“ why must machines
be this faulty all the time? ”
Petty. That was what everything boiled down to. At every atom’s core roamed not protons or neutrons, but particles of pettiness. The cause for the space’s curious expansion was not due to heat or dark matter, but pettiness. Every reaction and counteraction, motive and sensation, truth and lie ––– all of them could be measured in various degrees of pettiness.
That was the ultimate fact Daisuke believed, absurd as it may sound. How else would the boy explain the bizarre behaviour of the robot he manned? Obviously, without any outside influence, 122-7605 must have advanced beyond the limitations of its code, created a personality matrix that would contain its desired traits, and became petty. The short trip it undertook had expanded into a tiresome forty-minute endeavour, chock-full with constant problems that were nearly identical to a bratty child throwing hissy fits.
At the moment, 122-7605 was absolutely static. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk, the machine ignored all of Daisuke’s submitted commands. Its leg remained elevated, looking ready to take another step. For all it’s worth, at least the robot hadn’t frozen in a crowded area. A few kilometres away Daisuke groaned tiredly, then set off to type down some direct command lines. With his attention away from the live feed, the boy hoped nobody would be petty enough to topple 122-7605 down.
his rather cracked lips release a puff of white compressed air, signifying the emergence of winter. he’s donned attire befitting a bitingly cold day, a completed getup with the focal point being a deep red muffler, darker and more maroon in color than the red of his hair. the knitted muffler wraps around his neck and covers roughly a third of his face, barely concealing ( what would soon be ) a cheeky smile.
what was once indifference turns into curiosity turns into interest as he eyes an offputting form. leg jutted out and in stiff position, something seems inherently odd about the being before him. at first glance, everything about the still figure seemed organic and human: natural hair, natural skin, natural frame. nothing out of the ordinary. except that minutes have passed, and the strange behavior has yet to cease with no cameras in sight. a devilish smile emerging as he pulls down the muffler to reveal the entirety of his face, he openly approaches the stranger on the side of the road, karma’s zealous devotion to mischief kicking into full gear.
❛ hey, did you suddenly forget how to walk, or am i ruining your mannequin challenge? ❜
to say he’s captivated would be an overstatement, yet he leans close and rests an arm around the stranger’s shoulder, only to be taken aback by how hard he (it?) feels. rather than a comfortable, slightly bony resting point, his own arm is met with an extremely solid and inhuman surface.
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
jbbartram-illu
dededos
annaxmalina
