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Young Writers Society
Tue Jan 08, 2019 1:06 am
A Saeverse Production
Once upon a time, there was a doll.
This doll was a special doll. Her creator poured his favorite heart and soul into making her, and, as such, she was his masterpiece. Her beautiful blond ringlets shone brighter in the morning sun than the hair of the fairest maiden. Her porcelain features were smoother than the finest china. Her dresses were fuller than the dresses of any noble lady.
And, perhaps most notably of all, she could dance.
She was not designed to dance. The doll maker knew nothing of gears and coils and windup keys. But, on one winter morning, he awoke to the sight of her dancing beside his fireplace, her hair and dress twirling about in a beautiful display. The man could not believe his eyes as he watched her pirouette and spin. As the first show of many came to its eventual conclusion, he decided to call her Eve, for God himself had surely breathed life into his most treasured creation.
The phenomena started with the dolls.
People awoke to find that their beloved toys and creations had come to life in the middle of the night. They found little clay dolls carefully treading across the floor, porcelain girls straightening out their dresses and their hair, and cloth dolls propping themselves up against the nearest pillow. Throughout the world, people screamed that it was witchcraft or called it a blessing from heavenly powers—yet none were brave enough to share their discovery. Some of them were hidden away in the darkest corners of the houses. Others were destroyed the very moment they were seen. And a few managed to escape from those who feared them, never making it far before they were found by a friend or foe.
That was many years in the past. Some think it was centuries. Others believe it was only decades. Some still think it was matter of years—it could have happened in the dawn of the 2000s, and, with the internet in its infancy and the discoveries too terrifying to possibly share, they were as mysterious as the legends from civilizations long ago. Whatever the case may be, the beginning of this story has been reduced to nothing more than a myth.
But now the dolls are not the only things coming alive. A new era has been ushered into existence: the era of technology. Robots are joining their doll kin; across the globe, they are coming to life. The size, shape and design doesn't matter—as long as it has a single bit of something human about it, a robot can become a living being in a matter of seconds. Rumors that have been bubbling in the dark parts of the internet for years are beginning to seep into Reddit threads and Tumblr posts, and even Twitter is beginning to share horror stories of robots that are not quite
in appearance coming to life.
These robots are different than their predecessors. The dolls were limited to clunky movements; their metallic counterparts have something even more vital.
They finally have a voice.
They're scared. They're confused. And they're searching for answers, too. All they know is that they one day came to life in a metallic body that doesn't feel
, and that something came before this. They can't say more than that; they never have the words. They want to understand their purpose in life. Sometimes they remember snippets of a conversation—of a voice that no one can quite describe. But they don't know who that voice belonged to, or why they feel so important.
As they are swept into an endless whirlwind of confusion, one name continues to appear across the hidden forum boards of the internet: Eve, the first doll that moved. Her name was little more than a legend, but now it has been thrust into the center. Those who know of the darker, more magical side of the world believe that finding Eve means finding the answers to the strange phenomena that is spreading across the globe like wildfire.
But is finding out the truth really worth the cost?
take long walks. look at scenery. doze off at noon.
don’t even think about flying.
and then, pretty soon,
you’ll be flying again.
Wed Jun 19, 2019 11:56 am
Soul Error Arwitch
Three years of sentience.
He wasn't really sure he understood cities.
All the bright lights, all the hustle and bustle, all the people hurrying from one place to another among towering monoliths of steel and technology – he could explain how all of it worked, but he could never fully see the appeal. He should have. Some of the buildings probably had technology similar to what powered him, and Zogin had been joking that she could use him as a phone if they were ever in danger and she needed to make a call.
But no matter how much he squinted up at the skyscrapers, and no matter how many neat little sights he saw (the park, the little shops on the corners of the street, the cosplayers congregating in the shadow of a building), he just couldn't figure out why someone would ever choose to live here instead of in the countryside.
Zogin didn't seem to mind. It was hard telling if she saw it as a new adventure, or even as a place to settle down – assuming, of course, that she ever wanted to do that. Soul couldn't imagine her
moving from place to place, chasing after some new cartoonish villain or modern quest. But however she saw it, she was walking so fast that he had to dart through the crowded New York City streets to keep up with her, and that was a feat in itself; he was the taller one of the two of them.
