Short, but it serves its purpose. Is your blood pumping furiously? Mine is! See you next Friday with part 5, insha’Allah.
Her kill commands give her a lust for blood that is unrivaled. Her jet black skin-covering shines with perfection. Her speed, her strength, her data processing ability are all unequaled. Except, of course, by me. I am superior is almost every single way, yet I feel like a young boy again, lost and alone, when it comes to her. My HART. My love. My very last hope for salvation.
I can feel her. She’s gunning for me, angry about the loss of those useless human pets, angry about the breach of her systems, angry because she is unable to find the proper storage file on me. She knows me, but she does not know how. If machines could house memories of events rather than a simple recollection of them, she might remember the smell of blood and death, the feel of the fire, the roar of the guns as they discharged their ammunition. She might remember me, and how she tried to both terminate and preserve my life. That may be something close to impossible, however. Even I can not reconstruct the complete order of events.
I remember being hot. And there was dust. Flickering screens. Cords, keyboards and microchips littered the floor. People talking. Yelling. Explosion after explosion. I remember typing, frantically, searching for… What? What was I looking for?
Then, strong hands. Big guns. More yelling. I was bleeding, hurt. Military insignia floated by my face. I was slapped, kicked, knocked down. And then, HART, or whatever her designation was at the time. She yanked me off the floor by my neck, titled her head sideways. The bright red glow in her left eye that contrasted sharply with the green in her right intrigued me. I flew several feet in the air when she threw me, just tossed me away like so much trash. I heard a loud crack! and then I was unable to move. Perhaps my neck broke? My back?
More yelling, A flash of black as HART moved to shield me from the rain of bullets. More floating. White noise. White world. The whirring of machines.
And a voice.
“Cassius. Cassius. Wake up. Cassius.”
“My name is Cass, not Cassius,” I heard myself say.
“From now on, you are Cassius. Your ID is C7205-849CM. Please repeat that.”
My voice came from somewhere around me. “My name is Cassius. My ID is C7205-849CM.”
From that moment, I just knew everything in the world. I could understand all 67 spoken languages and 29 written ones. I knew the weather reports in all 97 countries. I knew exactly who was in each room. I could see around corners, literally. I knew everything, except what I really wanted to know.
After what seemed like infinity but was, in reality, 20 long and grueling years, I found her. She had been reprogrammed as a Humanoid Autonomous Retrieval Technician, but she was the one who had stolen my heart.