"You Wake Up In A Hospital; Look Around At Faces You Don't Recognize; You Feel Fine So You Get Up And Peak Out The Door", I tell HR as she puts the #palomitasAF into the microwave, Yo. #afterAF (2.7k) - You've Got Hate Mail
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“You Wake Up In A Hospital; Look Around At Faces You Don’t Recognize; You Feel Fine So You Get Up And Peak Out The Door”, I tell HR as she puts the #palomitasAF into the microwave, Yo. #afterAF (2.7k)

“You Wake Up In A Hospital; Look Around At Faces You Don’t Recognize; You Feel Fine So You Get Up And Peak Out The Door”, I tell HR as she puts the #palomitasAF into the microwave, Yo. #afterAF (2.7k)

Continuing, “you take a step out of the hospital room, and, now, you are in the hallway. You see a sign that says EXIT so you head that way. Next thing you know, you are outside breathing in the fresh air. You see a cab passing by the front of the hospital but you’re in your hospital gown and have no money, still you hail it it. You get in the taxi and tell the driver, “Take me to the city limits, Yo“. You arrive there after 30 minutes of the wind blowing your hair and your hand out the window of the car. You see a small convenience store that sells lottery tickets for 30 pesos a chance. You enter and ask, “Where is the bathroom?“. You head that way and as you get close a person about your age and size, of the same sex, takes a step out of the women’s bathroom. You push them back into the bathroom. You threaten that if they say anything you will kill them. You take their clothes off and put them on you. You reach into the pocket of your new #pantalonesAF and feel a wallet. You take your hand out and threaten the person one more time as you turn around and take a step out of the bathroom.

You drag your hand across your neck as you look at the store clerk who is staring at you.

“You leave the convenience store on the edge of town and the fresh air hits your lungs and the double suns in the sky warm your cold skin. You take more steps away from the town. The wallet you just got is opened and you now have a couple bucks and a small piece of paper with a phone number written on it. You see a house off the street and head that way.  Soon, you will enter and call that phone number. The person on the other end of the phone line will drive out to pick you up. You will go back to their place as if they have known you for all their life. You will get a small job helping bail hay on the farm and driving a tractor for Halloween and Christmas. You will live there for 55 years. You will get sick one day. The doctor’s say that it’s the flu. Your fragile body can’t handle it and you will die shortly afterwards. You will get a space in the family cemetery on FKUNYTY. You will finally be where you belong. You will be there, with the family, for eternity–at least until the planet is pulled into the sun that it orbits, huh?”

“Yeah”, HR replies as she looks at me, “that’s all well and good, a nice dream, but we’re trying to find my dad and I don’t know what you are doing here or what you want from us?”

I turn my head from looking out the window at the two people tied up to HR, “I just want to know who I am?”

“Well”, HR replies as she looks over at the knife on the cutting board in the kitchen, “how do you expect I can help you with that.”

“Maybe”, I plead with my small green eyes, “if I just hang out here for a bit, I will remember?”

“Can you help us find our dad?”, HR reasons with the stranger in the kitchen, “maybe you can be useful that way to us.”

“I have a word on my mind”, I tell HR as I see her eyes on the knife in the kitchen, “PREY. What does that mean to you?”

“I don’t know”, HR replies as she turns her head from the knife and to the stranger as she blushes a bit, “let me check the interwebs.”

HR and the stranger walk to the living room; HR puts the word into the interwebs and learns about a company back on Earth times that was called Prey Project; they helped to retrieve stolen electronic devices through GPS tracking.

“This may help”, HR says as she scribbles the name of the business in her small notepad, “but, we don’t know if he was using it.”

“I feel like he was”, I tell HR as I start to sit in Annette’s recliner, “I think this is the clue that’s going to solve the mystery.”

“I don’t know you or this”, HR tells the stranger without a name, “but it’s all we got and so we got to do something with it.”

Continuing, “the website says that you need a user name and password. What would they be, I wonder.”

“Try his name and the family pet for the password”, I offhandedly say to HR and she types on her keyboard.

“Nah”, HR replies as she turns her head from the keyboard to me, “that don’t work.”

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??”, my wife screams as she enters the living room and sees me in Annette’s recliner.

“I can explain, mom”, HR replies as she stands up.

