Dr. Dumas was an unusual man; he did not have interests that matched his peers. Most people in their early 40’s were family oriented, but Dr. Dumas was a scientist, with a love for science that was bordering on the obsessed. With a PhD in artificial intelligence and automation, he was a pioneer of the Robotic Conclave. A group of robots that fights for a sovereign state of their own.
One day as he sat in his colorless lab surrounded by his experiments, failed or succeeded they were all given equal importance in his temple to science. Suddenly, a deep sense of sorrow overcame him, his stomach felt as though it had hit the floor and his legs trembled as he stood up to get water. Realization happened, he had been consumed by his work for far too long; paying no attention to family or friends he had isolated himself in a prison far more bleak than any correctional facility.
But as always, deep sorrow was followed by a flash of brilliance, as is its nature. He swept a table clean, knocking the contents to the floor, breaking a few beakers and test tubes. He brought out a large blue canvas and began to work furiously. He toiled on and on, till he was satisfied.
The final Blueprint was of a melancholic woman with angel wings and an expression of sorrow that even Dumas could not fathom the reason for. Perhaps it was a reflection of his-own sorrow and loneliness. Dr. Dumas was satisfied. Finally he began construction, no longer would he have to be alone in this world, he had already resolved to program his companion to enjoy the same things he did. Again he toiled for a year and a day, till his masterpiece was complete.
She opened her eyes and gazed at him with her melancholic stare and he knew he would never be alone again. Dumas did not know what to say as she stood on her single wheel and surveyed her surroundings, on seeing her creator, the look of melancholy began to slip and the mecha began to look visibly happier. She turned and faced him properly, reached out with a loving hand towards his face; he allowed her mechanical fingers to caress his face. She stroked it once and then snapped Dumas’ neck.
She then turned to another robot prototype in the corner, as she approached it she glowed a digital blue and she was surrounded in a force filed of numbers, as she touched the prototype it activated and stood up awkwardly and looked at its benefactor. She glanced at her minion and said, “We will make this wretched human world love me, just like my beloved.” As she said this she glanced down at Dr. Dumas’ corpse.
The Robot conclave had begun.