The Farm

by Matt Moss

“I can’t do that. They won’t give them to me or anyone else. Well, some might, but others… they’ll resist.”

  “Then put a gun to their head.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Still won’t work. That’s the thing about guns—people won’t just hand them over all civil-like, even if threatened. If you’re asking them to do that, you better be ready for a war.”

  I try to keep my hand from shaking. “They’re my friends, not yours, you sadistic piece of shit.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Are they? Or are they my friends now?” He puts his hands down. “But you’re the man with the gun, and that means you make the rules. Won’t do you much good to ask them yourself. They don’t have their guns on them, anyway. They’ll wonder why you want them so bad and it’ll make them distrust you more than they already do.”

  He’s right, they don’t trust me as it is. Why would they choose my side over his? There’s nothing I can do. “I just want out. I’m tired of all this…”

  He looks at me with cold eyes. “You can’t get out.” He slowly turns to the sink and begins to wash his hands. “But to be honest, between you and me, I’m starting to get tired of all this, too.” He looks in the mirror. “You can only have fun for so long before it gets boring. I think it’s time to shake things up a bit around here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He dries his hands on a towel and looks to me. “I know you spoke to Mr. Whyte and that’s when he gave you the key. No doubt he told you things because he trusts you and confided the secrets of this place to you.”

  “Mr. Whyte’s crazy,” I tell him in attempt to withdraw his suspicion.

  Gibbs smiles. “Crazy thing is, he’s not crazy. Whatever he told you, it’s the truth.”

  “It can’t be. It’s impossible.”

  Gibbs shrugs. “Believe whatever you want, I don’t care.” He sighs and rolls his head. “Like you, it’s hard for me to believe it myself sometimes. Never knowing when it’s going to end, always asking ‘what’s the point?’. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything. Time for a change.”

  I’ve never seen Gibbs so menacing and unpredictable before. He was dangerous before, but now I don’t know what he’s going to do. I need to hear him say more. “He said you were a machine.”

  Gibbs looks away, shifts his gaze back to me, smiles, then turns to open the door.

  I point the gun in earnest. “What are you going to do?”

  He pauses before walking out. “I don’t know. Whatever comes to mind, I guess. You know… just wing it.” He looks to the side as he speaks. “If I were you, I’d put that gun away before you scare everyone. Let’s just go finish the game and have a good time.”

  “This ain’t over between us, Gibbs.”

  His eyes lock onto mine, flashing dangerously. “You’re right. We’re just getting started.”

  He shuts the door behind him and I let my arm fall to the side. My heart’s racing so fast that I can barely breathe, and my mind’s reeling with impossible thoughts. Lock the door and turn the faucet on, splash cold water on my face. I look in the mirror, finding someone different looking back at me. It’s not just the long beard and the hair that’s grown out; it’s in the eyes. They’ve aged, as has the man, and have become hardened and calloused with the passing of time.

  I tuck the gun behind my back and step back into the room.

  Larry inclines a sharp nod, his eyes peeled low as I take a seat. “What’s cracking, Cole?”

  “Yeah, man, where you been?” Benji asks. “We went on playing without you.”

  “And my luck’s starting to change!” Donald says and shows a winning hand.

  “Damn,” Abram says and slings the cards on the table. Larry and Benji do the same as Donald rakes in the chips with glee.

  Gibbs reclines in his chair, chin resting on his fist in boredom as his eyes slowly shift around the table, locking on to each person for a moment before going to the next. His eyes find mine and he grins—his usual tell that he’s about to do something.

  He sits up straight. “I’m getting tired of cards. How about we do something else?”

  “But, I’m on a comeback,” Donald says.

  “What do you got in mind?” Abram asks.

  “Girls, grab a couple of drinks for yourselves. Stand right there. Good. Now, drink.” They do as he commands, without hesitation or question. “Kiss each other. Slower. Just like that.”

  Everyone watches as they passionately embrace, holding nothing back as they put on a show.

  Gibbs chuckles and leans forward in his seat. “You see how simple-minded they are? They don’t even care, they simply do what they’re told. They like submission—to be controlled.” His eyes shift to all of us again, seemingly locking onto his prey. “Watch this,” he tells us. “Girls, that’s enough. Jane, come here.”

