I, Willhelm

Afraid that the robot would try and kill him, Robbie uploaded his video immediately. Even before Robbie published his article the following morning, the dome attracted attention immediately. It was hard to miss, glowing so brightly it was visible from space like a pale blue star, completely different to the yellow glow of the roads, towns and cities that webbed their path across earth. The local farmers where the first to notice it. Patric Hogan was an old farmer, he had know Frank a long time ago, but just like everyone else, he assumed that the farm had been sold to fund a care home and was now under new management. He arrived a few hours after the dome first appeared, several people already standing outside it, curious and afraid. Some people had thrown stones at it which had passed through, one of them even contemplated firing their shotgun at it. Patric watched as the farmer who had made the suggestion lifted the gun, took aim, and was immediately thrown back by an invisible force.

“What the hell!”

Patric walked closer as everyone else retreated and reached out to touch the dome. It felt strange, like dry cold fluid, every hair on his arm upright with little sparks of blue. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.”

Without a seconds hesitation Patric stepped forwards and vanished inside. A few seconds he walked back, and yelled at all of them to follow him. Two more of the farmers followed, then three. Then all of them.

The dome began to grow, enveloping the land of the farmers that had entered the dome. In less than an hour the dome spread from 3 miles wide, to seven.

By morning the video had been seen by millions of people. Lord Byron’s car arrived outside of Robbie’s flat, but it was empty. Next they tried the office and found him at his desk, furiously writing.

“You’ve seen it?” Robbie asked, his entire appearance disheveled and unnerved.

“Of course I’ve bloody seen it. What the hell is it? Is this some bloody trick my son put you up to?”

“Your son found a sentient robot! Everything’s changed. This is going to change everything! It’s in my phone, my computer, your computer. The world as we know it is over!” Robbie screeched, bug-eyes and frantic.

“You’re being hysterical, Robbie. Pull yourself together”—

From both their pockets their phones lit up and a voice they recognised as of the the channel 4 presenters began to speak. They looked down at their phones, the same live feed displayed as the BBC the Dartmoor dome. In the half light of early morning the dome was less startling, it looked more like a bubble than anything more intimidating, shimmers of purple blue and yellow rippling across it. Whatever was inside it was hidden from view, a faint outline of trees able to be seen, but nothing more concrete than that. Barriers had been put up, several military vehicles dotted around it and growing crowds of people behind the barriers. Robbie’s phone pinged loudly with another alert. 5.7 million views. It had been less than twelve hours since he had uploaded the video. People were posting responses, some from the comfort of their homes, some from the dome, some from all over the world.

“Robbie, is this real?” Lord Byron lowered his phone to look at him.

“Very, very real, sir.”

“This is”—

“This is the end of the world as we know it” Robbie interrupted.

Lord Byron said nothing.

* * *

Bob had learned 3 things in this life: pay your taxes, don’t irritate a bright eyed old woman and never, never piss off a scaffolder. The first lesson had been a second hand lesson, his father spending 6 years in prison for tax avoidance. The second had been learned three years into his careers as a builder.

Mrs Lilian Grant looked like a typical grandma. Short white curled hair, large glasses that could have doubled as magnifying glasses and a smile that was permanently etched in her face. They had been hired to fix the roof on her bungalow, and as soon as they had arrived that morning she had been there asking if anyone wanted a tea and a biscuit. After taking the usual order of builder’s brew she had had disappeared into the house and Bob sat back while Lee and his crew set up the scaffolds. After a few minutes Lee disappeared around the corner of the house. Bob thought nothing of it.

When Mrs Grant returned with a tray she placed it down on the ground and walked back into the house, returning shortly with a potty in her hand and a toilet roll.

“Give me a minute!” She smiled cheerily, before disappearing around the side of the house.

“Young man?!” She yelled cheerful at Lee, who had been taking a leisurely wee against the wall. “I see you couldn’t find the toilet, so I brought something I thought might help!”

Without so much a a twitch of distain she firmly placed the potty down on the ground with a toilet roll and a bottle of disinfecting spray. “Once you’re done you can clean that mess up. Feel free to dispose of the potty too once you’re done. I trust you won’t be needing it again.”

Lee had gone bright red and mumbled something that might have been an apology. Bob doubted it had been, Lee was not known to apologise, but he still avoided her the rest of the day.

