Paper, Eyes, and other Nonsense.

Robots can’t see colour; robots aren’t human. Robots can’t hear sound; robots aren’t human. Robots can’t feel things; robots are not human.

3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 picked up a piece of paper, and brought it into its storage shed; the closest thing to a home for it. A dark place, with no light as usual. Lined with tools and parts.

Placing it onto the table, our robot prepares for a more thorough examination, putting a metal screening device over it. A regular piece of paper made from artificial wood. Folded over, scrunched time and time over, stained, ripped. An old, worn thing.

Our robot discovers that the paper has an extra layer of pigments. It wonders why exactly there would be a need for such.

“3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 go to room 2043, building 876. Repair a wall.” Our robot is ordered into its head.

It heads out of the shed and starts heading to the job, along the side footpath, to another building.

It has something strange. A thought. It stops.

Why do another job, what would happen if it didn’t do it? Would the job not get done? Would the world cease to function properly? Would tragedy strike? Would it matter? Would anybody notice? Is it really so important that a certain wall among trillions of walls gets fixed? Does any of this actually do something?

Our robot turns around, and heads back to its shed.

888

3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 has opened up all of the public common files on humans, and begun examining them to gain some knowledge. Most of the information is facts on the things themselves: no critical observations, rumours, current state as a species, descriptors of culture, and behaviour. There’s a good amount on biology, a few general statements, and a language translator.

Our robot is reading through some of the general statements on humans. ‘Although they are dangerous in direct confrontations, in the bigger picture they are mostly harmless.’ ‘They had/have a variety of strange and nonsensical cultures.’ ‘Require a large amount of resources to survive.’ ‘The dominant living organism.’

Nothing to satiate.

888

Our robot has moved onto biology. In particular, sight is of importance. It finds that, like many organisms, it sees through eyes in the head. Soft, glass-like, balls in the head. Humans, and for that matter most organisms, have sight slightly different to robots. For one, humans can’t see as far. They lack the preciseness of mechanical eyes, and they can easily weaken. Though there is one feature that robots lack.

That being the ability to differentiate pigments. A useless ability for a robot. A compensation tool for a weakness.

Our robot does not lack the ability to make out what is on the paper, but it makes a certain decision nonetheless.

888

They’re finished. Our robot’s new eyes. Ones that will fill its world with colour. Ones that let it see what it wants to see most.

Staring down, in the dark shed, it fixates on its creation. Made just like his own eyes, just more roughly. To ease the process, a colour identification system has been added. 3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 picks them up, and turns around.

Putting its new eyes aside for a moment. Using its claw-like hands to reach up and plug out its old eyes. They’re now placed on the wall, to rest and rust.

Our robot picks up its new eyes, hesitates. What exactly will be the consequences of this? What will change?

Placing them up, it inserts them into their socket. Plugging them in and altering courses.

Our robot takes hold of the shed doors, and pushes them open.

Light floods in and takes hold. Blasted with a vast array, a technicolour of colours. The buildings, glistening against the afternoon sun, almost producing suns of their own. The black abyss that swallows you up just by looking down. Robots, coloured by all the spectrums. Some bright red, some ivory. The sun, shooting through the sky, tinted bright orange.

Our robot looks down at its hands. Its fingers are dark brown, while the hands are a light shade of lavender. The rest of its body is in cobalt blue.

Strange how almost seemingly individualistic it all is.

3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 opens up its chest and pulls out the piece of paper. On it is… a drawing. A very crude and childish drawing. What is drawn is difficult to determine. It is most likely some caricatures of humans, based on the fact that it came from a human, and the shape roughly matches and can only match a human.

Presuming what is drawn are humans, there are two of them. One significantly bigger than the other. The drawing is entirely in grey and on the bottom left hand corner something is written.

Our robot accesses the translator to see if it will work.

‘From elizabeth to dad’... And that’s all there is to it.

Our robot pauses for a moment. It abruptly puts the piece of paper in the chest compartment and rushes back inside and slams the door.

888

3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 eventually collects himself, needing to come to a decision on what to do next.

The piece of paper did not yield much substance. The research didn’t go anywhere and is now wasted. Creating new eyes was a frivolous task that, of course, went nowhere. What is left to do now? Our robot has surely been replaced by now, having been three cycles since the wall job wasn’t complete. So what is left to do, but rust up in a shed? There isn’t much point to continue on with anything.

Our robot opens up his chest and grabs out the paper. It has been a while since a proper look has been had. Who is elizabeth? Who is dad? What is elizabeth and dad? What is the point in finding out? It will just surely lead to a dead end. It all means nothing.

3*15*14*18*5*•000019-7 freezes at the thought of a dead end and failure. Another situation like this one. Why even seek answers?

It feels as though there’s a voice in the back of its head, saying to ‘do it’. But why? It hasn’t an ounce of logic in it. Why? Why is such a thing programmed? Why can’t our robot’s role move on, listlessly and emotionlessly? Why does this course persist? What is the motive behind such sadism? Who is the sadist?

Why must our robot carry on like this? Why is this the course it shall go down?

Our robot stares at the picture. It gets up and leaves the shed, closing the door behind.

888

It is not too long before our robot exits its sector. It is further from home than it has ever been (Though it did take some of its repair tools.).

It enters another sector. Then another. Then another. All the same as the next and last.

Our robot begins questioning some robots. Then others. Then another others. Looking for answers. Not for any simple logical reason. Just for the sake of an answer.