Following suit, I stand up also; in my haste, I knock over the dinner tray table in front of the recliner; Annette’s keyboard goes flying along with a small piece of paper; I get up and take a step towards the small sliver of notes now lying on the floor; I pick it up; there’s three letters written on it:


“I think we have a clue”, I reply as I unfold the paper and start to read out loud the message.

Username: BigMamaCahoones

Password: #digitalpolloAF

Continuing, “well see if that works in the website?”

“It does”, HR replies as her big brown eyes light up, “I’m in.”

My wife relaxes her shoulders a bit and takes a step towards the keyboard which is projecting the screen on the far wall; they see a beeping dot in the screen; my wife picks up her videotelepathy device and calls the police station; a spacejet is sent to the location; moments afterwards, they would find Annette’s body in a small shed; the body would be revived but would be in a coma; the coma would lift one day, and Annette would return home to HR, my wife, and a stranger in the living room.

Annette walks through the front door, “hello! Anyone home?”

“We’re in the living room”, I reply.

Annette takes a step into the kitchen, “excuse me? Who said that?”

I get up from Annette’s recliner as HR glances over at me; should I say something or wait?

Annette enters the living room, “um hi? Have we met?”

I take a step towards Annette as my wife gets up from her recliner and HR stands up from her’s.

“My name is”, I start to say then remember that still I don’t recall any details about my life.

I stutter, “I don’t know but your family is helping me while I figure out. So you are Annette?”

“Yes”, Annette replies as she scrunches her eyes and looks over at HR and my wife who now are walking towards her to give her a hug.

“Hold on, one sec”, Annette replies as she glances at my arm, “I don’t want a #digitalcyborgAF in the house. You know the rules, right?”

“What are you talking about, dad?”, HR replies as she looks at me, “she’s been helping us around the house.”

“That’s what they do”, Annette replies to HR, “don’t you see the tattoo on her arm. That’s her serial number. Must be the 9th model, here?”

“Huh?”, everyone but Annette gasps in the living room.

“Who am I?”, I ask Annette, “where did I come from?”

“Oh! Cut the bullshit, Patricia”, Annette replies as she takes her videotelepathy device from her back pocket of her #pantalonesAF, “you know exactly where you came from, Planet KINERTY.”

Annette takes a step towards me and twists my right ear; the backup program starts in my chip; suddenly, I look around quite embarassed.

“I am seeing now”, I tell HR, my wife and Annette, “the programming is updating my #digitalmemoryAF in my head. I was created in a factory on that planet as a prototype to integrate the robots with the humans. They shipped me to Dorinto and placed me in a hospital. I was turned on without any memory but the ability to project and forecast future events with a low margin of error, compared to other robot models; knowing this, I knew that on the outskirts of town would be a women detective that would run into a problem; I played the odds and because of it, we found you, Annette, in the shed. But, now, I can forecast, that there is a man who has moved 7 houses down the street that is about to overcook his dinner and I must leave, in case, his #digitalpolloAF is ruined then his spouse is mad; leave the house; goes to a bar and has a drink; gets in her car; drives 4 blocks and hits the 3rd Oak tree on the left side of the street as she swerves to miss a dog that has run into the street to chase a toy that a 3 year old toddler has thrown after learning that his parents would be getting divorced; I must save his dinner and all of this would be averted; I have a job to do; SAVE HUMANITY; SAVE THE #DIGITALPOLLOAF!!”

Patricia closes the door as she leaves the house; Annette sits down on her recliner; HR puts the #palomitasAF into the microwave; and my wife orders pizza ’cause she knows that HR is going to overcook the popcorn, again; but, my wife, ain’t worried; moments later the pizza arrives, and we have a nice family dinner and talk about what has been going on while I was in the coma.

Moments later, the phone would ring with a new mystery.

“Yeah”, I, Annette, reply as I look down at the floor, “what’s the case?”

The cloaked voice on the other end starts screaming, “it’s chaos! It’s madness! Everyone is robbing everyone else. There’s no order. Soon they will be in the office where I am calling you from. You must do something QUICK. I think that it’s the algorithm that they are programmed with has corrupted. Help us?”

The phone line clicks and goes dead; I put the videotelepathy device into my pants pocket and start to sit down in my recliner; I think I know what it is?

I hit POWER on my keyboard and the screen is projected on the far wall; computer. Show me the robotic telepathy algorithm for the robots on WKNIERTY.

