"I recall," says Anubis. "Your reign of terror sent me many souls, both robot and human."
The black glass behind the god shimmers and reveals a snowy battlefield littered with flaming debris and stained with blood. You see yourself standing alone on the battlefield. Your right arm has been replaced with a kind of cannon.
An American jet fighter flies overhead, and you fire a rocket-propelled grenade from your prosthetic weapon. The grenade homes in on the jet, using its own rudimentary intelligence, and the vehicle erupts in a fireball.
"The pilot of that jet was quite an interesting soul," Anubis says.
"You mistake me for someone who cares," you say. "I traded my humanity for power." (++++Military)
"So you did," Anubis says. "Are you satisfied?"
"No."
"Then you may try again," Anubis says. "Surely if you acquire still more power, you will finally be at peace."
Anubis throws his head back and laughs like a hyena.
You throw your head back and laugh with the old god. Maniacal laughter is quite enjoyable, you decide. You'll have to do it more often.
You awaken with your head on a desktop keyboard. Your 3D drafting program is still open, the schematic zoomed in to the recess where your smartphone will snap into its back to act as its brain. You recall fiddling with that part endlessly last night, until finally, your vision began to fade, there was a roaring in your ears, and you realized you had been working far, far too long. You must have passed out.
It's the fall of 2019. You're a twenty-four-year-old graduate student in the Ph.D. program in Computer Science at Stanford. And you're a…
1) Guy.
2) Girl.