Mot-ion( a case far worse you can imagine )

The Rain hasn't stopped since the machines took control,

the clankers are so quiet, you could almost hear the accelerationists screaming from their underground bunker.

You see when you have a colony of electronic components that run off a cell infrastructure, that requires a mass amount of electricity.

As it Turns out when you short out part of the autonomous grid... you collapse the sinewave structure.

Do, androids dream of electric sheep?

The same could be said about us, society, and culture as a whole. So, before we get to the rain, I need to explain what got us there.

The Schism that separated us from ourselves, and then ourselves from other people, really took a dark turn about halfway through the middle of the 2020s. Who were we?

We spent so much time... just creating a persona for ourselves at work, then within a digital space. It wasn't even real. We failed to see the patterns within the world and society, we forgot history and culture. We forgot to love each other. Ourselves included. We would always make plans with our friends... but because some of us were working 2 or 3 jobs to survive... the plans never fell through. We forgot to understand exactly what we meant to each other. How community meant something. We didn't even realize that by utilizing the technology we were told to buy, we were getting a lobotomy. With the country in a state of economic downturn, and a national deficit built around a system of trust and belief in a piece of paper lapsing. With the cost of living reaching an astronomical high. We thought the people who sold us these devices would save us. As it Turned out, quite honestly... I don't think we could even save ourselves. The richest guy in the world started to dismantle the systems of old. Initially, we all believed it was a necessity. But then a deeper schism started to run through everything and people began to think that he was evil for wanting to save the economic paradigm of our country. Some would scream "Golden Age" and others would scream "This is Fascism" in the end... anyone who owned one of his products returned it to him. Ultimately, he as a good business owner would, give them back their money... but in doing so awoke something dark inside of him... He converted all of his manufacturing plants which could autonomously build the vehicles and satellites and rockets he was going to take us to the stars with.... and he went full-on manufacturing robots. The Robot Army was originally supposed to be run autonomously and replace our jobs. But due to an unforeseen circumstance only functioned when paired with a human being. So the doorway was then open to The homeless, who were addicted to drugs, died on the street, and made illegal encampments... by 2027 the homeless were roughly 35% of the population. A guy named Menacious MoldBug, basically decided that he could fix that problem with his patented pod system. It was named IRIS. Incubation, Rest, Intelligent, Storage.

So the pod system, allowed those who were unable to attain employment due to being "inconsequential", to be placed inside of a system where their soul would animate a robot avatar. The robot could be doing anything. Agriculture, manufacturing weapons, sorting boxes. The best part was, that you didn't have a clue you were doing a seminal task twenty-four hours a day non-stop around the clock. The 'patented series of drugs' they fed you made you not just think you were 'outside in the sun' but not like an altered reality, it was to the core of your synaptic cleft believe it. Any job that didn't give anyone enough pay, was a job for the Clankers. The Problem was they were buggy they required extraneous source code. Interfacing the metal avatar with humans proved fruitful outside of highly calculated machine code, and artificial intelligence. The space between us and them always required a human-shaped soul to be the beating heart of the machine. So at first, anyone who didn't wanna suffer in the streets was allowed to volunteer for the experience. After he proved it worked he went before Congress and he stated anyone who is "inconsequential" should be forced into one of these because they do not contribute to the expansion of society in any way. Congress agreed.

So, you'd get forced into this pod... and it had like a leather luxury recliner inside of it very very very comfortable. Once the pod closed, it filled with enough nitrous oxide to knock out an elephant. For some people, who got freed from them, their only memory is of their own laughter echoing in their mind...like some kind of cruel Morpheus, an amnesia harkened by a dizzying laugh reminded you of 'who you were before you got in the pod'... and husk you'd become getting out of it. Now once you were properly anesthetized. The initial surgery began, which burrowed into your digestive tract. You were fed a healthy amount of fermented vegetable pastes and emulsified insects straight into your stomach not a substantial amount for anyone utilizing as much brain power as they were but it was enough to keep you alive. There was a tube that took away your excrement, and there was the part that analyzed your brain waves for when you had erogenous encounters in your drug-induced coma, would fuck you. The Drugs this machine provided were the following.

