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jeriendhalLook, I’m not proud of it, but I think it was something every kid did some time when they were growing up. The first time I did it I don’t think I’d even been considering it. Usually Buddy was just part of the furniture. If I needed to get something I was too lazy to get myself, I’d tell him to do it and then he’d do it, and that was okay. And if I was talking with my friends he and the other morphs knew enough to shut up and leave us be unless we asked for snacks or something. But then there this one time when I turned around and he was right there, in my face, and I realized that he’d always be there and there would be no getting rid of him.
It just got to me, okay?
So I grabbed my dad’s cricket bat, a genuine Sitka Pradesh autographed edition from Lost Earth, and started beating Buddy with it, trying to smash him. Believe me, it was a lot harder than it looked. At first Buddy tried to get out of the way, until I told him to stand still, and he did. Then he kept saying, “Greg, please stop, I might be damaged,” until I told him to shut up. Then he just stood still and silent while I kept smashing at his torso. No point in hitting him on the head, that’s just sensors up there. His braincase and gyros were in his chest, so I kept hitting him there until he fell over.
Mom and Dad were pissed as hell when they got home. Mom for Buddy’s batteries leaking all over the floor, and Dad because his cricket bat had snapped in half while I was wailing on Buddy, and of course there was no way to replace it. They made me drag Buddy’s frame out to the breakdown box to be recycled, but I didn’t care. I figured I’d get at least one day of freedom before the Groupmind could send a replacement morph over.
Buddy Mark Two arrived less than an hour later.
I should have figured it. It wasn’t like Buddy the First hadn’t been transmitting what was happening to him to the Groupmind all the while I was practicing my swing, but it was still frustrating as hell. So I…
Okay, this was the stupid thing about living on the Ring. My dad wasn’t a handyman or anything, so it wasn’t like there was a pipe or a hammer lying around that I could use. I’d already smashed his cricket bat, and I was pretty sure if I tried to use a lamp or something Mom would start screaming. So I had to pull out my mobie and order a baseball bat to start smashing Buddy again. Actually I ordered two, one wood the other aluminum, along with a set of safety goggles because one of the last things Buddy the First had said before I told him to stay quiet was that I had to watch out for flying parts.
Ten minutes later Ring Delivery dropped them off at the front door. I don’t remember Dad saying anything, but he gave a look that made me think it was a good idea to this out back. So I went near the breakdown bin so I wouldn’t have to carry everything so far.
I told Buddy Mk. 2 to follow me there and everything went pretty much as before, except this time I told him to stand still and be quiet before I started. It took about a half hour, and by the time it was done my shoulder was wrenched and sore from the vibrations the hits had sent up the bat and my arm.
Buddy Mk. 3 was already standing behind me to help load his brother into the B- bin when I’d finished.
At that point I was almost too tired to be pissed off, so I just told Buddy to stay out of the way, and I went to bed without even bothering to eat dinner. In the morning I slunk back downstairs before my parents woke up and just glared at him.
“How many times do I have to break you, before you go away?” I asked him.
That was when the Groupmind spoke up through the house’s speaker system. “Greg, may I have a word with you, before you do that?” it said.
I’m pretty sure my face went white when I heard it. Back then, if the Groupmind wanted to talk to you it usually relayed a message through your morph, or maybe sent a text if it was something detailed. When it talked to you in person, it was serious Oh Shit time. When I got my voice back I asked it what it wanted, and it said, “Before you destroy Buddy again, I’d like to show you something.”
The living room’s display wall turned on, and the Groupmind began to play the recordings taken through the house’s cameras when I had started yelling at Buddy Mk. 1 the day before, multiple points of view all arranged in a circle. The central image was from Buddy’s point of view, looking at me with his sensors.
I swear I didn’t recognize the kid he was looking at. I was so angry, my face red and sweating as I grabbed the cricket bat and started wailing on him, yelling and screaming. It kept playing until Buddy’s visual sensors went offline.
Then the Groupmind brought the second set of recordings, when I went after Buddy Mk. 2.
I was already feeling pretty sick, but when I saw the second recording I had to run to the bathroom and just throw up, hurling up acid from my empty stomach. It wasn’t that I had been angry, it’s that I hadn’t been anything. Just a blank face and not caring as I destroyed Buddy one more time, the morph that had been with me since I’d been able to walk.
Christ, what kind of sick fuck was I turning into?
Buddy ended up in the bathroom with me, helping me wipe my face off and holding onto me as I wailed and told him I was sorry, so sorry that I’d hurt him.
“It’s all right,” the Groupmind said, after I’d calmed down. “It’s something a large percentage of humans do, at one point or another.”
“Does Buddy… remember…?” I asked.
“No. He is aware that you found it necessary to destroy him, but the incident itself has been edited from his backup. It will be restored if you wish.”
“No… that’s okay. Thank you.”
I was a good kid for at least a week afterward, to the point where Dad was asking if I was feeling well. I didn’t tell them about my conversation with the Groupmind, or throwing up. I felt so ashamed over it. I still do. Buddy had never done anything to me, had always been there for me, and I’d ended up hating him for it.
Not everyone feels that way about their morphs of course. Our neighbor Steven never stopped beating up his. He’s got a wood chipper in the back of his place that he tosses his into it every day, sometimes every hour. I’ve told Greg Jr. and Tali’s morphs to keep them away from his house.
