Doomsday

After a three month delay, it was finally time. Following a night of very deep rest, he went for his early morning swim with his personal trainer, ate a hearty breakfast prepared by his chef, donned his freshly laundered white pants and shirt, said good morning to his compound manager, and then entered his private control room.

Sliding into his ergonomic chair, he took a moment to enjoy the sunlight pouring into the space. The big windows had been a suggestion of his new compound manager who took over right after the terrible debacle with the previous staff.

No more delays. Today he would open the program, conquer his enemies, and drink that bottle of Scotch. He switched on the computers and his AI, and then flipped the switch for the bots’ underground bunker to ‘Open’.

“Good morning, sir.” His AI assistant’s voice was light and feminine, something he felt he needed when the previous staff proved to be so treacherous. It made him feel more cheerful.

“Open Doomsday,” he said.

“Doomsday is opened. What city would you like to hit with Doomsday?”

“Los Angeles.” He wanted all of those acting coaches to know that he had succeeded at something without their help.

“Los Angeles Doomsday commencing.” The bots would go after the dumpsters first, setting everything on fire. He could see it now. The Los Angeles Dumpster Fire. One Hot Mess. Hahaha.

He made himself a cup of coffee and then sent out the other two flotillas of bots, one to Hong Kong and another to Paris.

He had applied for a fellowship in Hong Kong as a young grad student and was rejected on the basis of his thesis being “interesting and informative, but not quite a fit for our program.” Hong Kong could sink into the ocean for all he cared. By the end of the day, it might.

His last girlfriend had broken up with him along the Seine. It was supposed to be the most romantic night of his life. But instead she had called him a selfish know it all who could never love anyone. That city would be a pile of romantic rubbish when the bots were done with it. Hot Parisian Trash. No, Haute Parisian Trash. Hahaha.

Outside, the pool boy cleaned while the maids walked by with the laundry. They waved. He nodded back, not wanting to appear rude. They were all still new to the island, brought in by his compound manager after the last group had tried and failed to destroy his nanobots. Very unkind of them.

He finished his coffee with a loud, appreciative sigh. “Show me the Los Angeles Doomsday.”

The screens flickered. He gripped the chair arms in excitement. Yes, show me smoke and destruction. Show me people fleeing the scene with their designer handbags. Show me choppers crashing into tall buildings.

“Los Angeles Doomsday loaded.”

The screens sprang to life. Palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze. The skyline almost shimmered in the late morning light. People strolled the clean streets, all looking surprised and- wait, did they look happy? Where was the trash? The fire? The car wrecks?

A news report flashed up on one of the screens. “A swarm of what looked like bugs appeared on the horizon about an hour ago and since then the city has transformed. People are sharing videos of what many are calling The Miracle on social media. These little bugs are cleaning up trash, filling in potholes, and in several cases rescuing dogs and cats.”

“What?”

“One resident reported a small fire that could have turned into a deadly wildfire. These little guys put it out before anyone else noticed it. And you might notice that our smog appears to be clearing. Specialists have not idea what this swarm is, but it’s doing incredible work. Happy Miracle Day!”

“No!” His coffee cup bounced off of the bulletproof glass. “No no no!”

“Is this Doomsday not to your satisfaction, sir?”

“NO!”

It got worse. Hong Kong was clean and shiny, every dock free of trash and grime. Citizens removed their air filtration masks in triumph and set them neatly in recycling bins. Several parades formed as people peacefully followed the swarm of bots around the city, phones lifted to chronicle the event. A wedding reception spilled out onto the street and turned into a rave. Dolphins leapt in a newly cleaned harbor.

“This is the worst Doomsday ever!”

And then there was Paris.

Schoolchildren wandered up and down the streets trying and failing to find any trash bags. A bunch of workmen poked their heads out of the sewers to tell everyone that it was beautiful down there. “Like a gleaming grotto! No sludge in sight!” Couples made out on every bridge and street corner. The entire city had forgotten to smoke, they were so thrilled.

“I hate the French.”

The French president and his cabinet came out of a meeting upon hearing the news. A modeling shoot had been taking place up the street from them in the magic hour lighting of early evening. Both parties met on a bridge above the Seine to see if the rumors about the bots were true. The president was so overjoyed that he took two models by the hand and jumped into the blue, blue river with them, suit and gowns be damned. The French newscasters kept bringing up a photo of that group floating in the Seine like children at a pool party.

“NO!!!!!”

He let the screens run, all of them hopping back and forth to show footage of the miracles his bots had wrought. He tried to go back to his previous iterations of Doomsday, the glorious ones with all of the exploding buildings and cars (and acting coaches, former girlfriends, and department heads).

“Pull up access codes,” he said.

“Pulling up access codes,” the AI said. He was beginning to hate that chirpy voice of hers. “Scanning eye.” A subtle beep as it scanned his eyes. “Eye scan access granted.”

“Good.”

“Scanning thumbprint.” Another beep. “Access denied.”

“Next scan,” he said through gritted teeth. The last group of workers had made him very nervous with their attempt on his bots. He had made his next round of AI security a seven step process so no one could ever break in and change it. The AI scanned his nose, then the inside of his left ear, then the back of his hand, bottom of his right foot, and, finally, his navel. All of the scans came back denied, even though he had just checked them last night before he went to sleep for so long. How could this have happened?

“Um, excuse me? Knock, knock!”

It was his compound manager.

“Everything all right in here?” The compound manager stopped at the sight of his boss in front of all the screens showing Doomsday. “Oh my!”

“It isn’t what it looks like,” he found himself saying. He was so ashamed. “This was all supposed to go really differently—

“Everyone get in here this instant!”

The pool boy, the two maids, the chef, and the personal trainer were soon assembled, all leaning in through the door at first. And then, they were all clustered in front of the screens.

“Boss,” the compound manager said in awe, his strong hands clasped in front of his bespectacled face. “Did you do this? Are those your bots?”

“They’re beautiful,” the older of the two maids said, her button nose crinkling as she smiled. ‘“I had no idea.”

“Like, so cool,” the younger one agreed. She’d tied her blouse up to show off her navel piercing. He had always found her a bit ditzy, but the way she said this last comment seemed to bely her air-headed nature.

“Thank you,” he found himself saying.

The pool boy gave him a fist bump and a nod while the personal trainer pulled an earbud out of his left ear, leaned in, and said, “What a champ!” The chef was so excited that he tripped over a cable and ended up giving his boss a lopsided hug while balancing on his right foot.

“Great work, sir,” his compound manager said. Behind him, in the early afternoon sun, the bots were returning in a swarm of annoying goodwill. “What do you call this program?”

“Uh, Doomsday,” he said. He looked down, not sure what to say. His whole staff exchanged side glances and several yawns before snapping back to attention.

“Doomsday,” the older maid murmured.

“That is, like, super meaningful, right?” the laundry girl said.

The compound manager nodded. “I think it speaks to both our understanding of doom and also to, well—

“The existential crisis of facing a world without the every day problems we feel define it and us,” the pool boy said. Everyone stared him. “What?”

Their boss had been misunderstood completely, but in this moment it felt as though everyone was really trying. It was strangely moving how these people of far lower intelligence could touch him so. And they did look tired. Had they slept last night? He wondered if he was overworking them. He’d been in a job like that before: demanding boss, long hours, no vacations. And they were all being so very appreciative of a project that had gone so terribly wrong. Tomorrow, he’d see if his compound manager could figure out a way to make sure they all got some much deserved time off.

He went over to his desk. “I was saving this for a special occasion, but maybe now is a good time for it. Scotch, anyone?”