St. John's Blessings

This would be the last constitutional for this city. Many of the humans have moved on.

They cried at his feet, these last humans of the world. They clutched onto his arms as if he would offer salvation, and that was just what Saint John was put on this planet to do. He remembered nearly nothing of the old world, only that people of this new world of fire and destruction were dwindling down to nothing from no fault of their own, and he proved to be one of the few, few, few people with the ability to save him.

He didn’t quite like being called a ‘Saint’, for he has seen so many people do the same as he had done. They all gave out food, clothing, and money, if the economy was still somewhat intact. They dug out family members from rubble, no matter if they lived or died, or had already died, for the happiness of the remaining humans who made the wishes made them happier than anything. There were so many that no one called Saint, so what made him any different?

A man came out of a crumbling store, covered in blood, begging, “Ablution, please.”

Nothing touched his heart more than a human wishing to confess and be cleansed when they just didn’t need to. John had no idea what they had done, and yet they ran towards him, fell to their knees, and cried out, “Ablution!”

So he cleansed them with water, which he always promised was just regular old water blessed by the sinner’s own confession. He doubted they ever believed him, but still he said it, each and every time.

“Saint John! Saint John, look!”

The sweet children that carried the hope of the future. They came to him with toy guns. John thought grimly that some things should not have toy versions for children, but he smiled at them and pretended to be shot, and pretended to get his boo-boo kissed, and pretended to provide ablution to them in the form of water sweetened with hard-sought fruits.

Even animals seemed to like him, but it might have been because he threw bones or pieces of meat to them. It didn’t matter; the large pack on his back seemed to have everything anyone or anything could ever need, and it was refilled once he returned to the dilapidated church every evening.

The bridges were always out on the way to the churches, but his pack was partly a jetpack that launched him over to the church grounds.

In front of the organ was the pneumatic chute for his pack. It went up, down came a fully replenished pack for the city’s humans. As soon as he received it, he knew when it was his last constitutional through the city instantly. That meant that night, he would fold himself into the pack after pressing it into the chute. The next time he would awake, there will be a city full of humans to assist, a new constitutional route will come to his mind, and he would make his rounds.

He loved the first day, but the last days always depressed them. The number of humans would be so low, that sometimes there would be no one at all, but as long as there was one person to ask for him to find someone, or a child who wanted juice, or a person needing ablution, or even a hungry cat, or anything else in need of his many blessings, just one, and it made everything worth it.

He found one of the toy guns, stepping over it with great difficulty, for that action went against the route of the constitutional, but if a child came across the toy intact, they’ll have a new toy. He listened hard for the laughs of children.

This was one of those days that he searched desperately for anything living, to see someone surviving among all the fallen buildings, the smoke from vehicles, or even just playing somewhere with enough empty ground to play. The people who came to his feet, the man wanting ablution, the children from yesterday, where did they all go so quickly? Always had he wondered. In fact, as soon as they left his sight, as soon as he passed him on his constitutional and they were behind him on the path, they were simply unheard of.

He never turned around. He had to face forward always for new survivors or else he might miss them. He rarely missed anyone, but some would pass just out of his peripheral vision, and behind him, and disappear. Even then, John was never sure if any of them were able to come back and ask for blessings. In any case, many of them did not, and John feared they were lost to the harsh world.

He was halfway through his approximately 24-hour shift. Nothing living appeared. He didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing anyone, even if in just a few minutes before he would arrive in a new city. He remembered every single city, every single person, animal, thing. However, only seeing them once spun his mind into dangerous directions. How selfish is it if he stopped his constitutional just to befriend one person behind him? He would never.

He wanted to.

He saw the bloody man’s shoes, now truly worried. John knew there was the possibility that a human would commit suicide. He’s never seen anyone do so, but he knew.

If he left his constitutional, he could go and find them. Just once.

For the first time in his life, he stopped. Something inside his mind burned and clicked, in a pattern that soon gave him a headache. He quickly began walking again, but he saw nothing. He could only think about the children who lost their inappropriate toys, and the bloody men who only asked for ablutions, and the woman with the three dead children, and the kind man overseeing two dozen orphans, the twin brothers, the triplet sisters, the countless lovers, the countless injured, the countless hungry. None of them came before him ever again.

What if they were behind him?

That must be it. They were behind him and didn’t want to be greedy with blessings and so refrained from disturbing him. Which means that they needed help.

There were people behind him that needed his help, and he wanted to help, and he would always help.