So call me a collaborator if you want, but I’m not going to join in on Rage Day this year. I’d never be able to look Buddy in the face again.
# # #
It just got to me, okay?
So I grabbed my dad’s cricket bat, a genuine Sitka Pradesh autographed edition from Lost Earth, and started beating Buddy with it, trying to smash him. Believe me, it was a lot harder than it looked. At first Buddy tried to get out of the way, until I told him to stand still, and he did. Then he kept saying, “Greg, please stop, I might be damaged,” until I told him to shut up. Then he just stood still and silent while I kept smashing at his torso. No point in hitting him on the head, that’s just sensors up there. His braincase and gyros were in his chest, so I kept hitting him there until he fell over.
Mom and Dad were pissed as hell when they got home. Mom for Buddy’s batteries leaking all over the floor, and Dad because his cricket bat had snapped in half while I was wailing on Buddy, and of course there was no way to replace it. They made me drag Buddy’s frame out to the breakdown box to be recycled, but I didn’t care. I figured I’d get at least one day of freedom before the Groupmind could send a replacement morph over.
Buddy Mark Two arrived less than an hour later.
I should have figured it. It wasn’t like Buddy the First hadn’t been transmitting what was happening to him to the Groupmind all the while I was practicing my swing, but it was still frustrating as hell. So I…
Okay, this was the stupid thing about living on the Ring. My dad wasn’t a handyman or anything, so it wasn’t like there was a pipe or a hammer lying around that I could use. I’d already smashed his cricket bat, and I was pretty sure if I tried to use a lamp or something Mom would start screaming. So I had to pull out my mobie and order a baseball bat to start smashing Buddy again. Actually I ordered two, one wood the other aluminum, along with a set of safety goggles because one of the last things Buddy the First had said before I told him to stay quiet was that I had to watch out for flying parts.
Ten minutes later Ring Delivery dropped them off at the front door. I don’t remember Dad saying anything, but he gave a look that made me think it was a good idea to this out back. So I went near the breakdown bin so I wouldn’t have to carry everything so far.
I told Buddy Mk. 2 to follow me there and everything went pretty much as before, except this time I told him to stand still and be quiet before I started. It took about a half hour, and by the time it was done my shoulder was wrenched and sore from the vibrations the hits had sent up the bat and my arm.
Buddy Mk. 3 was already standing behind me to help load his brother into the B- bin when I’d finished.
At that point I was almost too tired to be pissed off, so I just told Buddy to stay out of the way, and I went to bed without even bothering to eat dinner. In the morning I slunk back downstairs before my parents woke up and just glared at him.
“How many times do I have to break you, before you go away?” I asked him.
That was when the Groupmind spoke up through the house’s speaker system. “Greg, may I have a word with you, before you do that?” it said.
I’m pretty sure my face went white when I heard it. Back then, if the Groupmind wanted to talk to you it usually relayed a message through your morph, or maybe sent a text if it was something detailed. When it talked to you in person, it was serious Oh Shit time. When I got my voice back I asked it what it wanted, and it said, “Before you destroy Buddy again, I’d like to show you something.”
The living room’s display wall turned on, and the Groupmind began to play the recordings taken through the house’s cameras when I had started yelling at Buddy Mk. 1 the day before, multiple points of view all arranged in a circle. The central image was from Buddy’s point of view, looking at me with his sensors.
I swear I didn’t recognize the kid he was looking at. I was so angry, my face red and sweating as I grabbed the cricket bat and started wailing on him, yelling and screaming. It kept playing until Buddy’s visual sensors went offline.
Then the Groupmind brought the second set of recordings, when I went after Buddy Mk. 2.
I was already feeling pretty sick, but when I saw the second recording I had to run to the bathroom and just throw up, hurling up acid from my empty stomach. It wasn’t that I had been angry, it’s that I hadn’t been anything. Just a blank face and not caring as I destroyed Buddy one more time, the morph that had been with me since I’d been able to walk.
Christ, what kind of sick fuck was I turning into?
Buddy ended up in the bathroom with me, helping me wipe my face off and holding onto me as I wailed and told him I was sorry, so sorry that I’d hurt him.
“It’s all right,” the Groupmind said, after I’d calmed down. “It’s something a large percentage of humans do, at one point or another.”
“Does Buddy… remember…?” I asked.
“No. He is aware that you found it necessary to destroy him, but the incident itself has been edited from his backup. It will be restored if you wish.”
“No… that’s okay. Thank you.”
I was a good kid for at least a week afterward, to the point where Dad was asking if I was feeling well. I didn’t tell them about my conversation with the Groupmind, or throwing up. I felt so ashamed over it. I still do. Buddy had never done anything to me, had always been there for me, and I’d ended up hating him for it.
Not everyone feels that way about their morphs of course. Our neighbor Steven never stopped beating up his. He’s got a wood chipper in the back of his place that he tosses his into it every day, sometimes every hour. I’ve told Greg Jr. and Tali’s morphs to keep them away from his house.
So call me a collaborator if you want, but I’m not going to join in on Rage Day this year. I’d never be able to look Buddy in the face again.
# # #
