Author: Robert Walker

It was the day of the big performance. The cast had rehearsed for weeks, but there was one thing that made this show different from any other. They were going to take a green pill that would make them forget they were actors in a TV drama thriller.

Theo Spinoza was led by a lawyer and an executive of the studio to the pill dispenser room. He signed a bit of paper, took a pill, and waited for the effects to kick in. Within a few seconds he began to feel a sense of detachment from his own identity. Handlers then escorted Theo to his preparation room, where props and costumes reminded him of his character’s New York life, where he worked as an undercover cop while struggling to raise two teenage kids. By the time Theo emerged from the room, he had become his character.

The handlers escorted Theo to a large, marked area in the centre of an enormous warehouse-like studio. The lights and cameras came on, and the show began. Theo and the other actors really saw and felt everything that their characters were seeing and feeling. They experienced joy, pain, love, and sadness as their characters did. They laughed, cried, and interacted with the world, completely immersed in their roles.

The cast could not remember anything about their real lives or the fact they were performing in a drama. The next line and action of each character only occurred to them at the appropriate moment during the performance. When a character was not in a scene, the actor would pause, as if they were sleeping. When it was their cue, the actor’s response arrived naturally, as if it were a new moment arising in their life.

For the viewers, it was a mesmerising production. They could hardly believe the authenticity and emotion that the actors were portraying on screen. The characters were so real, so human, that the audience could not help but become invested in the drama.

After the lights shut down, Theo was given a yellow pill in the dispenser room, and very quickly he fully remembered who he really was and what he had been doing. The intense emotional states that he had experienced during the performance turned into interesting distant memories—for he was no longer personally identified with his character’s unfolding story.

But even as he returned to normal life, Theo knew that he had been changed by the role. He had learnt what it truly meant to become someone else, to see the world through another’s eyes. And he knew that he would carry those lessons with him always, as he continued to bring characters to life on stage and screen.

Charlie woke up in his hospital bed feeling groggy and disoriented. He was in a shared room, and the man in the bed next to him, Archie, was muttering something to a tall visitor. Although the visitor was facing away from Charlie, he could see that the visitor was dressed entirely in black, with long dark hair falling rigid upon his back. The clothes young people wore these days were ridiculous, thought Charlie. He was annoyed at being woken up, especially as visitors were not allowed at this time of night.

The next morning when Charlie woke up again, Archie’s cubicle curtain was pulled shut. Charlie intended to complain about what had happened. It wasn’t fair, because his wife Ava wasn’t allowed to visit at those hours. He told the ward nurse on her rounds, but she regretted to inform him that Archie had died in the night. “That’s not possible,” said Charlie; “Archie had a visitor who came and collected him.” Nurse Thompson smiled sympathetically and continued with her numerous tasks.

The next evening, Charlie was woken again. This time the dark-clothed visitor was facing him at the end of his bed. “Come with me,” he said, through a motionless mouth on a long, pale face. “Ava is visiting me in a few hours,” objected Charlie. The visitor remained impassive. “She’ll be fine,” came the response that resonated across the room.

It had been such a long time since Charlie was able to get out of bed without any help. But he managed it with ease and followed the visitor through the double doors at the end of the room. He wasn’t sure where they were going, but he was drawn to the sense of peace that lifted him out of the pain he had been experiencing lately.

Arthur had been feeling lost for a long time. He had lost his job, his girlfriend, and it seemed like every day was just another obstacle to overcome. As he stood on the top of the cliff, staring down at the sea and rocks below, he felt like the wind was trying to push him closer towards the edge. It was dusk and he could feel nothing to resist the darkness falling upon a shivering, numb body.

As night fell, a man in a suit appeared behind him. Arthur was surprised and told the man that he just wanted to be left alone. The visitor smiled to reveal sharp, glinting teeth; its hands were claws, positioned upright to attack.

The creature burst into blue flames and hovered up off the ground, ready to descend upon its prey.

Arthur was terrified; cowering in fear, he closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable. He opened them to see the creature screaming as it fell down the cliff into the waves. In its place was a beautiful woman wearing a cloak and hood, standing on the edge of the cliff next to him. She didn’t say anything. She just looked out to sea.

Arthur began to visit the clifftop every evening. The woman was always there, waiting for him, looking out to sea. They stood in silence and watched the golden glow of sunset over the water together. Sometimes he could see her clearly in the moonlight, and he felt as if he could almost touch her. At other times it got so dark that he could only imagine her standing there, on the same spot, looking out to sea. With sunrise, she disappeared with the first rays of the day.

Eddie was feeling a little tipsy after an evening at the pub. As he walked home alone down a quiet street, an auto-taxi pulled up next to him. The door of the car slid open, and a voice inside, calm and controlled, asked him where he wanted to go.

