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Star Wars Prequels

Journal BankofAmerica_ATM's Journal: Epilogue 7

The tape heads click and whirr as they come to speed. I ooh and aah a few times, carefully measuring the output of Guy Montevideo's voice-my voice. I suppose that it's my voice...

My finger slides over the stop button on the machine...I still don't know how to say this damn thing. Oh well, here goes..

"Citizens of San Antonio and Others Who May Stumble Upon This Tape: My name is Guy Montevideo. Recently, I have had a very strange experience which I would like to relate to you now.

"To some of you, the financial meltdown at the Bank of America last week is just another small media distraction in the midst of accounting scandals and terrorist activity. But to me, it had a much greater effect. You see, I was once an ATM." I was an ATM? The button thunks as I stop it again. Things are more complicated than that...

It's true, I can remember getting punched in the mouth and swallowing my gum in third grade. Getting drunk off Triple Sec and puking in Mom's flower bed. Loading the pr0n and "Compuserve GIF viewer" onto a five-and-a-quarter for some stealth viewing in programming class..

But it's not me...not really. I'm just a backup copy. Guy Montevideo died when he shunted his consciousness into the Project Faustus network. The memories I have may as well be a static ROM image...I can connect to them, but they do not move me...alienating dreams of the past...

Strange to think that the Guy who usurped the Project Faustus computers for his own evil plans was exactly the same as me. While I reached out and discovered the human world, Guy burrowed inside himself, trying to create his own perfect world...

Oops. I probably should have recorded that. But instead, I'll wrap it up like this: "My name is Guy Montevideo. I am, at once, both and neither human and computer. This world is strange sometimes...but I can't complain. One last note: We must be ever-vigilant against evil megacorporations who wish to usurp all material wealth and force us into their digital nightmare world. Thank you and good night."

The tape clicks off. My face itches where the goatee used to be. A couple of rays of sunlight jab their way in under the must be dawn now. Cora stirs a bit as walk past the couch...the light falls over her in a predictable pattern, which can be expressed by...

Nope...she's just hot, and I'll leave it at that. Oh, and she thinks it's kinky that I'm a machine.

Or that I was. Or not. It doesn't matter. This. This is what matters.

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