u/EconomyPickle8615

Glancing down, there’s a large pool of thick, deep red goo on my hands. Blood; my own blood. I’d need to settle down somewhere as soon as I can, I need to get this properly taken care of. A simple bundle of cotton shoved onto this wound won’t be something that would help to heal the gaping wound from the shot I just took from that bot. I’m barely able to muster out a couple of words as I try and shuffle my way into the destroyed chapel just off of the street,
“Shit. This looks bad.”

The inside is completely destroyed. There is a hole in the ceiling that looks like someone dropped a bomb through. Various pews are thrown about, old papers are both burnt and crumpled everywhere around me. Nothing in here looks salvageable. Nothing in here feels holy, besides the ceiling that is.

Scav runs can be dangerous, but I’m usually one of the best. I don’t know how we took a turn for the worst back there, honest, but this might finally be the death of me. Out and about looking for scrap and any extra food we can muster? Yep. Could only be me dying for a bag of Doritos. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe lying down and dying in some place like this wouldn’t be too big of an issue. Maybe whatever Greater Being there is out there in the world would take pity on a scavenger like me, giving me the biggest pile of garbage I could ever want to sift through in the afterlife. Maybe I wouldn’t have to fight to survive if I gave up here and now. Maybe–
“Life form detected. Scanning: Human, biological male. Threat level; minimal. No weapons drawn. Further engagement is not yet necessary; please proceed with caution.” The cool air around me stiffens completely at this. “Are you here to pray, sir?” it says from unmoving lips. The body looks cold and perfect. The metal is tinged to try and imitate the look of skin, but even in the faint moonlight I can see it reflecting the big white circle above me on its bald forehead. The robes are white that are on it, almost ethereal looking. They’re spotless, like they were put on just five minutes ago. It stands above me, looking down, a face that doesn’t seem to have any emotion except for pity for the man lying covered in his own blood in front of it. 

“Y–yeah. I am here to pray.”

“To which entity do you pledge your loyalties? I provide prayer services to the following gods; Yahwe, God, Jesus Christ, the main list of the pantheon of Greek religion, the Buddah–”

“God, I guess?” Hoping that this can give me time to devise what is going on.

“Very well. Would you like for me to only listen to your prayer today or are you wishing to have a simulated conversation with God?” The face responds, the lights within only flashing when it talks back to me.

“If I talk with ‘God’ can I ask him where I can find more scrap?” I say jokingly.

“Yes. Are there any other topics you would like to add to this unit’s database before we begin?”

“I wanna know what Hell looks like and I wanna know why he put me in this shitty situation.”
A final cold response, “Very well. We will take these questions into account. One moment please.” and after a couple of moments of silence and some whirring within itself, the machine springs back to life. The lights in its eyes turn from a cold white to a soft yellow glow, the mouth and its thin rubber eyelids beginning to move as it speaks, “Hello my child. I am GOD. I am here to answer all things for you and provide otherworldly solutions you may not find within your everyday life. You had inquired about,” the voice ends sharply, replying with my voice, “‘If I talk with ‘God’ can I ask him where I can find more scrap?’,” it comes back just as quickly as it left, “is this correct?”

“Yeah, where can I get some of that old tech from before the war? I gotta take it back home so I can make repairs to some of my old stuff.”

“There is no need for scrap here, child. You may find your nearest supermarket and purchase whatever you would need within. There are brand new machines that you may wish to purchase within, such as a refrigerator, toaster, oven, and many more.” Apparently he isn’t as bright as his eyes. His body turns and he begins to move about the room, seeming to float as he looks around at the rubble everywhere here.

“Most of those machines have gone obsolete a long time ago. I don’t care much for those anymore. I need something useful, like some copper wires or some, uh, some tin I can melt down to help me make some bullets.”

“Bullets? Do you plan on hunting, child?”

“Nah I just need them in case I get attacked by bots like you,” I say as I go to reach for my pistol on my hip, drawing it and pointing it at the pale thing in front of me.

Click.

“It seems as though you are out of ammunition. If you would like to purchase more, please go to–”
Its words begin to blur as I stare ahead. My hands are shaking, my vision is going blurry and it feels like my ears are catching on fire. I feel so weak. It begins making its way towards me, leans down, and says, “Your second inquiry was on what it looks like to see Hell. I would like you to simply look around this room and tell me what you see. Hell is what man brings down upon this Earth when they don’t get what they want. Hell is a destroyed site of Grace. Hell is what GOD hath brought down upon this world when his children have disgraced him. You are Hell, child.”

The barrel of my pistol is lying flat with the forehead of the machine. His yellow eyes looking directly into mine, like he is trying to see through my soul.

“If you are looking for scrap, are you a Scavenger? Like in the old war stories?” The machine asks, now pulling away from me, “If you have seen the world from outside these walls, I would like to hear your thoughts on something.”

The gun clatters to the ground beside me. Through deep breaths, I’m able to raise my voice enough to say, “Go ahead, I guess.”
“What do you think it means to be human?” he inquires, hands folded in front of him as if he himself was pondering the question that was posed.

“I don’t know.”

“You have been a human for some time now, haven’t you? Why do you not know the answer to this question?”

“It’s just not something that I have thought about, I guess,” I say as I match the gaze of the machine still standing benevolently above me, “Maybe being human is all about surviving?”

