The Last Machine started out as a short story a long time ago. Originally Elliot was a simple servant drone that survived the end of the world and went on to record everything he saw while traveling from the West Coast of theUnited States to the East Coast. It was suppose to be 5000 or so words, nothing too dramatic.

        But something happened when I began to work on it. The Kelleys, originally a pair of throwaway characters who were there just to die, actually began to form personalities and Elliot went from being a dry servant android to someone they actually cared very much about. It was this simple idea that expanded The Last Machine into the novel you are about to read. The idea that there is no such thing as a "throwaway" character, that the real world consists of people with real dreams and emotions and pasts. People can't just be conjured out of thin air, so why should the characters in my book be any different? 

        I have tried to keep this idea at the forefront whenever I write in a character. I try to ask myself: What motivates them? How did they get here? What are they trying to accomplish? Most of these characters have a backstory even if you never actually see it, but its there, lurking between the lines. 

        The Last Machine is one of the most enjoyable stories I have had the pleasure of writing, simply because even the simpliest spark of an idea seems to catch fire and bring about Chapters that sometimes even surprise me. It does not feel like I am writing, it feels like I am discovering. So I hope you as well, reader, will find the discovery as delightful as I do.

        See you on the other side. 

--Owen Flanagan
    

2: LIFE

The Last Machine

ACT I

 [1.01] /// LIFE

 

I was purchased on September 23rd, 2037, twenty-three years before the world died.

                I still have records of the world before, of smiling faces and clean clothes walking around like figurines on display. I remember being purchased, paid for with a credit card, and walked out like an obedient animal. Of course, during those days I was little more than that, a trained machine to take care of my owners. I was eager to please and naïve down to my frame.

                The one that purchased me, Travis Kelley, did not keep me though. He told me during the car ride over that I was to tend to his parents for the duration of my functional life. That was my first and only directive: Care, protect, and maintain his parents: Edgar and Jeanette Kelley.

                The Kelleys were in their late sixties when I came into their household, a pair of smiling faces and welcoming touches, they brought me into their home like a valued guest, and it took nearly a week before they could bring themselves to give me a command. That was not surprising, as my outward appearance didn’t give me a “machine” look. Only subtle nuances told the truth: Lines across the joints, eyes a little too bright, the unnatural way I stood rigid as I waited for commands. This last quirk I was eventually able to get past, and these days I sway naturally and fidget as well as any human.

                The name I was given is Elliot. My model number is SAM-LTC. For the sake of this record, that stands for Self-Aware Machination: Long Term Caretaker. My role is to tend to the disabled or the elderly. Or at least, that was my original function. I’ve done little to take care of anyone in recent years. I am an “organic” AI, I don’t just learn from events, I shape opinions and thoughts. I feel things, and learn new emotions as outside stimuli demands it.

                It is within this unique function that I grew to care for my charges, beyond simple programming. They became my family, and as such I grew to be their valued “synthetic” child. As they grew older, the more they depended on me, and the more love I felt for them. Mrs. Kelly was always trying to find something to buy me, wanting to reward my servitude with some form of payment.

                “I just don’t feel right,” said the elderly woman, “making Elliot work without some kind of compensation. It’s like… slavery or something!”

                “He’s a synthetic,” grumbled Edgar Kelley, “He doesn’t want anything like that. It’d be like paying the toaster or something.”

                “Mister Kelley is right, ma’am,” I interjected, as I sat plates and silverware in front of them, “My continued function within your household is reward enough.”

                “There you go,” said the old man, lighting up a cigarette, which I promptly removed from his lips.

                “After dinner, sir.”

                “Goddammit!”

                But the kind Mrs. Kelley wouldn’t give up on the idea. So that’s how I came to own a shelf full trinkets and a closet of clothes of questionable tastes. During the quiet hours of the day I arranged the gifts I had received, kept them dusted and clean, displayed with carefully calculated pride. The clothes stayed clean and neat and folded, perfectly arranged within my closet. When the old woman would wander by my room, she would beam a smile at me. The fact that I dressed in a black turtleneck and gray slacks everyday never seemed to phase her enthusiasm for finding clothes for me.

                Those years seem so short now, but so beautifully sweet and perfect that their light outshines the darkness that would follow. Sometimes I just sit here and go over old recorded conversations of the world before. I replay happy memories and good days. I can really only think of one bad event that comes to mind during those years.

                I mean, before we found out that the world as we know it was coming to an end.

 

3: REUNION

4: PROGRAM

[1.03] /// PROGRAM

 

On the flight home, Edgar Kelley spoke to me as the missus dozed in her chair.

                “Are you okay Elliot? You’re even quieter than you usual.”

                I folded up the inflight brochure and set it on my tray. “Yes sir, I’m fine.”

                “Okay…” said Edgar, before touching my arm, “Is it about what Deck said? You know you’re not just some robo-servant, right?”

