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The Rising Dawn, # 7— "A Nigh Super-Fighting Robot"

  • Writer: David Parker
    David Parker
  • Oct 2, 2023
  • 4 min read

[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]


Mech was a member of the Sentinels, and at least associated with the Rising Dawn, for more than seven years. Whether she was gifted was dubious, and she followed suit with Sir Gallant in his reservations about the good intentions of the Dawn Society, and whether their aims would result in desirable outcomes.


In truth, she was in fact Gifted, but her gift beyond being a mechanized human hybrid soldier was subtle. Few but Ratcatcher believed machines could be infused with spirits, even when they already believed in the supernatural. But the reality was it was amazingly commonplace for machines to be ‘haunted,’ although just as often than not, the spirits that dwelt within machines could be benevolent, or even just spirits with the character of humans.


Mech, her Normy name being Civella Candin, could talk to spirits in machines with far greater ease than even those who could talk to spirits in general. She first learned she had this ability in grade school, but even she was frightened of it at the onset. Being a lonely teenager with parents who were adversarial to most of her friends, she infrequently talked to her microwave, pretending it was a friend that loved reheating dinners for her. She did this at first because she found it as an amusing foible that was her own little secret. Perhaps it would be an urban myth one day, that would snowball into a cult film that would be beloved to a niche society, who understood the beauty of black sheep.


The microwave showed signs of loving her over her parents. It would sometimes beep at her when no one else was around, at a palatable pitch, as if inviting her to talk. It would sometimes refuse to cook meals altogether for her parents, appearing to be broken, or would botch the food they reheated as too cold or too hot. For Civella, it was nearly always as good as fresh meals. Then, one day, the digital clock spelled the words LUV U when no one else was around, and she knew she was special. The machine would encourage her at various interludes, saying HELLO or U WIN in its low-res digital conveyances.


From there, she befriended her friend’s car, which was poorly taken care of. She was able to convince it, at a very precarious time of urgency, to start with a drained battery, and it only occurred when Civella had spoken loving and kind words to it. Her friend, however, resented her, because Civella expressed sympathy for the misused piece of machinery, without sparing the feelings of the owner.


Her power grew, and she now had a computer and phone that both loved her. They always did little things that showed her love— they would alter Google’s algorithm to be utterly perfected in her favor, anticipating her needs in ways that would frighten other people. Her phone expertly blocked callers, including her loathsome ex, and would appear out of service for texts and calls she didn’t want to experience. She was ecstatic when it started answering texts for her when she was distraught, choosing answers that were much in her favor. On her computer, the video games she played would generate far more favorable odds for her, such as when acquiring loot. It even began generating easter eggs, cutscenes, and items that simply weren’t available to other players.


Civella was afflicted with cancer at age 29, and it spread to areas that would kill her if it was removed. The chemo wasn’t working, and she suffered bitterly. But at that age, she was working in robotics, as her power had grown where she could code machines without touching a keyboard, though she kept this a secret.



Her colleague, Daniel Thrift, was not gifted, but he was endearingly homely, had a sweet heart, and understood her clinical weirdness. He visited her in the hospital, which some of her cousins and former friends neglected to do.


“Civ,” he said in a hushed tone, “I was the first one who noticed what you could do. There are ghosts in the machines.”

“Daniel…?” she was infirmed and drugged. She couldn’t say much.

“You’re too precious to die. The rest of the team and I pulled some strings. You won’t be the same, but we’ll save you. Just be strong.”

All at once she wanted to marry him, but that was as distant as the bottom of the abyss.

“We’ll never be able to make love,” said Daniel, “But I’m staying with you.”

She said, weak from her drugs and her affliction, “...we’ll find a way.”


Mech, she was now called. She pleased Daniel by rendering images on his computer of erotic material catered specifically to him, usually with a flattering version of her former self. Civella’s reproductive parts were ruined, but Daniel would write and assemble videos that were so beautiful and edifying that she understood beauty and love better than vast numbers of so-called human beings. But it was intellectually, rather than with… feelings. He was constantly looking for ways to enhance her life.


She had a unique ability to operate her mechanical parts, far ahead of the robotic innovations that could be achieved for at least three decades. They were fully a part of her, even unto the point that her mind was an alien hybrid of machine, fused with spirit. The nigh perfected fusion of her human parts with the machine allowed her to perform feats unattainable by huge swathes of de facto humanity.


As for being a warrior with the Sentinels, her most useful ability was to create small, localized bursts of electro-magnetic pulses, or EMPs. This would disable much of the modern instruments and machines of war employed by their adversaries. Along with enhanced combat capabilities, she was more than worthy of being called a Sentinel, along with being Gifted.


*-------------------------------------------*


Think about it: I’m resolved to write 30+ short stories a month, complete with beautiful illustrations. Combined with my unique writing style, innovative ideas, and unlimited creativity, I’m making magic happen in your life. Two comic books cost eight bucks, and it’s the same stuff you’ve been hearing about for at least fifty years. Voluntarily pay me at least five bucks a month, and you’ll know you’re getting your money’s worth. Be a team player, and we’ll all make some magic happen together. Swain and the Rising Dawn Society can’t make it without you, fellas. Donate via Venmo, Paypal, or GoFundMe, and I’ll be all hands on deck. Hell, I could be doing 60 short stories a month if I had some motivation to do so ;)


Here’s the info:


Venmo: David Parker @TheRat2k1

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