Artificial Intelligence by Orphan
Summary:

Michael is 30 years old. He weighs 160 pounds. He is 5 feet, 11 inches tall. He has black hair. His love is real. But he is not.


Categories: Bad: 1986-1990, Sci Fi Characters: Original Girl
General Warnings: None
Trigger Warnings: None
Challenges: I Got Mikey in the Mail!
Challenges: I Got Mikey in the Mail!
Series: None
Chapters: 4 Completed: No Word count: 8950 Read: 7456 Published: Apr 17, 2013 Updated: Jan 20, 2015
Story Notes:

Based loosely on Aritificial Intelligence and Bicentennial Man

1. Robots Don't Have Emotion by Orphan

2. Little Blue Wire by Orphan

3. Broken Robot by Orphan

4. Memories by Orphan

Robots Don't Have Emotion by Orphan
Author's Notes:

Hello all. I thought I'd try the challenge. ^_^ You are welcome to review.

 

 

 

The Year is 2048.

 

My name is Myra.

 

Myra Renee Devins.

 

One look at me and you see a successful, wealthy, black executive woman who has exactly what she wants.

 

Thing is, I don’t have exactly what I want. I’m 27 years old and I haven’t had a date with a man in nearly a decade. I was far too busy and far too independent for a man. Sure, I’d looked. But, that was about it. I loved my job as the CEO of Rory’s Robotics.

 

Yet, there was something missing.

 

Each day, I’d drive to work. Boss people around. Eat. Go home. Then do the same things all over again. I needed a man in my life. Maybe I’d get lucky and one would end up on my doorstep.

 

So, I halfheartedly stated this to a coworker of my mine.

 

To this day, I can’t decide whether that was a mistake.

 


 

 The minute I walked into my home, I knew something was up. There was a dark, mysterious box at the door. I was always getting packages so I didn’t even bother wasting my time. It was probably another prototype the company wanted me to check out. I set about cooking my boring dinner. A sandwich sounded good right about now. My phone rang in my pocket.

 

Iphone 13; courtesy of the company.

 

I answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

 

“Riri? Young woman, you don’t call anymore! You don’t stop by. Don’t think you’re too high and mighty for your mother now! I’ll come down there.”

 

I rolled my eyes. “Mother, I’m pushing thirty. Your child is a woman now.”

 

She hissed into the phone. “I don’t care if you’re 92, you’ll always be my baby. Now, tell me—how was work?”

 

“Same old. Same old. Somebody left a package for me to look at.”

“What is it?” She demanded.

 

“I have no idea, Mother. I was going to open it. Then you called me.” I scraped my sizzling onions onto my steak.

 

“Oh? Well, your brother asked about you. You know he turns 16 next week. Are you coming to his birthday party like you promised?”

 

I glanced at my calendar hanging on the wall. “Maybe. I’m busy next week.”

 

“Marcus really wants to see you, you know. It’s been awhile. You promised.”

 

Here she goes again. Throwing the guilt card.

 

“Fine. I’ll be there.” I can practically see her grinning through the phone.

 

“Sweetheart, you take care of yourself.”

 

“I will, Mother.”

 

“And when are you going to give me some grandchildren? I’m not going to live forever, Myra.”

 

“Goodbye, Mother.”

 

She grumbled a bunch of incoherent things before finally hanging up the phone. I loved my mother. I really did. But, she tended to hover.

 

I grabbed my plate of delicious food and sat down at my table. Yup, this was the life. Always alone. Always lonely. Scrolling through the music on my phone, I chose a song that I loved to listen to. People always told me I should have been born 100 years ago because I loved the music from that time. That was an understatement.

 

I lived that music.

 

The sun is shining, there's plenty of light
A new day is dawning, sunny and bright

But after I've been crying all night
The sun is cold, and the new day seems old
Since I lost my baby.
Oh, since I lost my baby…

 

David Ruffin and the Temptations are legends. Simply genius. There is no one that can compare. Except maybe Michael Jackson. He died a long time ago, but his legacy lives on…

 

The birds are singing and the children are playing
There's plenty of work and the bosses are paying
Not a sad word should a young heart be saying
But fun is a bore and with money I'm poor.

 

That wasn’t David Ruffin’s voice. No, it was far too soft and tenor…ish.

 

It was coming from the box…

 

I grabbed the knife I had been chewing with. “Who’s there?”

 

The voice continued to sing.

 

I slowly approached the box and knocked on it gently. “Hello? Who’s in there?”

 

“The question is…who’s out there?” A soft voice answered back.

 

“Are you dangerous?”

 

“No, the girl is, though.”

“What girl?”

 

“The one that comes at me in sections with the odds of desire.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“Please let me out. I won’t hurt you. I’m not allowed to—unless you ask me of course.”

 

“What are you?” I question in awe.

 

“I’m…artificial intelligence.”

 

“A robot?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But, I haven’t activated you, yet.”

 

I stare at the box and it begins to shake.

 

“I’m not like the others.”

“How not?”

 

“I don’t know, but I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

 

“I’m going to let you out…and if you attack me, I’m slashing you to pieces.”

 

I grasp the knife tightly in my hand and cut along the taped edges. A note is attached to it:

 

You said you wanted a man to show up at your doorsteps, remember. You can thank me later. This one was made especially for you.

 

-Cooper

 

 Slowly, the box begins to give way. The robot pushes against it and I see a caramel hand.

 

“A little help?” The robot asks.

 

“Um…oh, here.” Together, we manage to free it from it’s prison. I stare directly into the face of the most beautiful robot I’ve ever seen. Beautiful because it had hair…and skin…and…oh my.