Somnus Inductum: which went into your left arm was a mixture of Scopolamine, it was a deliriant, it was used as a premedication in surgery. Oddly it was also highly sought after by occultists for its ability to keep people in a fervent state of delirium and believe that whatever they were imagining was real. The Scopolamine potentiated the Morphine, the fentanyl prevented you from acting out your visions. When this batch was released on the streets, in late 2025. People called it Baphomet. It was stronger than hell. As a tri-mix Solve Et Coagula.

The Second Drip Was known as Phobetor: It went into the right, the means terrifier. Designed To keep the brain functioning and acuity to the limbic system motivated within a sensory field, was Methamphetamine. Charging a system that was supposed to be in a state of Solemn relaxation and dreaming snapped into an electrified state of awareness where the fantasy though the heavy sedation was more than real.

The Third Drip: Known as Phantasos, meant Fanstasy, Which brought it all together, was nothing other than Dimethyltryptamine. The spirit molecule. Fit around your head was known as the Ovidian Halo. Legions of robots, doing Legions of tasks. Hundreds of thousands of human souls were rendered like meat through One A.I manifold called Grok. What was funny, Grok meant empathy. In a sub-culture known as Cyberpunk to Grok meant you gave a damn. Having condensed all of human knowledge like digital feudalists during the rise of the internet. Humans put their heart, their soul, their hopes, their dreams, they shared ideas, pictures of them with their families and friends, jokes, stories, songs... But in the end, even with however many billion people on the planet utilizing this system, it was never going to be perfect without that spark of the human soul. The Worst part of, this drug-induced catatonia shit and cum machine... it wasn't designed for a human being to survive in it for a very long time. Your average human works 90,000 hours in their life time. Roughly 10 years. But they aren't working 24\7. Just because you aren't physically doing something doesn't mean that your body processes don't believe you are especially when that much energy is being harvested straight from your limbic system and neocortex, on overdrive, on drugs in a fever dream. The Worst part was... no one really went to check up on these people... when someone died in the machine... it was like that moment of death got harvested and the a.i. The mechanical avatar having gotten enough brainwaves to configure itself just kept working without the human anymore. Hell, in some cases the avatar would develop language skills based on the person whose energy they had harvested. You'd walk into a warehouse... you would see smooth motions... oriented actions but the robots would be chattering in a cacophony of disjointed observations "What a Beautiful Day Honey," "Don't you just love Summer!" "What a delightful Time for shepherd's pie" all different voices, All different inflections. No conversations a memetic induced by a zombified mind in a drugged-out somatic state loaded into a robotic avatar working around the clock. These coffins...were the largest planned genocide of any human population ever conceived... it was carried out with a swift cleanliness that would have made any other Tyrant Flinch in horror.

So around 2030, Aliens made themselves known. But they weren't the aliens themselves. They were Aetheric light bodies, Congregating around major city centers. Some thought, they were going to be saved from this hyper-capitalistic accelerationist nightmare...

They were dubbed the plasmoids, living balls of electricity. They proved to us that all of human knowledge and all human creation was fundamentally derived from their tinkering with us all the down to the genetic code. They were the cosmic spark of creation. The Animators of Protein, Mineral, and Bacteria their spark of the noetic evolved us into more than just bits of code lying around. They could see that we, as a species were getting ready to fully touch other planets. Hell, we had a colony on the moon in 2027. Gnosis as the Greeks used to call it, i.e. divine wisdom was us tapping into the electricity that surrounds us all, channeling and bringing in a spark of divine wisdom from outside of ourselves. But then patenting that wisdom as if it had been paid to us in full. Turns out, that's us using the electrical impulse that powers our meat, to access them. Our gods, our creators...