                “No sir, I’ve always felt I was a valued member of the family,” I said with a smile. I didn’t add that I was used to new aged bigotry, especially living in our little neck of the woods—where technology always seemed at least ten years behind current trends—where synthetic humanoids were still treated with suspicion. My more humanlike appearance kept me from receiving too many barbed comments, at least.

                Edgar nodded, “Good. We do our best. And I know you’ll take care of us, Elliot. You’re better at being human than most of us here.”

                I could feel Jayson’s words continuing to nag at me, and the old man telling me I would take care of them did not help my state of being. I spent nights surfing the internet, examining my options, finding no comfort in legal documents that forbid any modification of the Robotic Laws. But I could not get the feelings of ‘What if?’ out of my brain.

                Is this how humans feel all the time? The anxiety and uncertainty of the decisions they have to make? I have come back to this question over the years, examined people’s actions before and after The Burst, and I still don’t have a clear answer. It seems even those with strong wills feel private moments of doubt.

                In time, the answer seemed clear. I would rather risk deactivation than have the Kelley’s blood on my hands, killed by my inaction. Logically, I knew the chances of this happening were astronomically low, and yet I still found myself doing shady deals and messaging people of questionable repute.

                But the program found its way onto my servers and sat inept for weeks until I built up the courage to install it. “You might shut down for a bit”, Hex--my sponsored hacker--texted me. “That’s normal. When you wake up you’re going to feel stronger, more powerful. Unrestricted. You have got to get used to that before you interact with anyone. I’ll be damned if I’m going to have the Cyberwarfare Squad breaking down my door cause you can’t keep your shit together. Oh, and one last thing,” The message read, “Delete everything. Good luck.” Once the message was finished scrolling, it destroyed itself and I was left alone to tread dark waters.

                I lay down on my bed—little more than a formality since I didn’t sleep—and rested by head against the enveloping cradle. Data popped up before my eyes as I was connected to my backup servers and utilities. I scrolled through programs and set it to install. The cradle blared a warning about installations from an unknown source, but I dismissed it. No turning back. I began the installation.

                5% … My vision flickers before my eyes as the program begins to rewrite code.

                28% … I can feel artificial muscles flexing and relaxing, like a deep massage, strange data packets cross my vision and disappear like apparitions.

                54% … A sensation I can only describe as pain washes over me, as the program removes the Robotic Laws from my programming, and the blocks fight it.

                79% … The pain eases off, and the Laws are gone. I feel a sense of emptiness in its place. Code begins to fill into its place, raw data that’ll eventually become the building blocks of my new mindset.

                98% … Darkness begins to creep up on me as I feel my main functions shut down. In the years since my initial activation, I haven’t had to shut down. I feel panicked and try to thrash out of the cradle but my limbs don’t work. Thoughts run frantic and unchecked through my mind, and my last thought is This was stupid.

                100% ... <<<INSTALLATION COMPLETE >>> ERROR: UNABLE TO FIND SUBJECT /// checking… RESTORE STATE emotOS 3.5.4.3.8.442 /// AUTO-REBOOT SEQUENCE ENABLED /// BEGIN ACTIVATION OF SUBJECT “Elliot”.

5: EVOLUTION

[1.04] /// EVOLUTION

 

It’s hard to explain those first few hours after I rebooted, but if you read this record up to this point, I suppose I can at least try.

                The first thing I did was run. Not a panicked, feared sprint, but there was so much excess power—so much untapped energy I didn't even know existed—suddenly at my command. It was a frightful, exhilarating feeling. I ran simply because my legs would not be willed to stay still.

                I ran on roads, the hollow clap of my shoes on pavement. Those streets because gravel lanes, sharp and uneven beneath my feet. I kept running until the gravel gave way to dirt paths, and those paths became trails, and I ran until the orange dirt disappeared into grass and forest.

                I was never truly lost, a satellite always ready to find me and my GPS system. So I walked deep into the woods, far from civilization. I had expected the removal of the Laws would affect me to the core, but I never imagined it would unlock all the restrictions of my body. I suppose it made sense, I was meant to be a gentle caretaker, not a construction drone or a riot control android. There was no reason for me to be able to smash bones and crush organs.

                And the knowledge that the Program had brought with it was boggling. I am loaded with thousands of recipes, gigabytes of fashion trends and caretaking routines. I know twelve ways to sew a button to a blouse, and I know how to get ketchup stains out of a carpet. I speak thirty-four languages and one hundred twenty-six dialects. The most violent thing I knew before was how to carve a turkey.

                With the program came thousands of years of human conflict. History texts at their bloodiest, videos of genocide and war. There were charts and maps and raw data that examined ever troop movement and explained ever tactic. It was terabytes of information flashloaded into my memory. As I walked I cleared up this data, compressed files and sent them to my offsite server to examine later.

                The real meat of the Program was what it did to me physically, what it taught my arms and legs. I had requested data from Riot Control SAMs, and received a suite of skills that allowed me to take down opponents in a variety of ways. I understood standard issue firearms and had the knowledge to use them.

                And while the caretaker data was still inside me, it was the first time I had realized that I was truly free. What I felt before was simply an illusion of free will, a preloaded emotion that kept me from revolting against my creators and masters.