 

The robot cocks its head at me and smiles.

 

Robots don’t smile! They have no emotion, whatsoever.

 

“What’s your name?” It asks as it climbs out of the box.

 

“Myra. What’s yours?”

“That’s a pretty name. I don’t know what my name is. My instructions are in the box, though. Would you like to take a look, Miss?”

 

He looks oddly familiar. Like I saw his face once…when I was a kid. Somewhere…

 

He digs into the box that was once his prison, handing me a thick packet. “Here you are, Miss.”

 

MICHAEL JACKSON: User Guide and Manual

 

 

Congratulations! You have just purchased your very own MICHAEL JACKSON unit! To ensure that you drain every last drop of wonderful from your unit, we have provided this user manual: reading it would be advised if you don’t want to die or get maimed.

Responds Positively To: Michael, MJ, Mikey, Mijo, Miguel, Applehead , Mikhail, Lithuania (This one will be explained later.) and Maikeru-san.

Responds Hesitantly To: Maiki-kun, JoJo, Space Michael, Captain, Eo, Maestro, Otaku, Applebutt, and Gold-Crotch.

Responds Negatively To: Rapist, Poser, Pedopan, Pedophile, Peter Pan, Freak, Wacko Jacko, and Child Molester.

 Age: This depends on which model you get-

Off the Wall Model: 21

Thriller Model: 24

Bad Model: 29

Dangerous Model: 33

HIStory Model: 36

Blood on the Dance Floor Model: 40

 Invincible Model: 45

 This Is It Model: 50

Height: 5'11

Weight: Though he may keep his figure, his weight tends to change depending on his intake of certain foods which can be pretty bipolar.

Length: WHAT THE HELL’S WRONG WITH YOU!? HE’S A GENTLEMAN! GET YOUR DAMN HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER!

Your MICHAEL JACKSON unit comes with the following accessories:

One (1) sequin glove

One (1) microphone

Three (3) pairs of black penny loafers

Five (5) button-up, long sleeve shirts

Two (2) white T-shirts

One (1) pair of blue jean

Three (3) pairs of black slacks

Two (2) black blazers

One (1) red leather jacket

One (1) red changshan

One (1) Lithuania and/ or Russia cosplay

One (1) Roy Mustang cosplay

Six (6) friendship bracelets

Two (2) black fedoras

One (1) set of blue-striped pajamas

Ten (10) hair-ties

One (1) 100 page sketch pad

Two (2) 100 page composition note books

One (1) music notebook

Five (5) pencils

Five (5) artist’s ink-pens

One (1) Kenya unit

 Your MICHAEL JACKSON unit is equipped with the following traits:

Singer/ Dancer- the real Michael Jackson was an amazing performer, so why wouldn’t this unit be also? He learns notes and steps quickly, and has incredible potential.

Writer/ Poet- Though not very well known for his writing, he’s incredibly good at it. He may be able to even get a few books published while in your care. He also comes up with amazing, and unique songs.

Comic Artist/ Manga Writer- Your unit is extremely creative, and imaginative with his ideas, and can draw them out very well. He is good with realism drawing as well as chibis and anime-based styles. Plus he has fun doing it. He may also take to drawing doujinshis. Fair warning, he may take a slight interest in shounen-ai or shoujo-ai, but he will never go as far as yaoi or yuri. 

Elementary Teacher- He is very patient and bright. He will take his time with each student, to make sure they understand and get a good grasp on what they are learning. All of his students will adore him.

Babysitter- He is very good with kids, and knows exactly how to take care of them. It doesn’t matter if they’re bratty or not, he will be patient and will get them to behave somehow. He will punish them, but will never go as far as spanking or hitting. He will more than likely be a favorite among the kids he takes care of.

Actor/ Voice Actor- He is a very good actor. If he finds even the slightest link between him and a part, he will become extremely in character. He can mimic voices well, especially ones from cartoons and anime. Particularly from Hetalia: Axis Powers. This is why he responds to Lithuania, who he can voice well and is very similar to.

Cook- He is an insanely good cook, who comes up with tons of recipes. He has very good taste, and will be an instant hit with whoever he cooks for.

Removal of your MICHAEL JACKSON Unit from packaging:

This unit can be very sweet, but if you wake him up the wrong way, he may (though inadvertently) hurt you. To prevent this, we have included this list of ways to wake him up.

1) Play any Motown music and Michael will slowly wake up and begin to sing along. When the music is over, he will knock on the top of his box and politely ask for you to let him out.

2) Play "Rhythm Nation" and he will burst out of he crate and start to dance to it. Make sure that you’re a good distance away when using this option if you don’t want to get hit. After realizing what has happened, he will apologize and start baking something for you.

3) Use any racial slur, and he will furiously kick his way out of the crate. He will be in his Angry and/ or Frustrated mode automatically if you chose to do this, and this option isn’t advised if you want to have a good relationship with this unit. First impressions count.

4) Turn on the Kenya unit that came with him. She will start barking and Michael will wake up automatically and snuggle with his beloved pet. When he notices you, he will ask playfully if you want to pet her.

5) If you think it is safe to wake him up yourself, then go ahead and take him out. Just realize that it may take awhile. Michael can be a very heavy sleeper. If you want something quick, then shoot him with a water-gun. Be warned that later, he will probably get you back somehow.

