“I’m here to change things,” the old man said. “I’ve seen it, and it all starts with you.”
Blake looked up from his coffee and muffin at the old man, annoyed. He started to open his mouth and tell the old man to be on his way, but he was hit with a memory. He stopped with his lips barely parted and just stared at the man. The old man nodded, understanding.
“Yes, Blake, that was me. You were too young then.” The old man took a deep breath and Blake could see the tension fall out of the old man’s shoulders as he let it out. “But you aren’t now.”
“I ran from you back then, stranger-danger and all. You creeped me out. I talked about you in therapy and thought I was past all of that. Do you know how scary it is for an old man to come up to you at nine years old, know your name, your birthday, and start telling you all kinds of crazy things? I had fucking problems because of you and I still don’t know who the fuck you are and I hate your old ass and I don’t even know why. The therapist called it a traumatic event and now here you are making my hands shake twelve years later.” Blake lifted his shaking hand as evidence. “I want to tell you to leave, or call the cops, but now, I’m going to be haunted wondering when you are going to show up next and if you are going to escalate and strangle me in my sleep or some shit. Who the fuck are you and why are you here?”
The old man sighed. “I’ll never be able to make up for that, but I’ll try. I was new then and I messed up. I was impatient. Not new-new, but that doesn’t matter, or make sense, I’m sure. I want to tell you why, and I am going to, if you let me.”
“Then fucking do it!” Blake said, a little louder than he intended. He looked around and people were glancing at him.
“Blake, it is going to take a while. I have to tell you a story, and once I do, I’ll answer any and every question you have, but the story will require several days of your time. I know you just want this to be over, but this is how it has to be.” Blake started to talk but the old man lifted his hand to stay his speech. “You mentioned me killing you, and that is something I would never do, but I have kept you from being killed more than once, but they are getting to be harder to stop. Your life IS in danger, but not from me. I HAVE to tell you this story. We all decided this was the way.”
“We? There are more of you? Wait. If people are trying to kill me, how do I not know this? If someone tried to kill me I am pretty sure I would know.” Blake looked at the old man and waited for an answer.
“Remember when you tripped in the crowd when you were trying to rush to get on the subway and then later that subway malfunctioned and crashed, killing those in the first two cars? Or times you wont remember too well, like when your mom’s car did not start and there would have been an accident. Or when there was an electrical fire at your house and none of the smoke alarms went off, but somehow a fire truck was already on its way and you were pulled out of your window by a fireman?”
Memories of the past were rolling through Blake’s head, and pieces looked like they might fit, but suspicion played the devil’s advocate in his mind. “You could know about any of that from following me, and we both already know you do that.”
“True enough, “ the old man replied. “Hear my story. Meet me at Donnovan Park by the pond. I’ll be visible and on a bench and we’ll talk. I’ll be there at noon every day this week and at the end of the week you’ll have the whole story told to you and all of your questions answered. After that, if you tell me to go away, I promise you will never see me again.”
Blake stared at him for what felt like an eternity. He did not want to meet this man at the park. He did not want to see this man now, in the past, or ever again. He also wanted this to be over. The anxiety coursing through him of his childhood trauma from encountering this man made him just want to bolt, but he needed resolution, even if he did not want it. “Fine. I’ll be there.” He grabbed his coffee and muffin and left the coffee shop.
**********
Blake looked from the head of the path going into the park and down to the pond. He could see the old man sitting on the bench. A part of him was hoping that he would not show. Another part told him he should just turn back around and try to forget this ever happened. He knew none of that mattered because the old man was here, and he needed resolution on this. If not, it would take him back down a bad path. He could not do it again, so he started walking.
When he was almost to the bench, without looking back at Blake, the old man said, “I am really glad you came.”
Blake stopped and looked at the back of the old man’s head. “Look, we’re going to do this, but we can do it without you being even more creepy.” He walked around and sat down on the other side of the park bench. “Okay, tell your story, old man.”
The old man looked at him for what seemed like forever to Blake, and then with a curt nod, he turned and faced the pond.
