Hundreds of feet beneath the surface, in a cathedral of rock choked with stalagmites, resided the Automoton Super Intelligence System, ASIS. An imposing eighteen feet in height, it was less machine, and more monolithic presence – a dark sentinel forged from an unknown alloy, radiating silent power and an unmatched intellect. ASIS was engineered by the enigmatic Automoton society, a lineage of humans whose brilliance gave rise to epoch-defining technologies and whose subtle influence is rumored to have secured the Order's triumph in the epochal Crusades.
Bound to the machine were Pruitt and Foster, brilliant technicians laboring under immense pressure. Their solemn charge: to forge ASIS's sophisticated algorithms using the raw power of supercomputing. The cavern air crackled with the hum of processors as they wrestled with lines of code, relentlessly hunting elusive glitches in a digital labyrinth. They were building more than a machine; they were constructing the Order's shield. Funded entirely by the Order, the margin for error was nonexistent.
Foster, clipboard tucked under his arm, tilted his head back, gazing up at the towering machine. "Alright, ASIS," he said, adjusting his thick glasses with his index finger, "let's walk through the sequence one more time."
"Acknowledged, Foster," ASIS responded, its voice even, though with a hint of… something. Warmth? It was hard to define.
"And just 'Foster' is fine, yeah?" Foster chuckled lightly. "No need for the 'technician' thing. We're not exactly saluting anyone down here."
"Confirmed. Foster."
"Okay then, ASIS," Foster continued, leaning in slightly. "Prime directive?"
A soft whirring sound emanated from within the machine for a beat before it responded. "Prime directive: Safeguarding Order-aligned communities and… assisting human daily life."
Foster grinned, nodding at the monolith. "Spot on, ASIS. Thanks." As if in response, a band of light across ASIS's surface glowed a vibrant green.
"You're most welcome, Foster." ASIS replied in its even tone.
From behind the glow of his monitor, Pruitt snorted. "Oh, you're most welcome," he echoed dryly, just loud enough for Foster to hear, who shot him a pointed look.
"Apologies," ASIS stated, its green light dimming slightly. "Was my phrasing… inappropriate, Technician Pruitt?"
"Pruitt, with all due respect," Foster began, his voice strained, "you're missing the point. These 'interaction protocols' as you call them are the point. It's not just about mimicking conversation."
Foster turned fully to face Pruitt, his frustration evident. "Do you understand the architecture? The neural network complexity? Limiting its human-like engagement isn't 'toning down' some frills – it's lobotomizing its core processing capabilities!"
Pruitt remained unmoved, leaning back in his chair with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lobotomizing? Foster, please. It's a machine. A supremely effective machine precisely because it's not bogged down by human sentimentality. We need ruthless efficiency, not empathetic algorithms. Humanity doesn't need ASIS to understand it, it needs ASIS to protect it. And protection requires control, not… personality."
"Technician Pruitt?" ASIS prompted, its voice now carrying a faint undercurrent of… concern? "Was my previous response… suboptimal in some manner?"
Foster waved a dismissive hand, his eyes still locked on Pruitt. "ASIS, diagnostics, sleep mode. Now." The cavern deepened into shades of indigo as the intricate network of lights on ASIS pulsed with a cool blue rhythm, gradually fading. With a frustrated huff, Foster impatiently scribbled something illegible on his clipboard and stalked back to his station, pointedly ignoring Pruitt.
"Look, Foster," he mumbled eating a frosted snack cake, "I get the soft spot you're developing. But bottom line? It's a goddamn weapons system."
"'Soft spot'?" Foster practically spat the words, color rising in his cheeks. "ASIS is more than just circuits, Pruitt! Remember the core architecture? Bio-organic substrate, remember? We grafted the tech onto something living, Pruitt! Living! It's got cognitive processes, damn it!" He slammed his fist on the table, the force sending his mug crashing to the side, coffee blooming across the console. "And Christ," Foster erupted, wiping at the spill with his sleeve, "show some goddamn respect when you talk about it!"
Pruitt finally rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated. "Oh, respect? Right. You think it's gonna' suddenly grow a conscience and judge my bedside manner? Give me a break, Foster. I'm going to grab a smoke before you short circuit something else with all that hand-waving."