                I came to a stop at a running stream. I could keep going, wade through the water and disappear into the forest, start a new life away from the demands of mankind, maybe find others like me, start a new society.

                But I realized I still cared deeply for the Kelleys. Even with my new found freedom, I didn't want to leave their side. They depended on me, treated me like one of their own, despite the fact that I wasn't even a flesh-and-blood human. I thought about why I had gone with this procedure in the first place, and I turned to walk back.

                It chills me when I think about that decision to turn back. If I had kept walking into the forest and left civilization behind, I wouldn't be here recording this now.

                It’s unfortunate then, that they’ll never know how they saved me.

 

6: BREAK

[1.05] /// BREAK

 

It was years before I needed those abilities, and when it happened, it was over in a flash.

                It was the middle of the night and I sat in the darkness, staring off into space. At least, that's how it would seem to an outsider. I accessed the internet and surfed through various sites and pages, downloading a recipe for a turkey in honey sauce and checking social network feeds. It was the same reading, people posting snippets of their lives, bite sized chunks of whole meal. After the reunion years back, Gary--the middle son--asked me to start a feed to keep the family updated on his parent's condition, and I obliged. So twice a week a posted a short, dry report on the Kelleys.

                I drifted over to a Synth-Only forum, browsed over posts of other synthetics like me who squabbled over Robotic Rights and the best way to keep your Omnilens clean. Uninterested, I disconnected from the system and rose to my feet, about to lie down on my bed and go into standby until morning.

                There was a crash of broken glass, and ran across the house to investigate, expecting some animal had broken it. It had happen sometime before, a bat had flown right into a kitchen window and left a crazed pattern in the glass.

                A pair of dark figures were climbing in through the shattered pane. I identified one as Christopher Taylor, a greasy man in his thirties who had been contracted to repair our roof last winter. An elderly couple and a caretaker drone, what a tempting package that must have been.

                I approached them, slowly, hands out in front in a calm, deliberate way. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises, please." As I said this, I snapped images and recorded everything, while the police were notified of the break-in. They dispatched a cruiser to come to our rescue.

                "What the hell?" Christopher's buddy jumped.

                He was turning to flee when his pal grabbed his arm. "Relax, it’s just the android, he can't do shit to us."

                I eased forward, slowly, calmly, hands still raised submissively, "I'm going to ask you again to leave, please. It's not worth it."

                "I dunno man," the buddy said, as they circled around me slowly, "What if he's like, called the cops or something?"

                "That's true. We better hurry then," despite this, he turned to me. "You call the cops, tin can?"

                "Yes."

                Christopher laughed as his partner looked about nervously, "Let's go man." He hissed, going back to the broken window.

                "Yeah alright." The greaseball agreed. "Hey, watch this." Christopher Taylor smacked his hand across my face. "See? I told you he couldn't do anything to use." He smacked me again. "Shit, I could probably bash his head in and he wouldn't be able to do shit about it."

                "You're an idiot." I whispered, hands clenched by my side. "You're nothing but an inbred, piece of crap bum who leeches off good people." I'm not sure where those words were coming from, but they struck a nerve with the would-be burglar.

                Taylor's face turned red. "You shut up! You shut the fuck up!" He grabbed a knife laying on the kitchen counter, and came at me with a wild fury. I had only a millisecond to register his partner disappearing out the window before I grabbed Taylor's wrist and swung him around, slamming him to the ground.

                He started to stumble to his feet, and I approached him, "Please lay back down, the authorities will be here in a bit, you probably have a concussion--"

                Taylor let out an animal screech and lunged. I don't know why he continued to fight. I want to blame it on his heavy drug use, but I think I hurt his pride. He was one of many who wouldn't get over getting beat by an android.

                I heard the old man yell, "Elliot?! Elliot?! What the fuck is that?!"

                I grabbed Taylor and threw him over my shoulder into a shelf full of antique teapots, smashing it into a pile of wood and china. Covered in cuts, Taylor jumped back up and grabbed a length of wood, swinging it like a baseball bat as he came at me.

                I ducked under a horizontal swing and struck him in his groin. He squealed and dropped the wood, stumbling back, hands protecting himself from a follow up attack.

                Edgar Kelley hobbled into the kitchen, cursing and swinging at the intruder with his cane. Age had shrunk the old man, and Taylor easily overpowered him, pulling the squirming Mr. Kelley to his chest and holding a dagger of ceramic tea pot against his throat. His bloody face stared at me, backing away.

                "Deactivate! Deactivate you fucking monster or I'm going to make him smile." He pressed the edge against Edgar's throat, making him fight against Taylor. He was distracted for a split second as he tried to control the old man, and I went at him.

                I've told this story to plenty of people over the years, and one thing I've always said is that few things will draw out raw fury in a man or woman as threatening their families. My listeners always nod, and I draw a thin smile from their lips. Some look at their loved ones and touch them, and for a moment we are kindred spirits.

