Mike Sheward“My god!” She exclaimed.
“What is it?” He asked.
“There’s no time to explain.”
She jumped up and from her desk in the operations room and ran to the metal locker in the corner.
She flung it open to reveal a full-bore shotgun, which she grabbed, along with as many shells as she could fit in her hands and jeans pockets.
“Veronica?! What are you doing!!” He screamed, now standing as well.
But it was too late. She had already charged through the door and had headed on to the datacenter floor.
He walked out onto the balcony to see what was going on. He was treated to only the briefest listen to the familiar white noise hum of the servers and equipment racks, before the tranquility was shattered by the unmistakable carnage of several shot gun shells being fired towards the hardware.
He ducked for cover. It must’ve only been a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity as she laid waste to the computers that until just a few minutes ago she had been peacefully monitoring.
The shooting subsided, he felt comfortable enough to stand up once again.
Dust, bits of servers, smoke and other debris filled the air.
She slowly walked back up the stairs, now covered in a dirty layer of the various materials, and holding a still smoking shotgun.
“What the hell was that about?!” He asked.
“The AI,” she said. “It started podcasting.”
TelH90
🇨🇦 Littler-k
epiPelagic Puck
Dud and Forgotten.
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