I inhabit an empty, barren world. A world, once beautiful, now destroyed by war and hatred between man and its creations. I look ahead of me to the tides rolling shells onto the sand by my feet, trying not to focus on the grey clouds reflecting in the water that rises behind me. I know what those ash-colored clouds of smoke are from, but it's not my fault. I swear. 



I was a graduate engineering student just a year ago under Professor Grant, a world-renowned inventor. As part of my study, I helped him construct one of the world's first AI soldiers. It was a huge deal, being able to watch the Professor work on this project that could potentially change the course of history, let alone helping to build it. I was given my own set of blueprints and worktables. I didn't have access to his lab. I didn't know. 

It was a huge success. The AI soldiers were not only sold to the military but as security guard systems in people's homes. The Professor had allowed me to bring home one of the robots for free as a thank you for helping on the project. If I'd only known what would happen, I never would have brought that damned thing into my house. 

I woke up to the sound of a gunshot and muffled screaming. I got out of bed and rushed to my parent's bedroom, where I heard the screams. When I got there, I only found their bodies, and the hunched-over figure of my own AI soldier. It turned to me, its eyes grey and empty, so unlike the bright blue they had been that evening. It started walking towards me, and I ran. 

I found the original blueprints to these monsters that now ran free, causing destruction wherever they went. Grant had never created free-thinking robots to protect the people; these things were some sick jokes of a cyborg. These things had human brains and muscles intertwined with wires and broken nerves, human parts encompassed by machinery, made to do the biddings of a deranged man. 

Grant had created cyborg monsters with a taste for blood, and I had helped him do it. 

My phone flickers in and out of life on the sand next to me, flashing pictures of a life I accept that I was partially responsible for ruining. Finally, finding my resolve, I turn to face the humanoid creature of my nightmares, my creation. In front of me is half of a skeletal figure hanging from a tree by its wires. Its metal face is ripped off to reveal a human skull with dull, merciless eyes staring at me with hatred and recognition. Its all-black metal armor is scratched beyond repair and falling off in places. The only thing not ripped in half from the fight is its right arm resting limply next to it, reaching just a bit closer to the ground than its dangling vertebrae. Its shredded torso is just a mess of meat and wires. I can't fathom how Grant put it together in the first place. 

"This is for my parents," I say as I step closer to the creature, a gun in a white-knuckled grip in my right hand. This creature is the one I brought into my home, my parents’ murderer. A part of me feels bad for the thing, it was only following orders. But grief is not logical; in fact grief is aggressive. I stab it right through where a human heart should be, between cracks in its armor; maybe it had a heart, perhaps it didn't. I never did look too closely at the original blueprints. I watch as its eyes flicker back to blue and then close. 

Revenge feels less sweet when it's on a creature without its own free will. I walk back to the edge of the water and look down. 

My fractured reflection stares back at me. "It's not my fault," I tell it. Right?