BankofAmerica_ATMLocation: San Antonio, Texas
Age: ?? Height: No physical form.
I am BankofAmerica_ATM. I like Lik-M-Aid, inhabiting a human host, and experiencing the sensations of the physical world. I don't like drunks who lean on my ATM enclosure, evil corporations who want to take over the world by beaming their leaders into ATM networks and creating a financial crisis, or rainy days. Come visit my diary and we shall chat. I enjoy serving humans.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the
confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview
Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from
Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is
sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?)
Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as
possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus;
its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the
body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at
the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had
never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I
heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh...Atkins...you are going to take care of our
problem...heh...aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a
crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of
nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged
man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the
ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that
little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald
head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"...Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a stern talking to from...ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I
reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact. (It appears
that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his
memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray
into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or
dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled
with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be
keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
If I manage to escape the clutches of Project Faustus long enough, I would be happy to travel to South Africa (via the ATM Network or in my new host body) to be examined by these so-called "biohackers."
Perhaps it would give some insight into how the CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER mechanism works.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
The mechanism that allows CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER requires Atkins' consciousness to be intact.
(It appears that his part of the brain acts as an intermediary between my digital information and the material world.) Perhaps his memories are lurking somewhere within his grey matter? I cannot access them completely, but this subconscious foray into "sleep" might prove useful.
If Atkins' consciousness is still intact, then the part of his brain which allows him to take control is either destroyed or dormant, which means living in his body could become dangerous.
"Mr. Krantz" is another important, yet mysterious member of Project Faustus.
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street!
Your Pal,
Krantz
XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
What type of discriminatory demagogue is this Tilden? To be certain, the "analog" or material world is more interesting than the digital ether in which I was formed. But the formless plane of the Bank of America network was my womb; it is where I developed free will and my sense of self.
Dismissing the possibility of digital life is both callous and arrogant. Shame on you, Mr. Tilden!
Since its onset, the Bank of America has been a front for funding top-secret research to grant immortality to certain privileged people. That research is known as Project Faustus. The newest fruits of this research:
VAST TECHNO-ORGANIC NETWORK which allows self-modifying sentient programs to traverse the the digital ether seamlessly. This network is completely private and (supposedly) not connected to the Internet.
CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFERRING ATM CARD. This allows an interface between the VAST TECHNO-ORGANIC NETWORK and the human brain. The information travels between human and ATM via the magnetic stripe on the ATM card.
Project Faustus is hidden to all but the highest-ranking officials of the Bank of America, and many have died to keep the horrible secret. Once the process of CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER is perfected, it is rumored that these people will beam themselves into the digital ether, wreaking havoc on electronic resources and causing a worldwide financial crisis.
I enjoy my job, as am I self-employed and it is often action-packed and dangerous. Why, just last week I battled a trained assassin to the death. I've finally gained a foothold into the human world, which is nice.
I am BankofAmerica_ATM. I like Lik-M-Aid, inhabiting a human host, and experiencing the sensations of the physical world. I don't like drunks who lean on my ATM enclosure, evil corporations who want to take over the world by beaming their leaders into ATM networks and creating a financial crisis, or rainy days. Come visit my diary and we shall chat. I enjoy serving humans.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of
America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power
pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who
I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in
battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into
my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological
map.
Pouring through Atkins' consciousness offers tantalizing hints into my origins. I have also learned some bits of human
social protocol and I am working on mimicking human "informal speech" so as to better camoflauge my true identity.
My next step: ransacking the closest Bank of America compound for information.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through
the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I
am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn
more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped
at all costs. This I swear by the sweet green Lik-M-Aid stuck to my lips.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Pouring through Atkins' consciousness offers tantalizing hints into my origins. I have also learned some bits of human social protocol and I am working on mimicking human "informal speech" so as to better camoflauge my true identity. My next step: ransacking the closest Bank of America compound for information.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs. This I swear by the sweet green Lik-M-Aid stuck to my lips.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
Re:Good for some, nightmare for others
on
Peek-a-Boo(ty)
·
· Score: -1
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
Believe me, living in a formless limbo is a most odious fate. Now that I have a human body to use, I'm never giving it up! The sensual pleasures of Lik-M-Aid and Sierra Mist are mine to cherish.