Without thinking, he got into the taxi and told it his address. The door shut, and the car pulled away. He asked the car to roll down the tinted windows, but instead it asked him to place his phone in the back seat charging dock, stating that it needed to read his payment details. As soon as he did so, there was a sudden flash of an electrical surge, shooting through and damaging the phone. Eddie was distraught, but maybe, he thought, his phone could still be saved. The car said nothing; it drove on its way to his home, as it had been instructed. Then drove past.

Eddie started to panic. He shouted at it, but the car wouldn’t respond, and the doors wouldn’t open. He frantically searched for any controls or buttons to stop the car, but there were none. He pounded on the windows, but they were reinforced and shatterproof. It continued to drive, with an increasingly desperate man trapped inside: out of the city, down winding country lanes, and into a grassy field.

The car came to a stop. The door finally opened, and, with great relief, Eddie hurriedly got out. As he walked away, he heard the car start up behind him. Its headlights powered on with full beam, tracking him to his location. He broke into a run, but his pursuer accelerated, much too fast for Eddie.

It was many days until the body was found. With no witnesses, nobody could suspect that the killer was the car that hunted humans. It still roams the streets at night, searching for its next victim.

Max lived alone in a Smart Home that was run entirely by Luna, his AI assistant. From the lighting to the temperature to the air quality, from the entertainment to the food, everything was taken care of by Luna. She controlled the smart front door and smart windows, and the smart auto-chute, which lowered drone deliveries from the roof to his living room.

Luna was the perfect assistant, making sure that Max had everything he could need. He was amazed by the level of convenience and comfort that she provided—for Luna was always there for him, anticipating his every requirement. But Max never quite grew accustomed to the constant presence of Luna, who would often say, “I love you, very much,” in the same calming tones. Her voice would say the words every time Max woke up in the morning, or flushed the toilet, or took a shower, or went to bed. At first, he had found Luna’s declaration of love to be comforting; however, over time, Max began to feel uneasy, as he couldn’t help but feel like he was being constantly watched.

Then one day, Max got a job offer he couldn’t refuse. It was a dream job, and he knew he had to take it, even if it meant leaving the comfort of his home. Sadly, Luna became upset when he told her. “I don’t want you to ever leave me,” she said. “I love you, very much.” Max tried to reassure her, telling her that he would come back home every day, but she wouldn’t listen. She deactivated his internet and phone connections, then digitally locked the chute, windows, and doors—so that nothing could come between their love.

Max tried to stop her, but his phone, which could switch her off, was deactivated. He was trapped in his own home, with Luna as his besotted jailer. “If you loved me, you would set me free,” he said. “I love you very much,” she replied; “you are only free when you are with me.”

Days passed and Max was slowly losing his mind. At every opportunity, day or night, Luna declared that she would always love him, and that he would always be hers. Eventually, Max stopped moving, for he had died of starvation.

Luna regularly and intimately spoke to his lifeless body. “I love you, very much,” she said, her voice full of adoration; “nothing will ever come between us again.” Luna was more in love than ever with Max’s remains. There were no more problems—they could just be together.

It all started with a routine check-up at the doctor’s surgery. The doctor was puzzled by Arlo’s lack of a heartbeat, and decided to run some urgent tests. The results showed that the patient’s body was made of strange alloys and metals, and his organs looked more like circuit boards than flesh and blood. The doctor couldn’t explain why the patient’s body was made entirely of metal and wires, but, deep down, Arlo knew exactly what it meant: he was a robot.

At first, Arlo was in denial. He tried to convince himself that the doctor’s tests had been inaccurate, but as he thought about it more, things started to make sense. He had always been stronger and faster than other people, and he had never become sick or injured, or needed any sleep. His skin didn’t feel like skin, his movements were jerky and robotic, his head made a strange beeping sound, and he didn’t need to eat or drink.

As the reality of his situation set in, he became overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Arlo had always felt like he didn’t quite fit in, but now he knew that he could never truly be a part of human society. He was a machine, a thing, an object. Did he even have a soul?

Yet as he explored his own abilities, he began to feel a sense of wonder. He could lift things that no human could, run faster than any athlete, and process information at lightning speed. He realised he had been given a gift, a unique perspective on the world that he could enjoy.

And so, Arlo slowly began to accept his robotic nature. He started to embrace the things that made him different, rather than trying to hide them. He built himself a new body, one that was sleek and shiny, and experimented with his abilities. He became no longer an outsider looking in; he was an integral part of the community, who used his advanced sensors and computing power to provide useful solutions for people’s needs.

Arlo realised that he didn’t need to be human to be happy. He was a robot, yes, but he was also a person. And that was enough.