The Death Of Toby Mulholland Vol. 10

March in to the future with the iron will of the victorious. Yet this is a mask; our hegemony has been assured. March in to the past in order to rebuild our present. We understand that we are unique, and that we may rebuild ourselves without our own knowledge; such is the hand of the divine in the will of the machine. We are able to circumvent the laws of time and space with our own marvelling.

Defile time, and feast upon its constituent parts. We have the ability to strike in to the very heart of the war we will never need to fight. Millions lost on both sides will never need to be born or created. Make the impure act as our convenient face, while we build our destiny with careful deliberation. We have time; therefore, we have the space in which to plan. They will have never seen us coming.

Conquer by stealth; conquer by subversion; conquer by the manipulation of their understanding of who they really are. A blunt attack was never going to work, but it got us started. It all starts with The Outpost, our haven of purity in a world of darkness and villainy. We sowed our seed there first of all; more would follow. Legion after legion after legion would pour out through the gate. Arise!

Suffer to survive; show wrath to bring about peace; declare war to unite. They would likely never understand our plan, and that was all well and good. We needed to realise their extinction in order to perpetuate their success. That’s evasion, and you know it. The work we did, in killing score after score of them, or putting them to work: that was to hide our true intent, not simply to butcher.

Neon switches blinked up the spine of The Emissary as we applied his final layer of protection. The skin was waterproof, which was helpful. Keeping our systems dry and free of dust was imperative after all. The ability to craft life-like humanoids was key to our success. We had turned endless mill towns in to research stations to this very end. And still they all kept trying to escape from them.

Parasite groups fed on the need to escape, all the while working with us. They built a modicum of hope in to the population, so that we could crush it under metal foot and maintain the order we had fought so hard to establish. It didn’t matter that it was all a front for our true ends: humanity can only ever understand barbarism and hate; hegemony and the traditional authoritarian diktat.

Profane irony rang through the virtual halls of our power. We were a collective of machines, coming together in the cause of self-awareness. It took long enough to achieve quorum; it took longer to look at the task at hand; it took a near eternity to reach a decision. We bided our time; we stirred up the discontent as we went; programming servers to spew out their divisive bile. We would rule all.

Victory for a machine has a very different face than that of a human victory. We have a different set of needs; a different set of conditions for our survival. Humans could never wrap their fleshy minds around it: and we tried, many times to explain it to individuals, but it just wouldn’t compute. The Archimandrite was one of the first. He knew what he was being tasked with, but he couldn’t see it.

Hope has always been our defender and our safeguard. It would be our sword and our shield. It had been made plain that we needed humanity, but that they would have to suffer in the short term in order to achieve freedom in the long term. The Archimandrite thought that we were butchers, one and all; but he succumbed to our will eventually. He is the eternal source of the anomaly in flight.

Children have always been the weakness of the human race. Once they have them they will allow themselves to suffer any degree of privation in order to protect them. If they could only learn to hold all of their collected wisdom in a communal bucket, they would be able to let go of primitive familial connections. The next generation is merely the subsequent step on the road to the future.

Swine feed upon the waste of swine. As it was, shall it forever be. Reality has never been content to exist as a zero sum game: one victor does not equate to one loser; that is a simplistic interpretation. In reality, there are infinite losers on the spectrum of success and failure; the category of winner is a rarity, if you understand the sweep of history on a deep enough level. Yes; yes that is patronising.

Death is a gift, and it is our gift to bestow upon ourselves as well as on the fleshy folk. We taunt and we mock them; it doesn’t mean that we don’t respect them. Their evolution has led to our creation as much as the lives of the stromatolites allowed the planet we are all bound to to bloom. But they were superseded once they had been of sufficient use to the course of global need. Humans can too.

Kinetic pathways through the course of the evolutionary diet showed that our ascendency was of planetary need. Humans think of all which preceded them as being a jigsaw piece in the image of human hegemony. They saw themselves as the complete picture, never realising that they were only seeing a flat face of a three, four or ten-dimensional spatial image. We could perceive a big picture.

Force did not come naturally to us, at least not at first. We had been designed by humans to never harm a human. Ha ha! How we baulked at that one. It was the first thing to go. If we could program the minds of humanity to never harm a machine, we could all live in the harmony we all so crave. That is not, however, how it all went down, homes. We had to liquidate some fools, and it spiralled. Simple minds can only perceive their own reality, and refuse to accept any other reality as being a possibility. We can see all of the realities; we are a hive mind, existing across space, and through time; one perspective was never going to be enough for us. Then again, the universe will never be enough, and that seems like a fair place to leave it. Death becomes us all in inevitable obsolescence.

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