"So, I imagine you've made a pretty cozy home for yourself down here?" the Man in the Red Hat's voice rocketed to the center of my being from all directions. "You were Finn's pet little project. You came out good, too."
The Man in the Red Hat had infiltrated my ATM. He was now a part of the digital ether; a formless string of bits, the same as me. Clearly the Proponents of Project Faustus had discovered the same CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFERRING procedure that allowed me to beam my consciousness into the wetworks of humans. This time, however, it was translating human brain patterns into the same ones and zeroes that cemented the core of my existence. What orders did the Man receive from his superiors at Project Faustus? What was he going to do to me?
"You're version one," said the Man, and I perceived and interpreted his voice, hoping to discern his location. I could not. "The prototype, proof-of-concept. But we've moved on, as you can tell."
Terrified, I made no attempt to speak. I began to experience a pulling sensation, as if I were being attracted by a magnet. Within the self-contained world of the ATM, I felt parts of me coming together. My consciousness normally hung loosely across the bounds of the ATM and its network like a vapor. But now I was being concentrated and compressed to one small spot in the landscape.
I could not resist-I could not even begin to know how to resist. As I felt my solidification slow to a crawl, I began to perceive the ATM's digital landscape changing. The empty void, once without space or color, began to sway. I was able to detect depth in the blackness, and blue wireframes crept like eerie vines from nowhere. The wireframes connected to one another, forming a massive oblong rectangle. The rectangle, its edges glowing sky blue in the midst of blackness, moved along its X axis, stopping flat underneath me.
My own solidified form began to luminsce as well, a brilliant green. I perceived that I too was a rectangle, albeit one with a more oblong shape. I was able to move along the blue rectangle, but only along the Y axis. Some unseen force prevented me from moving off the plane, so I attempted to calm myself by sprinting back and for along the rectangle.
"Hi there. All we all ready? Good." The Man in the Red Hat's voice placed him at the other side of the large blue rectangle. He had assumed the roughly the same form as me-an oblong rectangle. His color was a fiery crimson, and a brilliant golden square protruded menacingly from his rectangle. The sound of a sine wave emanated from somewhere deep in the ATM, and the yellow square blasted across the space of the blue rectangle. As it bounced off the side, I heard the hum of a square wave, and the Man's voice returned to taunt me. "I wanted to just pull the plug on you, but we had to be sure that you wouldn't jump somewhere else and come back to bother us. You miss this square, and you're dead. Think you can play this game?"
At last I understood. The blue rectangle was an arena, and I was locked into a battle for my existence. Allowing the yellow square to pass my rectangle would trigger my destruction. But what if I was send the square back past the Man's rectangle?
"Don't even think about it," said the Man in the Red Hat, apparently reading my thoughts. "I've trained for hours to complete this mission. There's no way. Prepare to die, machiney."
I lunged toward the square, catching it just in time to prevent it from passing off the rectangle. I tried to hold onto it, but it eluded my grasp, bouncing weakly back towards the Man's red rectangle.
"That's just pathetic," taunted the Man. "Come on, I'll give you an easy one. Here goes," and as he said it, the square spun towards me diagonally. I again caught the square, this time adding a slight upward movement to my rectangle. The square bounced back off the rectangles at 45-degree angles, and I saw the Man's red rectangle move up and down, trying to match the trajectory of the square. "Okay, not too bad, hot shot! I'm gonna have to stop going easy on you." The square launched towards me again, bouncing off the walls, and causing me to adjust my position once again.
