Author: David C. Nutt
My team assembled on the roof of factory near Prahova, Romania. Our objective was the next building over. Non-descript, a gray cube with the latest security measures at all entrance points, to include the heavily tinted sky lights. That’s why we were going to saw a hole in the roof. Repel down to the floor, disable the fire alarms (who the hell does that?) and then torch the interior.
We ziplined to the target roof. The industrial laser we brought was more than adequate for the job. We dropped through the roof and hit the floor. NODS up and on, target acquired. Six palettes of interactive voice assistants, tablets, and laptops. Each one indistinct from any other of its kind on the market- except for some rather strange characters after the UPC stickers. Stamped on like stock or model numbers.
I bought my beloved his device for his 30th birthday, got a fantastic deal on it. He loved it and honestly it worked great. A timer. A juke box. An argument solver. A cookbook. A polite know-it-all. It really made our lives easier. I don’t know how many times I said “We should have done this a long time ago.”
Then he started getting sick.
At first, he was just tired here and there, but things were really hopping at work for him so it made sense. Then he was so tired on some days he could barely move. I took him to the doctors. “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome” they said. There’s no real cure for that so it was some over the counter energy boosters. It didn’t help one little bit. He just got worse.
They did blood tests. “Extreme anemia” they said. So it was shots and pills. The counts kept going down. He was not the man I married. Thin, gaunt, confused. More blood tests.
“He has a rare type of hemophilia,” they said. “Not much in journals about it yet but the symptoms are lining up.” He died four days later. Then our kids started getting sick. “Mommy, daddy keeps coming into my dreams and sitting on my chest.”
That was my wake-up call. I sat bedside with my littlest that night. Around 3:00 am a mist crept along the floor. I was prepared. I turned on the UV grow lights. The mist retreated and back into our beloved virtual assistant. The speaker even made its signature two- toned “off” chime.
I went back to my room, went online and discontinued the service to our device. The next day I unplugged it, bashed it all to pieces and left it out in the sunlight. A few moments later, it burst into flames. My kids didn’t have the dreams that night.
Fast forward back to today. We’re done at the objective and back on the other roof, watching the flames rise. We see ground hugging mists gathering, exiting the building, coalescing. “It’s a dog,” one of my team says. “No,” says another, “Look, it’s a child.”
Whatever it was, it was moving fast, but not fast enough. The light of dawn hit it and there was a bright flame, and it was gone. I switched channels on my radio and keyed my mike. “Mission complete, target eliminated.”
Once, they occupied bodies of loved ones and walked the earth. Once, they had to be invited in, step across actual thresholds. Now? Say a pet name for your device into thin air. Click for notifications.
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