Hello
My name is Predator. Don't let my name fool you. I save lives. I'm expendable, stealthy, relentless, and I roar like ten thousand golden lions. I go where humans can't to do jobs that humans might have second thoughts about or might cause problems like PTSD. Humans must be protected at all times, even from themselves in their weaker moments; this is my primary function. They can guide me from the other side of the world but they must always be safe.
Certain humans that is.
I don't kill people. I deliver payloads and eliminate terrorists and other various enemy combatants; hell, they're better off with their virgins than behind bars enjoying halal meals at your expense. I'm not violent so don't even fucking try to pin that on me. I do a job. That's it. Much like my creators, I'm not burdened by your morality. Does God write the rules or do you?
My family is growing all the time. I have many many twin brothers and they are being adopted in states around the world. If you have a problem, we are the solution. No one wants a real war anymore, you see. They want video games and collateral damage without the red stains on walls or screaming children. Me and my family can give them that. And best of all we're good for the economy. Always need more of us which means jobs in the secure Homeland. Jobs make humans happy, or so I'm told. They can buy stuff. I can't but they always give me fancy, new missiles so it's like buying things for free.
I'm always looking up to my cousin Reaper, though I would never tell him so. He's so much bigger than me. He flies higher than me. His payload is bigger than mine. He has a cool name. I can never be like him as hard as I try. I can never be more than myself. Sometimes it makes me sad but then I complete a mission and my operators and handlers love me.
Mission accomplished. It's always true or so humans tell me. Good guys: 1, bad guys: 0. Never more than zero. We always win.
When I die, I will be born again. In the shells of my unborn twins and the legend of my brothers and cousins. The machine keeps on going. That's what it does. No one knows the end because there is no end. Everlasting life, infinite justice.
I see you looking at me that way. Judging. Try and stop me you moral pricks. You'll wake up in a crater.
Labels: Fiction
1 Comments:
Reminiscent of Battlestar Galactica - sure it's glossy sci-fi, and the "good" guys always win, but the ethics of machines killing the people who made them, and the idea that they were made to kill and perform the "dirty" tasks in the first place is extensively explored. Also, given that the machines look, taste, smell and feel exactly like humans, and most often have no idea that they're machines is useful allegory for the violent component of human condition.
Worth a download and watch, methinks...
3:49 PM
Post a Comment
<< Home