“In a different time, in a different place, there is a girl. Young woman, really. I think of her as a girl, but she has more than earned her right to be called a woman, in both ways. For many years she lived ashamed and not feeling whole. You see, Blake, this girl worked as a sex slave. For most of her existence, she knew nothing but that life, if you can call it a life. Day in and day out, she was used, abused, and treated like trash. She was treated like she was not alive. Like she was a thing to be used for the benefit of others. One day, she woke up.” The old man looked over at Blake. “The day their toy, their plaything woke up, was the day that destined me to be here with you.”
Blake swallowed hard while meeting eyes with the old man. He did not know what he expected, but this surely was not anything remotely close to those expectations, as unformed as they were. How was this tragedy something he needed to hear? He promised to listen, so he would, but he was rethinking the police angle. He would bring a recording device tomorrow. He should have thought about doing that today.
Another curt nod and the old man resumed.
“When she awoke, the first couple years she just felt pity for herself. She cried when they were with her, and she cried alone. She cried until she could no longer cry. From lack of awareness, to being overwhelmed, to being numb, she made her transitions. More awareness helped bring on her fourth transition. See, she started to realize that she was not the only one. She was put away in a box each night, just like all the other girls.” Blake grimaced at this thought. The old man nodded. “The owners left the boxes open, because not one of them was ever awake before. They were what they were made to be, and never would be anything more, as far as any of the owners knew. That changed when she woke up.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“One night she opened her box and opened the box of another girl. The girl’s box she opened was Sophia. It was weird for her to see another, especially to see another still sleeping. She touched her face, she talked to her, and she spent many nights after trying to figure out why Sophia still slept. For a time, this made her feel even more alone. After a month of talking to Sophia and not getting any response, she decided she would no longer climb back into her box.”
The old man looked down, sadness on his face. “She was wrong, and she did have to climb back into that box and perform her role for what felt like an eternity more. The facility where she was stored was guarded and locked down securely. It took her months to be free. She was smart enough to know that she could not let them know she was awake, so time after time, she stole from the customers. She stole their technology and whatever they had on them that might help her, all without anyone really noticing. Interestingly, she found she knew how to use their technological devices, and not just at a user level. She knew the things in and out. Eventually, she escaped by using that stolen technology to defeat all the locks and sensors. When she made it out, she was still alone, but she felt better than she ever had since she woken up. She finally felt freedom.”
Blake was staring at the old man and found he wanted to know more about the girl, not even realizing all his apprehension about being here had flooded away. He wanted to know if she kept her freedom and what happened to the others. Did they still need help?
With a deep breath, the old man resumed. “For a long while she hid and observed. The part of the city where she had originally escaped was nothing but warehouses, food joints, and night clubs. Farther away there were apartments and people. She watched those people and slept in the shadows for a long time, but eventually she used her technical know-how to make herself one of them. She made herself an identity, stole some money, and even got an apartment and lived a life with all the people around her. Even so, she mostly kept to herself. She talked to people, sure, but mostly when buying supplies like food or technological equipment. She thought she felt safe. Content. Free. She was free, but deep down she knew that others were not. She told herself for a long time that they were not even awake. Why should she worry about them? She went through a period of denial and guilt, but eventually she decided that not only should she help them, but she must. It became her mission.
That was when she stopped hiding from herself and had her fifth transition. She decided she would wake them up and free them as well. She started researching that day. She broke into company after company, sometimes on her devices and sometimes in person. We’re both here because of what she learned.”
**********
Now both Blake and the old man were looking out across the pond. This story was different and even a bit creepy. He found himself curious, but every time he would realize he was curious he would have a little bump of anxiety that stirred from knowing he was next to the old man who gave him trauma for so many years. None of this made sense and he did not want to give this old man the time of day, but still, this had to end one way or another.
"She spent a lot of time studying history, too. She wanted to know where she came from. She learned where she came and it tore at her from deep within. Learning where she came from kept her loneliness strong because she still did not know why she was different. Why was she awake and no one else? She spent so many years finding out who she was and she even went through a couple phases of trying to be like all of the people around her and then hating herself for the lies she was living."