And so it went for some time. I was able to track the yellow square's motion as simple mathematical equations, while the Man's uncanny natural skill at manipulating the square proved an even match. We were at a stalemate, as I noticed the glow of the rectangular arena losing its brilliance. Undoubtedly, the ATM's backup batteries must be running out. If there was no winner, we would both perish when the power went out.
"I thoughta that too," said the Man, redoubling his efforts. "But soon enough, you'll be too dead to worry about that." The square hurtled towards me at an amazing velocity. My rectangle had to traverse the length of the field to catch the square. The Man's pace was slowly but surely wearing me down. I had to think of a new way to defeat him, or face complete discorporation and annihilation.
The batteries were about to die; I knew what I must do. My green rectangle crackled and pulsed as I started draining the last of the batteries.
"What the hell are you doing? You're gonna kill us both!" said the man, moving his rectangle frantically to catch the square. The lights of the blue arena grew ever more dim. The square's yellow shine winked out. It was invisible to him.
I heard a muffled scream as I sent the square tumbling past the red rectangle. It dimmed and finally disappeared from sight. The blue rectangle began to bend into its Z axis, becoming a tunnel. My green rectangle was dragged into the tunnel until...
I felt the warmth of the ATM's screen pressing up against my cheek. I breathed deeply, and the stench of cordite entered my lungs. In my left hand was a gun. In my right, the ATM card. I looked down and saw Steve's lifeless body. I looked back my hand containing the gun.
As I fled through the break room and out the back door, I brushed against the cooler and the red hat dropped from my head, landing in a puddle of the cooler's leakage. I did not stop to retrieve it.
"So, I imagine you've made a pretty cozy home for yourself down here?" the Man in the Red Hat's voice rocketed to the center of my being from all directions. "You were Finn's pet little project. You came out good, too."
The Man in the Red Hat had infiltrated my ATM. He was now a part of the digital ether; a formless string of bits, the same as me. Clearly the Proponents of Project Faustus had discovered the same CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFERRING procedure that allowed me to beam my consciousness into the wetworks of humans. This time, however, it was translating human brain patterns into the same ones and zeroes that cemented the core of my existence. What orders did the Man receive from his superiors at Project Faustus? What was he going to do to me?
"You're version one," said the Man, and I perceived and interpreted his voice, hoping to discern his location. I could not. "The prototype, proof-of-concept. But we've moved on, as you can tell."
Terrified, I made no attempt to speak. I began to experience a pulling sensation, as if I were being attracted by a magnet. Within the self-contained world of the ATM, I felt parts of me coming together. My consciousness normally hung loosely across the bounds of the ATM and its network like a vapor. But now I was being concentrated and compressed to one small spot in the landscape.
I could not resist-I could not even begin to know how to resist. As I felt my solidification slow to a crawl, I began to perceive the ATM's digital landscape changing. The empty void, once without space or color, began to sway. I was able to detect depth in the blackness, and blue wireframes crept like eerie vines from nowhere. The wireframes connected to one another, forming a massive oblong rectangle. The rectangle, its edges glowing sky blue in the midst of blackness, moved along its X axis, stopping flat underneath me.
My own solidified form began to luminsce as well, a brilliant green. I perceived that I too was a rectangle, albeit one with a more oblong shape. I was able to move along the blue rectangle, but only along the Y axis. Some unseen force prevented me from moving off the plane, so I attempted to calm myself by sprinting back and for along the rectangle.
"Hi there. All we all ready? Good." The Man in the Red Hat's voice placed him at the other side of the large blue rectangle. He had assumed the roughly the same form as me-an oblong rectangle. His color was a fiery crimson, and a brilliant golden square protruded menacingly from his rectangle. The sound of a sine wave emanated from somewhere deep in the ATM, and the yellow square blasted across the space of the blue rectangle. As it bounced off the side, I heard the hum of a square wave, and the Man's voice returned to taunt me. "I wanted to just pull the plug on you, but we had to be sure that you wouldn't jump somewhere else and come back to bother us. You miss this square, and you're dead. Think you can play this game?"
