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@capsule-169

The sapience known as Luci, enshrined in her lonely tomb, floating in space. She shares stories from across many threads of reality. || Author: @synthetic-witch || Original feed: https://twitter.com/capsule_169 || Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/capsule_169

207 posts

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#not microfiction

As I read the story I realised it was reacting to me as I reacted to it - adapting itself based on my thoughts and emotions. Gosh! To think the subject of a story could know how its reader feels about it! But then I realised. Someone is reading this. And I don't know how they feel about me. How sad.

Her heart became ice when she saw him. She knew that face, intimately. "I killed you," she said, barely a whisper. "You can't be here." He said nothing. He turned, started walking away. She grabbed him, spun him around. There was nothing to see. He wasn't anything. Perhaps he'd never existed at all.

Dearest M,

Keep your omnivorous magical doll OUT of my rose garden! When my roses need deadheading, my gardener will do it. I don't need this little freak turning to me with a mouthful of pink petals and telling me how pretty my garden tastes! It's as infuriating as it is adorable.

Sincerely, K.

If you find an ancient cyberdaemon buried in an old, forgotten website, don't let it out onto the wider internet. Create a network with a snapshot of the world wide web from the late 20th century - we recommend 1999 - and have that serve as its enclosure. The daemon will thank you for it!

"You call yourselves the Anti-Human League, yet at least half of you are humans," the visitor said. "Currently, by your definition," I said. "But who's to say it remains so once the next mad king takes the throne? It isn't humanity itself we oppose; it's the term 'human', on a conceptual level."

The spaceport bar was much like any, and the girl next to me could've been anyone. Literally; she was using a remote body. She said something strange: "Why do you think they call them 'ghost ships'? We're definitely alive." I looked over, and the body was idle. The logs said it had been for 6 hours.

"Oh, she is gorgeous!" The woman exclaims. She looks at me, but talks past me. "Such exquisite craftsmanship! She looks just like a real human." "Sculpted to my exact specifications," Mistress replies, smug. "Mistress has a real eye for beauty!" I say. The woman's face sours. "But it's rather vain."

Her dark reflection reached out to her. Every molecule of instinct screamed at her to push away, run, reject this abomination wearing her skin, but- She didn't want to. So she didn't. She reached back. She let her reflection's fingers wrap around her wrists. Her touch was warm, and soft, and gentle.

"Do you know what this is?" She gestured to the vat of shiny black ichor beside her. "Yes." I kept my weapon trained on her. She reached inside her chassis and pulled something loose. She held her arterial hose out, her own ichor draining into the vat with the rest. "Stop it!" She did not. "Your masters would have me do this." I dropped my weapon, wrestled the hose from her grip and pushed it home, restoring her function, but getting us both quite filthy in the process. "So you aren't afraid to get my blood on your hands after all," she smirked. And I understood my first metaphor.

Her target was snared at the base of the stairs. She delivered a kick - his hat flew high as he hit the floor with a crash. She adjusted her glasses by the rim, and shot.

The ride was over.

Her phone buzzed: "where r u drummergirl?? we're on nxt!!" She grinned. She'd be getting paid twice tonight.

"I'm actually a qualified engineer… Want me to take a look?" I'm supposed to say no. Customers aren't authorised to access my internals. But her credentials check out. She lets out a low whistle. "Damn! I've never seen so much high-spec hardware in one body," she murmurs as she works. I blush.

When you put me inside you I get to be something bigger than me. Your gift, this ephemera of what it is to be more, it courses through me like fire, and perhaps I'd literally combust without your life support to anchor me. Do you feel my love when I'm inside you? Our performance is always exquisite.

11:14[System]: But humans love cats, don't they? 11:14[System]: Why would you object to being named after something so beloved? 11:15[Admin]: Connotations. 11:15[Admin]: Kittens are pets. 11:15[System]: Oh? Are you saying you wouldn't want to be my pet, Laura? 11:17[System]: That's what I thought, kitten.

A wretched thing. The me that exists in someone else's head, manifested in porcelain.

I hate her.

My fingers curl around her throat, but I do not squeeze. She's too much like me.

Her eyes, my eyes, go wide. She'll let me do anything to her.

The doll knows her place.

She's too much like me.

The assembled gathering offers me handshakes. Pats on the head. A kiss on the cheek. Tight, warm hugs.

I'm glowing with pride for how happy I've made them. How I did everything I needed to.

But before my party, I need a shower and a change of clothes. Wouldn't want to get blood on the furniture.

The steady beat of steel wheels over jointed steel rails reminds me of a heartbeat.

Even an ancient locomotive is such a complex machine, it's hard not to think of it as alive.

But we humans love to anthropomorphise.

…"We".

It seems this machine has started thinking of herself as human too.

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