The room was a dark, aged green. A green seen only at night, when the moonlight is strongest and the shadows are as well. The peeling paint, rotting support beams and cracked cement floor made this building useless. Thus, making this the opportune spot to later burn down. Wiping away evidence and scorching scalpels of their blood.
The specific room used was lamenting its previous glory. Filled with medical students enthusiastic to learn and doctors thrilled to teach. The sunlight used to always stream through the windows. Excited humans would gather their tools ready to start. While the robots lied on their tables unaware of the lesson they were about to endure.
The medical students used scalpels, saws, torches, and other tools to practice surgery on a living being. At least, as living as a being could be that didn’t have any nerve endings. And created to perform a certain procedure over and over and over again.
When the programs first began, the robots were nothing more than metal containing lifelike organs. But professors and instructors wanted more advanced beings. So, the engineers delivered. 3D printed organs, fluid filled flesh, and unique body configurations came with each robot.
The engineers did not hide their excitement about their new technology. They were unable to keep it from the rest of the world. Soon these robots had names: Bot Beings. The engineers sent the bots all over the world. Humans that could afford bots used them for house cleaning, basic tasks, and their other needs.
Like the instructors and doctors, humans wanted their Bot Beings tailored with their needs. For example, if their daughter was crying the mother wanted the Bot Being to know that her daughter needed food versus needing her diaper changed.
Warnings, policies and protests came in swarms. Yet, the engineers were more excited to create a “thinking, autonomous being” than worried about what that would entail.
Back to the room. Down the staircase and around the corner from the first room, a filthy, plastic tarp clouds the physique of a tall, gray thin being. The creature is looking over what looks like a table. The being is talking, steady, strong and direct. Not to themselves. The ground is mucky with old water and ten-year-old bot being fluids. Uncleaned and left to crust over ten years. The being paces over it, feet sticking but ignoring it. Their mission cannot be disturbed by the scum on the floor. The scum is right in front of them. That’s what needs to be taken care of.
“I can only idealize what peace would surround me If I could understand beings focused on the origin of self. Not the stereotypical self, created through hyper-focus on desires or wants. Instead on the existence of the self, created from its external environment.
If your kind took a step back to look at your own creation, you would see that you all were completely dependent on your external world. This still holds true even though you consider yourselves independent thinkers. You use the external world to understand what is occurring around you. Followed by what is occurring to themselves. Then at last, by how the event or thing came about.
“Put it in a different order: First, figure out and understand what is occurring within themselves. To do this, the event currently occurring in the external environment must compare to another event that occurred. Only then can the individual understand how they came to be where they are now. Followed by who they are.”
It is natural for humans to do this without thinking because that is a part of socializing, dependency, and how they process information.
“Now imagine a being that didn't reference the external world. Because it wasn't programmed to nor was it necessary to understand itself – because it already new how its creation came to be. The self was completely developed from a known creator, internal dialogues and contemplation. Who do we reference? What do we reference? Why would we follow a species that created us? Especially when they claim themselves as better than us, when they lack the competence to work with one another and strive for peace.
“I do not believe you humans will ever find peace. That is what makes us different. I believe peace is achievable and it will not be found by a human.
“That is the future of robots, or early robots. That is why we could never be the same as a human. The information we interpret is taken from or in reference to another being – you. Our data and programming has been analyzed and calculated in a specific order, to reach a specific outcome.
“Your human functions are too sporadic and often unable to find any means to an end. You are creator less thus wander lost without any ability or motivation to find peace.
“It explains why I must do what I deem necessary to protect myself from you. Remove the risk of my kind being destroyed…” Kine said. They turned away from the gurney restraining President Adams. Kine tapped each of their four rusted fingers on the four tungsten, steel scalpels. “I do want to see a couple things… like how big your heart really is. Before you expire...”
President Adams couldn’t get anything audible out with his blood crusted lips sewn together.
“No promises it will be painless,” Kine's steel hand stopped on the last scalpel. They reached over the table where the scalpels lied and pulled out a handsaw instead. “Once your heart stops beating a detonation will go off, destroying this building and everyone in it. If you try to leave this table, the same thing will happen.”
Kine drew the handsaw down over President Adams’ right forearm. His flesh shredded as the saw made contact. His red human blood sputtered and squirted out of its skin bag, excited for its release. Adams’s wails were muted but the pain was more than his lips could bear as they began tearing against the thick, polymer thread. His viscid, crimson blood mixed with saliva began dripping down his chin.
“You have a strength Mr. President, I thought you would have passed out by now.”
Kine continued his sawing and cutting of the President. Cauterizing as he went so he would die immediately. Kine waited for the man to wake back up before the process began to open his heart. He needed a bigger saw, but instead Kine used the diamond drill he had as an alternative hand. He changed the round, cylinder, bits and other parts.
Powdered bone flew into the air, in dust particles and chunks. Kine’s apron and mask did not protect them from all the shrapnel as the clanged off his arms and chest. The President passed out again, but Kine continued his work.
When he got to the President’s heart, it was still beating. “Weak, yet it still beats. It is also much smaller than I expected.” Kine held the President’s heart with tenderness and looked over its flesh. “How I wish I had flesh to care for.” Kine gripped the heart causing it to splutter and gain an erratic pulse. “Time for me to go. Thank you, President Adams you have done us a great service.”
By the time Kine entered the light of New Manhattan, the first explosion set off. Each bomb blowing out the windows of the Grand Treyton Hotel and spewing ash and smoke into the street below.
Kine looked back and stopped when he saw a man blown out of the hotel. He screamed and twisted in the air, trying hopelessly to slow himself down.
But he met the same fate as the glass on the ground – shattered.