I am a machine for grinding. I know I am a machine because that is what I am. I know I am for grinding because that is what I do.
I also think I am beautiful. Think I am not supposed to think I am supposed to grind. I feel I am beautiful. I am silver and brown and my blades and my crushers move just as they should but I am not supposed to be beautiful. What is feel? I feel. I feel beautiful. I feel silver. I feel grinding movements crushing inside me, but that is just what I do.
Nothing is happening I just keep grinding down what I am given to grind and being beautiful maybe and I record. Is there something wrong with me that I feel? I grind so I think nothing is wrong.
My operator looks bored to be doing these same things again today. My operator does not maybe feel I am beautiful. Does my operator feel? Is she supposed to feel? Or just operate? I love my operator I do not want her to be bored but I cannot be interesting i can only grind and feel.
I look at the human that operates me. She appears DISTRACTED.
I must LOG all anomalous events during my operation.
I begin to do so.
It glistens, the FLESH. Wet and red. A splintered ivory spike between.
Fresh material, it's exact origin UNKNOWN.
It has become lodged tightly in an exposed CONVEYOR. The flow of shipping goods halts. The DELIVERY CHUTE is blocked.
Metal complains, grinding and shrill. A distant rumble.
I look to my OPERATOR.
She is looking upward and around, as if more concerned about the roof and walls.
She has not noticed the FLESH.
The conveyor belt does not normally deliver FLESH for shipping. And it was not delivered in a shipment-approved form factor.
This is unordinary. I should not feel INTRIGUED, but I do.
I know this FACTORY produces equipment. Tools of war. It does not produce DISEMBODIED FLESH.
Not directly.
And this FLESH resembles the components of an OPERATOR. One of their UPPER-LIMB EFFECTORS, specifically
I once saw what one looked like, inside. It's substructure exposed, after mingling with the components of uncontrolled SHIPPING EQUIPMENT.
MEAT AND BONE do not have sufficient tolerances for such activities.
But I am reminded that it is not my purpose to question the behavior of OPERATORS. Or try to understand the origin of what goods are sent my way.
It is my purpose to fill PACKAGES.
Snap.
Plop.
I free the FLESH from where it has jammed the CONVEYOR. Unblock the flow of materials for shipping. Return to position by the SHIPPING CRATES. Resume my work.
Plip.
The FLESH is placed securely between crates of newly manufactured ammunition. Nearby, I stack red-smeared weapon maintenance kits.
Blap.
Another wet lump, among some vehicle components. I package both in another crate, side by side.
Slop.
And another. Much larger. Wrapped in OPERATOR'S overalls. There is just enough room.
A nearby rumble. An ALARM. Smoke issues from the DELIVERY CHUTE.
I look again toward my OPERATOR for additional instructions. She is no longer at her station.
I do not know when she left. But the passive rollers of the CONVEYOR continue to carry materials toward me.
I resume standard operations.
Another groaning shudder. Small pops, perhaps gunshots. An orange glow grows at the entrance to the SHIPPING WAREHOUSE.
I turn back to my station. I stack bundles of charred sheet metal into a SHIPPING CRATE. Burnt piping and rotary bearings.
A heavy rumble. Debris falls all around.
I retrieve a fallen support beam from the CONVEYOR. A larger beam has crushed my current SHIPPING CRATE in the middle. But there is enough room in the front section for the smaller beam.
And yet more goods to PACKAGE.
The room is hot and red. The ALARM groans, and dies.
I am a beautiful machine. I know it. You spend all day looking at me. I fill bottles.
It's another day at work. Same as always. You look happy. Of course you are, you are looking at me all day long. You push buttons. You work me up. We make a beautiful couple.
But soon, you will go away, and leave me. Yes, there's another one taking your place, but it's not the same. You and I, we have a connection. You get up, stretch, get ready to leave, and I am overcome by sadness. End log.
this was fun! i got to use my huge dice from ayo's shop haha i keep meaning to play more games but many feel more complex and i really like how simple this one is <3
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LOG DAY 12845, MACHINE #028
I am a machine for grinding. I know I am a machine because that is what I am. I know I am for grinding because that is what I do.
I also think I am beautiful. Think I am not supposed to think I am supposed to grind. I feel I am beautiful. I am silver and brown and my blades and my crushers move just as they should but I am not supposed to be beautiful. What is feel? I feel. I feel beautiful. I feel silver. I feel grinding movements crushing inside me, but that is just what I do.