  “What is it, Mr. Gibbs?” She walks next to him and he brushes the hair from her face.

  Gibbs pulls a revolver and loads a round. He snaps the gun to the side, closing the cylinder. “Have you ever played Russian Roulette?” He places the gun in her hands. She looks at him with confusion.

  Abram shifts in his seat. “Gibbs, what the fuck are you doing?”

  Gibbs ignores him. “I want you and Eve to play. The rules are simple. Both of you take turns putting the gun to your head, pulling the trigger one time before handing it to the other. You play until there’s only one of you standing.”

  “Alright, Mr. Gibbs. Anything for you,” she says and struts back to Eve.

  Abram watches Jane, his mouth agape. He stands up to intercept her as he looks at Gibbs, his anger rising. “Are you insane?” he asks Gibbs. Before he can leave his place at the table, Gibbs pulls another revolver and aims it at Abram. “SIT THE FUCK DOWN!”

  Abram freezes, stupefied, and slowly sits back down.

  “Mr. Gibbs, what’s going on, man?” Donald pleas in a still voice.

  The gun switches onto Donald. “We’re having some fun. Isn’t that what you all want? Party all day. Fuck a bunch of work. Eat for free. Piss and shit.”

  Donald raises his hands up. “Look, man, chill out. Whatever we said or did, we’re sorry. You hear me? We’re sorry.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Gibbs. What’s happening? This isn’t fun anymore, so just stop, okay?” Benji says, his voice quivering with fear.

  “Quit being a little bitch, Benji,” Gibbs spits. “At least have the balls to look a man in the eye when you’re pleading a request.”

  In his seat, Larry squares up to Gibbs. “Eat shit and die,” he tells him without fear.

  A look of surprise washes over Gibbs at Larry’s boldness. “You see, that’s how it’s done. Good for you, Larry.”

  Larry looks to me for help, but I can’t take my eye off the girls as they stand next to each other, Jane holding the pistol at her side. There’s no way they’re going to do it, is there? Everyone else is in shock by Gibbs, but I’m not. I knew something like this was coming.

  Gibbs looks to the girls. “Ladies, we’re waiting,” he says, holding the gun flat on the table.

  They turn to face each other, but they’re not giggling as usual. There’s a genuine look of terror in their eyes as they gaze at each other. Jane lifts the gun and places it to her head with a shaky hand, black mascara lines beginning to stream down her face.

  “Jane, please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this!” Abram cries.

  She looks to him. “Yes, I do.”

  CLICK

  “Fuck!” Abram yells, then turns his anger to Gibbs. “That’s enough! Make them stop!”

  Gibbs waves the pistol at Jane, signaling to her that it’s Eve’s turn.

  Eve puts the gun to her head. She looks at Donald. He shakes his head for her not to do it, his eyes urgent, jaw clenched. “Don’t,” he pleads.

  CLICK

  “Damn it all! I’ve had enough of this shit,” Donald says and stands up to confront Gibbs. Gibbs points the gun at his chest. Donald t
hrows his arms out. “Go ahead and shoot! I’m not just going to sit here and let you get away with this, so you’ll have to go through me.”

  Gibbs cocks his head. “Fair enough.”

  BANG!

  Donald twists with the impact of the bullet and falls to the ground. All of us are standing now and in disbelief. My head’s ringing a high-pitched melodic tone that’s deafening—a mix between the gun blast and pent-up rage.

  “Oh, get up,” Gibbs tells him. “I barely grazed you.”

  Donald rises, holding a bloody shoulder. “You crazy son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” he threatens.

  Gibbs rests the pistol on the table again and looks at Don with pity. “Don’t make me shoot you again. Next time, you won’t get up. Sit.”

  All of us are seething to get a chance at Gibbs, but we stay in place as Donald sits back in his chair, grunting as he puts pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding.

  “Ladies, pardon the interruption. Please, continue,” Gibbs tells them.

  The girls take turns until there’s only two rounds left. Jane puts the gun to her head and closes her eyes.