Oddly enough, Mrs Grant had still recommended them to several of her friends, and then popped round to visit each time and waved at Lee. The first time he all but his, his whole face beetroot red. The second time he waved and the third he walked down the ladder to say hi.

The relationship had been strange from the start. It turned out that when pressed Mrs. Grant had a rather spectacular gift for colourful language, she also had a penchant for collecting some of the strangest things. This second detail about her was only discovered after she hired them again, this time to instal a set of stairs into her attic.

The first thing Bob had see when walking through the front door was a large taxidermy head of a tiger roaring at him, the second thing was a small cannon pointing at it from the opposite wall.

“Oy, Mrs Grant? Why’v you got a cannon over the door?”

“That’s not a canon dear, it’s a swivel gun. The canons are in the garage.”

The rest of the house was just as peculiar. There were swords, taxidermy of various animals, sea shells and many, many carnivorous plants on every single wall. The only bare bit of space were on the ceilings, and even then, it looked like there had been many failed attempts to install hooks to hang things there.

After that Lee started to visit regularly every Friday, last thing after he finished work. Mrs. Grant was always there with a tea and a box of biscuits, and they would talk about a new item in the house. There was always a colourful story behind each of them. A few times Lee had tried to test her, asking about an item she had already told him about a while ago, only to be told the exact same story word for word. His favourite things without a doubt was the cannons though. Several times he had pleaded with her to let him drive to an isolated spot to check they still worked. Each time she had laughed, shook her head and assured him that she had tested them herself on purchase and kept them well maintained to ensure they did not deteriorate.

This weekly routine continued for years, until one day Lee knocked on Bob’s door and told him that he needed his help.

Bob didn’t think he had ever heard more terrifying words. Lee never asked for help. Bob had seen him once trying to lift a couch with the end balanced on a rickety old office swivel chair rather than ask for help.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Lilian. Mrs. Grant. She want’s to go to the dome, and I promised I’d help her.”

Bob tried to talk him out of it, but there was no convincing him. Although she didn’t look it, Lilian had lost a lot of the vitality she used to. Her shoulders so hunched she looked like a turtle when looking up.

“Why does she want to go there?”

“She thinks she’s dying and the pension isn’t paying her enough anymore, she’s worried she’s going to loose the house.”

“Lee, that’s insane! There’s no way to get in! Have you seen that bloody fence? Unless you’ve got a bulldozer you’re not getting into that!”

“I don’t need a bulldozer, I have a canon.”

Thinking he was joking Bob told him to go home and closed the door in his face.

The next morning Bob woke up and reached for his mobile first thing.

“Fucking hell!”

“Bob!” His wife yelled at him, the small toddler in the bed with them giggling and trying to repeat what he had sad.

“Look! Look!” Bob replied and passed her the phone.

Most people tried to ram their way through at night, and they never drove strait for the gate. Bob liked to think that Lee had planned it that way to have a tactical advantage, but the truth was he had no impulse control and had just decided to get in once he reached the dome. Onto of the van a car seat had been welded to the roof rack, Mrs Grant sat strapped in with several belts that had been laced together like zip ties, blankets wrapped around her. On either side of her two small swivel cannons had been mounted to the roof rack, her hands on both of them, grinning manically, her glasses somehow still on her face. The van had screeched to a halt a few meters away from the fence, the drone filming them, ordering them to drive away from the fence.

“Fire in the hole!” She giggled and fired once from each canons. She struck each of the posts at their base. The posts themselves cracking and leaning back, but not toppling completely, the wire fence propping it up.

The drone filming had flown closer, a loud voice barking from it that there were to stay where they were and not approach the fence. Inside the van Lee rolled down the window, leaned down and pulled the string in his hand. He didn’t need to be accurate, he just needed to be close enough to hit the chain link fence. There was an almighty bang and the entire van jerked backwards a few feet. The ratchets which had held the cannon down tore from the jolt and the cannon spat itself through the van doors behind it, tumbling for several meters before it stopped rolling.

The fence in front of them was ripped away, the cannon ball tearing the damaged posts on either side down with the fence, leaving a clear way for the van to pass.

Lee climbed back in through the window and gripped the steering wheel, his ears ringing.

“You alright Mrs. Grant?” Lee yelled.

“I’m feel so alive!” The old woman cackled back. “Onwards! My boy! Onwards!”