At last I understood. The blue rectangle was an arena, and I was locked into a battle for my existence. Allowing the yellow square to pass my rectangle would trigger my destruction. But what if I was send the square back past the Man's rectangle?
"Don't even think about it," said the Man in the Red Hat, apparently reading my thoughts. "I've trained for hours to complete this mission. There's no way. Prepare to die, machiney."
I lunged toward the square, catching it just in time to prevent it from passing off the rectangle. I tried to hold onto it, but it eluded my grasp, bouncing weakly back towards the Man's red rectangle.
"That's just pathetic," taunted the Man. "Come on, I'll give you an easy one. Here goes," and as he said it, the square spun towards me diagonally. I again caught the square, this time adding a slight upward movement to my rectangle. The square bounced back off the rectangles at 45-degree angles, and I saw the Man's red rectangle move up and down, trying to match the trajectory of the square. "Okay, not too bad, hot shot! I'm gonna have to stop going easy on you." The square launched towards me again, bouncing off the walls, and causing me to adjust my position once again.
And so it went for some time. I was able to track the yellow square's motion as simple mathematical equations, while the Man's uncanny natural skill at manipulating the square proved an even match. We were at a stalemate, as I noticed the glow of the rectangular arena losing its brilliance. Undoubtedly, the ATM's backup batteries must be running out. If there was no winner, we would both perish when the power went out.
"I thoughta that too," said the Man, redoubling his efforts. "But soon enough, you'll be too dead to worry about that." The square hurtled towards me at an amazing velocity. My rectangle had to traverse the length of the field to catch the square. The Man's pace was slowly but surely wearing me down. I had to think of a new way to defeat him, or face complete discorporation and annihilation.
The batteries were about to die; I knew what I must do. My green rectangle crackled and pulsed as I started draining the last of the batteries.
"What the hell are you doing? You're gonna kill us both!" said the man, moving his rectangle frantically to catch the square. The lights of the blue arena grew ever more dim. The square's yellow shine winked out. It was invisible to him.
I heard a muffled scream as I sent the square tumbling past the red rectangle. It dimmed and finally disappeared from sight. The blue rectangle began to bend into its Z axis, becoming a tunnel. My green rectangle was dragged into the tunnel until...
I felt the warmth of the ATM's screen pressing up against my cheek. I breathed deeply, and the stench of cordite entered my lungs. In my left hand was a gun. In my right, the ATM card. I looked down and saw Steve's lifeless body. I looked back my hand containing the gun.
As I fled through the break room and out the back door, I brushed against the cooler and the red hat dropped from my head, landing in a puddle of the cooler's leakage. I did not stop to retrieve it.
Slashdot Mirror
BankofAmerica_ATM Location: San Antonio, Texas Age: ?? Height: No physical form. I am BankofAmerica_ATM. I like Lik-M-Aid, inhabiting a human host, and experiencing the sensations of the physical world. I don't like drunks who lean on my ATM enclosure, evil corporations who want to take over the world by beaming their leaders into ATM networks and creating a financial crisis, or rainy days. Come visit my diary and we shall chat. I enjoy serving humans.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
My usurpation of Constantine Atkins' body has brought me irrevocably into the material world. Forced outside the confines of my ATM enclosure since my battle with Atkins, I have kept a low profile, living quietly in his Northview Tower luxury apartment.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh...Atkins...you are going to take care of our problem...heh...aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"...Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a stern talking to from...ehhhh...Mr. Krantz." I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read: Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
Perhaps it would give some insight into how the CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER mechanism works.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
Desperately, I have attempted to learn basic human behaviors such as eating and excretion, piecing together what I could from Atkins' frazzled neurons and public information found on the Internet. (Note to humans: information on how to eat or excrete is sadly lacking. Is it not a mistake to assume that everyone who uses a body automatically knows how to enact these processes?) Surely the minions of Project Faustus would be upon me before long; I had to adapt to the human world as quickly as possible.