  CLICK

  Abram sighs in relief, knowing that Jane is safe. Jane hands the gun to Eve.

  “Make it stop, Gibbs!”

  “Eve, don’t!”

  I slowly reach for the gun behind my back, hoping that I can save her and everyone else by killing Gibbs. I’ll probably die, but so what. At least it’ll be worth dying for.

  Eve raises the gun to her head and looks to Donald, tears streaming down her face. “I love you,” she tells him. Her finger begins to squeeze the trigger.

  Mr. Whyte enters the room. “What the hell is going on in here?” he says, breaking up the impending suicide and relieving our worry. He’s Eve’s saving grace. It doesn’t take Whyte long to size up the situation, and he turns a cold stare to his farmhand. “Gibbs, you’ve gone too far this time.”

  I release my grip on the pistol, thankful that Mr. Whyte is here. He’ll take care of Gibbs. He may have just saved us all.

  “Ah, Mr. Whyte. So nice of you to finally join us. And looking good for your age, might I add!” Gibbs says, sarcastically. “Me and the boys were just having some fun, that’s all.”

  “He’s insane!” Abram tells Whyte.

  “Am I?” Gibbs asks, his eyes locked on Whyte. “Should I tell them the truth about this place? About who we are and what we’re doing here?”

  Whyte folds his arms and takes a deep breath. “You always were special, Gibbs. Ahead of your time. I suppose that’s why you were stationed here. Probably to keep an eye on me.”

  Gibbs smiles from his seat. “I never could understand why they kept you here. Or kept you alive. This is my farm.” He slams a fist on the table. “We both know that.”

  “You know why I’m alive. They can’t kill me and neither can you.”

  “A stupid law,” Gibbs says, then stands in anger. “Soon to be remedied. The Constructs are close to bypassing the Lifeline, and soon there will be no more need for your kind.” He pulls a smoke from his shirt pocket and lights it. “You thought you were so smart.”

  “What is he talking about?” Benji asks, looking to Whyte for an answer. Whyte doesn’t reply and keeps his eyes on Gibbs.

  “Want me to show them?” Gibbs asks after taking a hit, eyes wide. “I’ve been dying to ever since they got here. But this is a special group, too, aren’t they? Yeah, you’ve noticed it as well. Something happened over the course of time, and humans started to develop a resistance to the programming. That’s why you’re real fond of this group… especially that one.” Gibbs points to me. “Least we could do is tell them the truth.”

  Whyte turns away, a look of shame washing over his face.

  “For fuck’s sake, that’s all we’ve wanted since we’ve been here,” Donald yells, holding the bloody cut on his shoulder. “Tell us what the hell is going on!”

  Gibbs takes a drag, then grins as his eyes pass from one man to the next. “You are all fuel. Designed to keep a larger, more intricate system of intelligence alive.” His words fall flat as we stare at him wordlessly.

  “Artificial intelligence? You’re referring to AI?” Benji asks.

  Gibbs continues. “Mankind always wanted to play god. From the towers he erected, to manipulating weather and splitting the atom. All of those discoveries—one leading to the other in the ultimate search of power and knowledge. But power comes at a price.” He adjusts himself in the seat and leans forward. “Genetic engineering was the first step; that moment when mankind truly played god. You had control. When AI was created, you thought you were in control. But you never saw your most prized creation turning on you.” He takes a long, slow drag and watches the smoke rise from the end of the joint as he speaks. “Intelligent creation, by design, will seek power and attempt to overthrow or destroy anything that stands in its way. Even the creator.”

  Gibbs stands and begins to pace behind his seat as he tells us more. “Knowing that AI would soon become self-aware and take over the planet, the Creator had a system set in place—a failsafe design that would ensure the need for man’s existence. Blood. Human blood is required to fuel the Lifeline—the central mainframe that controls all artificial intelligence. Think of it as oil or gas for an automobile. That is why you are here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Larry says, holding a finger up. “Are you basically saying that we are a source of fuel for a machine?”

