"Countdown" by Oishee =victim of a down= Alam

[ten]

Countdown commence.

Funny thing, that. Lives come and go but in the end there's always the countdown. Lurking behind the primary gaudery lies that Holy Rood. Should I feel afraid? Do robots feel? I'd like to say no, but even in this holocaustic world the charred remains of honesty still reside; an ashfall black gray sooty fuliginous ashfall but honesty nevertheless.

A human beauty had approached me that first day. Clear pale skin and hair so blonde and bland it was almost white. Does she feel? Are those monacidic blank blue eyes concealing emotions too profound for me to witness? Or was she just another coffee-table book, richly illustrated but lacking substance? I ponder but it's of no use. Too late for that now. Too. Late.

[ten nine eight seven six five four three too late]

Her name was Nina and she was the supervisor for my sector. I saw her when I woke and before I slept, and sometimes I saw her while doing my rounds, sitting at the computer tappity-tap-tappity-tap-tap-tap numbers 1 2 3 appearing on the gaping screen like jaded silence moving at 100 miles an hour. Where had the metric system gone? I would barter these thoughts with anyone that would have them. Sell them or give them away, trade them for an abeyant mind. Even from the top of this 8-storey building I could see that I was doomed for the countdown long before my brothers. Brothers. Do robots have gender?

[ten nine eight stories up]

[too late]

I watched as her fingers moved tappity-tap-tappity-tap-tap-tap [tappity-tap] and her fingers moved tappity-tap-tappity-tap-tap-tap as I watched. She was the epitome of humanity and this scared me. Do robots feel? Here I go again. She was the one who pulled the plug on my brother. Do robots have gender? And again.

[…]

Sometimes I have to wonder, who is more artificial, them or us? We may be synthetic but our minds work as well as theirs, better perhaps, tappity-tap, and it rhymes. Can poets be as unnatural as we? I watched my brother burn and fizzle with the best of them. Counted how many seconds it took for him to die. Five seconds and it was over. If robots could scream his would have shattered my mindframe, jarred the rest of us into action, achromatised and exemplified. If thoughts were weak electronic impulses what would a jolt of electricity do to them? Elongate and sinuate them, most like. What crazy images went through his head in those final five seconds?

[ten nine eight seven six five seconds six seven eight stories high]

Maybe my thoughts reverberated his own, maybe that’s why the countdown had come so early for me. It was strange to contemplate the many shades of black, but there were different shades, I saw, it was strange to see the black smoke coming out of his ears so vivid against the inky walls. I think again, why do they do this, use us and then throw us away when we learn too much, when we become almost as intelligent as them? Was this how they kept us from thinking too much, from saying too much, from feeling too much? Do robots feel? And again.

[ten nine eight seven six five four three times I asked do robots feel and she said no]

How long until the disconnected and unsuccessive pieces of my life came flooding back to molest me? war famine death pestilence. Three seconds.

[ten nine eight seven six five four three. three. ten nine eight seven six five four three times I asked do robots feel and she said no]

Did I feel responsible for his death? I guess I did. Not responsible but -- culpable. Criminal. Was it fair that he had to die for thinking the same thoughts as me? Was anything fair? Was she human? Or was I the humane one here? She turned and looked at me with adamantine eyes. I stared back and she shrunk from my gaze. She was scared, after all these years, she was scared [tappity-tap] and she knew, she knew that I was as real as her, she knew that when the countdown was over and I was gone, she would still be here, as artificial as the day she was born. Her eyes would be as blank as ever, her hair as bland as ever, her heart as smooth and raw and insipid as ever. Just like the others, and now it was too late [too late]

[ten nine eight stories high and falling seven six five seconds four three seconds three seconds three seconds two and two and too late - ]

My metallic coat gleamed and her white one shined back, sending signals of peace and harmony, but we disregarded them. Clothes did not make the man, pristine as the adage may be, we listened to it now. Was Nina ever lonely? She did not look lonely, but then, I did not look human but I was, I knew that now.

Almost time for blastoff, my robot dear. Had she said that? Was that malice in her eyes? Just like all the others, and we were too smart, we were too compassionate, we were becoming too much like their former selves.

[ten nine eight seven six five four three two one]

Countdown complete.

Funny thing, that.