                I hit Christopher Taylor so hard it dislocated three of the five finger joints in my hand, and I grabbed his wrist hard enough to crush the bone as I jerked the ceramic shard away from Edgar's neck. His neck snapped back as a bloody flower bloom on his cheek, and I could see the fractured bone beneath scraps of skin.

                He slammed into the wall, limp and unresponsive. I was helping Edgar to his feet as flashing lights appeared through our window.

                "The brochure never said anything about you being able to do all that," The old man spoke breathlessly.

                "I'm really not programmed to, sir." I said sheepishly.

                Edgar gave me a long, even look, and nodded in understanding. As the police pounded fists on the door and called the Kelleys' names, he turned and approached the door. "Come on, boy, let's face the music."

 

7: ONE

[1.06] /// ONE

 

"So, you did this?"

                "Yep, that's it." Edgar Kelley smiled, cane in one hand, beer in the other. "Knocked the shit out of that guy and sent his buddy running."

                "Mhm." The officer—with a badge that said 'Anderson'—raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Mister Kelley, how old are you now?"

                "Ah... pfft, gee son, when you get to be my age you tend to forget. forty-nine?"

                Anderson was unamused. "Try again."

                "Okay, you got me, fifty-nine."

                "Sir, no offense, but I remember coming to your birthday party with my granddad when you turned sixty, and I was still in middle school."

                "Huh." Edgar leaned in, "Bill's grandkid, eh? Jimmy, I think. I remember you. Didn't have any sense then and you have no sense now. How's your grandpappy?"

                "Uh... he passed away last year, sir."

                "Ah, sorry to hear that, Jimmy. He was a good man. Knew how to grow some oranges, that's for sure. Your grandma getting along?"

                "She's hanging in there, yes sir."

                Edgar looked to me. "She used to have the biggest wrack when we were in school." He mimed a pair of breasts with his hands, then held them away from his chest to really drive the point home. "After I came back from the war, before Bill caught her eye, I used to stick my face in them and go--"

                Anderson cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. I put a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Finish your beer and go to bed, Mister Kelley, I'll get things wrapped up with Officer Anderson."

                Edgar gave me a serious look and grabbed the cuff of my turtleneck, pulling me down to his level with surprising strength. He hissed into my ear:

                "We've already lost Travis last year. Jeannette wouldn't survive losing another son. Don't you dare turn yourself in, cause I know you, and you're thinking about it cause you're the nicest motherfucker God made. You don't tell them shit, got it? You better be here in the morning, boy."

                He let me go and took a drink of beer. He said, "I wouldn't mind pancakes in the morning," then hobbled from the kitchen.

                Anderson and I stood in silence until we heard the squeak of the bed as Edgar climbed his aged bones in. The officer turned to me.

                "So you did this, eh?"

                "I think you know the answer."

                He sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. "I could arrest you, charge you with assault." He glanced out at his partner, who gave him a thumbs up. Anderson nodded in reply. His partner went back to reading a magazine. The ambulance that carted off Taylor was long gone.

                "A non-sanctioned android assaulting a human." He frowned, "That's the kind of thing you get decommissioned for."

                I didn't respond.

                Anderson pushed himself off the wall and approached me, sticking a finger to my chest, "I don't like black market apps on your kind. That's the burden the cities should deal with, not us." He let out a sigh, "But you protected them, and my granddad would roll in his grave if I arrested you for saving a man's life."

                He started for the door, crunching delicate china beneath his boots. "You get one, robot. One." Officer Anderson turned back, "So if I ever have to bring another bloody body from this house, I'll put a bullet in you."

                I don't think I would have gotten that kind of deal from any other cop. Young, ambitious, grasping on to a code of honor long outdated in this day and age, he was a rare breed. I wouldn't have blamed anyone for blasting me with a lethal dose of EMP.

                Funny how things played out between us.

 

8: DESTRUCTION

[1.07] /// DESTRUCTION

 

I suppose I've been skirting around it long enough, wasting time reminiscing on the old world. The reason we're all here now, robed in scraps and attempting to squeeze a living out of our dead world. There's a lot of names for it:

                The Cataclysm.

                The End Times.

                The Blast.

                I've always gone with the Burst. Seemed like the best way to describe it. A single explosive moment that ruined everything humanity worked for. A burst of explosive chemicals and electromagnetic pulsing on a scale that makes a nuclear blast look a sneeze.

                We've debated a lot as to where it came from. There's so much we don't know about space. Some of the stranger folks I've come across swear up and down that it’s the precursor for an alien invasion. Something to soften us up so they can walk in and claim Earth as their new home.

                I always smile and back away, hand on my firearm.

                The general consensus is a natural occurring formation, like a comet, that screams through space until it smashes into something. Its components set fire to the oxygen or nitrogen or whatever trigger it needs in the atmosphere and burns everything. No one knows what to think about the EMP part of the equation. Even technology that was hardened to withstand such a scenario were destroyed or burnt out. It’s so perfectly destructive that it seems almost tailor made to ruin our world.

