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Rated: ASR · Other · Technology · #1979866
Based on prompt: Include words "That's not what I said"
My eyes frantically scanned the barren room.
--That’s not what I said.
There was a mechanical buzzing behind the wall.
--That is what I heard, Mortal 130. Came the reply, a mixture of recorded phrases and strung letters. There was a click as the mechanism waited for my reply.
I reached a quivering hand forward, stroking the wall tentatively. It warmed under me touch; I tumbled backwards. Again, everywhere I made contact with the wall, it heated. Panic ravaged my veins, burning my chest. My feet carried me to the center of the cell once more.
--Are you comfortable, Mortal 130. No tone inflection. It was a sentence. I gasped a breath, falling to my knees.
--That’s not what I said. The whispered reply fell from my lips.
There was a pause, machinery whirred.
--That is what I heard, Mortal 130. I heard a creaking behind me. Shuffling around to face where I thought the noise had come from, I noticed that one of the corners had folded in. A zephyr filled with dust filled my mouth; I choked.
--Why do you keep calling me that? I asked. More buzzing and clicks, louder, I thought. The mechanism seemed to be working harder.
--Calling you what, Mortal 130.
Another creaking, and a crunch. My knees were aching from the hard floor, but I scooted around to face the sound again. The wall had collapsed once more.
--Mortal 130. I have a name.
The whirrs partnered the familiar creaking now. I didn’t see so much as feel the wall around me shrinking.
--You are Mortal 130. No name but Mortal 130.
I didn’t get a chance to speak before there was another crunch in the final remaining original corner.
--I did nothing wrong.
Now the machinery sounded as frantic as my heartbeat felt. Blood no longer coursed through my cardiovascular system; I was convinced it was now liquid fear.
--You have no name, Mortal 130. You are here for treason, Mortal 130.
More crumbling. The walls were definitely contracting.
--Then why Mortal 130?
No reply.
--That’s not what I said.
No reply. More energetic buzzes and clanks.
--I didn’t do anything wrong.
Something touched the back of my foot. I scrambled to my feet, only to find that the room had retracted to within inches of my body.
--What does it mean?
I felt my skin starting to sear as more and more of the container brushed it. My esophagus closed, resembling my prison. My diaphragm spasmed, seeking oxygen.
--My system tracks the number of prisoners I contain, Mortal 130.
The heat built into pressure. My arms crossed in front of me as the walls crept impossibly closer. Lights flashed in my vision, and my tongue rebelled against all coherent words.
--Mortal 130, report current status.
--Mortal 130, report current status.
Pain… nothing.
--Mortal 130, report current status.
--Mortal 130, updated status: terminated.
--I heard something suspicious, Mortal 131.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1979866-Mortal