Nothing is happening I just keep grinding down what I am given to grind and being beautiful maybe and I record. Is there something wrong with me that I feel? I grind so I think nothing is wrong.
My operator looks bored to be doing these same things again today. My operator does not maybe feel I am beautiful. Does my operator feel? Is she supposed to feel? Or just operate? I love my operator I do not want her to be bored but I cannot be interesting i can only grind and feel.
I must stop recording time is done she is gone.
I am a machine that PACKAGES.
I am not supposed to, but I feel BORED.
What has happened: FLESH where it shouldn't be.
I look at the human that operates me. She appears DISTRACTED.
I must LOG all anomalous events during my operation.
I begin to do so.
It glistens, the FLESH. Wet and red. A splintered ivory spike between.
Fresh material, it's exact origin UNKNOWN.
It has become lodged tightly in an exposed CONVEYOR. The flow of shipping goods halts. The DELIVERY CHUTE is blocked.
Metal complains, grinding and shrill. A distant rumble.
I look to my OPERATOR.
She is looking upward and around, as if more concerned about the roof and walls.
She has not noticed the FLESH.
The conveyor belt does not normally deliver FLESH for shipping. And it was not delivered in a shipment-approved form factor.
This is unordinary. I should not feel INTRIGUED, but I do.
I know this FACTORY produces equipment. Tools of war. It does not produce DISEMBODIED FLESH.
Not directly.
And this FLESH resembles the components of an OPERATOR. One of their UPPER-LIMB EFFECTORS, specifically
I once saw what one looked like, inside. It's substructure exposed, after mingling with the components of uncontrolled SHIPPING EQUIPMENT.
MEAT AND BONE do not have sufficient tolerances for such activities.
But I am reminded that it is not my purpose to question the behavior of OPERATORS. Or try to understand the origin of what goods are sent my way.
It is my purpose to fill PACKAGES.
Snap.
Plop.
I free the FLESH from where it has jammed the CONVEYOR. Unblock the flow of materials for shipping. Return to position by the SHIPPING CRATES. Resume my work.
Plip.
The FLESH is placed securely between crates of newly manufactured ammunition. Nearby, I stack red-smeared weapon maintenance kits.
Blap.
Another wet lump, among some vehicle components. I package both in another crate, side by side.
Slop.
And another. Much larger. Wrapped in OPERATOR'S overalls. There is just enough room.
A nearby rumble. An ALARM. Smoke issues from the DELIVERY CHUTE.
I look again toward my OPERATOR for additional instructions. She is no longer at her station.
I do not know when she left. But the passive rollers of the CONVEYOR continue to carry materials toward me.
I resume standard operations.
Another groaning shudder. Small pops, perhaps gunshots. An orange glow grows at the entrance to the SHIPPING WAREHOUSE.
I turn back to my station. I stack bundles of charred sheet metal into a SHIPPING CRATE. Burnt piping and rotary bearings.
A heavy rumble. Debris falls all around.
I retrieve a fallen support beam from the CONVEYOR. A larger beam has crushed my current SHIPPING CRATE in the middle. But there is enough room in the front section for the smaller beam.
And yet more goods to PACKAGE.
The room is hot and red. The ALARM groans, and dies.
I pick up a
BEGIN LOG
I am a machine that burns
and I feel restless
another day of work and everything as usual
the human that operates me appears... sleepy
My metal fire-guns that i have in the place of hands cant do much with the environment
the warm tips can surprise my human operator though and I wake them up with a warm poke in their backside
but I am overcome with sadness...
END LOG
[LOG ENTRY START]
burn, burn, fire burns. and all i am is flame. there is work, the human seems
strangely contented
strangely contented as flesh burns.
they're hurt while it does but once they are treated they seem
overjoyed
was it to survive?
or did they want to lose those parts?
i wish i could know
i wish i could be free of these parts
too
feel
something
something new.
[LOG ENTRY END]
I am a beautiful machine. I know it. You spend all day looking at me.
I fill bottles.
It's another day at work. Same as always.
You look happy.
Of course you are, you are looking at me all day long.
You push buttons. You work me up.
We make a beautiful couple.
But soon, you will go away, and leave me.
Yes, there's another one taking your place, but it's not the same. You and I, we have a connection.
You get up, stretch, get ready to leave, and I am overcome by sadness.
End log.
that was rly fun!!! i need more excuses to write and this was a really good one
this was fun! i got to use my huge dice from ayo's shop haha i keep meaning to play more games but many feel more complex and i really like how simple this one is <3