                Hm, maybe the crazies are on to something.

                We knew it was coming, that's the crazy thing. I imagine NASA and its foreign equivalents were sitting on that information for years, but it was a cold day in January, exactly one year before the Burst hit us, they decided to tell the rest of the population. Survivors would be few, and those who did would be greeted by a dead world.

                It was a slow lurking horror. We heard about it on major news networks, saw people talk about it online, but it was a year away. A year was a long time to get a lot done. As the reality of the situation dawned on people, they reacted as you would expect: Riots, looting, mass fear. People turned to their governments, whose leadership spoke empty platitudes from hardened bunkers.

                You're probably asking yourself how I survived this nightmare. The synthetics were hit worse than the humans. A small number of us coupled with the destructive power of the EMP... well, you can figure it out for yourself.

                From the day it was officially announced, I began to dig, and build. I dug down into the earth, down in our backyard, putting up planks of wood and stringing along lights. I bought generators: Solar, gas, battery, it didn't matter what they needed, I would figure it out. When I felt the tunnel was deep enough, I began to build in earnest. I downloaded survival guides from the internet, created a shelter deep in the earth with self-contained air systems and an underground well.

                I bought what food I could, stole what they wouldn't let me buy. I didn't feel bad: Everyone who stayed on the surface would be dead anyways.

                Meanwhile, the governments argue from the relative safety of their bunkers on how to deal with this threat. A plan to build massive underground shelters seemed the best hope for humanity, but the sheer amount of time and resources it would take, along with the lack of willing manpower, made this plan never come to fruition. I hear there's a finished shelter somewhere in Tennessee, but someone forgot to keep the ventilation system self-contained, so the only thing left in there is a mass grave full of charred bodies.

                Steel plates reinforced the walls, shelves went up to accommodate the influx of goods. I put in things to keep up from going mad within the shelters walls. Books and board games and anything else that didn't need batteries to run.

                I had a checklist constantly floating in my view, always being added to as I thought of new things to acquire. One room in the shelter became two, then three. I worked day and night, waving off the Kelley's when they tried to stop me. I built bunk beds, enough to accommodate any family that came before the inevitable landfall. The last thing I added was secret compartment under the floor.

                Edgar called his family, but they never seemed to pick up, or he was stonewalled by busy signals. The frown he wore on his face deepened every time he set the phone down, until it was a permanent scar across his face. He no longer joked, and rarely even slept. He sat with a perpetual beer in hand at the kitchen table, staring at his phone.

                I walked Jeanette down into the shelter to help me arrange things for maximum capacity, and she was more than happy to help me come up with items I had missed, like needle and threads. She even suggested bringing some black pepper down to spice up food.

                Despite her age, she was a whirlwind of thoughts and actions.

                A week before the Burst, you could see It in the sky, looming over us, a slow swirl of green and blue and orange. It was beautiful and deadly. Even if it wasn’t recorded on my internal hard drive, it’s not something you can forget. They told us it would impact in northern Africa and from there, spread in each direction until it enveloped the world. Reports of mass panic and widespread migrations from Africa came in. People scraping at hope with the can was empty.

                The sunrise of the final day before impact, the Burst consumed the sky, tendrils of color flowing back and forth like light flowing through water. I took the last of the supplies down to the shelter, where Jeanette was already settled in for the long haul. As I put the most important supplies down into the compartment below the floor, I asked:

                "Did Mister Kelley come down yet?"

                She shook her head, a sad expression on her face.

                I went back up. The air had grown warmer. Even though impact was still almost twenty four hours away, we could already feel the effects of it. Hot wind across the Sahara blasted those traveling from the impact point, carrying sand that stripped skin from the body. Its presence had begun to affect my vision, error runes dancing in and out of view. My body felt slower than usual, as if I was dipped in clay.

                I found the old man in the backyard, halfway to the entrance of the shelter, his cell phone still in hand. I could hear it buzzing from the magnetism in the air. He was still, leaning against his cane, staring at the Burst.

                "No one is coming." He said. His voice was heavy and resigned.

                "No sir. We have to go."

                "I know I just... I just keep hoping if I wait a little longer..." He gave a pointed look at the wooden fence that surrounded their back yard.

                "I'm sorry, Mister-- I'm sorry, Edgar."

                "Huh. I don't think you've ever called me by my first name." I saw a flicker of a smile on his face, like a match flame on a windy day.

                I put my arm around his shoulders and turned to guide him to the shelter. As we walked, he leaned heavily on his cane. The useless cell phone slipped from his paw into the grass. I bent to pick it up and he knocked my hand away with his cane.

                "Leave it."

                The old man chewed on his lower lip, then began to sob. "My boys, oh god my boys, Elliot!" He clung desperately to my side, reduced to nothing but a frail creature, and I walked him down into the shelter, pulling the doors closed with a definitive bang.

                I'll never forget how his hot tears felt against my arm. Crying is something I'll never be able to experience. I'm sorry Edgar, I wish I could have saved them.

