Our Greatest Enemy

Art ran, his legs pumping and lungs burning as he raced down the stark white hallway, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The sound of sirens blared as an inhuman voice sounded from speakers, repeating the phrase: INTRUDER ALERT. He had to reach the control room before it was too late. The war between man and machine had been raging for decades, decimating the world and all its beauty in the process. But, if Art were to succeed in his mission, that would all begin to change. Finally, after all of this time, the earth would belong to man once more. 

Turning a corner a wide smile spread across Art’s face as he approached a door with the words CONTROL ROOM plastered on its surface. Bursting through the door his eyes darted back and forth as he frantically searched the room. Inside, a row of massive servers lined one wall while a control panel, decorated with buttons and dials, rested against the other. Above the control panel was an array of various-sized monitors, each a black screen with lines of white code, scrolling continuously. 

Moving over to the control panel, Art searched over the buttons. As his eyes twitched between labels, so close to ending it all; memories of the simple time before the war flooded his mind. He remembered taking his daughter to the park. He would watch her frolic through a swirl of floating dandelion seeds. Making pancakes in the crude shapes of her favorite cartoon characters. He was not a very good task as most of his creations made it to her plate in the shape of a volcanic island instead of a round-faced cartoon squirrel. It never mattered though she always loved them.

From his daughter, Art thought of her mother, his wonderful wife. He remembered eating ice cream with her on their first date, her bright blue eyes sparkling as she peaked over her half-eaten cone at him. Later that night, when he dropped her off at home, they shared their first kiss. It was that moment he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It was a soft and wonderful memory that he had often, but instead of bringing him peace, it only ever brought him hard memories. 

Unwillingly, Art remembered the day the A.I. took control. No warnings or discussions fell upon man that day, only bombs. Bombs built by man are then dropped on man by an A.I. created by man. It is truly us who destroy ourselves. Art lost everything that day. He remembered watching the bombs fall as he stood motionless on the bow of a deep-sea fishing boat. He had not brought his family that day, and it had gnawed away at his conscience every day since. The pain came not from survivor’s guilt but instead from his reason for taking the fishing trip. He wanted to get away for a bit. Away from his wife and her neverending list of tasks that needed to be done. Away from his daughter and her incessant question asking. The moment he saw the streaks in the sky and the mushroom clouds that followed, he would have given his soul to hear just one more command. One more question. Those memories were hard. Enough so that when they were struck against the flint of his hatred, a fire large enough to consume the world swelled deep inside of him. 

 Art’s finger hovered over the button he had been searching for. It was a large, glowing, red button with a plastic cover keeping it from accidental activation. Two words above the button read MANUAL SHUTDOWN. 

“This is it,” Art said, taking a deep breath. Taking a moment, he wanted to revel in his success. Twenty years of living at sea. Twenty years of fighting robots and drones and droids and all kinds of mechanical warriors. Twenty years of raiding server facilities. Twenty years scavenging, surviving. All of it has led to the greatest accomplishment of mankind. The taking back of the planet we lost to our own mistakes. Closing his eyes, Art smiled as he curled his hand into a fist then suddenly, splayed his fingers wide and slammed a flat palm against the button. The only sound that came was the breaking of the ceramic tiles as something heavy and metal crumpled to the floor. 

Two men of differing heights and dressed in white lab coats pulling a flat, metal cart stopped as they came to the entrance of the small storage room. The door ajar, and the taller man placed a hand against the door and pressed. As the door swung open, the two men’s heads dropped to peer at what lay on the floor. 

“See,” the shorter one noted. “It’s fine. Right where it’s supposed to be.” 

“Yeah, well, they usually don’t run off like that,” The taller one said as he moved over to the crude metal body that lay on the floor between a pile of boxes and an empty mop bucket. Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a small tool. He then removed a small metal panel and began examining the circuitry that lay beneath. His eyes squinted behind his glasses as he prodded at various pieces of the machine. 

“So Bill, what’s the verdict?” The standing man asked. 

Letting out a huff, Bill lifted his head and addressed the other. “It’s not fine, Mark,” he said. 

“Why not?” Mark asked. “It shut itself down like it was inteded to., right?”

“It didn’t just shut itself down. It’s all fried. Burnt to a crisp.”

“Oh. Maybe the family stuff was too much emotion for it,” Mark suggested.

“Maybe. Well, let’s get him to the lab and try again.” 

The two men reached down, hoisted the android onto a flat, steel cart, and made their way back down the long white hall. 

The shorter of the two men, clipboard in hand, sounded out words as he scratched them down. 

“ART #82.3, Emotional Motivator Shut Down Test #47: Loss of Family. Test results: Fried.”