Purple is the Face of Death

CHAPTER 2: MACHINE

Hey. Hey, wake up! I know you still feel a bit disoriented due to the scan, but just in case the side effects came out too strong, I made this video to remind you of...stuff.

Hi, by the way! I'm Julian, and I'm technically...you, in a sense. You're a copy of my consciousness uploaded to a robot body. You see, the apocalypse is coming. There's no denying of that. It's just outside the door looming over us like one big purple bully. But enough of that. I digress.

Anyway, since we're all going to die anyway, I thought to myself: hmm, why not just use my remaining time to do something for myself? And so I did!

Say hello...to the Mind Replicator! It's...the helmet thingy on you right now with speakers and a screen that projects this video right at your face. It used to be called the Mind Transporter, but while making the prototype, I...oh wait; maybe I should stop saying "I". WE, rather, discovered two things:

One. We cannot transfer consciousness from one body to another, but...we can make copies of consciousness AND THEN upload it to artificial bodies!

But here's the second thing: the scanning messes up with the user's memories, especially the recent ones. Which is why I had to at least leave you a message like this.

Stay immortal, and watch the world burn for me, okay? See ya after this video!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was expecting to see the original Julie hooked up on the other side of the Replicator when I took the helmet off my face. That was not the case, however. What I saw was another robot wearing the other helmet and a dead Julian on the floor, wet with his own blood.

I immediately approached the robot body in front of me and removed the helmet on its face. "Hey, what's going on? What the hell happened to Julian?"

The robot responded with a voice identical to mine. "I'm Julian's first copy. You're basically a copy of a copy. Welcome to meaninglessness."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Julian was on a short stay in Athlone just to move his head away from stuff, when he stumbled upon an orange-haired painter in a park. The artist was attracting attention to himself during that time; his sparkling blue eyes—where the entire ocean seemed to be trapped within—were focused on his subject: a blonde little boy doing a cringy dab. He was doing a painting of the kid with quick but delicate strokes of his paintbrush, leaving the crowd in awe. That included Julian.

In more or less half an hour, he managed to create a magnificent painting of the kid which captured even the smallest details—from the kid's goofy grin, brown eyes, and even the pose. A warm applause erupted from the crowd and soon, Julian found himself clapping too (although still stunned by what he saw).

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Why is he...dead? Did you kill him? Did he kill himself?"

"My memory has been corrupted by the scan as well, so it's kinda hard to remember. I am experiencing some random flashes of memory, though. Are you?" the robot said. (On second thought, I should stop using the word "robot" that way since I'm technically one as well.)

"Umm...yeah."

"Good. Keep it that way."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The crowd around him started to brandish the bills in their hands like flags, shouting their requests to be the next customer. As much as the artist wanted to continue, the grumbling of his stomach said otherwise. He then politely turned down the requests and promised that he will be back on the next morning (same time, same place). Many were disappointed, but they all kept their hopes up. Soon, the crowd dissipated back into their normal lives after being satisfied by the painter's promise.