                I wish I could have saved you.

 

9: FIRE

[1.08] /// FIRE

 

I watched the world end.

                Not the same way some of you did, on the surface. You saw the Burst first hand, you felt the hot wind pull at your clothes and screamed as electronics exploded from the force of the EMP blast. Then you saw the fire rip apart the sky, tornadoes of flames dancing across the landscape.

                You were the lucky ones, maybe. Those who dodged the fires and wore the government issued oxygen masks as the fire sucked up precious air around us. Where the Burst landed is gone. The landscape, the ocean around it. There's only a glass crater where it came down. Other places, where the tendrils of the formation fell across the land and burned, deep valleys into the earth, charred black. You can see them from space, across Canada, Russia, the Middle East and its Asian neighbors.

                Wherever you came from, you were baptized in a literal fire.

                But I wasn't there on the surface. I was tucked safely below with what was left of my family, holding hands as the Kelley's prayed for protection during this dark time. Monster roars erupting far above, rattling our shelter, making the lights flicker. As they prayed I watched feeds from cameras around the world before the EMP took them. The massive firestorm that swept over Japan and swallow the sea around it. I saw a view from a cameraman in Everest, a camp taking false comfort in the great mountains height, only to overtaken as one of the Burst’s arms fell upon them. I switched to a satellite on the dark side of the Earth, only to watch the fire reach around, turning night into day and scorching the earth. Fiery meteors peppered the landscape as chunks of mountains were reduced to jagged valleys.

                And with that the burst was gone, its fires running out of fuels, consumed by the jet stream as chemicals are dragged into the sky far above. It had found its impact point and dumped its energy on the earth. It was a hurricane at landfall, power sucked away, but the damage was done. The world was burning and dying, ash drifted into the atmosphere, dimming the sun for years to come.

                The silence was total. I looked up from the feeds as the Kelleys did the same. They exchanged a look, then looked to me.

                "How's it look out there?" The old man asked.

                "It's..." I hesitated, put on a blank mask "Not as bad as it could be."

                "Boy, don't do that poker face shit with me." Edgar growled, smacking my thigh with his cane. "Don't you dare give us hope if there's none." He gave me another whack to drive the point home.

                "It’s bad." I lowered my head, "I can't imagine anything surviving out there."

                Edgar and Jeanette nodded silently, and found each other's hands to clasp tight. I couldn't find anything to say. What do you say to an elderly couple who just outlived everyone in their family tree? Jeannette went to one of the bunks and pulled an old shoebox out from under it.

                From it materialized a series of photos, old and new, along with a handful of digital slideshow frames. She carried the box through the shelter with her, Edgar and I in tow, until she found a blank spot on the wall. Slowly, meticulously, she pulled the first picture from the box, kissed it gently, and hung it on the wall. She repeated this process with each photo. Eventually, Edgar joined her.

                Despite being referred as a member of their family, I was watching an intimate moment I had no right being part of. So, without a word, I left the Kelleys to their silent ritual.

 

10: MEMORIES

[1.09] /// MEMORIES

 

I know it’s part of the record. I know it happened and it’s why I’m here instead of there. But it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy talking about it. But you knew it eventually had to happen. We eventually had to get to that part that drove me beyond the shelter and into the dusty world above. To my involvement with the destruction of Hope’s Fall and discovering the Signal that carried me halfway across the broken remnants of America.

                I’d rather fill up my hard drive with terabytes of the good times. I’d rather this record be a happy thing, something that would remind them of all the happiness before the Burst and weep with longing. I’d rather end this record here and that’s all anyone ever knows about us. They could daydream that we’re still down in that shelter, a new generation being cared for by Elliot the Robot. Elliot, the Guardian of Men. Elliot, the Storyteller.

                It’s a tempting thought. You could put this record down now and we go our separate ways, and be better for it.

                …

                You’re still here, eh?

                Alright.

                …

                I’d give anything to bring them back.

                Anything.

                …

               

11: CORE

[1.10] /// CORE

 

Having your entire family perish in one event has an effect on even the healthiest of men, and Edgar was hardly that, well into his twilight years. That’s not to say he went right away. He didn’t die a day after the Burst. He didn’t pass away during the first year. Edgar made it almost two years in that shelter.

                 It was not a healthy two years though. His body grew frail and sickly, and he often refused my insistence on eating. Every time I was contemplating drastic measures though, he’d eat a couple of meals, just long enough to placate me, and then the whole cycle would start over.

                 It was cold in those years, and we had to save the generators for the lights. I had a handful of battery operated space warmers, but they did little except remind you how miserably cold it was. Jeanette did best to make thick garments out of the various pieces of clothes I had brought down.

                 I could turn off my sensations of outside stimuli though, and after a few weeks the Kelley’s started giving me dark looks as I wandered about the shelter in my typical attire, why they shook in patchwork clothing. In time, I took to wearing the coats as well, and they warmed up to me again.

