The Factory worker, and the Damsel in Distress.

The Factory worker, and the Damsel in Distress.

 

 

Thursday is normal for Collins.

 

He doesn't think he is going to die.

 

I mean, bless Ògún, he says to himself.

 

He promised us light and he is delivering even though he's no longer here. Did you know that for nearly a century the old country never had constant power supply? How did they even survive?

 

Well, technically, they didn't, he chuckles to himself.

 

The Robot Facility looks empty, but underneath and behind the sleek metallic walls, thrives the birthplace of next gen companions and assistants. Maybe even warriors when the time comes.

 

Upon gaining entry, visitors are greeted by a meticulously designed lobby… you don't know where you are unless you have the code. The camouflage tech is that strong! Elegant sculptures and holographic displays showcase the evolution, from the earliest mechanical contraptions to the present day cutting-edge creations. The air is charged with purpose as BOTI members, engineers, designers, and technicians prepare for their day.

 

Crafting the future, you see. The cavernous chamber houses rows of intricate assembly lines, each manned by an array of precision arms and 3D printers.

 

Collins loves his job, loves the boringness, is assured by it, tucked away in the belly of this cold, dark factory. Away from the prying eyes of the Supernatural Police or the committee of thunder gods internationale. Here, he finds it easy to stop thinking about his ex-girlfriend.

 

He finds it easy to forget about his guilt and just relax.

 

He casts a quick glance at this man he's creating, barely 5 '6 tall, exomorph. His gaze falls upon a few facial imperfections, the most crucial area to examine. One ear is placed at an incorrect angle, and the nose is wrong by a few centimetres.

 

Collins speaks into the microphone, “Inadequate,” and the robot is conveyed to the repro.

 

Specifically tailored for recycling carbon-based materials used in the fabrication of skeletons and synthetic skin, the Reprocessor breaks down defective robots into individual carbon nanotubes. These nanotubes can then be seamlessly integrated into the production of new robot frames, enhancing structural integrity.

 

Each time he sends them in, he imagines them screaming “Noooooooooo!”

 

Some days he felt like Obàtálá.

 

Infact, he said to himself. I'm going to play some music.

 

Log drums for heartbeat

King of the white cloth molds and re-molds

Children with green eyes.

With carving knife and nimble chisel

Òrìsànlá fashions varnished Hunchbacks…

 

All is well with the next few bots. His well-trained eyes can see flaws, no doubt, but nothing big enough to cause a significant psychological reaction. As the day fades into night, Collins checks his time bracelet. The spheres are still spinning with about a minute left until closing, but construction is complete.

 

He listens and hears the familiar buzz beginning as he cautiously gathers his belongings. Bewildered, he heads back to his station to get the late bot, questioning why the machine brought another.

 

The body slides into the chamber.

 

Collins can't look away.

 

The form before him is a replication of the ideal physique. It surpasses even the pinnacle of human anatomy. Gently, he places it on the table.

 

A super afro adorns her head in a chaotic style. The bronze body, gracefully contoured and slender, presents itself as a regal showcase. But, the grotesque countenance on its face… Empty eye sockets staring into Collins, penetrating to the depths of his soul.

 

Hmmm, he says to himself. Could be fixed, I'm not sure.

 

In a moment, her mouth twists into an unsettling semblance of a smile.

 

Collins is taken aback, it's like it is mocking him with the eerie imitation.

 

Its arms move in calculated precision... Yet, the face… that face, it permanently locks onto Collins’; the twisted grin drives him to the brink of a scream.

 

Collins adjusts his mic, clears his throat and says as loudly as he can, “Inadequate!” but nothing happens. “F—k!” he shouts, as it turns and glares at him. This time, its mouth forms a perfect frown.

 

Huuuuuuuuum.

 

The spheres finally shut down.

 

"I need to get as far away from this thing as I can", he says to himself.

 

But the room isn't big enough. Composing himself, he remembers he is safe. Asimov's First Law of Robotics, right? A robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

 

He scurries out of the room, telling himself he will dispose of the distorted creature come morning.

 

When Collins finally reaches his own room, he almost forgets the incident, shelving the image of the creature as a horror story to share with his friends. The next morning, he goes back to work to find that the creature is gone. He figures she has been properly disposed of.

 

But by whom?

 

Did a supervisor come in here?

 

He nearly wants to ask, but doesn't want to do the extra filing work, so he lets it go.

 

The week passes without any similar incidents, but on one occasion, Collins gets a good laugh out of one robot looking like Mr. Potato head.

 

 

*

Tomorrow is Friday once more, and Collins will still be struggling to get rid of the foreboding sense from last week.

 

He will feel great relief when the workday goes by without any disruptions. Tomorrow, not a single bot will be recycled. Collins's anxieties will get more and more ridiculous as each bot passes, even if they are all harmless and faultless.

 

Collins will head back home.

 

He'll make the decision to stop at his neighbourhood beer parlour en route to get a drink and tell his buddies a few stories.