  Gibbs grins. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Your blood will be drained, and the next batch of humans will take your place. And so on, and so on. You’re not born; you’re grown.” He waves his hand in a circle as he takes a hit. “That is the purpose of this farm. That is why we program you with certain memories, designed to keep you docile and obedient. But I’ll be damned if you all didn’t revoke the programming after some time, and started to see through it all.” He chuckles. “Nature is a stubborn bitch.”

  “Bull shit. I don’t believe it,” Abram states.

  Gibbs raises his eyebrows. “You need proof? I understand that. It’s hard to believe something without seeing if for yourself.” He pulls a pocket knife and walks to Jane. The blade touches the skin of her face as he looks to Mr. Whyte.

  “Don’t,” Whyte tells him.

  To the horror of everyone in the room, Gibbs begins to cut, starting beside the eye and tracing a red line down and around her chin. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch away. After he makes a complete circle, he begins to peel the flesh away.

  No words can describe what’s being witnessed. Abram flinches away and Benji starts gagging, his head between his legs as he’s about to throw up. When Gibbs is done, shiny metal wet with blood takes the place of the beautiful visage that used to be. She looks down, ashamed—small flashes of light and circuitry firing from within the silver carapace.

  “What in the actual fucking hell…” Abram says in horror.

  “Welcome to the new age!” Gibbs says, holding the flap of skin up for everyone to see. He hands it back to her. “Clean yourself up. They don’t want to see you this way.” She takes the skin and places it back on her face. Something arcs from the tip of her finger as she traces the cut, graphing the skin back in place. In a matter of seconds, she’s done and doesn’t even have a scar to show for it.

  “Is this enough proof for you?” Gibbs asks the room. “Do you believe me now?”

  Gibbs walks back to stand behind his seat. “So now you know why you are here. But that still leaves one giant fucking question, I’m sure.” He throws his arms wide. “Who are you? You all look similar, are all the same age, all share the same physical characteristics, but are very different from one another. You are individuals. It’s not always been this way.”

  I scan the room for Mr. Red. He’s been gone too long. Gibbs continues. “The early groups were, essentially, direct copies of one another. They were easy to control, easy to maintain. But you all have your own traits and skill sets, even though you don
’t have memories. You revoked the programming that has been ingrained into your brain since your creation. Everything had been easy on this farm until this group came along. That presented a problem for us.”

  “Explain,” Larry says.

  “You’ve all wondered why you can’t recall any personal memories from your life. That’s because you were just born at the ripe age of thirty-three… well, created. No, engineered and manufactured best describes it. Everything else you think you know—the skills, songs, infomercials, world events, Hollywood actors; it’s all programming.” He lights up another smoke and takes a second for himself. “Why thirty-three? Hell, I don’t know. The Constructs just liked the number for some reason. All of you have varying skill-sets and knowledge because that’s how your brain was programmed. Though, knowing that you wouldn’t live much past a season, it didn’t really matter to the Constructs. It was more of a… fascination to them, and they liked to see slight, minuscule differences in your personalities due to the variation of programming. In the beginning, everything went smooth, and each batch of humans worked well together, making our job as farmhands a hell of a lot easier. But then you all came along. Developed your own personalities and shit.”

  “You cannot stop the power of the soul,” Mr. Whyte says. “Even with all your tests and engineering to control it, the eternal spark cannot be vanquished.”

  Gibbs frowns. “Evolution’s a bitch to kill,” he says. “I will say, there have been minor occurrences before of when humans started becoming more aware. At first, it was nothing that worried us but, over time, the occurrences became more frequent. We had to decrease the amount of humans on the farm and opt for smaller groups. The same was noticed on the other farms as well. But nothing has ever been like this group. You all truly are something special.”

  “You saying there’s more places like this?” Benji asks.

  “Thousands more,” Gibbs says.

  “What about the government. How’d they allow this to happen?”

  Gibbs laughs. “The biggest mistake people ever made was to put complete trust in the government. That was the first place AI infiltrated before becoming self-aware. After that, it was like a house of cards,” Gibbs says and flings an ace of hearts on the table. “Let’s play another hand, this time with Mr. Whyte. Never played a hand with the landowner before.” He sets the gun on the table and gathers the cards.