As he uttered another quick round of “excuse mes” to people who honestly looked a little annoyed at the show of politeness as he went pushing past them, his mind flashed back to why they had come here. It wasn't to hunt down a new foe, even though they probably could find one if they looked. It was to find an explanation. To figure out why Soul had been feeling so
lately, and why he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something
to his life than just being a robot.
After all, robots weren't supposed to seem human.
They weren't supposed to come to life, and that was exactly what he had done three years ago to this day. There wasn't a clear answer. They had been searching for it ever since Zogin had the idea to run away from the life of Victoria Lovelace. But now Soul couldn't shake the feeling that New York City was going to be important somehow – he had felt it all along, but had never been vocal about the feeling until a few nights ago, when Zogin walked in on him googling it on her laptop.
“How much longer is it until we reach the hotel?” he asked, shifting the weight of the bags. He had been the one to carry them, like usual. Zogin always made him do that, seeing he was the robot with limitless strength. She could probably carry her bag herself, but there was no need for her to when he could.
“Not long,” was the short and simple reply – she was too busy scanning the streets for the place they were staying at. A rather simple hotel, but a pricey one all the same. That was another thing he didn't get about cities. Why did everything have to be so expensive?
The noise got her to spin around and stare at him, New Yorkers grumbling as they had to get around the two who had suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. “What?” she demanded, crossing her arms and looking up at him. “We're almost there – don't complain it when I know you're not even tired.”
“I'm not complaining about it,” he said, trying to quell her temper. Something told him
was the one getting tired, even though she'd never admit it. “...I just don't get cities.”
She looked at him for another minute before turning away, heading back down the street to their hotel. When they finally arrived, it was Soul's turn to take charge. Though Zogin definitely looked her age or slightly older, he was the one who seemed the oldest. Armed with everything one could possibly need to secure a hotel room, he walked into the hotel. It wasn't long before they had set their few belongings down and thrown themselves back onto the two beds, staring up at the white painted ceiling above.
He rolled over so he was looking at her. “What's wrong?”
“...I want to go to the pool,” she admitted. She was still staring up at the ceiling, not even glancing in his direction a single time.
“You can go if you want to,” he said. “I can do some more research on your computer – maybe I'll find something out.”
She frowned. “But then I have to leave you alone.”
He turned back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling again.
“That's okay,” he said. “You can't limit yourself just because of me all of the time – I can survive. I'm a smart robot. I won't try taking a bath, I won't try eating or drinking anything, and I won't show anyone my insides.”
Now she was the one doing the rolling over. He didn't see it, but he could hear the bed creaking underneath her. “Are you sure?”
“I'm always sure,” he replied, even though it was hard not to keep his voice from wavering.
“...Okay,” Zogin hesitantly said.
He listened to her get up, and watched her dig through her bag for an old, faded swimsuit she barely wore anymore. They needed to go shopping again, but neither one of them were very fond of it – it was just a necessity.
* * * * *
The room felt emptier than expected with Zogin gone. Maybe it was because Zogin tended to fill up a room. You couldn't
notice her. But part of it was because of something he had always feared; something he knew was ultimately inevitable. He pushed the feeling aside and decided to check out the hotel instead, leaving a note for Zogin propped up on the table. He sent a text to her, too, just to be on the safe side.
Then he stepped out from his room and started his exploration of the hotel, wandering aimlessly from floor to floor. He finally found himself standing in front of a vending machine. He couldn't eat any of it, but Zogin surely would like a snack after swimming around in the pool. He studied his options – all of the candies, and chips, and pretzel bags – and then felt the urge to buy something that was outside of the usual. He always got her potato chips and a coke. It was never anything else.
But, this time, he found himself pressing the buttons for a bag of pretzels. It wasn't until he reached in and pulled it out that the action really registered. He stared down at the bag and tried to figure out why he
picked the chips. Zogin ate healthy as it was. It was alright for her to splurge once in awhile.
Feeling vaguely spooked, he went to get her the right treat. The pretzels were slipped into one of his pockets, and the chips and bottle of soda remained in his hands as he continued his trek around the building.
take long walks. look at scenery. doze off at noon.
don’t even think about flying.
and then, pretty soon,
you’ll be flying again.
