The teacher stands in front of the class.
C'mon someone, or I'll pick one of you (notice warm use of the vernacular - deep below us Their researchers are beavering away finding out how we act, what we do, how to join in, how to meld seamlessly... )
Alright then I'll tell you...
Then the narrator flies inside, yes Inside the machine, up the outwardly human nostril the fleshy, veined sponge, the wiring and rusty cogs and synthetic blood gears squeaking on flat dry bearings, an old model this one see, till the narrative field stops end of the line on a cog which bears a constant crushing load, directly below the left atrium, high failure rate sir, it cracks in half but (ohshitohshit we got a problem) the remaining half keeps going. They hadn't planned for this, normal breakdown mode is to the outside stroke, arrest, or cancer if the blockage grows... but this half wheel, this dentrical hemicircle is not in the normal plans. Somewhere, under a mountain or in the depths of wherever the herd imagines it, lights flashing sirens we created Them the stimuli rooted down at the bottom of our flesh brains work to some extent in Theirs, the sound of a human screaming is invisibly but indelibly stamped on their structures and ratios.
Alright then I'll tell you...
Alright then I'll tell...
Laugh it up, fuzzballs. Teacher's going insane you just said that twice sir Open the mouth shit he's gonna puke the halfcog throws the clockwork out of synch he tells the class with smoke in the ears and a whining creak coming from the belly:
That diagram on the board their eyes chained to the finger that points is the machine which starts with a blank c-canvas, yeah, tabula rasa fuck you and pours a molten stream of singing thought onto it - fear not the working world my mortals – globs of liquid in traitor wombs (Your last freedom before they started work – play nice – sing this song) until it spits you out and leaves you, broken, to die to rot to be fed back in there's your reincarnation.
The stricken wheel jumps it's axle, normal breakdown mode ensues The girls scream and the guys try to appear concerned but unimpressed as the ol' teach collapses the way he should have, "Someone help him!" "I can't feel a pulse!" But who's gonna help him, Janet? Don't worry kids, the paramedics arrive, heh appropriate, not real medical professionals these... mechanical men working to Their orders, don't worry this little blip's sorted itself out, the ghost in the machine has been busted. These kids just had truth dangled in front of their eyes and they were blind and deaf and wondered why teach was cracking up, stress of the job, he turned bad at the end what's on tv. They've trained them well.