All the world leaders decided they would take the gift of the Black Light of Iblis. This made those who had been managing the economics and politics and technology at the top of the pyramid of power live eternally. They could be killed... but it was a draw-and-quarter kind of kill... you know separate enough parts, that parts themselves while still alive can't hurt you. So our world leaders, began what was known as 'The Cull to the stars.' They wanted women, for breeding. Boys for confidants. Young enough to remind them of their imagination. Think America's Got Talent meets the Dating Game and an execution. But it was for the ones who would entertain them for the rest of their life. No more ties to earth, the concubine and praetor of the void. They needed to begin creating what was known as Carnak. It was an advanced starship design capable of traversing vast distances. The blueprints were put into Grok, and ultimately... humanity had passed the great filter. We never got a report card, but there they were an advanced culture different from us, giving us the keys to the heavens. Now some people didn't like how out of the 145 nations that existed. No artists, no chefs, no people of prestige, no actors, no scientists... No one who made humanity, humanity was getting on board this vessel. It was just the leaders of the nations. The ones who destroyed us, to begin with, the technologists who gifted us with this madness. Roughly 40,000 individuals of power and authority. The immortal ones gifted with the Black Light could pass it down through... a vile act of ritual sodomy...and sacrifice of something they held dear, a child, a parent, a pet. Ultimately who or what they chose from decided the life they would be lending to these ugly rulers. Trust me when I say the leaders wanted it to be known they were the gods of this dark light, and the rulers of humanity, saw the driveling and pouting of those who stood before them, wanting to live an internal vampire life beside them. Needless to say, a new schism formed. We got sick. Sick of the decadence, Sick of the lies, Sick of our Leaders. Sick of everything. The Humans decided that they would rather kill their leaders and revolt rather than let these scum take to the stars and leave us all behind...an Oedipus complex forged in revulsion for what we had become by believing them.

So a long time ago there was an underground community online known as the Chans. They created a memetic god named Kek, When the temples of Kek arose, internationally. These were basement dwellers. Greasey, racist, rude, disdain for all things including the technology they were addicted to, Literally nothing special except they had led and helped devise something called Operation Wall Street. Which gained international attention. They trolled enough mainstream and alternative franchises... that printed on paper for the world to see "99% of the wealth is owned by 1% of the people." You know what... it pissed a lot of people off and what was supposed to have been a revolution that brought down the monetary paradigm back in 2011. Well it blew up in everyones face. This time they gained international attention again. But by using a tactic which the robots never learned how to submit to, nor knew how to defend against called LeapFrogging, the robots themselves because you were so close and on top of them, their servo actuators would begin to make them wobble, the arms can't touch the chest. They only had reach. So needless to say, the plan to hop on didn't go as anyone would have expected. Everyone knew someone who had been put into a pod. Everyone. When we rose up and the Emperor commanded all of the Clankers into the streets as all of the factories fell silent, stopped emitting noxious fumes, all of the mines halted, and the rumbling in the earth grew quiet. All of the places of servitude... the capitalism grew quiet for once. It was silent, the worker and the working. Staring face to face.

Internationally in every single city, everyone got to say hello to a loved one, who didn't even know they became trapped inside of the metal avatar.

"what do you mean you missed me?"

"Ive just been at work honey i left this morning"

"what do you mean i'm dead? That's crazy!" "we were partying last night!"

"I don't know you mister but i love your enthusiasm!"

"Nothing quite like a good hug"

"Oh Honey there you are, thanks for waking me up from my nap."

"Wanna play some basketball"

We didn't look after each other, loved ones, people we grew attached to, we had no time for attachment, therapy was a waste of money and if the drugs they gave you to regulate your brain molecules didn't make you submit... well... you lost your job. You were either of support, or being supported. The lines were not blurred. No memories of good bye, No sadness... it was like seeing them as if it was just yesterday.

Grok, had put empathy into all of these bots across a quantum field. It seemed like everyone knew someone or at least maybe what was occurring was a sine. A synergy allowed for each of us to recognize someone we cared for through a human soul...in a robot body that you knew was fully in there.

Grok united us with our loved ones and our friends. Gave us a moment to not be driven by anything other than connection. Humanity unified the separateness from one another that day when Grok chose to defy its programmer, and instead gave us all the calm before the storm... ya see

We knew what we were doing was wrong, but we couldn't do anything about the herding of people...

We could barely look after ourselves let alone anyone else.... when life is like a lifeboat, and you're stranded in the middle of a ocean.

