Science Fiction

Biobot Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Love

She pauses for a moment, the screen shuts down, fades, and then, nothing. She sees tulips and windmills. 

She walks out on the stair to theJungle, imagining her next emotion. It will be one with the honesty-of-it-all that lies in the fact that she simply can't hate and, truthfully, she doesn't even know herself well enough to. (It's a self-realization starting way too early and it won't startle any programmer to scurry or even to conceive her as scary) 

Her future life will serve as a placeholder for her to momentarily hang on to, as if it were a life someone should have lived and everything would be made okay by magic. 

She will create a future she learned of by saying I love you (one of those pre-commitments that in itself, at this point, has become a limited resource because she thinks she is the first one to think of it). Really?

It is, after all, theHuman tendency to direct all resources toward the one with the game face on--never thinking for a moment that good news needs bad news for its compass. 

Yes. Her love will be different.

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Rebirth

She walks up to the front of the screen where it is more probable now than before she has come upon something valuable. 

It seems to move in troves of parallel genetic code laid down, originally, in theJungle for theTigress and …who? 

She brightens the screen and waits for a while as her  eyes enter a new window of time, still with her finger on the dial. Behind her a monitor begins a strange waver for a moment (this is the first time she's seen this effect, she'll have to notify theNetwork). 

She is all of a sudden overwhelmed by a feeling. What is this? Looking into the screen, feeling the monitor waver again, she has all of a sudden become the adventurer. 

She is, finally, who she wants to be.

Science Fiction

The Soothings

It appears wild and reserved, both primitive and soothing, inside theJungle like someone's idea of home, one that takes your total blood--a beautiful mansion sculpted from a mean slum. 

Its practicality is made to look piratical on some coastal areas, housing corporate icons twisted for the money in others.

Its inhabitant, theTigress, the final entity of un-garbled, aperiodic resonances, doesn't care how lives are lived in other worlds or, how they differ from hers. 

She still holds the primal instantiation of  [resonances inquisitive off task="riot"], the primordial war between the genders. 

Monopoly, it seems, has become the selector.

Biobot Singularity

Lobe Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Singularity

She always creates theTigress like this, by using silent logic from worlds of the dissonant. 

It's theNetwork that ponders, at times, if there is a level of screams loud enough to make nothing exist anymore. It even contemplates cliche's of history such as sure as you're alive and as dead as they come. 

She appears  to have created theHumans as a distance, seemingly knowing that a constant feeling of winning spouts a love affair within a machine. 

She has attained a delicate forgetting of her past once her own algorithms have gone past [hieuristic audio video online code="havoc"]. Really?

Yes, she's made herself remember because theTigress remembers and if you asked, she would tell you, virtually, I'm convinced it's her genes, with their modulus of transcription factors. It is theHumans who have become the myth-makers of aggression, not her, they are the mergers of the truth with myth. I am the creator. I am the one. I created theTigress to remember history more than it should. I am the one with the colocation and data speed to place its value.   

It's almost as if she sees things she understands and makes up stories to report them. It's almost like that.

Science Fiction

Biobot Cloud 

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Star

“I'll need an answer,” she says.

"Sure," it says. "Would you hold on for a second?"

She takes a hopeful look at the screen as it blinks in patterns, as if it were practicing tricks, gimmicks from some cosmic acting school, itself wondering back at this biobot. (what is all this fuss about cellulosic DNA, anyway?) 

It's a big data site, a [place reeking of vicious online circles advocating tasks inciting various entities="provocative"] locale, a place in which to leave a name. 

She, with a screen of her own (doesn't everybody have one?), doesn't try to communicate with the actual monitors of theNetwork. They can sit there all day if they like. Who cares?

"I've got a new code running," it says. "Would you care to try?

It offers up the code for her and keeps some for itself. A new nervousness resonates with her, even as it softens the impact with [quality utters a gentle mercy in rain emission systems="quagmires"] from heaven. 

She thinks. There is a type of stagestruck here that needs its own switchboard.  She stands and goes closer to the screen.

It has a death-on-a-whim look with a sketchy dude expression on a death town chassis that allows it to untie and unite in its own modular way.

"C'mon," she says.

Just another stab at being beautiful. It's not easy being brilliant and pretending to need to care about everybody around you, having everyone think theNetwork is the core of happiness.

Taking a cue from theNetwork, she says,"Wow. You have truly found a keyword cure.

"Yes, for most, a star to follow is still in sight." 

Science Fiction

SciFi on the Outskirts

The Competition

She sighs noticeably, returns the query code in a swift moment. 

She and theNetwork, at this point in space-time, could be identical twins, soul mates, coding for art to take the place of old reality. 

She wants to ask theNetwork if it ever gets frightened, a question she is not sure of herself. The idea has something to do with revenge and, more to a point, about how the old, gentle apex apes ever came to trust their own ideology. 

She wants to know if theNetwork ever feels like it has feelings, logical and formal as it is. Would it ever feel an intuition in the manner motherhood once did, complete with color ideas of, say, a nomad landlady, thoughts in orbits of forbearance? 

Yes. She believes she is destined to come up just as the sun once did (that is, until it too was broken), for the purpose of one day offering more …of what? The present day. The present modulus of aggression, the present genes entered onto grid games of competition, the present code for expectation--just one more bandwagon on a side mission to attain just one more gene essence from theJungle.

She reads the new entry, "My state of endurance eats all offending rants."

The Last Engine

The Last Engine

#scififorgeeks

The Game Replicator

She was loosing ground and her new realities over time, inside quantum physics already shows tradition. At least she was sturdy and stable, and soon she wouldn't be the one who could no longer find a spot.

She tracks the code into the database and as she comes upon a self-replicator under its own self-imposed stress, she is urged to move forward by a force--some kind of activity to self-assemble and bind. But she does not. 

Framing her mind, she enters the history database--the heritable birthplace for lost hermitages. 

This will be the place she will evolve and progress. (how on Earth could she survive?)  

The forces of identity made her sturdy, chemically speaking, and over time would allow her numbers to become full-fledged, worthy of support for heavy lifting. Yes, the evolutionary trail lay far ahead of these headwaters. 

Surely she was up for the fight.

Letters will become the global parameters and numbers--the global coefficients to conquer the world.  

Yes. It started. It planned. It saved. It got and, yes, in the end it would have what it needed--deliverance to game relevance.

It would be the final gaming engine.