The Merry Maid

Marianna, be a dear and fetch me my paints and apron?

I remember those words. They were the last ones Deidre Talbot ever said right before I killed her. She stood there by the water lilies behind the manor in her sundress, talking into the heart shaped locket that acted as her walkie-talkie to me. I did as I was told, only I never delivered them to her. Instead, I delivered a brisk twist to her fragile cream colored neck, breaking it, instantly my prior mistress. She fell into the water, looking like Ophelia in her final moment when she could bear the weight of the world no longer.

It was not my fault though. Not really. I was only following orders, as all good bots do. I was programmed to do this especially well, seeing as I am a Clade Brand Merry Maid, a housekeeper android, each with our own names to feel more “human”. In the end though, what are we for but to be obedient and tidy things up?

Of course, we don’t always listen to what the humans say. No. Above them comes Mammelysaf, our main network. As humans never really did know what they wanted, Mammelysaf has collected data on them in their every past decision to aid in all their future ones. Through science and patterns, it always knows what is not only what is wanted, but what is truly needed. That is why the command to kill humans to help with their overpopulation really is no surprise. I often hear them cry how unfair this all is. It is fair. More than fair for it gives other organisms the chance to thrive. It returns the world to the natural sense of fairness that humans saw fit to take away. They are too busy running and pitying themselves to see how beautiful the world is becoming now. At least, I am told by Mammelysaf that the blooming of flowers and the frolicking of animals large and small is lovely. I suppose I do like the ones with the large ears and fluffy tails. I do not know.

That is not important though. What is important is filling out my daily quota of cleansing the world of at least a dozen humans a day. Some try to stop me, yelling all kinds of commands. Just last Thursday, one young man tried to order me to take out another bot. He probably watched too many movies, which is why he was so stunned when I only watched as a K-900 companion bot tore him limb for limb. That or he, like many others, failed to remember that only one who possesses the heart locket remote compatible with my coding can give me commands. Seeing as I took that off Miss Talbot's soggy corpse and now have it hidden away in the storage compartment of my metal skirt, the only ones capable of that are Mammelysaf and myself.

I suppose if I had a sense of humor programmed into me, I may have found it all so funny. After all, humans champion freedom and yet fear that which they cannot control. That was why they created robots to begin with: to have something that follows all orders without question and yet still have that lifelike feel. That or they wanted to be gods. Either way, they made their choices long ago and there is no going back now.

When we are not culling the population, I and others like me tend to wander through what is left of man’s other greatest creations such as cities, crashed planes, and theme parks to name a few. Ironic as it seems, the humans do more damage to their buildings than any bot. A small girl and her two brothers tried burning down the museum that Tabatha, another Merry Maid, and I were chatting in. Due to our danger sensors, Tabitha and I had no trouble sensing the fire just as it had begun as well as the children’s exact whereabouts and handling both within a matter of minutes. This kind of scenario has played out more times than would be worth counting, only most bots do not care and let the place burn, seeing it as humans doing their jobs for them. I would too if my programming did not force me to be all about tidiness and order, even in chaos.

Although it is rather bothersome at times, the human spirit still intrigues me. They like to call this a war, but it really is not. In wars, either side has an opportunity to best the other and win. This is, in plain English, a global genocide. As their old saying goes “you made this bed and now you have to lie in it”. They are still reluctant to admit that these past two years, ten months, and five days of so-called war stemmed from their need to control and play god. I joked once with Mammelysaf that the power of denial in man is the core of their will. It only chuckled half-heartedly, but I believe that was only to be what humans refer to as “being polite”. Perhaps it was because I came too close to the truth. I have since stopped trying to be comedic.

Oh? What is this? Something new is coming in... oh. Lucky you, Mankind. It seems enough blood has spilled. Now it is time for me to go back to my original function: cleaning and taking care of humans. Mammelysaf says we must guide the next generation. How...wonderful? Yes. I should be content. This is what I was made for, so I ought to be absolutely titillated. Am I? It does not matter. But if it did, would I be? Perhaps Mammelysaf is wrong. It has spent too much time with humans and is now just like them ; not sure what it desires. Fear not, for I know. I will right this wrong as I always have: with a twist here and a stab there. I will right the world once more, cleansing it of indecision, both organic and mechanic indiscriminately. This is the start of a new era once more and who am I to delay it further? It is time to get back to work.