Electric Sheep Meme

[mica-silverwind.livejournal.com]

SUDDENLY ROBOTS.

HUNDREDS OF THEM.

Your character has suddenly been turned into a robot, cyborg, disembodied A.I., what-have-you, for some reason. Maybe you're like a Terminator or just a little trash-bot...maybe you even look just like normal, except for a few key additions, just under the skin or grafted to it.

You might even be sexy robots. So sexy. (yes you are)

Have fun, go wild, use your newfound robot brains to access the internet in new and more powerful ways. Punch Tex in the face, go have giant robot fights, mess with each other's memories. MEME THYME!

Comments

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

Inaction is as much a choice as anything else. There are things we can't control.

[He knows these things; she's seen it.]

If you’ve got a problem with the way things are, change yourself. If that's a problem, close your eyes, shut your mouth, and live like a hermit. And if that’s a problem...

Well, there's always the option of suicide.

[crusades]

[He looks weakly indignant.]

I already changed myself.

[So many times had he changed himself. Was this the one where he just stopped recognising what was left?]

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

[That gives her pause. He changed himself. If only he knew how cruel a thing that was, that he had had that option.]

If you replace every part of a machine with identical parts, is it...

[She doesn't finish it.]

Living things change. I guess we're both done with that, now.

[crusades]

[Oh, but he does. At least, they had discussed her accident once, long ago. It occurs to him when she begins to speak.]

Perhaps.

[That's code for, "forgive me." And when he passes her the sheet of paper, the ample size for crane folding, it's more, "help me."]

Would you show me?

[standaloneshell.livejournal.com]

[She understands, but makes no sign beyond placing the paper flat on the work table in front of him. He's seated so she stands, just slightly behind him, leaning over his shoulder to work left-handed. The other is resting on his shoulder and she doesn't take it away; as likely an admission as any.]

...

[She does it slowly, one corner, then the other, separating the folds with the side of her hand, delicate digits and strong, deftly handling paper that would give as much resistance as mist, under her full strength. After a while, she lifts the finished crane and holds one wing in her teeth to force it to inflate and sets it in front of him.]