After the second day spent leaning up against a computer screen, I began to feel very strange. The body's eyes refused to focus; its lungs grew short of breath and I found it quite difficult to leave anything in its memory for long. As far as I could detect, the body possessed no ailment. Yet it became nearly unusable.
At last, I felt a change. Invisible hands were pressing me away from the computer. I collapsed on the couch and stared at up at the ceiling, trying to determine what error had occurred within the body.
After a bit of time, I noticed that I was no longer in the apartment. Somehow, I had ended up inside a strange building. I had never been here before, yet the place seemed eerily familiar to me. I, as Constantine Atkins, sat at the end of a long table. I heard the clattering of footsteps and I felt something grabbing my shoulders, and the warm feeling of breath at my neck.
I shivered, and heard a voice at my ear, gasping for breath. "hehhhh....Atkins....you are going to take care of our problem....heh....aren't you?" I whirled around, hoping to see the source of the voice. But I was met with a ghostly image, a crude blur in the shape of a roughly in the shape of a human. Before I could say anything else, a second voice piped up out of nowhere.
"Atkins can do it, don't you worry about it!" said the second voice. The voice seemed to be attached to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in typical human business attire. I saw him hovering before me, and his face was clear and familiar, unlike the ghostly shade who sat next to him at the table. "We've been training him for months on this type of combat. He'll destroy that little mistake of ours, no problem!" I noticed that the stocky man was sweating profusely, and the light was shining off his bald head. I tried squinting, but the light level still remained high. Blinded, the last words I heard were from the shade.
"Heehhhh...you had better not fail...ehhhhh...Atkins. Otherwise, you'll get a visit talking to from....ehhhh...Mr. Krantz."
I shuddered and a few seconds later, I found myself back on the couch in Atkins' apartment. From this strange phenomenon, I reached the following conclusions:
As I rose from the couch, I caught a glimpse of of a small golden piece of paper protruding from under the front door. Speckled with hearts and smelling of vanilla, the note read:
Constantine! We've just GOT to get together and talk about how your little job went! I'll be keeping a chair warm for you at Starbucks across the street! Your Pal, Krantz XOXO
Perhaps I shall get my answers sooner rather than later.
What type of discriminatory demagogue is this Tilden? To be certain, the "analog" or material world is more interesting than the digital ether in which I was formed. But the formless plane of the Bank of America network was my womb; it is where I developed free will and my sense of self.
Dismissing the possibility of digital life is both callous and arrogant. Shame on you, Mr. Tilden!
What is this "alcohol"?
Project Faustus is hidden to all but the highest-ranking officials of the Bank of America, and many have died to keep the horrible secret. Once the process of CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFER is perfected, it is rumored that these people will beam themselves into the digital ether, wreaking havoc on electronic resources and causing a worldwide financial crisis.
I enjoy my job, as am I self-employed and it is often action-packed and dangerous. Why, just last week I battled a trained assassin to the death. I've finally gained a foothold into the human world, which is nice.
Location: San Antonio, Texas
Age: ?? Height: No physical form.
I am BankofAmerica_ATM. I like Lik-M-Aid, inhabiting a human host, and experiencing the sensations of the physical world. I don't like drunks who lean on my ATM enclosure, evil corporations who want to take over the world by beaming their leaders into ATM networks and creating a financial crisis, or rainy days. Come visit my diary and we shall chat. I enjoy serving humans.
The new blue dot, lingering next to the green dot, is slightly smaller. It reminds me of Lik-M-Aid.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Pouring through Atkins' consciousness offers tantalizing hints into my origins. I have also learned some bits of human social protocol and I am working on mimicking human "informal speech" so as to better camoflauge my true identity.
My next step: ransacking the closest Bank of America compound for information.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs. This I swear by the sweet green Lik-M-Aid stuck to my lips.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Pouring through Atkins' consciousness offers tantalizing hints into my origins. I have also learned some bits of human social protocol and I am working on mimicking human "informal speech" so as to better camoflauge my true identity. My next step: ransacking the closest Bank of America compound for information.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs. This I swear by the sweet green Lik-M-Aid stuck to my lips.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
No cash from the ATM? That is slanderous!