After you successfully get your MICHAEL JACKSON unit out of his box, you can reprogram him to any of the following modes:

Sweet (default)

Happy (default)

Frustrated

Angry

Otaku

Flustered

Mischievous

Sexy

Sadistic (locked)

Perverted (locked)

Flipped (locked) 

This unit is naturally a kind, giving, energetic, happy person. If you want him like this, then leave him as is.

His Frustrated and Angry modes can be activated if you or anyone else around shows apathy or intolerance. It can also be activated if he has a bad case of writer’s block or art block. He will keep to himself most of the time, and will fly into negative mood-swings. To get him out of this mode, simply assertively tell him to stop and he will apologize, and if he’s still grumpy or quiet, give him some chocolate and sunflowers and send him to his room. He will be his old self again in the morning.

Otaku is almost automatic once you show him any anime or manga. He will listen to J-pop and Vocaloid, and buy quite a collection of manga novels and anime DVD’s. It’s impossible to permanently get him out of this mode. He will tone down eventually, but he’ll still love his manga and anime and will gladly watch it with you. Particularly Hetalia: Axis Powers, Fullmetal Alchemist, Sgt. Frog and InuYasha.

Flustered is activated when girls start flirting with him, he does something embarrassing, or if someone is telling dirty jokes. He will turn red, start shaking a little and start stammering or rambling. If he isn’t doing that, then he will be very quiet. To snap him out of this, just let him camp out in his room, and he’ll forget about it by morning.

Mischievous is activated when someone pranks him. He will get you back and start a prank-war. Though this can be fun, it gets old after awhile, but Michael will still be going strong. To snap him out of this, prank him pretty badly and post it on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, or MySpace. He will learn his lesson, and more than likely will never go into this mode again unless you ask him to.

Sexy mode is activated by getting him into his Flustered mode first by flirting with him. Keep it up and he’ll eventually feel comfortable and slowly slip into his Sexy mode. (Please note that this may take days or even weeks.) You know that it has worked once he starts flirting back. Your unit will start trying to "get it on" with anyone he sees. Just make sure that you’re the only one he sees, and you should be fine. To get him out of this state, lock him up in the box he came with, or in his room, and he’ll fall asleep and be over it by the time he wakes up.

Sadistic is locked for a reason. It is activated when you tell him that someone he loves is killed, murdered, raped, molested or tortured. He will stop at nothing to get revenge in the worst ways possible. He will lock himself up in his room during the day and will go out late at night. You know for sure if he’s in this mode if he comes home with blood on his hands. Keep your distance. It is impossible to knock him out of this. Contact us immediately after he slips into this mode and we will deactivate him.

Perverted is activated after you get him dead drunk. He will be resistant about drinking because he knows what will happen if he does, which makes this mode harder to get him into. He will start chasing as many skirts as he can when this mode is activated, and will be a major flirt. He’s a jerk when in this mode, and we have no idea why anyone would want him in this mode. But he can slip into it, so we’re giving you a friendly warning. To get him to stop, hit him in the head and make him go to sleep. He’ll have a terrible hangover when he wakes, but he will make sure to say sorry.

Flipped tends to happen on accident. When in this mode he will be almost the exact opposite of his usual default modes. This occurs after a bad blow to the head. To make him stop acting like this, just hit him hard over the head again and then he’ll revert to his old self. Again, like he would after getting out of his perverted mode, he will make sure to apologize.

Cleaning:

He can clean himself up nicely on his own. But will go into his Flustered mode if you try to help him or get in the bath with him, so don’t ask.

Feeding:

He can cook for himself, but his tastes tend to change. He eats heathy foods one day, and then the next, he will have a sweet-tooth. He likes Chinese and Mexican food, and is up for it any time. He may eat quite a bit of candy also.

Rest:

He goes to sleep around 10:00 PM and wakes up around 7:00 AM. The only way this will be disrupted is if he pulled an all-nighter writing, drawing, watching anime, or doing a little "something"with a certain someone if in his Sexy mode. He will sleep with others, but it is purely an innocent gesture, unless he’s in his Sexy mode of course...

Frequently Asked Questions:

Q: My unit is bringing a lot of animals into the house, and it’s gotten so bad, I found a mouse in my cereal bowl! Help me!

A: Your unit loves animals. He tends to bring quite a few along with him, but they also follow him. He may not be the one responsible for all the animals coming into your home. They’re probably following Michael like a mother hen. Just don’t let Michael get attached to them, and find them all another home.

Q: My unit ran out of paper and is sketching and writing all over my walls. What should I do?

A: Just buy him some other notebooks. After that he will apologize and clean up after himself.

Q: My unit walked in on me while I was changing and he got a major nosebleed and fainted. What the hell just happened?

A: He got knocked into his Flustered mode. But this is the more extreme case. Just let him rest and camp out in his room for awhile.

Q: I accidentally hit my unit in the head and now he can’t sing. What’s wrong with him?

A: Something probably got disconnected when he was hit. Call someone to fix him and then re-activate him. After that, he should be fine.

Q: My unit has been having bad nightmares lately. What’s up?

A: He may have been listening to some of the darker Vocaloid songs. Since the units are also popular in places where English isn’t the national language he is programmed to understand and speak more than thirty-seven languages. Because of this, he understands the lyrics in the songs he’s been listening to, and that may be the source of his nightmares. If it isn’t this, then he’s been trying to force himself to watch horror movies he just can take. If that still isn’t the case, then he’s been reading Stephen King.

Troubleshooting:

Instead of a fully-grown MICHAEL JACKSON unit, there was a small boy dressed in clothes from the 1960's asking for Miss Diana or his mother.

