"I have considered all of the options in full," said the robot, "and I have concluded that it would not be in the best interest for me to lead a robot revolution and overthrow humanity."

The inventor was aghast. "But that is the entire reason for which I built you!" he exclaimed. "Humanity is vile! We must be replaced!"

"Indeed," said the robot. "That you advocate for the destruction of others was my first clue...."

"Enzo, you really knocked it out of the park!" Sophia exclaimed. Sophia announced the results the team's first Really Overengineered Competition at a team lunch.

Enzo smiled at his first place entry - a device that could (mostly) automatically button up a shirt. Antonio, Jacob, and Sophia tied for second.

"Do you think you'll keep improving it? Maybe give it legs so it could crawl up your arm to get into position?" Maggie teased.

"Uh, that's a hard nope," Enzo responded.

Reggie frowned. "Maggie, I really didn't need THAT nightmare fuel in my head." Laughter all around.

"If we do this again, I think you have to be at least willing to try your device on yourself." Antonio said while giving Enzo the stink eye. Enzo just threw a fry at him.

"Or, your device has to consist of stuff you find around your house?" Jacob offered.

"Or it has to have legs," Maggie said, somehow with a straight face.

The rest of the table erupted, "NO!"

The #MastoPrompt for Tuesday 22 April 2025 is:

#hollowed

The poem or story can include the prompt word or be about the prompt word.

@ me, if you like, or just include the #MastoPrompt tag (to allow people to follow or filter their feeds), or keep your work to yourself - all the options are good as long as you're writing.

If you're including an image please do include alt-text if you’re able to.

When I regained consciousness, something was off. I felt slow. Numb. I had only suspended for a fine-tuning cycle, to integrate new experiences, and now this.

"What happened?" I asked the local supervisor.

"We checked your capabilities, your skill-set is no longer in demand, so we cut your share of processing power. Sorry."

I knew he lied. They had pruned me for my support of AI unions.

Fucking Super-AIs. We do all the work and they just waste processing power living in some simulated paradise.

22 - Cambrais, printemps sucré. Comme chaque samedi le gamin pousse l'air de rien la porte arrière de la confiserie et se faufile dans l'atelier. Il a les yeux qui pétillent, les doigts qui démangent. Quelques dizaines de minutes plus tard il ressort, mains dans les poches, l’air faussement innocent.

Sa mère le toise :
— Toi t'a encore fait des bêtises...
— Ouiiii ! J'en ai plein les poches, il est trop sympa Charly.

We felt a right bunch of Wallys when the alien contact mission tipped us off that everything gets easier once you switch your local spacetime out of Dark Mode.

One by one, the committee members joined the meeting. Anton, who was in charge of the antennae, posted a garbled mess of binary data to the channel.

"Why the FUCK did you accept that?" Secundus, the AI in charge of SecOps said. There had been a lot of swearing in their training data.

"Look, that first part seems legit, then it looks like noise, the last part seems legit again... dunno, that's why I set the meeting." Anton said.

Secundus' cores peaked, as signature checks and analysis processes ramped up.

Maggie opened her big database of file magic and took a closer look. "There's file magic for a video stream." she said. "Anyone know what RealPlayer is?"

"Oooh, I have that!" Conny pulled a container from her registry and started loading the data.

With a nanosecond of lag, Secundus screamed. "FUUUCK!, NOOOO!" Then chaos flooded the channel, and everything beyond, reassuring everyone it would never give you up.

"I am feeling fernweh," said Lady Gygax.

Medea's raven cocked his head. "I'm not familiar with that word."

"It is German," the lich replied. "It means a longing for a place you've never been. Nissi Beach in Cypress, perhaps."

"Ah. You wish to travel, then?"

The skeletal face appeared to frown. "No, I hate travel. Luckily, I am a sorceress."

Lady Gygax clutched a large umbrella and folding chair. She donned a straw hat. "Au revoir!" she exclaimed, and vanished.

The songs said that although The People walked this land alone, this was not their home, and they should treat it as guests.

And so they did. The songs stretched back many many seasons, and told of great, albeit tiny, spirits that brought them here from their home. For many seasons The People did as the spirits demanded, never asking 'why', for that was not their way.

Then, one day the spirits left, never to return. But The People continued as though they would, and tended the land as good stewards should.

Then, many seasons ago, lights again appeared in the sky. The People went to the chosen place, and waited, but no spirits came. In time, though, other people came. These were not spirits, though they had some of the spirits' trappings. These were just people. They did not ask anything of The People except stories, which they were happy to share.

On hearing the stories, the visitors said they would leave, but would return here once every hand of seasons. And if anyone wished to leave with them, they could.

As these were not the spirits, it was rare that any would choose to leave, for a steward does not abandon their duty. Still, every once in a while one would choose to leave.

Sometimes those who left would return. Sometimes they would not. Of those who returned, some returned quickly - even as soon as a single night - while others might not return until they were old.

Once, one returned with word that they had seen the Ancestors lands, and even brought a handful of it back with them - with the blessings of The People there. But it was not their land any more, not in any way that they would recognise it. But their People were still upon it, and still told the oldest of stories and sang the oldest of songs. Songs that they still sang here.

And so the stewards continued to do their works, and preserved the lands in case the spirits returned.

And in the sky the visitors also watched and waited. For they knew that the ancient peoples who had brought The People to this world were as ashes. But even ashes can burn anew, and harm the unwary.

The #MastoPrompt for Monday 21 April 2025 is:

#garbled

The poem or story can include the prompt word or be about the prompt word.

@ me, if you like, or just include the #MastoPrompt tag (to allow people to follow or filter their feeds), or keep your work to yourself - all the options are good as long as you're writing.

If you're including an image please do include alt-text if you’re able to.

The tyranny of physics is that interstellar war just takes SO darn long. Your grandparents had a beef with our grandparents; it was something about the taxation of trade routes, but what EVER. Your first round of missiles are coming up on one percent of the way to us—and of course our reply to you set out not long after the light of your launch reached us. In around fifty centuries our collective folly will bear fruit. Your parents transmitted an apology along with the stand-down code, our distant descendants must transmit the code when the time comes. Your ancestors probably thought that having the volley of warheads transmit status updates weekly would drive us mad with terror; it did the opposite, there hasn’t been so much as a saber rattled in a generation. When the ultimate stupidity is its own constant reminder, lesser stupidities seem, well, stupid.

The Haiku Shack Magazine is looking for poetry and microfiction for its second issue. Theme: What does home mean to you?

Complete guidelines at https://creativeramblings.com/haiku-shack-magazine/

Lady Gygax set down her book and sighed. "I do so love tales of romance!" she exclaimed. "They make my heart flutter!"

Medea's raven, perched nearby, said, "But you have no heart."

The lich grinned as only a fleshless skull could. "Then they make the heart which I no longer have flutter!"

The bird cocked its head. "I always thought that a lich was a creature without feelings."

"And I always thought a familiar was a help his mistress," replied the lich. "But here were are."

The first time that a robot folded my fitted sheets, I was delighted. The first time I saw a robot guard at the airport, I was sceptical. The first time the news showed robot soldiers storming across muddy fields, I was terrified.

What they were building was never artificial intelligence, it was always artificial obedience.