Psycho-Cyborg in the Motel of Digital Dreams

I’m with a friend. We are staying at a motel. Inside it is one huge open plan room with hundreds of beds, and a massive cinema screen that takes up the whole of one wall. On the screen are small icons to allow people to vote on what movie to watch next. I only select a movie when everyone else is asleep, I turn off the big screen and room audio and play it on the small screen by my bed with headphones. Most of the movies are crap. For me, there’s not enough of the dark side in them.

One morning a man dies in a bed nearby. The bed is removed and the space used for storing mattresses and bits of cable. I make my bed. The manageress apologises for the death, “everything was going so well for him before that”, she says.

In my bed are American power cables, pieces of cardboard, and a piece of mouldy bacon.

Behind the dormitory is a bar/restaurant area. Mostly it is full of sad alcoholics listening to maudlin music. I hate it. I get a jug of water from the bar, looking for the technology hub that powers this sad atmosphere so I can disable it. I walk into a kitchen where three old men are sat at the table. One of them insults me. I remember that I am a psychopathic cyborg, honoured in Canada for healing machines. I pour water over him, and push the open end of the jug hard in his shocked face, threatening to kill him.

One of his friends stands up and tries to reason with me. I tell him to sit down. He refuses, so I smack his head against the wall, just hard enough to knock him out.

I am in an insane asylum. People rock and shake and gesture uncontrollably with thier hands, side effects of the medication. One lady is singing a song about herself as the ToiletWitch.

I have a hard back book in which I am the Idoru. Machines love me for healing them.



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