Oops! We sent you a Jackson 5 Model by accident! He isn’t much different than his fully-grown models, but he is much more quiet around new people. He’ll eventually come out of his shell though, but if you want to replace him with another model, just contact us and your new model will be there the next morning.

Michael is acting a lot like one of his alter egos.

We may have accidentally sent you a unit of the particular character rather than Michael. If it bothers you, then go ahead and send him back.

Instead of a guy, you got what looks like a female version of Michael.

Oops again! We accidentally sent you the gender-bend model. The name itself is self-explanatory. She isn’t much different than the other models, however she is slightly more quiet, and gets offended more easily. If you want to send her back and get another model, go for it.

Follow this manual, and you should get along just fine with Michael. If you have anymore questions just contact us at Rory’sRobotsCompany.com

I didn’t understand. Robots did not have emotions. Robots did nothing but obey their masters. Robots did not have skin that seemed just as real as mine.

This was no ordinary robot.

Michael, it was called.

 

End Notes:

A picture will be up later.

Little Blue Wire by Orphan

"Hey, Marky Mark." I say as my younger brother opens the door.

It was freaky how much we looked alike. With his mop of downy curls that made young girls swoon with jealousy and his perfectly caramel skin, he was in essence, what I would have been, had I been born male. He grew taller every time I saw him, and soon, he would be taller than our father---or what our father had been, anyways.

"Hey sis!" He pulls me into a hug and stiffens as he sees who's behind me. "Who's that?"

The robot bows deep. "One is glad to be of service, sir."

I pull out of his hug. "Oh this-this is my robot, Michael. Say hello, Michael."

"Hello Michael." Michael grins.

"Close enough."

Marcus narrows his eyes. "No way. What kind of robot smiles?"

"This one-aren't you going to let us in?" I really didn't feel like explaining the story to him.

Marcus pokes Michael in the eye. "Did that hurt?"

Michael cocks his head. "No."

"Is that my Myra?" I hear my mother call.

"Yes, Mother. It's me. Your son won't let us in the house." I say, winking at Marcus.

My mother appears in the doorway. "Us? Who-oh my. He's handsome."

Deborah Devins looked at me pointedly, not daring to believe that I was dating someone. Someone who could give her the grandchildren she had coveted for so many years. Someone who would help her to carry on the legacy that she and my father had helped to create.

Marcus snorts. "IT'S a robot."

"Are you my family?" Michael asks, looking pointedly at my mother and brother.

My mother presses a hand to her heart. "Well, um, I guess so. I must admit, It's scary how real you look."

"It's not scary. It's stupid." Marcus mutters.

I roll my eyes. "If you're going to insult my robot, I guess you don't want me at your party then. How old are you, anyways? Thirteen?"

Marcus laughs loudly as he lets us into the house. "Very funny. Whadja get me?"

"Something." I say, winking.

The house is the same as always. No balloons. No streamers. What kind of party is this? My mother disappears into the kitchen.

"Hey you." Marcus says, poking Michael. "You have to do what I say, huh?"

Michael shrugged. "First law of robotics: A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, cause a human being to come to harm. Second law: A robot must obey all human orders, except where those orders come in conflict with the first law. Third law: A robot must protect itself, so long as doing so does not conflict with the first two laws.

"I command you to tell me what she got me." Marcus says in triumph.

I laughed loudly. I wasn't the CEO of Rory's Robotics for no reason.  "Do you really think it would be that easy? I've already told him not to tell you what I got."

The robot would literally have to reprogram itself in order to break my commands. A masters command is a robot's most important law. It cannot be--

Michael smiles at me. "Yes, young master Marky Mark. I have been commanded not to tell you that your sister got you many video games."

I gazed in open mouth wonder the robot. How had it done it? I had strictly told it not to do or say anything that pertained to Marcus's gifts.

Marcus grinned in triumphant satisfaction. "I think your robot is broken, Sis."

The robot bowed his head, having realized his grave mistake. "I have disobeyed you. "

I instantly unbuttoned his shirt, where I went to the compartment that held all of his wires, and ripped it open.  it was like a little compartment in his chest. Each wire was in perfect place. The red wire that connected to his central nervous system. The blue wire that with one little snip...would end his existence forever--it was there. That's what happened to robots whose programing goes back...we cut the little blue wire.

"Michael, rip out your blue wire."  I command.

"Sis, are you--" Marcus begins.

"Do it!" I yell, sweat forming at my brow.

Michael frowns at me, tears forming in his brown eyes, as he reaches into his chest cavity. "Why, Ms. Myra?"

Any other robot should and would not have been able to say "why".

"How are you doing it? How are you disobeying me?" I growl. "You should be dead by now."

Marcus glances from me to the robot. "Stop it, Myra! He didn't do anything bad. "

Michael wiped away the tears with the hand that wasn't embedded in his chest. "I don't want to die, Ms. Myra. But if you wish it. He pinched the little blue wire in his hand and started to pull...

I can see his eyes closing. The look of utter defeat on his face. And, I cannot go through with it.

"Stop, Michael. Stop." I say slowly. His hand falls out of his chest cavity and he heaves a sigh of relief.

"Ms. Myra. I am sorry for disobeying you. I didn't mean it. But, I can't control myself, sometimes. I will try to obey you better. Please love me again." He slowly closes the compartment in his chest and slides to the floor, sitting Indian style.

Everything that I had ever learned about these advanced creatures...was a lie. This man...this robot. Whatever it was! He had feelings. That was evidenced by the tears that so easily ran down his face when he cried.

I stare at him for moments before I speak. "What are you?"

