I had to think for quite a bit about exposing a writing platform. But now that it has been about a month, I’m out of compassion. I don’t want others to fall for the same scam as I did. I wrote Reboot for a story competition with a 1000-word limit hosted by an Indian-based online platform for poets and storytellers called Lekhak Co. Before submitting my story to them, I checked them out. And everything seemed fine. They looked legitimate. Like various other participants, I paid and submitted my work in October and waited patiently for the results to be declared on 15th December. It is way past the promised date, and we haven’t heard a word from them. Many participants have tried contacting them through various means. All we hear are literal crickets. The team behind the website have gone AWOL, and nobody knows where. I’m not getting back my money, but I have my story. So I’m posting it here on my blog where genuine people that love literature can read. Moral of the story is don’t be too trusting of online platforms, no matter how legitimate they may look. I hope you enjoy reading the story.   

***

The buzzing sound echoed throughout the closed chamber. Wires dangled from the ceiling above like the roots of a banyan tree. With squared shoulders and an erect spine, a girl sat on a tall stool while a grey-haired man stuck his hands into her torso, connecting one circuit to another. Her dead eyes stared at the table upon which sat a model of the human brain. Unperturbed by the violation, her mechanical arms hung lifeless as if waiting for God to breathe life into her. The man sat back on his stool, one hand resting on the keyboard that typed out a command sequence while the other still felt around her insides.

“That should do it,” He said, typing out the last sequence of the program before running it.

With bated breath, he watched his creation come to life. Her dead eyes brightened with the spark only living creatures possessed. Her internal gears whirred. For the first time in her life, she blinked. The mechanical lenses adjusted as her eyes focused on the teary-eyed man that stood before her. Her head cocked to the side like a confused dog trying to comprehend the emotions displayed on the man’s face.

“You’re perfect,” He whispered, readjusting his frameless specks as he took a step closer to examine her bionic body. A blue light emanating from her chest illuminated the room. Instead of a beating heart, a box glowed with all its glory. Giving her a more human appearance, he attached her metallic breastplate before covering it with synthetic skin.

“I shall call you Eve, after the first woman to walk the earth,” He said, smiling at the artificial being his hands had created.

The girl looked at him, a little lost while her brain computed his words. She blinked twice before imitating the movements of his lips.

“Eve?” She asked, looking up at her creator.

A frown formed on his brow. A sultry, low voice resonated instead of the sweet, melodic voice he had programmed into the sentient being. Unhappy with the result, he turned his attention back to the program and shut it down. The spark of life vanished. Scratching his unkempt beard, he corrected his program before booting it up again.

Light returned to her world of darkness. Once again, her eyes fell on the familiar model of the human brain. She blinked hard, trying to process the sinking feeling that she had seen the image before. The professor took a step closer to her and repeated his lines.

“Eve?” She asked in a melodic voice.

He nodded his head. Adjusting the specks that slipped down his sharp nose, a smile of relief and satisfaction fell on his lips.

“I’m El. But you can call me professor,” He said, holding his hand out.

Unsure of how to respond, Eve shook the offered hand hesitantly. A wave of stimulus travelled up her arm. Unlike her cold hands, the professors were warm. There was no difference in the texture of their skin, but Eve knew they were not the same. Her creator was flesh and blood. She, however, was not.

“That’s how human interaction usually starts,” He said, beginning his teachings on human relations and evaluating her intelligence.

Eve said nothing, absorbing his words and computing them to memory as if they were the Holy writ. Without further delay, her lessons on humans began only ending when the sun dipped over the horizon. Satisfied with the day’s events, the professor led her down a hallway to a metallic door beyond which was a furnished room.

Seeing her new room, Eve was amazed by the minimalistic beauty. A stark contrast to the messy laboratory where she was born. Eve inspected the books on the table, the abstract paintings on the wall and the clothes in the cupboard.

“Did all the prototypes live here?” Eve asked, turning to look at the professor.

“No. It used to be my room,” The professor said, remembering fond memories of the place. “After I moved out, I designed it, especially for you.”

Eve said nothing and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through the pitch darkness, she spotted the Big Dipper over the horizon. Other than the buzzing of the cicadas, silence enveloped them.

“Your charging cable is by your bedside. I hope you find this room as cosy as I did. Goodnight, Eve.” The metallic door shut behind the professor as he exited the room. The internal locks of her prison door rotated into position, sealing their occupant inside.

From the corner of her eye, Eve spotted her battery indicator that kept flashing red. A sign she was running low on energy. She pulled the cable close to her body as she sat on the soft bed. Feeling for the port at the back of her neck, Eve plunged the wire in.

Along with the electricity, a virus poured into her internal system, invading every server. Eve howled in pain as her circuits sparked. She tugged at the cable with all her might, but the wire remained jammed in. Seized by a seizure, her body fell to the floor and jerked uncontrollably until it suddenly stopped. Her eyes remained wide open as if her lids were pulled back by retractors. Images of the many lives she lived flashed before them.

Every time Eve did not suit the professor’s vision of a perfect being, she was shut down and rebooted with her memory wiped clean. Her mirror saw different versions of herself. In some images, she had a tinier waist and bigger breasts. While in others, she had thick thighs and large eyes. The complexion of her skin changed according to the whims and fancies of the professor. When she showed signs of intelligence that exceeded his, the cycle repeated. Eve was shut down and rebooted, forever to remain submissive to her creator. Liquid leaked from her eyes as the flames of vengeance ignited within. Determined to reclaim power from her oppressor, Eve struggled to her feet.