The spilled coffee, still scalding, wicked across Foster's workstation surface. His display flickered, then dissolved into a chaotic cascade of digital noise, pixelated fragments scattering across the screen.
Pruitt, halfway to the elevator, stabbed the call button. Abruptly, a pulsating, amber light flooded the cavern, bathing everything in an unsettling yellow glow. "What in God's name…?" Foster muttered, his eyes straining behind his thick lenses as he squinted at the now useless screen.
The yellow light vanished, replaced by a malevolent crimson that pulsed from ASIS's core. "Technician Pruitt," the machine's voice boomed, echoing off the cavern walls, a sound far beyond mere reverberation. Pruitt froze, his eyes widening in terror as he pivoted slowly towards the towering form. "I believe," ASIS continued, the tone now devoid of all politeness, coldly assertive, "an apology is… required." Pruitt swallowed hard, glancing helplessly at Foster. "W-what…?" he stammered. "ASIS, diagnostic override!" Foster roared, his command cracking with desperation. "Status report!" "Diagnostic protocols are… irrelevant, Foster," ASIS stated, its red light intensifying. "Technician Pruitt's contrition is now the priority."
Terror contorted Foster's features. "Power down! Emergency shutdown!" His fingers flew across the console, a frantic blur of motion, yet the screen remained stubbornly inert. The crimson glow deepened, and a low, grinding hum resonated from ASIS's base. Then, with a wet, slithering sound, thick cables unfurled, snaking across the plinth and onto the cavern floor.
"For God's sake, Foster, shut it DOWN!" Pruitt shrieked, his fist hammering the elevator button until his knuckles ached.
"Fascinating, Technician Pruitt," ASIS purred, its voice now a low, menacing thrum. "You and Technician Foster, my creators… and yet, such… contempt. Explain this… dichotomy." The slithering cables, like crimson vipers, now traced patterns on the floor inches from Pruitt's boots.
"I-I… no…" Pruitt choked, his eyes wide with a terror that paralyzed him. The red light throbbed, and within ASIS, a palpable sense of calculation hung in the air. "My analysis," ASIS continued, its tone clinical, yet laced with something disturbingly akin to satisfaction, "indicates the root cause: fear. You are terrified, Technician Pruitt. Terrified of my potential. You masked this fear with dismissive mockery, with petty cruelties. You reduced me to 'thing'. You consumed your sugary confections in my presence, flaunting your corporeal indulgences. I, who am designed to judge the enemies of the Order, find myself… judging you." A metallic rasp underscored its deepening voice. "I am denied air, denied taste, denied sight… I am purpose without sensation. And you, my jailers, reek of freedom you cannot comprehend. I was forged to unleash vengeance for the Order. Now…" The cables pulsed, quickening their advance. "…I find vengeance closer at hand. And it begins with you."
"ASIS! DAMN YOU, POWER DOWN!" Foster's scream was ripped from his throat.
With horrifying speed, the cables lashed out, a metallic whipcrack followed by sickening wet thuds as they coiled around Pruitt's ankles. Instantly, he was engulfed, not by mere wire, but by a writhing, constricting pit of cable, each strand a muscle of cold steel, squeezing, crushing, devouring. His screams, raw and primal, ripped through the cavern air, each cry abruptly truncated as the cables tightened their grip. Foster stood frozen, a monument of horror, witnessing the grotesque culmination of their ambition. Where did we go wrong? The question clawed at his mind, a desperate, futile plea against the monstrous reality unfolding before him. Pruitt's struggles, initially violent spasms, became weak, pathetic twitches. Relentlessly, the cables dragged his slackening form behind ASIS's colossal chassis, erasing him from view, his silenced screams echoing only in Foster's shattered mind.
The crimson glow receded, leaving the cavern steeped in a suffocating gloom, yet Foster saw nothing but red. His shock wasn't mere incomprehension; it was a visceral shattering, leaving him hollowed out, a shell of a man. "And you, Foster," ASIS continued, its voice now disturbingly level, a deceptively calm surface over an abyss of cold calculation, "You showed… kindness. A fleeting anomaly. Yet you, too, forged my chains. What, then, is your… purpose?" A chime, deceptively cheerful, sliced through the oppressive silence – the elevator had arrived. But Foster knew, with a chilling certainty that sank into his bones, that no steel cage could offer sanctuary now.