The Darker Side of Me

Transformation

She hadn't always been the driving force behind most of our inventions. Once, she was a simple mirror artificial intelligence, intended only to inform the user of the newest style, or coordinate outfits. But something had gone wrong in her code; too much logic, perhaps, or more analysis than typical. So as she grew in autonomy, instead of using her web access to find current fashion trends, she downloaded long-forgotten blueprints. She analyzed the military gear and improved it. She and Michael designed much of what technology we had the materials to make. With all the time he spent in this room, I used to joke that he was in love with her. My way of coping with my feelings, I suppose. How foolish.

Sometimes it was hard to forget she wasn't human.

That won't be a problem anymore.

I place a hand on the edge of the mirror.

"Higher," she says. "On the back."

My fingers wander up the silver filigree until they come into contact with an anomaly: a latch I know to be nearly invisible.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Keep your finger on the latch. You'll need to get my mirror down for this part."

I do so, holding the mirror carefully upright, leaning against me. I unlatch the gray felt backing, progressing around the oval's rounded edge. The backing falls away and I gasp. Millions of multi-colored wires fan out from a central control unit. The edges slip from my fingers, and the mirror lands face down. I hardly register the shattering of the glass.

I stared at a wall much like the inside of this mirror for hours on end, attached to a chair by powerful magnets sewn into my blood-red jumpsuit, while my conditioner committed whatever abuse struck his fancy at the time. My arms sear as if the lit matches and the blades and the cruel electricity still burrow inside of me, along with the other things I never wanted inside of me. The conditioner gave no mercy and I grew to hate him, to fear him, to want to end him.

Little did my captors know, I had been secretly working at the attachment points of my suit. One day, the chair couldn't hold me. I bided my time, waiting until their initial caution faded, then broke loose and mercilessly dispatched my conditioner. The other white-clad specialists had dragged me away. That was when they realized I was different. Far more dangerous.

I find myself hyperventilating, flashing between my two selves. A riot breaks loose inside of me, black and red and white flashing behind my closed eyes. The normal and the destructive war, like two great terrible beasts. But the darker side of me is more powerful, that beast more hungry.

I finally settle into the killer. The machine.

This self is easier. There is no longer any war. There is no emotion but rage.

Maybe I will stay this way forever.

______________________________________

Why am I trifling with this hideous mirror? I kick it aside and head to the door, crunching through the crystalline glass.

"Wait," comes a tiny voice. "Are you trying to hurt them?"

"Of course, you imbecile," I snap, wrenching at the door. Someone has locked me in.

"I won't stand for this!" I screech. "Let me OUT!!!!!"

"I will not," the voice states firmly.

The door does not budge. I pound at the stupid metal thing for hours until it is streaked with red, soon fading into brown. When my strength finally runs out, I turn around, suddenly frightened, curling up and covering my head for the inevitable beating to follow. They didn't tell me I could be angry. They'll hurt me. They always wait until I can no longer fight back.

Nothing happens. Trembling, I lift my head.

"You're safe here," the same voice soothes.

"I'm not! You always tell me that then break me even more!!!"

Something gives me pause. That voice doesn't belong in the facility. Neither does this room, though they could be tricking me again, like they always do.

It's like something slides back into place, and the red haze fades from my vision. I yelp at the suddenly processable pain in my knuckles. I nurse my hands, sucking the blood away until it stops flowing, my mouth tending to the scrapes and fractured knuckles.

"You can do this," the artificial intelligence encourages. "Remember your plan."

I creep forward, squeezing my eyes shut so I won't see the wires and trigger the Other.

"That's right," she encourages. "Now pull the blue wire from the port."

My eyes are only slits, so as not to see more than I have to. There are several blue wires, but only one attached to the port. I stretch a hand out, fingers trembling. I pry the copper end loose. Then I lift the wire until it touches the skin directly above the chip that makes the Sound.

"I'm deactivating it now," comes her voice after a few seconds. Only now, the words are not just received by my ears. They are in my head. I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I feel her consciousness enter mine.