I was the richest man in the world. Being diversified in every corporate endeavor, that was what made me so much money I couldn't give it away if I wanted. That's okay, I didn't want to anyway.
In my waning years, I caught a literary craving for Steam Punk. It was fascinating to me the retro look of machinery from when I was but a little boy. So, when I founded CyberSapiens with my brother, the engineer, I had in mind this very end for me.
Sure, all our cyborgs were sleek, beautiful, durable and aesthetically appealing and without the law mandated joint markings you would never know they weren't human, so long as they kept their mouth shut. The speech had always been somewhat stilted. That wasn't for me, though. I picked out something much more, well, more unique.
It had a torso, hip and should rotator joints of recycled submarine hulls of titanium. The calves, forearms, body, and head of light cold rolled sheet metal with a light green powder coat and orange accents. The chest had a pressure gauge in the access cover monitoring the tiny nuclear fusion furnace that powered unit and the cybernetic control center in the helmet. In keeping with the retro look and the Tom and Jerry cartoons I loved I told my brother I didn't need more than three fingers and a thumb.
It was ready, and I died.
When I awoke, it took me a few minutes to adjust to the high contrast view through the yellow/amber lenses. This was way cool. I could feel everything through the electrostatic contact made when something touched me, or I felt it. I was truly pain-free. I rotated to my feet and gazed at my brother that smiled at me.
"I have a surprise for you," he said.
"What would that be?" I felt the digital speaker vibrate on my right shoulder. I wasn't sure, it might tickle. I felt like laughing.
"Oh, come with me, and you'll see." He opened the door and followed me out.
On the street, I must admit I drew a lot of stares although I moved silently as all the motors and servos were well suspended and my new body was thoroughly tested for noise shorts. We turned the corner, and there was Boston's Confectionary Center. The largest in all the state.
As soon as I saw it something happened. A flash popped into my net, and I dashed across the street to reach it to the screeching brakes of a Uber cab. I made it fine leaving three finger dents in the Ubers hood. Ripped open the door, then threw the handle down on the floor after I gained entrance. What the heck was going on. I was obsessed.
There in the center of a table was a grand pink three tiered cake. I spun, picked it up and held it high admiring it. Why did I find it so elegant?
My brother turned up a few minutes later and laughed. I thought he was going to bust a gut and wished he would. "What did you do to me?"
He sputtered it out, "I downloaded Julie Richardson's Vintage Cakes Cookbook to your compulsory net functions." He smacked me on my shoulder with a resounding thud. "Little Brother, You’re a baker bot now."
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