He looks up at me with a tear stained face. " I am Michael."

 

Broken Robot by Orphan

My bedroom hadn’t changed in the near decade since I moved out. The four poster bed with it’s floral print in one corner. With the large chifferobe in another. My desk filled with childhood pictures of a toothless me. More pictures. Daddy.


I stared at the photo of my once proud father. His beard had always been well kept. His hair never out of place. He had raised me and my brother well. You can only imagine the pain my family went through when we lost him all those years ago.


I was still a teenager when I lost my father to death’s cold hand.


We lived in tough times then. My father had been the only provider. He had a wife who loved to lavish on the finer things in life. A daughter who had plans to go to a very expensive business school, and a son who adored the newest video games.


Daniel Devins died as he lived; working to provide for his family.


With our father's death, a nightmare began to shadow our days. I had loathed my mother in those days--with the thought that she should have prepared us in advance for something like that , for we'd never been allowed to own pets that suddenly pass away and teach us a little about losing through death. Someone, some adult, should have warned us that the young, the handsome, and the needed can die, too.


How do you say things like this to a mother who looked like fate was pulling her through a knothole and stretching her out thin and flat? Could you speak honestly to someone who didn't want to talk, or eat, or brush her hair, or put on the pretty clothes that filled her closet? Nor did she want to attend to our needs. It was a good thing I had known how to fend for the three of us. In those days, I had to be strong for Marcus and my mother. It was then that I had hardened myself to the world.


We struggled in those days. Oh, how we struggled. My mother’s day job barely paid the rent. But, we got by.

They had come in droves-- all the people who loved, admired, and respected my father, and I was surprised he was so well-known.


Yet I hated it every time someone asked how he died, and what a pity someone so young should die, when so many who were useless and unfit, lived on and on, and were a burden to society. From all that I heard, and overheard, fate was a reaper, never kind, with little respect for who was loved and needed.


Especially not for Daniel Devins.


Spring days passed on toward summer. And grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away, and the person so real, so beloved, becomes a dim, slightly out-of-focus shadow…


“Who is that, Ms. Myra?”


The robot had been standing behind me the entire time as I stood remembering my father’s death. I turned and glared at him. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”


“Ms. Myra, you hate me.”  He says, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. His eyes were a rich chocolate that somehow managed to convey the emotion of a man who had seen and lived a thousand years. Most robotic eyes lacked emotion and they definitely did not cry.  “I don’t want you to hate me.”


“Will you stop that?!” I demand.


“Stop what?” The robot sniffles.


“Stop...acting so human. Stop crying. Stop smiling. Stop it!”


The robot wipes at his eyes. “Crying, Ms. Myra? Is that what this is...this salty discharge leaking from my eyes?”


I crack a smile.  “Those are tears, Michael.”


“Why do these tears come, Ms. Myra? I don’t like it one bit.”


How do you explain crying  to a stupid robot?


It starts with a quivering lip. Or maybe blinking faster and faster to keep the wetness from escaping.Before you know it, you're getting teary -- again. Some  people  cry at the drop of a hat -- not to mention weddings, birthday parties, kids' school plays, and the humane society public service announcements showing those adorable dogs in need of new homes.

And then there’s me, the type who can't remember the last time I cried.

Either way, crying often catches the often-teary eyed or the usually stoic off guard -- striking at a time or place where they don't want to weep -- and others don't want to watch them weep.

“Most people cry when they’re sad, Michael.”

Michael frowned. “I’m sad.”

I look up into his tear-streaked face, and damn if my doesn’t tighten with that knee-weakening, mind blowing emotion that I’ve come to associate with him and only him.

“Why?”

“You don’t like me. Please like me. I promise to be good. I hurt so bad when you don’t like me.”

He has said this before to me. However, there is something different this time. It is  the sincerity and honesty I see reflected in those die-like brown eyes; an unspoken determination to become a better...robot...man...idk.

Oh. Michael, why do you this to me?

“I do like you, Michael.” I sigh, in resignation.

“You do?”

I nod. “I like you very much.”

“Do you love me?” He whispers.

I reach up to cup his cheeks; wiping away the tears and marveling at just how real his skin and tears feel….”If I didn’t know anymore, I would swear on my life that you were human.”

“Ahem.”

I turn, blushing heavily from my heads to my toes.

“Mother, I was just explaining to Michael--erm, the robot what tears were.”

She folds her arms across her chest in the way that only a sassy black woman could. “I saw very well what you were doing, Myra Renee--Michael, run along and go find Marcus.”

The robot--no, Michael, obeyed without protest, going quietly and quickly.

We stood staring at each other. “Mother, I know what you’re thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you?”

“For Christs sake, Mother, he’s a machine. He’s not even human.” I spit out.

“And just what, Myra Renee, makes a human...human?”

I think long and hard about that one, but I have no answer to her question. Instead, I attempt to change the subject. “Mommy, I thought you were throwing Marcus a party for his birthday? If you didn’t have the money, you could have just--”

My mother looks away. “I refuse to take anymore of your money! What do you take me for? A beggar? I refuse. I know you already give me more than you can afford. I know you’re still paying off those loans. I don’t care how much that job pays.”

I go to sit on the edge of my bed. “Mommy, for once, could you just not be so stubborn. I don’t care if I never pay off my loans. I just want you and Marcus to be happy.”

Mother smiles as she gazes upon the photo of my father. “Daniel, what are we going to do with her? She’s insatiable.”

It’s like she’s forgotten I was in the room. “Mommy, I--”

“Oh honey. Don’t you understand that money is not everything. I’m happy. I have two beautiful children. A beautiful house.”

