The battle was over, so many were killed. War is an unimaginable horror, and this is the sort of war whose images of mechanized death are enough to create nightmares forever. He tosses and turns in his comfortable king sized bed, the pictures of the young men tattered and torn shred apart. He froze, and he ran like a coward. They towered over him by a good three feet, mechanized limbs and laser cannon barrels pointing right at his head. The moment of martyrdom was in front of him and one fell swoop he just pushed him. A human shield if you will, to be vaporized into ashes as he took a blast to save his life. In the heat of battle a moment of self-preservation, a kid from Sector 9 one of the worst shantytowns on the planet. There he was the decorated veteran, a name with generations of warriors and an incredible amount of inherited wealth. He cannot forget the look of the man in the mechanized suit. Disbelief at the act of cowardice he had just seen, he did not bother to take another shot and behind the glass, he remembers that twisted smile that haunts him still, he decided to let him live to live with the guilt of what he had done. He can't sleep.
James Barrat is the author of Our Final Invention: Artificial Intelligence and the End of the Human Era, an equal parts fascinating-and-terrifying book which explores the perils associated with the heedless pursuit of advanced artificial intelligence.
It happened again today. His ego shattered, and he must pick up the pieces and move? Yes, very easy for people to say. He had given eight years of his life to her and her cause. She said it would be for the best. Like a good soldier, he fought, against all the odds, against creatures that were quite frankly terrifying. He was her rock; he has been shot at, bombed, taken a swim in a lake of fire, and even taken a bullet for this woman. Once he told her “I would follow you the ends of the Earth” and that he did. She was a pretty amazing woman. Strong, resolute, brilliant, funny when she wanted to be, and every once in a while she would fuck him and blow his mind. He misses her, but then today after so many years of fighting the good fight, after so many years of being by her side, she told him it was over.
Rage, he has never been so enraged! The gall of these people. He is late for work, and they are simply standing there with a dazed look on their faces. He honks his horn they seem not to hear anything at all. He is suppressing the urge to get off his car and inflict great personal harm, but there is something bovine in their expressions he can't quite understand it. All this time, he continues to look into their eyes, but the expression is so damn vacant all it does it enrage him even further. Through his rearview mirror, he could see a conga line of angry drivers, people just like himself waiting to get to work. Some are desperately dialing their cell phones hoping that the boss will have mercy, pleading, hoping, making up excuses; you can hear the venom in their voices. He turns on the radio the sounds emanating from the stereo embody his frame of mind.