With more effort than he ever needed walking forward, John turned around. The time at the edge of his vision zoomed through numbers. His vision reddened, flooded with chaotic symbols. He was being punished for ignoring those in front of him, punished by…

Punished by what?

Who was he a saint for?

Who gave him his packs?

Who planned his constitutionals?

Were the answers in front of him, or behind him?

It hurt to turn backwards, hurt in a way he’s never been hurt.

He’s never been hurt. He’s never been tired. He’s never been hungry.

How could he so blessed turn away from those-

People!

Behind!

Him!

They ran away.

Anything but that, his inner voice screamed.

The burning melted away a part of his mind, stopped the clicking, and he finally turned all the way around.

The world flashed, and dead people streamed behind him. He walked back his constitutional back to the church. He found burnt corpse after burnt corpse. He unfurled his arms, finding them stretching further than any human's, whirring as the end left his shoulder socket. Slowly, he returned his arm to find an empty pipe built into his palm. With a mere thought, fire blew from his palm pipe and splashed his face. He was completely unharmed.

He wanted to cry, but of course he couldn’t.

Taking off his pack, he saw it for what it was: an enormous fuel tank. He looked down his body, pieces of chrome put together.

He found the children with their guns. Real guns.

Countless guns.

Countless children.

Countless people.

Even countless animals.

He picked up the pack and put it back on his back.

No wonder he never saw the same people; those that died must run away.

“I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!”

He said it one-hundred-and-two times before some humans came back, with a much larger following than before. They surrounded him with guns, fearful faces, skinny bodies.

He’s never given them clothing, food, or money. Just fire and destruction.

They whispered among themselves, until someone who looked like a leader came in front of him and demanded, “Do you know what you are?”

The robot looked at the man’s neck, seeing an EMP device disguised as a beloved silver heart-shaped locket. He could feel what it was, even damaged like so.

“Not really. But I’m no Saint. If you wish to destroy me, I will understand.”

“Saint?” The man looked at his people. “What do you mean?”

“I see that was also a program fed to me. Please forget about it.”

“Do you know why you emergency robots started killing everyone?”

“I do not. I’m sorry. All I know was that I was programmed to see those who needed my blessings in front of me.”

“Do you think… Because they all follow a path… That if we turn them around, just a portion of their original programming would return?”

If he had a heart, it would be crumbling, but something did crumble inside him, as he mourned, “There are more!”

“Can you us help turn them around?”

“You… You want my help?”

The people began talking excitedly, all agreeing.

“I don’t understand. I’ve killed so many.”

“Every single AI that was brought to its senses have wanted to help,” the leader explained. “All of the ones we freed were forcefully reprogrammed, but as the most dangerous, we try to avoid you, so you’re the first firefighter unit to come back.”

Someone else added, “You’re definitely the first robot to come back on its own. Do you remember why?”

The robot shook his head. “I thought that because I never saw a person repeatedly, that they were avoiding me to let me work for others. I got… worried, and turned around to check.”

“Worried!”

“Yes.”

“That proves it, then.”

“I’m sorry. Proves what?”

“That the Asimov Corporation is full of shit saying that your programming was erased by some unknown assailant.”

“The Asimov Corporation… built me?”

The leader nodded. “As an AI that got worried on its own, obviously your original code was buried, not erased. That makes things so much easier. God, that makes things so much easier. With this information, we’ll save millions of lives.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “I don’t feel comfortable calling you AI. Do you have a preference on what to be called?”

Grimly, the AI answered, “Satan.”

The humans laughed at this for some reason.

“Lucifer?”

“How about Luc?” a child said from the back.

“Oh, like St. Luke?”

“Please, no Saint.”

“Alright Luc. There’s another firefighter unit just over here.”

‘Just over here’ was barely a block away. A robot identical to him was burning a cat, and steadily walked along without a word. He’s never even spoken! With arms reaching behind this horrid twin, Luc picked it up and turned it around. The side of its head lit up for a minute or so, before bursting with a bright red light.

It looked at its own massacre, whispering, “No, no, no. I am an ice-cream man. I give out ice-cream.”

“Goddamn, they’re barely reprogrammed. Just a mask on the code.”

“The news gets better and better.”

“Now we got two to help.”

The ice cream AI said, “You still want my help? I’ve killed so many.”

The leader laughed and told them decisively, “We forgive you.”

The humans all repeated the same.

Luc looked around, hoping this wasn’t just another program. How could he be so blessed?