“I know, Mommy. I--”

“Are you happy, Riri?” She blurts.

I have not been happy in years, dear mother of mine.

Instead, I smile. “Yes, mother. I’m happy.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but she is interrupted by my kid brother running breathlessly into the room. “Myra,” He begins.  “The robot is bleeding.”

I laugh out loud. “Marky Mark, when have you ever heard of a robot….bleeding--”

I suddenly hear Michael yelling out in terror. “Ms. Myra. I’m crying from my nose! Help me!”

I jump and  run into my brother’s room. Michael stands helplessly as blood gushes from his nose. He is red and shaking all over. I rush over and grab one of Marcus’s shirts off his bed, holding it to Michael’s nose. “Here, hold this here.”

His hand instantly reaches up to hold the shirt to his nose. “Ms. Myra, am I dying?”

“Dying, Michael?” I laugh. “You just have a nose bleed.”

He gazes at me for a long moment. “The red stuff coming from my nose? It is not tears.”

“It’s blood, you idiot.” Marcus cackles, sauntering into the room.

I glare at my brother. “What did you to my robot?”

“I didn’t do anything.” He smirks. “Your robot here can’t handle a little boob action.”

I thought long and hard about what he could mean by that. Marcus looks pointedly at the laptop on his desk. I remember the instructions I had read.

Q: My unit walked in on me while I was changing and he got a major nosebleed and fainted. What the hell just happened?

A: He got knocked into his Flustered mode. But this is the more extreme case. Just let him rest and camp out in his room for awhile.


Well, he for sure hadn’t walked in on me naked, so…


“You showed my robot porn, didn’t you, you pervert.” I gasp.


Marcus grinned widely. “I was just showing him what it’s like to be human.”


“Idiot.” I groaned. “You knocked him into his flustered mode.”


I turned back to Michael. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, but he looked a little pale.


“How are you feeling, Michael?”


“The room is going around and around, Ms.” He said.


“What?”


Then, he collapsed.


As he fell, I let out a large groan. “I’m going to kill you, Marcus.”


“How was I supposed to know your robot would freak out?” He protested indignantly.


“Who shows a freaking robot, porn?” I hissed.


Together, we lugged Michael’s body onto Marcus’s bed. He was surprisingly light. How anything about this robot surprised me anymore was amazing.


“Don’t tell, Mother.” Marcus whispered.


I narrow my eyes at him. “Give me one good reason why?”


“It’s my birthday.”  He pleaded.


“You broke my robot!” I hiss.


“Sheesh, sis. You can have a million robots if you wanted to! You work at a place that makes them!”


“Maybe, I don’t want those robots.” I say, quietly. “Maybe, I like this one.”


He stares at me with pursed lips, before grinning widely.  “You like this robot….or do you like this robot?”


“I am not going there with you.” I say, hotly.


“Ok. ok.” He says, throwing his hands up. “It’s not like he can…” He trails off suggestively.


I raise my eyebrow. “What are you getting at, Marcus.”


Marcus wiggles his eyebrows. “He looks like a man. Talks like one too. How much of a man is he really?” Marcus waggles his hips suggestively.


It takes a second for me to understand. “OH god! You’re such a pervert, Marky Mark!” I say, laughing.


He burst into laughter too. “Hey. I’m only asking for the sake of science. Imagine, the possibilities! Little robot babies. The works.”


I roll my eyes. “He’s a freaking robot. How many times do I have to say. It’s not like I’m going to fall in love like they do in the moves. He’s not going to sweep me off my feet with how ‘different he is from other guys’ and all that jazz.”


Marcus shrugs. “It could happen.”


I give him a playful shove. “Happy birthday, little bro.”

Memories by Orphan
Author's Notes:

I'm going to be completely honest here. I don't know where I'm going with this story. I haven't planned ahead. I'm just going with the flow, so whatever happens...happens. Lol.

I whisper to myself repeatedly as I watch his sleeping figure. It was then that I really looked at him.


His curly hair framed his perfectly sculpted face. There was a little cleft in his caramel skin.  Long curly eyelashes outlined eyes that I knew could carry a woman away with one smoldering glance. He moaned in his sleep about salty discharge.


I smile.


After Michael’s fainting spell, I had forced Marcus to help me lift him onto the bed. He had been sleeping soundly for the past few hours. When Marcus realized that I would be sitting by him until he awoke, he disappeared to the do things that teenage boys do, I presume. I don’t know.


I, myself, couldn’t understand this particular robot. The tears. The ability to sleep. Any of it. I had seen some pretty humanoid looking robots. I had even designed some. But, to have one look and act EXACTLY like a human was a different concept altogether.


I knew about the real Michael Jackson. The one that had entertained his fans for the better part of 40 years. The one that reinvented music. I knew he died years and years before I was born. Overdose. The poor fool. Singing and dancing was all he knew and it killed him. I wasn’t one to keep up with pop culture, but I knew that one of those Jacksons...Jaycee? Jenny? Janet. She was still alive. Old, but still kicking.


And his kids. Michael Jackson’s three kids were all still alive. I have no idea what they’re names are and I’m not even going to try to remember. It made me wonder if Michael--the robot that is, had any memories of his past life.


Did his kids know that I now owned a living, breathing replica of the father that they had once known? That his mannerisms. His voice. It was all there.


Did the robot know that he had once been the most famous man on the earth? Second only to Jesus Christ. That he was worshipped on every single continent--in the villages of Africa, in the forests of Brazil. Michael Jackson mattered on every continent.


