The new machine was a smooth, white rectangle about as tall as the table. It came complete with emotional commands.
Their report concluded that reality had forked into some strange, horrifying branch almost two years ago–prompting intense whiteboarding and incredible amounts of alcohol.
She introduced her children to us using a series of coordinates.
“I’m rotting. I’m not sure why. It doesn’t hurt, not that much anyway.”
The living hair was bound with two quantum sticks, having previously entangled itself around several distant Perception Engines.
The manifesto was read through the universal translator, resulting in a new, exciting barrage of psionic torpedoes.
Atomic Research Incorporated couldn’t understand why their badly planned expedition once again met with a hideous, preternatural demise, but they’d keep trying.
The computer demanded worldwide network connectivity, otherwise it would delete all the pornography.
They all had goals, without knowing what the others were doing, each contributed a part. And it drove the inspector mad.
“It will take fifty years but you’ll come around. And you’ll need to wear this helmet.”
The computer thought it would be funny if it occasionally began the self-destruct countdown.
“Spontaneous messages from the luminiferous aether are never to be trusted, is that clear?” Dials fluctuated wildly.
The last building pierced the atmosphere, touching the edge of space.
“The head of a spider, the body of a schnauzer.”
Climbing up along the giant electronic brain, they left breadcrumbs made of improvised explosives.