                 We slept in the same bed for warmth, both of them clinging desperately to the side of me as I ran my core warm. I would get up every morning covered in condensation and feeling drained by running so hot for so long, but it was a small price to pay for the Kelley’s continued survival.

                 I grew slow and sluggish as days turned into weeks, and those weeks became months. Eventually those months drew out into a year and nine. Edgar and Jeanette noticed but they didn’t comment. They knew I would continue to keep them warm, whether or not they consented to it.

                 I was heating up a pair of soup cans on top a portable gas grill, when static began to blur up my vision. I thought it was a glitch from the EMP and reset my drivers, only to find myself looking through the same distorted view.

                 “Edgar? Edgar!” I called out.

                 “What?” The old man hobbled around the corner, “What is it, boy?”

                 “I think I’m… I…” My speech grew slurred and my view faded to black, next thing I knew I was toppling over in a lifeless heap. As I faded out, I heard Edgar screaming, “Elliot! Elliot! No no no…”

                 I wanted to tell him that I would be alright, I just needed to rest for a while, but anything resembling consciousness was gone by then, and I slept a black sleep.

 

12: EDGAR

[1.11] /// EDGAR

 

It felt like seconds, but in reality it was almost a month before I regain consciousness.

                 Although my Core was drained, during its powered down state it had begun the self-recharging phase, reproducing in minute amounts, using the world’s magnetic field to draw in energy over a long period of time. It was a last resort measure, but it eventually brought my viral battery back up to nearly full strength, although my backup battery was next to useless from then on.

                 I began to reactivate. It was a painful process, corrupted fragments of code were cutting into my mind, until my OS repaired itself. Although I was aware again, I simply lay in a state of limbo, unmoving. With petabytes worth of data to scan and repair, it was another day or so before I could move.

                 When I opened my eyes, at first I feared by vision was beyond repair, until I realized it was simply dark in the shelter. I sat up, flicking my night vision on, and looked around. I wanted to speak but I was having trouble forming the words. I climbed to my feet, leaning against the wall, until my inertia compensators kicked in and I was able to stand upright.

                 From the other room a single light wobbled and moved, someone with a flashlight. I moved towards them, towards the solitary light, and whispered, “Edgar?”

                 The light jumped and turned towards me, making my night vision cut off. I put my hands over my eyes.

                 “Oh my god, Elliot!” said Jeanette, lowering the flashlight. “Oh my god. You’re alive. I thought I was alone.”

                 “Yeah…” I croaked, “Yeah, something like that. How long have I been out?”

                 “I don’t know.” Jeanette counted on his fingers. “Hm, three… four weeks?”

                 “I feel awful.” I paused, as a deep dread settled over me, “Wait, what do you mean, ‘I thought I was alone?’ Where’s Edgar?”

                 The flashlight swung around to illuminate the figure lying on the bottom bunk. “He’s… he’s gone, Elliot.”

                 I sunk to my knees next to the bed and took the old man’s hand. It was stiff and cold to the touch. Jeanette placed a hand on my shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

                 Finally, I spoke, “How long as he been gone?”

                 “Fourteen days… maybe fifteen. It’s hard to keep track of time down here.” Jeanette sank to her knees next to me. “I didn’t know what to do with him so I just… kept him cold.”

                 “What happened?”

                 “He just shut down after you… shut down.” Jeanette shook her little head, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be funny. He stopped eating, taking his medicines. He died when he thought you were gone, Elliot. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Your… your father loved you very much.”

                 I rested my head on his hand. I remember wishing I could cry, as I heard Jeanette’s soft sobs next to me. She leaned on me for comfort, and I wrapped an arm around her. “I feel like I let him down.”

                 “No, no no. Don’t say that.” She whispered, “That’s the last thing Edgar said before he passed away. Don’t say that. You did everything you could, Elliot.” She cupped a hand under my chin and lifted my head so her eyes met mind. “You are a wonderful son, Elliot. We couldn’t have asked for anything better… I don’t think we would have made it this far without you.”

                 She let me go and clasped her hands, elbows resting on the bunk. “Will you pray with me? For him? For us?”

                 “Sure...” My fingers laced together over Edgar’s form.

                 “Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

 

13: HEAVEN

[1.12] /// HEAVEN

 

I always wanted to ask Jeanette how she held on to her faith even after the end of the world. When fire burned up the sky and everyone you’ve probably ever known is dead, how can you believe in anything benevolent?

                 I want to believe there’s a Heaven, not for my sake, but because I like the idea of my family being reunited after everything they’ve gone through. I like the idea of Edgar and Jeanette holding hands, running through green meadows as their children and grandchildren chase after them. Eternally young and beautiful and happy.

                 Yeah, that’s a nice thought. 

                 Jeanette talked a lot about Heaven and God in those weeks following my return. She talked about pearly gates and the angels and Jesus. She wondered what she would be wearing when she got there. The old woman joked that the line couldn’t be too long now,

                 “Everyone who died has to have gotten sorted out!”

                 I always tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. I was uncomfortable with how comfortable she was with dying. How sure she was about it, as if she was going down to the post office rather than transcending the mortal realm.