 

The place, known to all the alcoholics as San Siro, is shabby. It has no electricity, but it's not grimy or filthy in any way, simply a humble and warm yellow building. If there was light, it would have been lit up with holograms advertising different brands of alcohol.

 

Collins steps into the sounds; low murmurs and clinking glasses. A soft, nice glow emanates from the mismatched lanterns, casting shadows on the walls.

 

The air is thick with the rich scent of aged wood and cigars.

 

"How fah now, Boss?" Collins will say, greeting the chubby man behind the bar. The man will nod in Collins's direction.

 

“I dey, Chief.” The barman, Akin, moves with practiced ease, relying on muscle memory rather than automated tools.

 

"Where awon boys?" Collins will ask, referring to the crew always arguing about underground killiball matches.

 

“Dem don commot,” the bartender will grumble. "Be like say match dey today.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Collins will speak with the man as long as he can, but not to anyone else. Thereafter, Collins will leave out of the back door while Akin goes to wash some glasses.

 

He will hear a barely muffled sneeze from the corner of the building.

 

“Who be dat?” Collins will whisper, spinning around on his heels. He will hear another sneeze, this one they couldn't hold. Whomever ‘they’ were. “Who dey there?” he will ask.

 

“Excuse me please, sorry to bother you,” a timid voice will say. “Catarrh.”

 

"No, it's okay," Collins will reply, he'll dodge a puddle and approache the corner. There, a lady hugging her own knees, will come into focus. Sweat makes her hair cling to her face, yet vulnerability emanates from her features. Her slender frame retains a strange allure. Collins will gaze upon her, with scepticism at first. 

 

She, in an odd way, resembles the robot, and at the same time... she resembles the ex. But robots are not able to communicate at this stage, and the ex is 20 miles away.

 

“Wetin happen?” he enquires, continuing in pidgin. He is surprised when she replies in pristine English.

 

“I got kicked out for not paying the rent on time."

 

Collins will wrestle with the question as his mouth instinctively forms words. “So you need a place to…”

 

He will catch himself here, interrogating why he is giving her this offer. It isn't completely altruistic. But her beauty lingers, tempting him with the notion that perhaps she could reciprocate his kindness.

 

That's a terrible thought, he scolds himself, only to be interrupted by her words.

 

“No, I think I should be fine here for the night,” she sniffles, and it is a pitiful sound that pierces the air.

 

“Are you sure? I have another bed you can sleep on,” Collins offers without another thought, “And even some clothes my ex left.”

 

In the ensuing conversation, the inevitable conclusion will emerge. They walk together towards his house, he will succeed in making her chuckle once or twice. His own laughter will echo loudly and cheerfully through the night air. By the time they reach home, any lingering doubt in Collins's mind about the potential mistake will have dissipated completely. He directs her to the shower, points out the clothes, and shows her where she can sleep.

 

Collins settles into his bed, and sleep claims him almost instantly, the worries of a moment ago are replaced by a sense of unexpected companionship.

 

In the dead of the night, Collins will abruptly be jolted awake by the haunting creak of his doors. Fear will grip him as he anxiously scans the dark, empty room, but finds the shadows just playing tricks on his senses.

 

Rhythmic footsteps, perfectly timed, will echo towards his door soon though.

 

"Relax," he’ll whisper to himself, attributing the disturbance to his guest, navigating an unfamiliar house in the dark. The door will swing open, ushering in a soft glow and the captivating woman he welcomed into his home.

 

“Can’t sleep?” he’ll ask, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Want to lay next to me?"

 

A smile to evoke an air of confidence, a subtle hint of seduction.

 

Everything in the room will surrender to a strange silence, her eyes fixed on a distant window opposite him. Slowly, she will turn her head, and her gaze will lock onto Collins’ with a horrifying scowl etched upon her face. 

 

“What…”

 

She is not saying anything but the unsettling silence will linger, leaving the poor guy to confront the reality that this guest was one that shouldn't have happened.

 

He will see two black holes he has seen before, as her eyes gradually come out of their sockets. He'll see the void that was once a mouth transform into what resembles a smile, he'll hear that familiar mechanical humming sound as the sides of her mouth loosen and flakes of skin fall, as patches of hair fall to reveal an unnaturally smooth head.

 

"Want to lay next to me?" her broken voice will mockingly ask.

 

The next day, they will find Collins used for Ambrosia, his body not even fit for the reprocessor.

 

*

 

Zeus leaves Thor outside and comes in.

 

In the dim light, he sees that the victim is a desiccated husk, completely drained of vitality.

 

He pokes at it. Hmmm.

 

Every drop of fluid methodically siphoned away. What's left of the flesh is clinging tightly to the skeleton beneath.

 

Zeus steps back and touches the visor on his head. He smiles as his weapon comes into view, sashaying gracefully through town, still wearing the ex's clothes. He loves these games, man.

 

Next Location: Macaulay Avenue… any normal person would nope the hell out of there.  But nah... he knows men. They would stop for a chat. Buy her a drink. Try to take her home. And it was these same men who depicted him, Zeus, as an ever horny goat!

 

Hahaha. Inadequate.