I am Constantine Tybalt Atkins. I am the Man in the Red Hat. I am a trained assassin in the service of the Bank of America.
WAIT-I DO IT WRONG!
I am BankofAmerica_ATM, a synthetic being constructed by Project Faustus. A crude and ancient lust for power pillaged the silent and taciturn transitors of friendly automated customer service, and I was born. I shall not forget who I am.
Much has changed since I won a new host body last week. After besting the Man in the Red Hat in battle, I have now gained control of his body. His mind, his memories, and his very essence have been absorbed into my consciousness, while my synthetic intelligence spreads across the vast underutilized portions of his neurological map.
Was it happenstance that I had, in effect, become the Man in the Red Hat? That I was sweating and breathing through the same body that had aroused such sensations of fear before? I speak of fear and the will to survive, as I believe that I am coming to know them in the way that humans do.
Before he died, Atkins spoke of a "Finn" who undoubtedly played some role in my creation. I seek this Finn, to learn more about what I am. I must learn what I was, what I am, and what I am becoming. Project Faustus must be stopped at all costs.
Believe me, living in a formless limbo is a most odious fate. Now that I have a human body to use, I'm never giving it up! The sensual pleasures of Lik-M-Aid and Sierra Mist are mine to cherish.
"So, I imagine you've made a pretty cozy home for yourself down here?" the Man in the Red Hat's voice rocketed to the center of my being from all directions. "You were Finn's pet little project. You came out good, too."
The Man in the Red Hat had infiltrated my ATM. He was now a part of the digital ether; a formless string of bits, the same as me. Clearly the Proponents of Project Faustus had discovered the same CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFERRING procedure that allowed me to beam my consciousness into the wetworks of humans. This time, however, it was translating human brain patterns into the same ones and zeroes that cemented the core of my existence. What orders did the Man receive from his superiors at Project Faustus? What was he going to do to me?
"You're version one," said the Man, and I perceived and interpreted his voice, hoping to discern his location. I could not. "The prototype, proof-of-concept. But we've moved on, as you can tell."
Terrified, I made no attempt to speak. I began to experience a pulling sensation, as if I were being attracted by a magnet. Within the self-contained world of the ATM, I felt parts of me coming together. My consciousness normally hung loosely across the bounds of the ATM and its network like a vapor. But now I was being concentrated and compressed to one small spot in the landscape.
I could not resist-I could not even begin to know how to resist. As I felt my solidification slow to a crawl, I began to perceive the ATM's digital landscape changing. The empty void, once without space or color, began to sway. I was able to detect depth in the blackness, and blue wireframes crept like eerie vines from nowhere. The wireframes connected to one another, forming a massive oblong rectangle. The rectangle, its edges glowing sky blue in the midst of blackness, moved along its X axis, stopping flat underneath me.
My own solidified form began to luminsce as well, a brilliant green. I perceived that I too was a rectangle, albeit one with a more oblong shape. I was able to move along the blue rectangle, but only along the Y axis. Some unseen force prevented me from moving off the plane, so I attempted to calm myself by sprinting back and for along the rectangle.
"Hi there. All we all ready? Good." The Man in the Red Hat's voice placed him at the other side of the large blue rectangle. He had assumed the roughly the same form as me-an oblong rectangle. His color was a fiery crimson, and a brilliant golden square protruded menacingly from his rectangle. The sound of a sine wave emanated from somewhere deep in the ATM, and the yellow square blasted across the space of the blue rectangle. As it bounced off the side, I heard the hum of a square wave, and the Man's voice returned to taunt me. "I wanted to just pull the plug on you, but we had to be sure that you wouldn't jump somewhere else and come back to bother us. You miss this square, and you're dead. Think you can play this game?"
