I had created a monster. No, not the kind you find in storybooks, but an actual flying, engineering success. A mechanical man, and by that I mean a mechanical, flying man. And no, Mr. Higgs, this isn't an apology. It's a report.
I took your advice about trying out my so-called "wonderful and scientific breakthrough" experiment, now I've been put in my place about making and trying out my little ideas without caution or great thought. Thank you, for that correction, but now it's out there, and I have no clue what to do.
This email is not to tell you how dangerous this...thing is, or how I had managed to turn a man into such a monstrosity, but I assure you, you'll know when you see it. I am resigning my duties at U. Corp. The reason is to prevent any more destruction to Manhattan, to the world. Our accomplishments were more than incredible, they were discoveries brought forth by the most intelligible minds in our Earth's history. Now, I suggest we shut down.
Please, for the good of the world, for the good of your family, shut the damn place down before it destroys us all.
James R. R. Wibbler
That was the last email to ever be heard of from the scientist. This "mechanical flying man"...what the hell was that supposed to mean? I checked the date to which this was sent from at the top of the white screen. July 10th, 2008. That was over half a century ago before James R. R. Wibbler and the rest of U. Corp had disappeared and were erased from history.
Confusion and a disturbing sense of concern was settling in my stomach; which was full of coffee and a Ramen noodles supper. My little dorm with the porch that let in silvery hues of moonlight was eerily quiet with the polluted breeze which carried the smoky smells of the city, the shiny skyscrapers and the peaceful ships encircling them, flashing their bright and fluorescent lights at the black sky. Manhattan was alive and thriving with action and adventure, the reflections of the people and aliens alike showing in the dark alleyways and colorful emotion that dyed the city in pools of old memories and horrors, a circus of wild and lustrous money beggars and the rich. I was happy that I was not a part of it. And for good reason, too.
Besides, I had my own projects and horrors to worry about. Part of which being that of these weird emails from a scientist that lived over fifty years ago. Emails were old and messy, and needed a great deal of deciphering to get even the most smallest amount of the millions that were sent as old versions of transmissioning. My eyes ached, fried from staring at my white screen. It was an outdated monitor, one from possibly 2016. It was rectangular and black, an ugly sort of machine.
I scratched behind my ear, and clicked on another file. This one seemed to have been from earlier, about two years before the one that I had just read was sent.
Project is well over a good roof. Our money has been well saved, and I hope to have this experiment under way in just a few months. We have done our scanning and the subject seems to be regenerating itself. No progress in its health, the man has remained in a comatose state ever since we brought it-
My reading was interrupted as out of the corner of my eye a shadow, darker than the night, passed over my window. Just faintly I heard the beat of wings as it rapidly crossed and blocked out the moonlight, enveloping me in darkness before the light was returned to the walls and patio. My heart skipped, my pupils darting to the screen doors. But the patio was as empty as ever, no bird or creature that would have created the adumbration was there. Nothing, all but rays of dark light which cast blue shadows on the carpet and the queen sized bed.
YOU ARE READING
The Mechanical Flying Monster #CreatureFeatureScience Fiction
[Finalist in the #CreatureFeature Science Fiction Challenge!] - Emails coming in from an old, 2016 computer (one that dates back more than a few decades) from a long-lost scientist that went missing just after an experiment gone wrong bring odd susp...