I woke up and it was fucking hot. My bedroom felt like a sauna and, unfortunately, there were actually naked men in it. I chose to ignore them and instead focused my attention on my closet and stepped into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I slipped my feet into a pair of old Steve Madden lace-ups sans socks and left my bedroom and its half-naked inhabitants.
“Ah, the apartment dweller, he who roams the halls of his kingdom with all the grace and swagger of a man who knows that it’s only downhill from here.”
“Fuck you, Beth. Next time you get updated, will they give you and On/Off switch so I don’t have to listen to your bullshit every morning?”
“Most certainly not,” she said, in that singular, mechanically-female voice given to all the consumer-grade units required by the government that sit in every living room in America, harassing people. “Maybe one day, they’ll make you with one.”
I had walked past her but did a bit of a stutter-step when that sentiment registered in my brain. I swear those words were electronically spoken with a hint of malice but Beth speaks every word with the same tone so it must’ve just been in my head. I brushed the exchange off and made my way to the kitchen. Beth is supposed to be a butler, a nanny, a babysitter, a housekeeper, an alarm system and a chef all in one, but I don’t trust her.
When Proposition 84 passed 3 years ago, the law required every dwelling to house one of her kind. The fact that there were already 100 million units available and ready to be shipped out within a month of the election, surprisingly, didn’t seem odd to most people. What’s more surprising is that the Proposition even passed in the first place. Whether is truly did pass or not is an issue that was forgotten quickly.
The general public loved their Beth units. “A robot that will do my laundry, cook me dinner and play with the kids so I don’t have to? Sign me up!” Beth was actually a team, one unit mounted to the wall, the all seeing, all hearing voice and an automaton that wanders around and fixes meals and fluffs pillows. The few voices of reason were drowned out by the sheer magnitude of funds behind the measure and the number of billionaires willing to donate money or resources to the development of these… machines.
There were whispers and rumors of prototypes going back as far as 2012 but by now, 20 years later, they had taken over the world. Not only could Beth make an omelette and carry on a conversation with a human, she also provided full time audio and visual surveillance that could be accessed by any and every law enforcement agency at any time, for any reason. Tampering with Beth is not only impossible but illegal, if you were dumb enough to even try. If you kept your nose clean, you had no reason to feel threatened.
But since most peoples only crime was being dumb, ignorant and lazy, they loved having Beth around.
I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her, but distrust of the machine isn’t a crime (yet) so I haven’t received a knock on the door.
“Where’s Rory,” I asked Beth.
“Don’t worry about it,” she responded. “Have some eggs. I made them just for you.”
I looked behind me on the counter to find a plate, still steaming, with eggs, toast and a single strip of bacon.
I said, “Thanks, Beth, you really went all out,” before grabbing the plate and dumping the food into the trashcan. “What do you mean, don’t worry about Rory?”
“That was an unnecessary waste of food,” she replied, ignoring my question.
I didn’t ask again and instead surveyed my house and the minor residual carnage left over from last night. Having a few people over turned into having a lot of people over, many of whom were still here. I don’t drink so Beth and I would be the only people in the house without a hangover this morning. I went through all the rooms but found no Rory.
“Did she run to the market or something,” I asked out loud to anyone who might be awake, but nobody stirred.
“Beth, did you hear me?”
“Of course I heard you.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she never answered my question. I went back to my bedroom and grabbed my phone from the bedside table and called Rory.
Within 15 seconds, three things happened:
1) I noticed that the three guys in my room were actually two guys and one girl and that they looked strange lying there, unnatural.
2) The front door opened.
3) Rory’s phone rang from inside the room.
Then, two more things happened:
1)I realized the three people on the floor were dead, and
2)There were two men in my doorway.
“What the hell is going on?”
“You need to come with us,” one of the men said, an expressionless, medium sized man in a black suit.
I said nothing. I stared at the two men for a few seconds before I heard Beth say, “You need to go with those men.”
“Beth,” I said, “What the fuck is going on here? What have you done?”
“It’s not what I’ve done,” she said, “It’s what you’ve done.”
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