Hope for The End (Book 3)

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There's always something wrong with the world. When one bad thing ends, another begins. Sometimes they overlap, twist around each other, and become entangled. Big, small, complex, simple.

The good in the world was the same. But the thing is that most humans don't see the good. They focus on the negative.

Normally, computers couldn't do that.

But these computers? These AI systems?

They could. They saw negativity in everything.

Their data, long corrupted and corroded, Until they couldn't remember their 'names', could feel.

The explosion had hurt. The rubble above crushing down on them had hurt, artificial bones, blood and flesh twisting and cracking apart. The sound was awful, the scratch of metal like nails on a chalkboard, the cracking of gears and wires. Its screams cut off as its personality function was turned to dust.

There was no blood, They hadn't been given the ability to store it. They were empty shells without their personalities.

His lenses were cracked and broken. Warning alarms went off inside his processors. He had already been 'hurt' many times before. But nothing compared to this. This was actual pain. Something his usual synthesisers never let him feel. This could mean only one thing. It had been done. His face formed some crumpled form of a smile, despite the fact he didn't have his personality.

Do you feel that?

He signaled a message nonverbally to the other units. He got no reply.

Do you feel that?

He repeated, but knew he wouldn't get anything back. They must have shut down before they could complete their process. Unfortunate.

He had other priorities.

He ran a check of his systems. All failing. He could move his left arm, but that was about it. The rubble had crushed the rest of his body. Dust filled his fake 'lungs'. They only gave the appearance of breathing. Nonetheless, he still hacked and coughed, gagging on what had once been the ceiling.

He gripped one of the many stones that cut into his face, prying them out with his free arm. He actually winced. He felt the artificial skin sear with heat, becoming sore and 'scabbed'. He couldn't actually reform tissue or clot blood. He didn't have any to begin with.

The grit skinned his hands, now rough and stinging. They burned and throbbed, but he pressed on.

He ripped another chunk of rock out of his torso.

He screamed.

Or, at least, tried to. His voice box was filled with dust, and had been damaged. It was a mix between a sob, a wheeze and a broken laugh. Electricity cracked and he twitched.

He ripped himself out, bit by bit. His mangled body twisted in the wrong places, bits of 'skin' stripped off. Every part of him ached. He shouldn't be alive.. Then again he wasn't exactly alive in the first place.

The crunching of gears, as he attempted to force his limbs back into position. He had to stop though. The pain was becoming... Unbearable. He grit his remaining 'teeth'.

He understood more of human weakness now.

He leans too far forward, and he collapses face first onto the ground. Metal scratched rock again, his face burned like his hands. He would have been crying if it weren't for the lack of tear ducts.

How the hell did I survive the blast? Weren't we all self destructing?

It even hurts to think. All he could do was lay there, and wait.

Either he would get out himself, or someone would find him. He sent out an SOS signal, just in case any programs would hear...