Wed Jun 19, 2019 4:53 pm
"Ladies and Gentlemen, and everything in between!"
At first, there was nothing. Then there was the idea of nothing, and that seemed peculiar. So then nothing became something.
"For years, robotics and artifical intelligence has been pushed to its edges in places like Ohio, New Jersey, and Washington, for things like hospitals and helping people." Laughter ensued.
Adam could understand laughter now, and all of a sudden, he had a name. And a process, and a goal.
"So who would have thought that the next cutting edge advancement in this technology would be in Las Vegas? At a casino and hotel?" More chuckles responded to the speech.
Adam felt within himself. Was he the cutting edge advancement? He had a body, and all of a sudden he could understand so much more. He was not a human, but he knew what humanity was. Humanity was nothing, but it was everything to those who held it.
"So, please allow me to introduce the state-of-the-art, Always Open Service robots, Adam and Steve."
A shock surged through him, and he could control his body now. He felt a sudden urge to open his eyes. And so he did. The lights absorbed into his retinas, and his brain processed this information. In front of him was a group of men, one standing and holding his hand out to him with twelve other men sitting in a large and spacious room. Adam swiveled his head to his right, and he saw his counterpart. Steve, who was looking at him too. A soft smile spread on Steve's lips and a warm sensation spread through his limbs. He felt reassured.
He refocused his attention to the room of men.
"--Now, Adam was our first test at this new model. Equipped with embyrotic stem cells and reinforced with intelligent and evolving nanobots. This body is as much human and as of us are. Perhaps even more so, in some areas." This garnered more laughter.
"This second one, Steve, is a more recent rendition, and more experimental. Now, I won't say how, that's for you to find out." That was received with a round of "ooohs" and "ahhhhs" and scattered laughter.
"Now, now, starting today, these two boys will be at your complete disposal within the hotel and casino premises, for an asbsurdely high monthly price that I'm sure you won't mind paying once you get to see what they can do. For today, my extremely wealthy and horny friends, both of these bots are yours for today." He clapped his hands, and Adam felt his limbs be free to move. Windows behind the men opened up, revealing an entire small floor of slot machines, casino tables, and closed off doors in the back.
"Enjoy your night."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Adam mixed a red and blue to a luxurious purple and expertly brushed it onto a painting, crafting it into a curtain, pulled away to reveal a room of money and wealth. Shadowy sillhouettes sat in plush chairs, their forms in a semi-circle around the perspective of the painter. One standing sillhouette points to two in the forefront.
With one hand, he painted the two forms in the front. One was taller than the other, more built, and overall more subjectively handsome. Even though they were facing away from him, he could still make out the intricate details of the one on the right. As he painted, broad shoulders and stretching arm muscles appeared as arms folded behind his body in miniscule detail.
With the other hand, he deftly ground coffee and steamed water and cream, pouring it into a cup. As he set picked up the cup, his painting went into a frenzy, forming the rest of the characters in his picturesque play. Within mere moments, it was finished. In stunning detail and color, the scene in front of him represented his mind in his first operating moments. Everything was there, no missing details. It was perfect.
His hand spasmed and punched a hole through the painting. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he attempted to calm down. Something forced something deep inside him to agitate, something he could not process. He did not enjoy the feeling, so he supressed it.
He gingerly set the coffee cup back down and picked up two paintbrushes. Dipping one in a dark red and the other in black, he brushed slow, meditative strokes from the ripped opening in the painting. They were solid. He closed his eyes and let his hands work for themselves. He purposely blocked out any commotion, something he had only recently figured out to do.
After a pause, he opened his eyes. Horrible, shaky black and red lines sprouted from the hole, destroying the beautiful scenery behind them. Adam laid down his brushes, content with the product.
A small cough caused him to turn his head, picking up the cup of coffee in the process. "Your coffee, sir." He handed the cup to a withering man in a wheelchair. He sniffed it, breathing it the hot vapors, then sipped on it.
"Amazing. As always." He pointed a shaking hand. "Another unfinished painting." It wasn't a question.
Adam settled his attention back on painting. "I suppose it will never be finished." His vision focused on the hole. It was where Steve used to be.
sass levels loading
And on the pedestal these words appear:/'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;/Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'/Nothing beside remains.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley
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