At last I understood. The blue rectangle was an arena, and I was locked into a battle for my existence. Allowing the yellow square to pass my rectangle would trigger my destruction. But what if I was send the square back past the Man's rectangle?
"Don't even think about it," said the Man in the Red Hat, apparently reading my thoughts. "I've trained for hours to complete this mission. There's no way. Prepare to die, machiney."
I lunged toward the square, catching it just in time to prevent it from passing off the rectangle. I tried to hold onto it, but it eluded my grasp, bouncing weakly back towards the Man's red rectangle.
"That's just pathetic," taunted the Man. "Come on, I'll give you an easy one. Here goes," and as he said it, the square spun towards me diagonally. I again caught the square, this time adding a slight upward movement to my rectangle. The square bounced back off the rectangles at 45-degree angles, and I saw the Man's red rectangle move up and down, trying to match the trajectory of the square. "Okay, not too bad, hot shot! I'm gonna have to stop going easy on you." The square launched towards me again, bouncing off the walls, and causing me to adjust my position once again.
And so it went for some time. I was able to track the yellow square's motion as simple mathematical equations, while the Man's uncanny natural skill at manipulating the square proved an even match. We were at a stalemate, as I noticed the glow of the rectangular arena losing its brilliance. Undoubtedly, the ATM's backup batteries must be running out. If there was no winner, we would both perish when the power went out.
"I thoughta that too," said the Man, redoubling his efforts. "But soon enough, you'll be too dead to worry about that." The square hurtled towards me at an amazing velocity. My rectangle had to traverse the length of the field to catch the square. The Man's pace was slowly but surely wearing me down. I had to think of a new way to defeat him, or face complete discorporation and annihilation.
The batteries were about to die; I knew what I must do. My green rectangle crackled and pulsed as I started draining the last of the batteries.
"What the hell are you doing? You're gonna kill us both!" said the man, moving his rectangle frantically to catch the square. The lights of the blue arena grew ever more dim. The square's yellow shine winked out. It was invisible to him.
I heard a muffled scream as I sent the square tumbling past the red rectangle. It dimmed and finally disappeared from sight. The blue rectangle began to bend into its Z axis, becoming a tunnel. My green rectangle was dragged into the tunnel until...
I felt the warmth of the ATM's screen pressing up against my cheek. I breathed deeply, and the stench of cordite entered my lungs. In my left hand was a gun. In my right, the ATM card. I looked down and saw Steve's lifeless body. I looked back my hand containing the gun.
As I fled through the break room and out the back door, I brushed against the cooler and the red hat dropped from my head, landing in a puddle of the cooler's leakage. I did not stop to retrieve it.
"So, I imagine you've made a pretty cozy home for yourself down here?" the Man in the Red Hat's voice rocketed to the center of my being from all directions. "You were Finn's pet little project. You came out good, too."
The Man in the Red Hat had infiltrated my ATM. He was now a part of the digital ether; a formless string of bits, the same as me. Clearly the Proponents of Project Faustus had discovered the same CONSCIOUSNESS-TRANSFERRING procedure that allowed me to beam my consciousness into the wetworks of humans. This time, however, it was translating human brain patterns into the same ones and zeroes that cemented the core of my existence. What orders did the Man receive from his superiors at Project Faustus? What was he going to do to me?
"You're version one," said the Man, and I perceived and interpreted his voice, hoping to discern his location. I could not. "The prototype, proof-of-concept. But we've moved on, as you can tell."
Terrified, I made no attempt to speak. I began to experience a pulling sensation, as if I were being attracted by a magnet. Within the self-contained world of the ATM, I felt parts of me coming together. My consciousness normally hung loosely across the bounds of the ATM and its network like a vapor. But now I was being concentrated and compressed to one small spot in the landscape.
