Proceed with hitherto unknown

You’ve been at the theater a couple of times. Emalie would drag you by your feet to show your support for Jorrel’s work. Its not like you didn’t want to, you just have a severe aversion to leaving your house for fun. Right, and the fact your dad would beat you. Only reason he didn’t do that when you were exploring and brought something back. When you didn’t, he’d beat you.

Anyway, you’d go to the theater – where you are now – and watch the actors duel on stage. It’s ‘open air’ whatever that mean. Rows of benches converging downwards to a stage, so everyone can see what’s happening. Down there, lovers would recite and rekindle their admiration for each other in so many words. Fathers, their homes torn from them, would go on a journey of discovery.

And Good would fight Evil.

Like the real world, Jorrel would say, Good doesn’t always win. You hope this isn’t one of those times.

Robbington sidesteps a tendril as it shoots past it. It’s a dancer, your protector. Twirling, spinning, dashing, jumping, lunging, making a mockery of the machine and its **** audience. Robbington is wielding the sword with either hand – both, at times – throwing it into the air, freeing its hands to gently move innocents out of the way, before catching it again and slicing the machine. Using perfectly calculated trigonometry, Robbington sometimes throws the sword at a trajectory, maneuvers under, over, or around the machine and its puppets, to catch it once more and unleash a deadly barrage of thrusts.

It even manages to avoid tendrils it could not have seen sneaking up from behind, but then it hits you: It’s face is for people. Robots do not need eyes either. Both fight in a manner you would never hope to understand. Every movement, every action, calculated in a billion ways before one cell in your body can move a single nano-meter. If an uprising really was responsible for ending humanity, way back, you can’t fault ancient man for losing. They never stood a chance.

They're silent dancers. Menacing shadows cast by a flickering candle before it dies, leaving you to wonder if they were ever there. If they'd even give you time enough to wonder.

Man is a drunkard beating his kids.

People make noise. People make an awful lot of noise, you realize, now. We use our voice to express so much. Desire and anger. Sadness and pain. Good would parry with a strained groan, weak from ceaselessly seeking evil to vanquish. Roaring, evil hammers away, their attack waning away strength. Robots have no need for expression. Robbington is silent. A blur, but noiseless. The machine itself is silent, too. Only the screech of electricity escapes it, as Robbington cuts another villager free. The people, controlled by the machine, are not quiet. You wish they would be.

Groaning and moaning, they stumble on stage, occasionally managing to get a hold of Robbington’s sleek frame. It slips from their grasp like water.
Robbington curtain calls, ripping the fabric from it’s bar, and – ducking and weaving – binds the machine. Then, for an uncomfortable amount of time, it does nothing.

Suddenly, Robbington leaps, flying through the air, and lands in front of you.

“USER SHIVA it intends to flee. This unit will not make you choose,” Robbington says, his tone expressionless. “Not between two of a hundred. But between two of three.”

You realize what it means, immediately. It can't destroy the machine, only free two more, before the machine will manage to escape. A voice inside you tells you to cry. After what you’ve seen tonight, you can’t- Later, there’ll be time, but not now. Robbington is asking you to choose between Emalie, Jorrel, and Mute. Which one of your friends gets to spend an eternity as a **** to this… thing. You want to be selfless. You want to be the hero on stage, sacrificing your own needs, your own love.

You’re not a good person. If you were, Robbington would not have cut the decision down to those three.

Those two.

You are not a hero.

Only human.