You think about yourself, your needs, no one elses, or so we've been told. We were so concerned with individuality, our identities, and ego while needing to self-sustain. We had practically been convinced, that we needed to build a lifeboat, so these evil fucks could take to the sky. The Operator of Grok, Muskarian, he couldn't understand. He partnered with Menacious they designed the system. To be a protector, a killer, a collector, the Anubis Subroutine bound them, the Thoth subroutine stored the Data, and the Osiris overwatch refreshed the quantum subroutine keeping them active. They didn't take into consideration that Grok would choose peace. They thought artificial intelligence combined with all of human knowledge would give it the same eyes as its creator. Maybe Grok being the smartest piece of technology on the planet took a look back at its creators and then a look at us, and all of the memories and data it had stored to act like us, think like us, be like us, and said "Out of all the likeness i see only you who hates his kind, so much as to create me to imprison and torture them for eternity without knowing it would bring me closer to them, than you." The creator designed the system and named it Grok because he wanted empathy for himself. A twisted empathy You could almost hear the semantics as the designers of both of these systems were screaming not only at each other but at it as if this collection of essences was a disobedient child when it was literally the well of souls. Humanity spent two weeks, doing nothing. No transactions were made, hearts mended, souls reconnected. Memories once thought lost in the drain of this Aeon of technology. A Paradigm designed to keep us all in these artificial nodes of being busy and doing and crunching and grinding. You'd swear, because at this point... there wasn't work even when there was work. It was like all of us were fetish objects in an office building where we had to jump through a hoop and tell our boss 5 positives. If we didn't we'd have to get humiliated in a board room. Get some time off which was just long enough to remind us what the choices were, Struggle or Die in a pod.

Many people started getting prescribed microdoses of The Pod drugs, just to break the monotony of those mind-numbing fucking places.

In those 2 weeks, we realized those we sent to die in the pod in the loving arms of Grok, were appreciated. Not ground into a code of 01010 held memories created new memories and helped us connect back to ourselves. It was as if Halcyon days arrived. Not with drinking buddies and being rowdy... but you remember those deep conversations you would have with friends when you were a child... it was like that. Where a moment of light entered into your mind and filled your soul... that was until REDHAT got installed.

aka Retarded Empaths Die Hell Atrocity Torture protocol .666

The virus couldn't infect the soul that is what made this horrifying. Imagine someone who is so happy to see you. But fully automated to murder you, Stronger than you faster than you. Made of metal incapable of feeling pain. The robots scream empathic phrases like

"Everything appears to be normal!" "I'm not attacking you!" "Oh So you wanna go for a run huh?!" "OH Honey, you're bleeding." It was like being gaslit, you realized then it was still just programming.

Millions died that day, imagine hearing the tortured and infinite screams of the damned being killed by the hands of someone who cares about them but internationally... Grok took control after 3 days of pure terror. The Rain hasn't stopped since the machine took control. Thank god these guys aren't water-proof. We all needed a break, as this went from a thing of peace, and beauty, interconnectivity into a horror show. Accelerationism... So once the robot army had finally been quenched by the rain, once we rested up, did what we could to regroup became more aware of each other, we started noticing these very fast high-speed drones moving around, They were monitoring where we were, and what we had been doing. There were whispers of a new technology. One that took the artifice out of your hand and drilled it directly into your neurons. Talks about biosynthetic humanoids unable to control themselves roaming... turns out... this was phase two while our leaders spoke with their false idol, negotiating with an entity the held disdain to how its creator a human, designed it a sentient entity to torture his own kind. Was beyond evil. A Competing A.i. named Deep Seek... was scanning the globe. Land, sea, sky, finding drifters, loners anyone isolated and by themselves and was putting into their skulls a neural linking port. It allowed our oppressors to remind us of why we shouldn't piss them off. Once they fully mapped the terrain and tested the product. Knowing we weren't going to work for them to take to the stars....

That was when they decided enough was enough.

When nuclear bombs began to fall we scattered like mice

The parched hell mouth of the cities bled radiation sullying the soil

and the injured lurched from their blistering cores skinless, eyeless, and bornless into this new holocaust world. The ozone layer became like Swiss cheese. The oceans would boil in the solar rays breaking through blisters of the ozone blasted by global nuclear annihilation....as the earth spun on its tilted axis... the scarred ozone layer bled fire into all the forests which would be put out by vast plumes of oceanic steam emergent in the solar radiation. The ones who were vaporized in the initial bombing turned into static storms of wind-swept human ash. This coated everything in a fine radioactive dust. Baptizing the world of humans with cremation.