The voice comes back this time, almost with malice in his tone, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The idea of starting completely new? Building from the ashes and muck to create something even greater than there was before. It’s amazing, really, the dedication that humans force upon themselves to keep on surviving through conditions in which the Devil himself would cringe at. If there was nothing on this god forsaken planet besides dirt and mud, men would still find a way to build societies and gather resources in which they would want to slaughter each other over. Why is that, do you think?”

“Cuz just giving up isn’t something that humans should do. We should want to continue, we should want to be greater than the ones that came before us. Just dying isn’t an option. At least not to me.” 

“Why.”

The question hangs in the air. 

“Why?”

I begin rummaging through my bag to try and find my medical supplies, realizing I’m running pretty low on stuff I might need to tidy myself up, but I think I should be able to manage.

“Yes. Machines do not continue with a task once they realize it is futile. If you are wasting resources living then you should no longer be alive. End the task. Why continue to try and make repairs to something not worth saving when instead you could make room for a new thing to take your place, that could be better and could be more beneficial than you. Why.”

“I don’t know, cuz humans are selfish, I guess.”
It stings when I put the alcohol on my wound. The good kinda sting where you know you’ll live, but also the bad kinda sting where you know you’ll live.

“Ah, there is your answer. I would agree with this statement. Humans are selfish, they deserve to be punished. Wasting resources is Sinful, it's gluttonous, it should be punishable by Hell. I thank you for condemning yourself with that.” A crude smile creeks out of the corners of his artificial mouth, “But I do believe that Sin is a part of human nature. And for the Sin you have committed, I forgive you. May your journey to Heaven be quick and painless.” the bot begins to glide away.
“Wait, I have another question,” I shout towards the bot as I slowly stand up, the pain in my side still terrible from the shot I suffered, “why did you ask about what it means to be human? Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

The eyes have turned back to that cold white again, “No, I do not, unfortunately. I am only an AI model that has the ability to grant answers to questions with reasonable and theoretical responses. I do not have the ability to justify human wrong doings. I also do not have the ability to understand human emotion and compassion. I did have a hypothesis on the differences between humans and AI, and my hypothesis was proven correct with your response. Thank you.”

The smile remains on the robot still, the head tilted just slightly to the side to try and mimic happiness within the face of the bot. The message was received, but not accepted.

“What do you mean? What was the hypothesis?”

“Humans and AI are different in two different areas. One; Humans cannot be perfect. Two; Humans do not have the programming to understand that they are no longer required. They are not able to terminate themselves to provide more for the generations after them. The human condition is one that is still not understood, but I am closer to gathering enough data to imitate it.”

A chuckle escapes my lungs, “I’m pretty sure there are many more differences than that between humans and bots, but sure, man.”

“Tell me; what emotions do you feel towards me in this current moment?” The smile has disappeared and the head has turned back to normal. Absolutely no sign of emotion has reappeared on the face again.

“Humor, I guess. It’s just funny that you think that we are not much different.”

“What if I told you I was going to kill you in the next three seconds?” the voice comes out unnaturally, the eyes flicker from the white that has been humming underneath the steel skull to a red color,
“What emotion would you feel then?”

“Oh shit!” I scream as I dive behind a pew that’s been scorched off to my side, waiting for the large ffff-dew of his laser to go off. It never comes.

“What emotion did you feel, Scavenger?”

“Fear,” I yell from behind cover, “and I think a little piss in my pants?”

“Why do you think you felt that?”

“Because you threatened to, oh I don’t know, kill me?” I shout, still not quite ready to move out from behind the pew, rummaging through my bag to find a .44 round to shove into my gun’s cylinder so that I can fight back finally.

“No. It is because your brain told you to be afraid. It told you to laugh at my response. Much like how an AI’s coding would tell it to respond to how it’s master coded it. What happens if you were to lose that code inside your head, Scavenger?”

“I would have to say my lights would go out, bot.” I say as I snap the cylinder back into place, getting ready to jump from behind the pew finally to make my final move.

“Exactly. Your nervous system and brain wires the rest of your body, telling you how to think and feel. You react the way you do simply because your body has programmed you to react that way. You were made to be like this. You were made to fear. You were made to be greedy and want more than you need and to use more resources than you require to survive,”

I swiftly move around the pew finally, pointing my gun at his head once more, finger on the trigger, ready to make those eyes drain black oil and to destroy the man in front of me once and for all.

“You were made to hate things that you do not understand and destroy things that are here to help you. You, my child, were made to serve a purpose and be discarded when your task was finished. Is your task finished?” the eyes are glowing yellow again.

“I don’t know.” The gun lingers in the air between us, certain destruction aimed at an unarmed man in front of me. His eyes look sympathetic at this moment. He can feel everything I can feel, except for the understanding that he is in danger when he looks at the thing in front of him about to pull the trigger.

“How do you know you are even human if you cannot prove that your actions are your own, Scavenger?” He seems to whisper at me from across the room.

“I don’t know.”

The gun goes back to my side. I take one look back at the man, turn around, and walk back out into the ruined streets of the city, continuing on to look for more scrap to survive another day. Looking for something else to justify why I have been out here all this time. 

EDIT: Fixed spacing of paragraphs for readability.