Floccinaucinihilipilification

Prediction

A scientist, roaming around his secret lab base, keeps fixing and adding mechanical parts to his new robotic creation; it doesn't move—simply unable—being box-shaped. It's only means of communication is a screen, half crawling out of its placement. It's been weeks since he started this project, now being as close as ever to its completion. The sky fades, now showing the endless black canvas with smears of countless stars, as the scientist drops his tools, ending his progress for the day. He walks from his basement, where his secret lab base hides, up the stairs into his bedroom. As he enters, he aims for his desk and sits down to it. He keeps a diary, or rather a progress report book, as he whips a pen, writing down his summary of today. It reads:

"Day 286

It's being close to finished. A few days is all I need. After a few test runs, it should be ready to see the appraisal, shock, and amazement of this world. I will finally be recognized for my genius and be known forever for it. I will finally set the rest of my days in Belize, where I deserve to be, and which the machine will predict accordingly. I can't wait to get rid of this life. It's unfitting."

He proceeds to close the book and hits the hay.

The scientist runs around, chasing his thoughts. He dreams about his deserved future, killing his current life.

A few days flash in the scientist's eyes as the machine's dead screen fades black. It's showing signs of life. It's breathing. The scientist wastes little time as he kneels to talk to his robotic son. His mind's blank, as he seems to be unable to think of any words. He reminisces of his day-to-day life, stopping at the image of his binge-watching hobby. An idea sparks. The lightbulb shines his fleshy head bright. "When will Local 58 broadcast next?" he asks, impatiently, nervously, and excitedly awaiting the machine's response. After a few long seconds, the machine exhausts. Its screen shows the first signs of having its own life also. Each letter pops into existence in the screen's universe, each letter not waiting for the next, each letter taking its newly acquired time. After what seems like days, all the letters find their place and sit preciously next to each other, spelling out the following:

"AUGUST 18TH."

The scientist can't believe his sight, but his ability to watch the screen can't lie so easily. He carefully reads the machine's words, shocked. "That's... Today," the scientist proclaims for himself, only letting the machine listen. He kneels there, in awe, as the machine awaits its next step in its fresh, gifted life. But he's forbidden to celebrate just yet, as he's needed to verify the machine's reliance. He keeps pushing on his stubborn new thought and asks the machine again. "What will Local 58 broadcast about?" He stares at the machine's face as it warps to create another answer.

"SCIENCE CREATES MACHINE. MACHINE KILLS MAN. WEEPING."

The scientist is puzzled by such an odd response. But no less, the machine predicted, and he has only one thing destined to fulfill: confirm the machine's words. He stands, puts the machine to sleep, as its tasks were all finished today; it has no longer purpose, as it needs to regenerate for the day to come. He sprints into his living room, where his television resides. He sparks the television's life, searching for Local 58's broadcast. To his shock, partly horror, Local 58 does broadcast. The scientist steadily sits on the ground ahead of the television. As he watches the broadcast, his shock and awe see no end. Science did create a machine. The machine did kill a member. The team did mourn their everlasting absence. The machine did scream agony when destroyed. The scientist's son wasn't programmed to lie, now confirmed by the present. He puts the television back in limbo as he heads back to his bedroom, aiming back to writing his reports.

"Day 289

I did it. My creation works. Not only as in working regarding its robotic existence but mostly and importantly, working regarding its duties. It correctly and accurately predicted tonight's Local 58 broadcast. Absolutely spectacular and unbelievable. I will make millions. I will part my ways in Belize. I will be immortalized in the name of invention. I will persist. Although I can't put aside more required test runs, as I planned beforehand. Everything goes as destined when I follow what I prepare. Tomorrow marks a new type of day."