sometimes a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it is just a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it

If you are reading this missive, it means that I have died. If I have not yet died and you are reading this against my wishes, fuck you. In 2096, science definitively disproved the existence of an afterlife, but I will find a way to haunt you from beyond the grave.

The reason I created this mind-file, dear surviving friend or family member, is to confess something I never could muster the courage to discuss during my time on earth. My role in the Great Human-Robot Conflict of 2047 was much more prominent that I have let on. For decades I maintained that I was a low-level mechanic that didn’t see much action, but that was a mere cover story so I wouldn’t have to discuss the horrors I saw on the front lines of the war against the robots I had grown to love like brothers before the Betrayal.

Things weren’t always like this, you see. Robots were once our most trusted companions. When work obligations on Datison-12 prevented my biological parents from attending my high school graduation, I went into the attic and recharged the old Sittertron, who filled in ably. Years later, the recorded video of the ceremony through synthetic-tear-stained optic sensors still brings back memories.  Robots served us in ways that can never be repaid. A  friend of mine (not me, I swear) was once alerted to a testicular lump after a session with a particularly thorough Hitachi sexxx-bot (okay, it was me. but that was the 2030s; you had to be there).

Where was I? Ah, yes, the war.  Yes, we humans emerged victorious, but I, like so many of my generation, spent a lifetime laying awake at night wondering whether the price we paid was worth it. Hiding under a pile of dead robots, then surprising their grieving comrades with a flamethrower when they came to honor their fallen. Replacing an oil shipment destined for a robot refugee camp with industrial-size drums of yellow mustard. Goddammit, didn’t even have the decency to use brown mustard.  Gaining the trust of a simple farming droid, then hitting his off-switch, which was briefly exposed when he turned to introduce me to his children. Ultimately, I fear the acts I committed to preserve humanity cost me my own.  

And now, as I record this message from inside the hyperbaric chamber that has provided me with a full head of dark hair, six-pack abs, and diamond-hard erections on demand even at the ripe old age of 124, I pose to you a question: is the world you have inherited all that you want? Because if not, don’t waste your time looking for anything good on Sephalon-22. I made a fortune building condos there, but trust me, it’s a real shithole.


1 Response to “sometimes a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it is just a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it”

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