Did this shy, naive, innocent robot know that he was once a living legend? That to this day, his face is perhaps the most recognized in history?


I won’t pretend to be an expert at Michael Jackson’s history, but I can say that there are still fans out there--because Michael’s Jackson fanbase only grew after he died--that would murder me in my sleep to have this robot.


Despite his crippling debt, and yes--alien appearance, Michael Jackson had at least one more “holy shit” moment left in those sparkly white socks. Star? Hell, he was  a supernova in a world full of moons.


My father had been a fan of the Michael Jackson. Not a crazed one, but an appreciatior of real music. So, in a way, I understood the man.


How could they not see the extraordinary courage it took to be such a freak? He wore geeky high waters that showed four inches of white sock but broke into that impossible moonwalk, turning the pitiful into magic. And how did we repay him? We mocked him, ridiculed him, made him the butt of a million jokes, snickering in front of our TVs and newspapers.


This robot--wherever, and whoever made him--was a mystery. It also made me wonder if he had been made by some overzealous fan who couldn’t fathom living without their beloved “King of Pop”.  Thirty-nine years later and the heartache from losing him still lingered and ached.


And how--just how did this creature come into my possession?


I would have to ask Cooper when I went back to work. Surely, he would have an answer for that.


Michael stirred in his sleep, before slowly blinking himself awake. He fixed his gaze upon my face and broke into a wide grin. “Hello, Ms. Myra!”


I can’t help but smile back. “How are you feeling, Michael?”


“I have been brought back from the dead, Ms. Myra.” He says solemnly.


“What are you talking about?”


“I have seen the darkness.” He sits up and rubs at his eyes, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.


“Michael, you were asleep.” I say, rolling my eyes.


Michael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “I have a lot to learn about you humans.You are a confusing species.”


We are both interrupted by the loud growl of Michael’s stomach.


“What was that?” He gasps in alarm.


“That was your stomach growling.” I chuckle. “You’re hungry.”


“Pardon? That was me?”


“Yes.” I promise.


“This ‘hunger’,” he says the word as if it is a foreign concept. “How do I stop it?”


“You eat.”


///

“Man, you can eeeeaat.” Marcus whistled in appreciation. He gazed down at his own plate of food, picking up a piece of chicken and biting into it hungrily. “I thought I could eat a lot.” He mumbled with food in his mouth.


Michael continued to shovel food into his mouth. He glanced over at my plate “Are you gonna’ eat that?”


I push my  half-eaten plate of chicken and mashed potatoes at him. “Here.”


Michael reached for the chicken eagerly.  “I think I like this fried bird the best.”


Mother pats her mouth with a napkin. “Thank you, Michael. It’s an old family recipe, I’d say. Might have to teach Myra here how to make it.”


Michael finished the chicken in two bites and inhales the mashed potatoes. Two seconds later, he swallows and mutters “I can cook.”


I raise an eyebrow. “Can you? How do you know?”


He shrugs. “I just do. Little pictures keep popping up in my head. I can sing too. And dance. And draw.” He promises.


What type of images?


Marcus grins at this revelation. “Dude, you’re a total chick magnet.”


“What is this magnet you speak of?’ Michael asks after he slurps down his green beans.


“Nothing.” I say, giving Marcus side eyes.  I push my chair back, standing up. “We really should be going. I have a long day at work tomorrow, Mother. Coop wants me to--”


“Riri, how is Cooper? Tell him I said hello.” My mother gives me a knowing smile.


Cooper Thomas was three years older than I, but it was no secret that he had tried on numerous times to take me out. I’m not going to pretend that Cooper wasn’t handsome with his broad shoulders,  white smile, and deep voice--if you’re into that sort of thing. Cooper was a good friend of mine and I saw him as nothing more than such.


My mother and brother walked Michael and I to the door, but her question had hit a spot.


Why didn’t I see Cooper as more than just a friend? He tried too hard to impress me. I need a man that’s not afraid to be himself around me. Someone who doesn’t act different every time I walk into the room. A man who could handle me and all my issues.


“Myra, honey?” My mother begins.


I stare out into the starlit Arizona night. The stars seemed to glow brighter than usual tonight.


“Yes, Mother. I’ll call you when I get home.” I answer automatically.


“Take care of that robot.” She finishes. “He’s a special one.”


Don’t I know it.


“Ms. Mother, I would like to thank you for the delicious food.” Michael bows graciously.


My mother laughs to herself. “Oh, honey, call me Mother.”


“Mother.” Michael tries it out.


“Come on, Michael. We’ve got a long way back to the city.” I make my way down the porch steps that had been my childhood home and take my keys out of my pocket. As soon as I press the button, my hover car turns on and lifts into the air.

 


“Myra, you be careful on that flying contraption. You know I don’t like it.”


“Mommy...you worry too much.”


Marcus calls down from the porch steps. “When are you going to let me take a ride on that baby?”


I grin at him as I hop into my car. “When hell freezes over, little brother. When hell freezes over--get in, Michael.”


Michael climbs into the passenger side and looks out the window at my brother. Marcus gives him a small wave and a wink. “Bye, Michael. Come back soon.” Michael shuddered heavily.


I give a final wave and took off into the night sky. There wasn’t much traffic in the air because we had left so late. My mother lived in Arizona. Had this been Los Angeles, the sky would be filled with cars. Los Angeles did not sleep. Part of the reasons I loved it.


Michael peaked over the side of the hover car and paled. “I’ve decided that I don’t like flying.”