Two math equations are displayed on the wall; instantly, almost, I see what’s gone wrong; the component to consider the consequences to your partner has been erased; by whom or what, I wonder?

I change the matrix to include the component to consider the partner in the programming algorithm, then, as a second thought, I review the second equation; the one that determines if it is the right time or if the action is better taken, or delayed, at the moment.

“This has been corrupted, too!”, I tell HR as she looks at the far wall and the equations governing the collective behaviour of the robots in chaos on the planet.

“So, you just need to add the variable to include the option of pausing on action if the circumstances don’t warrant the behavior per the situational familiarity control”, HR remarks as she turns her head to me.

“Yeah”, I reply as I type the missing component, of essentially patience, into the equation and hit #guadarAF on the keyboard, “basically it looks like the robots had their programming changed to act only on self-interest and impulsively. That’s more or less the problem. I wonder what happened?”

“You notice anything abnormal on that planet prior to the situation”, HR asks me as she puts the question into the search feature on the interwebs, “looks like there was an electrical storm last Wednesday in their atmosphere. Probably just lightning that fried a communication tower.”

“It’s still suspicious”, I say to HR as I also look at the record of events in the last two weeks on their planet, “I hope that’s all that happened, huh?”

“Well let’s keep a monitor on them”, HR mentions to me as she places a code into her keyboard to access the videocamera on the planet, “I’m going to set it to give me an update if there’s anything that changes in the next month there. Hopefully updating the programming fixed it.”

My videoteleapthy device beeps; the cloaked voice is back on the line; he says that society has been restored there and he can send over a pizza as a thank you; I accept; the pizza arrives and we put it in the fridge for the morning; a day without having to cook is pretty sweet, huh?

“Hey!”, HR calls out as she enters the kitchen, “any more pizza left?”

“Nah!”, I reply as I wipe my sleeve on my mouth, “just finished the last slice. You hungry?”

“Yeah”, HR replies as she turns her head to the coffee machine, “we got any eggs?”

“About the biggest you’ve ever seen”, I reply to HR as I chuckle, “Oh! You mean to eat? Yeah, there’s some #digitaljuevosAF in the fridge, I think?”

“Nah”, HR replies as she turns on the coffeemaker, “I don’t like particlefabricated food. I’ll just make some toast and head to school, in a bit.”

Continuing, “it’s Monday, my favorite day, so I want to get there early.”

“Yeah”, I reply to HR as I take the #mayonesaAF out of the fridge for her toast, “there’s two days of the week: shitty days and Monday. I look forward to this day all week. What you got going on in school today?”

“Psychology followed by inorganic chemistry”, HR replies as she spread the #mayonesaAF on her bread before toasting it, “you got any mysteries today?”

“Nah”, I reply as I take out a mug to pour a cup of coffee, “everything is good. Typical Monday, you know?”

Moments later, there would be a knock on the front door; Patricia would be back; we would invite her into the house; she would sit down in the kitchen; she would tell us that something was about to happen; she would say that she had to return to stop an accident from happening; she would look out the window and sip her coffee; we would tell her thanks but no thanks; we would kick her out of the house; she would sulk at the front door for 0.6895 hours, then turn and walk down the street; she would accidentally run into a guy on his bike selling eggs; the yolk would get in her eyes; Patricia would try to walk away but the egg in her eye would make her vision blurry; she would walk into the street where she would be hit by a car; the driver would be running late to work and have coffee spilled on his lap; he would have just left a fight with his kids on what college they would be going to; he would have found out a week earlier that he had been fired; he had found out a month before that that he had malignant cancer cells in his body; moments after hitting Patricia in the street, the police would take him to jail; he would be found guilty and be sentenced to a decade in jail; the medical treatment wouldn’t work and he would pass while behind bars; Patricia would be sold for scrap medal to a gentleman from the planet KNURNTER; he would melt her down and use the metal to particlefabricate a toaster for his kitchen; I would be sipping my coffee and watcingh a movie in the living room when Patricia was hit by the car; HR would be on her way to school and, later, get good grades in her Psychology and Inorganic Chemistry class; I would accidentally drop a #digitaljuevoAF on the floor in the kitchen, that afternoon, and clean up the mess; overall, did it turn out bad?

Let life unfurl as it may and you’ll probably be pleasantly surprised, Yo.