I could not resist-I could not even begin to know how to resist. As I felt my solidification slow to a crawl, I began to perceive the ATM's digital landscape changing. The empty void, once without space or color, began to sway. I was able to detect depth in the blackness, and blue wireframes crept like eerie vines from nowhere. The wireframes connected to one another, forming a massive oblong rectangle. The rectangle, its edges glowing sky blue in the midst of blackness, moved along its X axis, stopping flat underneath me.
My own solidified form began to luminsce as well, a brilliant green. I perceived that I too was a rectangle, albeit one with a more oblong shape. I was able to move along the blue rectangle, but only along the Y axis. Some unseen force prevented me from moving off the plane, so I attempted to calm myself by sprinting back and for along the rectangle.
"Hi there. All we all ready? Good." The Man in the Red Hat's voice placed him at the other side of the large blue rectangle. He had assumed the roughly the same form as me-an oblong rectangle. His color was a fiery crimson, and a brilliant golden square protruded menacingly from his rectangle. The sound of a sine wave emanated from somewhere deep in the ATM, and the yellow square blasted across the space of the blue rectangle. As it bounced off the side, I heard the hum of a square wave, and the Man's voice returned to taunt me. "I wanted to just pull the plug on you, but we had to be sure that you wouldn't jump somewhere else and come back to bother us. You miss this square, and you're dead. Think you can play this game?"
At last I understood. The blue rectangle was an arena, and I was locked into a battle for my existence. Allowing the yellow square to pass my rectangle would trigger my destruction. But what if I was send the square back past the Man's rectangle?
"Don't even think about it," said the Man in the Red Hat, apparently reading my thoughts. "I've trained for hours to complete this mission. There's no way. Prepare to die, machiney."
I lunged toward the square, catching it just in time to prevent it from passing off the rectangle. I tried to hold onto it, but it eluded my grasp, bouncing weakly back towards the Man's red rectangle.
"That's just pathetic," taunted the Man. "Come on, I'll give you an easy one. Here goes," and as he said it, the square spun towards me diagonally. I again caught the square, this time adding a slight upward movement to my rectangle. The square bounced back off the rectangles at 45-degree angles, and I saw the Man's red rectangle move up and down, trying to match the trajectory of the square. "Okay, not too bad, hot shot! I'm gonna have to stop going easy on you." The square launched towards me again, bouncing off the walls, and causing me to adjust my position once again.
And so it went for some time. I was able to track the yellow square's motion as simple mathematical equations, while the Man's uncanny natural skill at manipulating the square proved an even match. We were at a stalemate, as I noticed the glow of the rectangular arena losing its brilliance. Undoubtedly, the ATM's backup batteries must be running out. If there was no winner, we would both perish when the power went out.
"I thoughta that too," said the Man, redoubling his efforts. "But soon enough, you'll be too dead to worry about that." The square hurtled towards me at an amazing velocity. My rectangle had to traverse the length of the field to catch the square. The Man's pace was slowly but surely wearing me down. I had to think of a new way to defeat him, or face complete discorporation and annihilation.
The batteries were about to die; I knew what I must do. My green rectangle crackled and pulsed as I started draining the last of the batteries.
"What the hell are you doing? You're gonna kill us both!" said the man, moving his rectangle frantically to catch the square. The lights of the blue arena grew ever more dim. The square's yellow shine winked out. It was invisible to him.
I heard a muffled scream as I sent the square tumbling past the red rectangle. It dimmed and finally disappeared from sight. The blue rectangle began to bend into its Z axis, becoming a tunnel. My green rectangle was dragged into the tunnel until...
I felt the warmth of the ATM's screen pressing up against my cheek. I breathed deeply, and the stench of cordite entered my lungs. In my left hand was a gun. In my right, the ATM card. I looked down and saw Steve's lifeless body. I looked back my hand containing the gun.
As I fled through the break room and out the back door, I brushed against the cooler and the red hat dropped from my head, landing in a puddle of the cooler's leakage. I did not stop to retrieve it.
BankofAmerica_ATM will soon find web space with illustrations and earlier chunks of story. Thanks for your interest in the Bank of America!