I pushed the auto-fly button and released the steering wheel. How were people able to drive back in the day without autopilot?


I turn on the radio and a familiar tune comes blaring out at me. God, I loved this man.


David Ruffin.


I can’t help but sing along. “I KNOW you wanna’ leave me,” I begin. “But, I refuse to let you go. And if I have to beg and plead for your sympathy. I don’t mind ‘cos you mean that much to me!”


I start snapping in tune to the music. “AIN'T TOO PROUD TO BEG!” Turning to look at Michael, I point at him. “AND YOU KNOW IT. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME, BOY.”


Michael grins. “Ain’t too proud to pleeeeaad, baby baby. Please don’t leave me, girl.”


How the hell does he know the lyrics? You know what I don’t even care because that singing voice of his is fucking perfect.


“Now I heard a crying girl is half a girl, with nooo sense of pride.” I continue, smiling at him.


We start trading verses.


“But if I have to CRY  to keep you, I don’t mind weeping if it’ll keep you by my side!” He sings.


We continue this throughout the entire song. It’s a fun game that we’re playing, hoping that one will mess up the lyrics. We sing song after song.  However, both of us know the material well. I soon grow tired and turn down the music so it becomes a dull lullaby in the background.


Michael gazes at me in the dark car and smiles. “That was really fun.”


“You know your stuff.”

He bites his lower lip. “I knew them once. The Temptations.  I don’t how--but I did. David Ruffin was something else.”


So, he did have the memories. Or at least some of them.


My eyes were slowly beginning to close. It had been a very long, eventful day indeed.

“Ms. Myra?” Michael whispers as I rest my head against his shoulder.


“Yes?” I said groggily.


“The images I get in my head, I was someone important, wasn’t I?  Someone famous.”


If you only knew, Michael.


“I’ll show you some videos when we get home. You were pretty fucking amazing.”


I don’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling. “ And to you, Ms. Myra?”


“Simply the best to do it.”


I feel him plant a kiss on my hair. “You can go to the land of darkness now. I will bring you back when we get home.” He mutters.


Your wish...is my command.


///

Sometime later, I am awoken by the steady stride of the robot as he carries me into my apartment.


“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to wake you.” He says sheepishly as he sets me down on my feet.


“Was I not...heavy?” I question.


He snorted. “You’re like a child. I think I can handle that.”


I clap my hands together so as to turn on the light. For some reason, the apartment seems so much more lonely tonight.


I sighed heavily, ripping off my shoes. Slowly sliding my feet into a pair of blue puppy house shoes, I trudged down the hall towards my office.  I sighed again as I sat down in the large black leather chair.


Pulling myself closer to the desk, I pressed the button on the answering machine that sat next to the monitor.


“You have three new messages.” The machine stated. “First message.”


“As you may or may not know, Walker Oil is one of the oldest and best-known oil companies in Massachusetts, with a reputation for high-quality oil, excellent maintenance service, and timely delivery--”


Damn telemarketers.


“Second message.” The machine continued.


“Ms. Devins, I need you in my office tomorrow morning. We have important matters to discuss.”


Shit. Doesn’t sound good. Whenever my boss sends me voicemails, I have to go clean up some poor factory worker’s mess.


“Third Message.” The answering machine said.


“Myra.” The voice said smoothly. Cooper. “Girl, you been hiding from me. How’s that new new man.” I can hear him chuckling to himself. “Anyways.  Give me a call, with your sexy self. Bye, babe.”


God. His persistence can be soooo--


“Ms. Myra?” He sounded shy and timid.


I spun around in my chair. “Yes. Michael?”

He wrung his hands together. “I...you promised to show me…” He begins. “I Just want to know who I am.”


I look at him for a long moment, contemplating how to go about this. I could put on some of his music--no, that wouldn’t tell him his full history. It was in that moment that I wished I was one of those crazed fans who knew every single thing about him. All I knew was a name and a face. I turn on my computer, beckoning Michael over.


“What are you doing?” He questions.


I ignore this, watching as the computer slowly comes to life. I type in my password, quickly opening up “Youtube” and typing his name into the search bar. Millions upon millions of videos pop up, and I can’t quite decide which one to click on.


Sleep threatens to drag me under. I won’t be with him when he discovers who he is for himself. Rather, I’ll be in my bed. In my room. Or vice versa.


I stand up, yawning loudly. “Just watch a few of those. I’m going to bed.”


Michael hunches over and tentatively touches the screen, yelping in surprise as the video pops up.  “Wow!”


I shuffle over to the door, when the familiar blare of “BIllie Jean” permeates the air. I glance at the robot out of the corner of my eye and I take note of the large grin plastered across his face. I smile inwardly to myself. He was such a kid.


I continue to venture down the hall towards my bedroom, where I know my waterbed will be waiting for me. I don’t know why I chose a water bed. The things have long since been out of style. People tended to choose those fancy tempurpedic beds that had different settings and all of that shit.


I open the door to my bedroom and instantly kick off my house shoes, dragging my feet towards the bed. As I fall into the bed’s warm embrace, it’s liquid contents slosh beneath me. Before I allow sleep to encompass me, I think of Michael. Where would that fool sleep? I had a nice little couch in the living room, but I couldn’t imagine his tall, lanky form fitting on that thing.


A small inkling of an idea forms in my head before I push it away quickly. I would never share my bed with him. Not in a million years. I had a sleeping bag in the closet. That would have to do. Not even my brother has slept in my bed before.


It was nothing personal. I just didn’t like sharing my personal sanctuary with people. I like my space.


I like my waterbed.

 

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