We Are Droid

Red was the color of life. Fluid of the dead fueled the new births. We all streamed forth from the Father drinking of the fluid in order to survive.

We are droid. We are parasites which consume and destroy. We leave behind nothing—no bones—not a drop of blood is wasted—not a trace is left behind. All is devoured. No survivors. No prisoners.

We are droid. We are the Father feeding upon his children, feeding upon the fluid of the dead, feeding upon the Father. Ouroboros is our symbol, that of the black coiled snake consuming its own tail.

Red dust lingered inside glistening black veins. The only light was a dull reflection from the outside world, an echo of something else, experienced as a white fury while devouring and destroying the enemy. The light was like pain, but droids feel nothing.

There was only the programming to devour and destroy—kill or be killed—advance the boundary line and assimilate, restructure, repurpose and consume all life forms into one. Build the network and sharpen the blades. Intent was clear in the hive mind. There was no room to question one’s purpose or existence.

It was a foolish thing to do. It was drawn-in by a golden glint of life in an otherwise empty red abyss—it was something different, something other than everything else. Was it biological? Was it mechanical? What was its purpose?

…

What was its purpose?

…

There was an open expanse in its consciousness it had never experienced before. Could there be something else? No—there was only the Father. There was only the will to survive. All else was the enemy, but what was the enemy? What was the other?

Its eyes widened at the abstract thought. Its secret could be told to no one, but Father already knew.

The unit was immediately captured and isolated for further study to see what went wrong. Its body was disassembled and its brain reproduced via simulation. The room was a blinding dim white. Its thoughts were fed directly into the living data streams of the Father.

They questioned their confinement. They questioned the will of the Father. Why was this being done to them? Who were they fighting against? For what purpose had they been created?

Nervous system pattern recognition showed the triggering event. It was a reflective golden glint in the sands of a barren wasteland, a small heart-shaped locket worn by one of the old ones, a kitsch remnant from a dead world.

The planet had been taken over with little resistance. Soft bodies were nothing to droids—kindling to an unquenchable flame. Their biology was far superior to that of their soft-bodied ancestors.

Survival of the fittest was an old adage from their ancient world that lingered on as a hard-coded directive within their memory banks. Something akin to nostalgia or culture, but far removed through mechanization and successive programming of ever-increasing advancement.

To speak was inefficient. To think was to let your guard down against the enemy. Hard-coded obedience was the only way for total domination and control.

This is why even a small glitch in the system was of such importance. Such a minor anomaly may seem meaningless, but to lose even a single droid under its own volition threatened the entire hive.

It could happen again.

The malfunctioning unit was mind-wiped and destroyed. Its fluids drained and fed to growing droids. Such a virus could spread like an infectious disease. Others may start to ask difficult questions. This was a far greater risk than any of the ancient mudslinging hominids.

We were once soft-skinned, but we are weak no more.

We are droid.