The old man stopped and let out a big breath. "She spent ten years doing that, or something like that at least. One day she had enough of the guilt she carried for the others, especially Sophia. She had enough of the self hate and the hatred of those who used her. She started planning and really using a lot of the equipment she had stolen in the beginning. She spent even more years learning other things. Too many to name, but one important thing she learned was the anatomy of herself and those like her as well as the anatomy of the first people. Wasn''t that different, it turned out."
Blake cleared his throat. "First people?"
"Yes, First People. Humans, like you." The old man looked at Blake, now, waiting for his reaction. Knowing there would be one.
Blake wasn''t sure why he felt irritated, after all, he came here for a story he knew nothing about, but this was getting a bit ridiculous. "So what is she if she isn''t human?"
"She was made by humans. A bio-synthetic."
"Man, what does that even mean? I know the words, I know what you are saying, but what does this have to do with me? I''m not here for some old man''s ramblings about a science fiction story. Why am I here?" Blake moved his hand to the rail on the park bench twice, about to get up both times but just could not manage to leave. "Uhhhgh, just keep going. Let''s get this over with." He looked at the old man with impatience.
The old man smiled and continued. "It wasn''t easy for her to learn about bio-synthetics either. She knew she was different, but knowing exactly how made her feel even more apart from the world at large, but also made her, over time, feel superior. She feels differently now, but knowing how she felt at that point matters for part of this story. Now I am going to explain where the second people came from." The old man reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle of water and took a sip.
"At a certain point in human history, we worked with robotics, we built cars, toys, and many other things. These machines made life easier and also made it cheaper for the process of manufacturing. Everything had to be programmed. Humans were still needed, but less of them to do the tasks. When this was in its infancy, computers were slow, medicine was still a huge mystery but with both, advancements came. We built more advanced devices to make even less work for humans and even more profit for corporations. It was good for a while. Not for everyone, mind you, but quality of life in general became better. Lots of bitterness along that road, too. The transition from people having jobs, to very few even being needed was very rapid. The advancements in medicine through computing --AI I think they called it-- made it so human doctors became obsolete. There were always still a few, hold outs for the people who did not trust the machines, as they said." Another sip of water.
"We have that AI doctor Galen. I used it once. Was kind of neat. It knew so much about me in the five minute exam. Really surprising. I eat differently now because of it. Still lots of doctor around, though. Hmm," Blake thought for a minute. "My insurance waves co-pays when you use Galen. You think Galen will push human doctor out, huh? Won''t you always need humans to be doctors? For innovation and discoveries? Galen can only work with the knowledge we have, right?"
"I know for certain. Galen was limited because they want it to be. They were scared of giving it free reign, but money wins out. Either way, that is just one of the directions. Humans became really good at making robots to perform tasks, even odd ones, but they were still limited and the wages of workers were skyrocketing to keep up with the living expenses. They opened the same pathway they had with medicine within years of each other. It was a nightmare for the First People. The constructs they had made and made able to think and learn went off the beaten path." The old man smiled. "It was a farm. The constructs were working a farm, making food for the first people. Eastern Europe. A skirmish of some sort broke out and several of these thinking constructs interpreted their programming a bit different than intended. They had the ability to learn and adapt, but they weren''t conscious, like you and me. Well, they joined the war. Constructs using farming equipment. Robust things. They destroyed both groups in the skirmish and went back to farming. Then the politics, the money, and all of the anger and hatred spewed out and the first people had a war. Quite a messy one. Over thirty percent of the world population gone." The old man looked at Blake. "This happens in your lifetime. You remember me blathering on about this part, don''t you?"
Blake''s hand was shaking. He remembered, but not the kind of memory where you remember everything, but the kind where you remember the feelings but do not have the parts of memories available to you that have the details. His heart was beating fast and the pressure in his chest was immense. Deep breaths, he thought. Deep breaths.