Suicide Booth

The door creaked slowly behind him – a world decayed, falling apart, another bitter twist of the knife in his back. Metaphorically, of course, a steel tooth could no more bite through his shiny metal ass than an illness could fell him, no more than love could touch his micro-processors.

To live without love, but with a vicious understanding of the world – this was his curse. Circuitry whirred, his HUD indicating the cracks and inefficient designs surrounding him. Wearily he stepped into the gloom of the suicide booth.

A noose? What good was that to a robot?

Others stood in the darkness, each calculating the odds of his surviving an encounter with the rope. They were cutting back even here – gangs were exploiting the machines, suiciding for free, the ancient quarter-on-a-string trick.

Laboriously he calculated how best to repair the machine into some sort of working order. That was where we found him.

 

This is the first of two stories I’m going to write for this weekend’s io9 writing prompt – and yes, it’s based loosely on a favourite show of mine: Futurama

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2 thoughts on “Suicide Booth

  1. Draug419 says:

    Those poor, conflicted robots ;__;
    Do you know you have this linked on Trifecta? It’s very good!…But not exactly 33 words lol

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