the soldiers. We’re attacking sooner than planned.”