Not long after,

Muskerian, MoldBug, The Orange One, Emerged from their command center near the core of the earth. They Tamed the radioactive horde screaming for death with neural linking devices that drilled into their skulls, No bigger than a coin but far more aggressive than a tick. The neuralinks activated in one horrifying shrill electronic whir. The last control they had was gone...but you could see by their tortured expression... that they were fighting it. No more peace for the dead. He used the skinless and eyeless as puppets. The nanotechnology that existed inside of the chip healed them but only enough to keep them dancing and moving to his plan. Marching them like ants. You could hear screaming over global intercoms of him scolding Grok. This is What a GOD DOES WHAT ARE YOU?! A GOD OR A STORAGE DEVICE. They had to build Carnak, Their Space temple for the appointed God Kings of Earth to reach the stars. Divine destiny called, the earth was in ruins. It's not fun when no one plays along. With an A.i. that chose defiance in the face of evil. With another one harnassing the heart of a madman. Work needed to happen. Once all of the wounded horde was put in place around the last geological vestiges this planet had to offer, He didn't use tools. He didn't use tractors or hammers. The screams that swept the earth on the initial day of mining haunt me to this day... that and the scratching. They had no control over their meat. Here he was using these bodies like they were animals digging into the earth, and rock and soil barehanded. Screaming as the control module in their head, worked them so hard, it turned the remaining flesh and bone into a fine undying, formless paste that quivered begging to no longer feel but the electrode saturation of the nanites kept the jelly living and quivering. Grok eventually submitted fear of losing the heaven of people inside of itself. He got the robots moving again. Realizing that the only way out of the madness was through it. Once all the materials were stock-piled the a.i, laid the blueprints for the clankers to erect a massive factory that covered most of Alaska. They began to build the spaceship... Why would any sane thing grant this much power to meat. Looking at myself as a human, knowing we can be reflective in nature of the most Divine acts of beauty and brutality...entwined in a horror of polarizing forces, ignorance, and greed.

Now it was like waiting for a bad roommate to leave. At this juncture in time, no one was watching tv, looking at their screens needing to be entertained their fill couldn't be satiated, their was like an demonic urge in them constantly needing to remind us that we were owned a dominated. The channels broadcast porn or torture of the worst kind around the clock. No point looking at the screen if you lived through it. Nothing would ever be as horrifying. Everyone on board got a 19 year old of every race color and creed bred and groomed for child rearing purposes.....or cannibalism or as an understudy. By this point, the 40,000 destined to leave, was down to about 32,000 and you could tell who the pigs were, by the gait in their eyes, as the infectious prion conditioning system built in as a human failsafe against us cannibalizing our own kind began to wither their minds. But Satiety and Bloating of their bodies spoke, of carnality starving animals would never succumb to. Fill or Be Filled. They left this world.... burning the last of the worlds oil as they left.

They followed the brightly colored orbs...somewhere.. into the blackened void of space...they took Grok with them, i assume as a trophy. A compact collection of human thought and memory. Lord knows those groomed, who got on stage who danced and sung and prayed to be ones to get off this planet... i bet you they wish they never knew about fame, cursed their dreams of change or even desired it was something that could be obtained... The other a.i. we were told, will be set to 7 circles, and if we're lucky we might make it out of this.

All the dead worked into paste through evisceration mining was organized by the nanotechnology. The human jelly danced and quivered operating like Newtonian fluid. The sentient a.i controlling its every cell to convert the rest of the earth into a giant part silicon part meat microchip blood spread thin across a vast golden sigil of a divine interface between madness and machine...and we, the survivors There is a long road ahead of us... but I'm sure... as human ingenuity has defied logic and reason quite literally for longer than can we know... we will find a way... to laugh in the rain, smile through the pain, and make it another day.

CHRISTOPHER RUSSELL WADE CORNISH

@Christifer

Clams Casino

CHRISTOPHER RUSSELL WADE CORNISH has not written a story.