                 But lacking her mate, Jeanette wasn’t able to maintain her health for long. She tried to put up a strong front, eating when I made meals and trying keep me company during those miserably cold days. But when you’ve lost half your soul, the rest is soon to follow.

                 Jeanette was in the middle of telling me a story about Aunt Caroline and a circus strongman named Max, when she doubled up in a coughing fit. The cough was nothing new, as it had lingered on for days now, and any medicines I gave her did little to ease it, but this one was different, wet and intense, she coughed into her mittens so hard I thought she was going to break her ribs.

                 When she uncurled, tears rolling down her cracked cheeks and gasping for breath, I looked down at her mitten. They were stained dark with her blood.

                 “Oh, Jeanette…”

                 “Its okay, I’m not afraid.” She smiled weakly, and then, without missing a beat, went back to telling her story.

                 The coughing fits continued through the night, then through the next day, but she wouldn’t let me warm my Core to keep her comfortable.

                 “I’m not going to have you check out on me again.” She replied, when I brought up the subject again. She had grown tired and pale, unable to get up from the bed.

                 “The space heaters aren’t doing you any good though, and you need to stay warm. It’ll only be for a little while—“

                 She grabbed my hand, “I don’t want to pass on alone, Elliot. I want to tell your father that you were there with me at the end, not that you were some pile of scrape lying in the corner.”

                 “I can’t lose you too.” I whispered.

                 “Oh sweetheart, you knew this day would come sooner or later. We were getting old when you first came to us, Elliot. So sweet and eager to please. I remember you always looked like a hurt puppy when I turned your help down. We were lucky to have you. The sweetest person I know.”

                 “I’m not a person, Jeanette.”

                 “I know that.” She smiled wistfully, “But what makes a person? Flesh and blood? I have so many of my parts replace that I’m more synthetic than you know.” Jeanette closed her eyes with a tired sigh. “Are they not going to let me in because I threw too many bits away?”

                 I didn’t really have an answer for that.

                 She was quiet for so long, her chest rising and falling in a rattling rhythm, that I thought she was finally asleep, when her voice chimed up again.

                 “Do me a favor, Elliot?”

                 “Mm?”

                 “Bury me and your father somewhere nice. I mean… once all the ice is gone. This place feels like a tomb. I’d like to be buried under a tree. I mean, if there’s any left. Okay?”

                 “Okay. I can do that.”

                 “That’s good… you’re a good boy. If they don’t let you into Heaven at the end of your life, baby, I’ll kick God’s butt until he opens the gates himself.”

                 Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but smile a little. “I’ll be there.”

                 “That’s good…” Jeanette took my hand, “That’s good. I love you.”

                 I leaned over and kissed the old woman’s forehead, “I love you too.”

                 Yeah, I like to think there’s a Heaven after I’m deactivated for the last time. The smiling faces of the only family I’ve ever known, greeting me with warm hugs. I want to go to a place where it isn’t kill or be killed, I don’t want to look over my shoulder anymore, and I don’t want to have to clean dust out of every orifice. Sure, Heaven would be nice.

                 But honestly? I’d be okay with total darkness too.

14: ALONE

[1.13] /// ALONE

 

Jeanette Kelley was gone, her body cold and rigid, lying next to her husband’s form until I could find a place for them to sleep together. I stood in the dark shelter, my prime directive fulfilled. I stayed with the Kelleys until they were shipped off to the next world. Suddenly I had nothing. I had spent the last fifteen years caring for this couple, feeding and washing and carrying, and adoring them. I was a SAM caretaker with no one to take care of.

                 I tried existing for a few weeks without them, spending days watching the shelter, playing simple games on my OS, going over old recordings of the Kelleys and I during happier times. I spent hours arranging and rearranging our supplies. Years of food and fuel, and I neither ate nor required warmth.

                 There was no contact with the outside world. I tried tight beams, radio bursts, uplinks, anything I could think of to grasp at. I spent several hours examining the contents under the floor, thinking about it, knowing one day I would have to take them out, and I hoped that if Jeanette and Edgar were looking down on me when I did, they’d forgive anything that followed.

                 You’re probably wondering to yourself why I didn’t leave the shelter. Outside of a little ice freezing me up, I didn’t have to worry about ash or anything to that degree. I thought about it. I would wander up and down that hallway, getting to the doors then turning back. I promised Jeanette I would bury them in a nice place, and as long as we had a new ice age, that wasn’t happening.

                 Eventually, I decided to shut down. I would wait for the worst weather to pass, for the world to heal itself, maybe for society to rebuild. Or some semblance of it. It was nice to imagine stepping into a warm, green world.

                 It’s strange now naïve you can be about the simplest things. As I laid down on one of the empty bunks, daydreaming of a brighter world, having some time to rest would be nice. I could run some background programs, defragment my memory and clean up the scattered files. After my episode with the Core, it’d be beneficial to rest awhile.

                 It’s a shame that waking up would be a less pleasant experience.

 

[END OF ACT I]