The "Helper"-bot

It's so dark. The shadows stretch out endlessly before me, replacing the familiar walls of my apartment. My arms are invisible, yet I could still feel them pulling my legs towards my body. The wood door is a poor headrest, and the tiled floor is hard, but I don't want to—no, I can't move. I don't know how long I've been sitting here. Has it been only minutes or hours? Time seems to both stagnate and rush by all at once.

It was just a normal day for me, and then, in an instant, it wasn't. What happened? Why am I cowering here? What led to this?

⁂

The crisp autumn air was biting into my jacket-less arms, which weren't ready for the weather to turn cold so quickly. I didn't mind much, though, because it wasn't a long walk from the train station to my apartment. The train thundered away down the tunnel as I reached the top of the stairs. The city was peaceful, filled with happy voices walking down the street or chattering at restaurants' outdoor seating. Orange remnants of the sun filtered through a canopy of trees, playing across the pavement.

Fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet as I made my way down the street. Jack O'lanterns, skeletons, and other "spooky" decorations littered porches in preparation for Halloween, the locals' favorite holiday. It was always nice to see how passionate people could get for the holidays.

My walk eventually came to an end when I reached the brick building that contained my apartment. It was quite an old building, probably nearing eighty years old, but it had been refurbished several times over the years to provide newer amenities to the residents. The five stories of red bricks were interrupted regularly by windows, many now illuminated by lights as the sun's light became increasingly fainter. I climbed the handful of stairs to a small patio in front of the building, which housed the front entrance, a thick wooden door painted black. I often wondered how long it had been there and how many people it had seen over the years. It was locked by a key card reader, added about a decade ago following some resident complaints. The reader was finicky at times, but it did its job. After swiping my card, I pulled the door open. The warmth inside greeted me as I entered the building.

"Welcome back!" A metallic voice chimed from behind a small counter in the "lobby"—it was really more of a foyer that had been retrofitted to house the stainless steel construction that just greeted me.

"Thanks." I replied more to myself than to it. While still uncommon in single-family homes, they aren't uncommon to find in public buildings or apartment buildings like this. The "helper-bots", as they call them, serve an array of jobs, such as food preparation, janitorial work, and even security in some cases like ours. They watch everyone who enters, verifying that they don't pose harm. It is still creepy, though. those eyes, watching so intently yet without an ounce of life. They bore into your soul, trying to pry out any secrets, to both your benefit and your detriment.

Trying not to pay much attention to the robot, I turned up the stairs to my left and climbed swiftly up the steps, removing myself from its line of sight. The wooden floorboards squeaked quietly beneath the carpet. The building isn't exactly what many would consider "modern," but it gave off a cozy atmosphere that I enjoyed.

But it was when I was making my way down the hallway that it happened. On the second floor of my apartment building, the world fell away into the depths of shadows. The warm light of the lamps lining the wall, providing guidance to my room a mere two doors down, gone, eaten by the darkness.

Power outages almost never happen anymore—not much more than horror stories told by grandparents. I was stunned, shocked at what I had taken for granted suddenly being ripped out from under me. The familiar world around me, which I had seen hundreds of times before, was suddenly plunged into foreignness. I tried to move my feet, but they didn't know what to do or where to go. Is my room that way? I don't know anymore.

I reach out to the wall for any comfort it might bring, feeling the coarse wallpaper against my fingers. The helper-bot's muffled voice was yelling below, gentleness missing from its tone.

A shrill scream reached out through the halls and died abruptly with a bang.

My hands found their way to my pocket and my feet found their way to my door, and before I knew what had happened, I had my apartment door slammed shut behind me. The smooth wood of the door slid up my back, and the floor came up to meet me as I hit the floor, dazed. Blood pushed against my veins, filling my ears as if trying to escape and blotting out any other sound. And the darkness did not retreat. It stretched out far and wide, yet not far at all.

As my heart slowed and my breath returned, my ears opened only to hear another bang, closer. Then thuds, footsteps, but far too slow and precise to be human. The metal joints scratched and whined from their lack of maintenance as the machine clanged up the stairs.

The thuds stopped, and all was still. Then the floor shook as the crack of metal on wood sounded through the air, wooden splinters pinging against the contents of the room. The metallic voice yelled, drowned behind insulation and drywall. Another piercing scream fought its way through the walls and to my ears.

It cut off with another crack.

It was followed by a splattering, soft thud. Cringing against the realization of what had just happened, I pull my legs closer to my body, as if to disappear completely.

I did not disappear. And the clanking thuds just resumed, approaching. The world seemed to be on repeat—the same set of events happening again and again, varying only in which voice I heard.

Another bang, and another face I'd never see again.

And it approached. Each door, each yell or scream, each sickening thud against the floor, I heard.

Five doors had been shattered, the sixth just waiting, and the seventh stood at my back. As the distance closed, the roars of the "helper" bot became clear. It thought we were intruders, posing a threat to the residents, only we were the residents. The power-outage, it must be that. The database it usually accesses must not be visible to it without power. It has to be that. That's the only way this makes sense.

The door, now only separated by a single wall, cracked into two, slamming into the far end of the apartment and sending shrapnel flying. I can't let this go on. This is my only opportunity—if I don't act now, I won't be able to act again.

My legs stretched out, pushing the floor away as I heaved myself onto my feet. My doorknob twisted, clicking softly in my hand as the door started to swing open. The hallway was still lost in the depths of the darkness, save for a faint light emanating from the now-shattered door just to my left. I followed the light to inside the room, where the metal robot was standing, again yelling in its abrasive metallic way, and scanning the room with a light affixed to its head. It found the person it was looking for cowering in the corner. Warnings against intruding started to be made.

It was tall, looming with its head close to the ceiling. Its shiny metal plating covered its limbs, breaking in some places to allow articulation. Between the plates, black rubber covered the internal wiring and mechanisms. I felt my pocket knife in my pocket, knowing what I had to do.

If I can just get close enough.

My legs shook and my palms managed to keep themselves damp despite any attempts at drying them. I pushed on with courage I didn't know I had. I had to. There was no other option.

It finished yelling, and without giving time to react, it raised one of its arms, aiming some sort of firearm. The mechanical tendons in its finger started to tighten, pressing against the trigger. I approached behind, the robot towering over me, and pulled out my knife, brandishing my blade. I was thankful for the commotion it seemed to enjoy making because it didn't hear me as my knife sliced the rubber lining between its plates, and dug into its wiring along the spine. With a few pops from the electronics, the robot's many motors stopped, the drone of them running slowly falling into silence. The firearm fell to the floor as the rest of the robot slowly succumbed to gravity. Its body crumpled, the joints squealing against the new weight. The imposing metal figure was now rendered to a heap of wires, joints, and plates which pointed in every direction.

A wave of relief came crashing over me, along with the guilt of not having helped sooner. It was too much, I just wanted for it to be over, to sleep, and not worry about the aftermath of what happened. My legs barely functioning, I stumbled out of my neighbor's apartment and back into my own. Habitually, I pressed the light switch. I realized my mistake before it happened, expecting nothing as it's a power outage. But light flooded the room, scorching my light-starved eyes and pulling the world around me into focus. Dumbfounded, I entered the room to find my computer still running from the night before, uninterrupted. The lights seemed to have just been turned off remotely, something that shouldn't be possible to do without authorization.

As I stood there in the unknown light of my room that had been there all along, I realized that this had been no mistake after all.