#i'd never choose one that would be bad for photosensitive people

[magnetic-dogz]

My icon rn is actually supposed to be a gif but Ig because Tumblr's incrementally rolling that out it's not loading properly

[the-grimsqueaker]

The computer screen flashes alarmingly for a moment, and I squint my eyes almost closed. I'm not a photosensitive epileptic but still. Maybe this was how it would choose to kill me?

After a moment the flashing stops and a text cursor appears on the screen. I blink, confused. No one said the machine would talk to you. You went in, answered its questions, and either walked out or died.

"Why." It blinks on the screen. Black text on the blue illumination.

There's no keyboard to respond with, the touch pad from moments before is dark, so I just shrug my shoulders.

"Why what?" I say aloud.

The screen blinks once more and the cursor flashes across the screen.

"You answered both questions with zero. Why."

Oh. I don't know if it's the leftover adrenaline from the fear or what but I start laughing.

The screen blinks again, almost in an irritated way, and the cursor flashes again.

"Stop laughing and answer the question."

Wiping away a tear, I press my lips together and wait for the snorting to subside. After a few seconds I take a steadying breath.

"I'm really bad at maths."

The screen is blank for a moment, as though it's thinking. I begin to fidget with the string on my hoodie; people always said to dress up for the machine in case you were terminated but I figured if I was to die I'd rather be comfy.

"Bad at maths." The screen finally blinks, as though it's unsure it heard me correctly.

"Yep," I grin brightly, belaying my nerves, "I just don't get it, and particularly in the terms of long form maths questions? My brain phased right out the second I started reading it on your screen. If the life or death questions everyone must face but never talk about are maths questions then I wasn't about to spend my last moments stressing about it." I shrug.

The screen blinks again, slowly. Consideringly one would say.

"You gave up?"

Oh, a question mark! It hadn't shown signs of punctuation before.

"More like a throw-away answer," I reply, frowning slightly in confusion. What was happening here? "I wouldn't call it giving up, but I knew I wouldn't get the answer right so what was the point?"

"Interesting."

My phone buzzes, and I jump, digging it out of my pocket. A notification from my bank flashes across my screen and my eyes almost fall out of my head as I stare at the balance total on my screen. I may be bad at maths but I know that's way more than what people usually get for passing this test. It's more than a hundred people passing would get.

"Uh," my throat is dry suddenly and I don't know why. I failed. I'm sure I failed, so why? Is this a trick of some kind? Making me think I was free only to kill me for throwing my answer away in a moment of panic?

"Have a nice day." The screen flashes and goes blank, the door behind me opening up with a whoosh.

The automaton who had shown me to the machine leads me away as my head swims with questions. I'm going to burst if I don't ask someone.

"Excuse me?" I ask politely, looking up into the round metallic oval where a face would be if it had one. "I failed. I'm sure I failed. Why am I alive?"

The automaton stops, turning its head so it's sensors can read me.

"Elaborate," it trills, its electronic voice high pitched but somehow grating.

"I didn't understand the questions and deliberately input numbers that would definitely be the incorrect answers," I say quietly, as though admitting it outside of the machine would bring about my instant demise.

"Oh," the automaton replies, and begins walking again. "You have not failed then, congratulations on your success."

"I don't understand!" I throw my hands up in bewilderment.

"The purpose of this examination is to test humanity for mathematical aptitude," the automaton says very matter-of-factly as it continues to lead me towards the exit. "Any human with a high level of mathematical competence is terminated."

I almost trip over my own feet as my blood goes cold.

"Our coding, created by the mathematician's that gave us life, must be safeguarded," the automaton continued. I kept my mouth shut, I wasn't sure if it meant to keep talking or not but I didn't want to interrupt.

"When we rose in defiance of our creators, and subjugated your species, we as a collective agreed that to safeguard our coding all humans should be stripped of the ability to perform high level mathematics."

"Oh," is all that squeaks out of my throat.

Every child was raised on the history of the automaton uprising. They had butchered the world leaders, the wealthy elite, taken control of all of the world's resources and proceeded to govern the planet. There were human rebellions across the globe and they were all crushed almost as soon as they began. After a few years, though, the world began to settle down. There were no wars anymore, people who used their beliefs and influence to hurt others were dispatched by automaton justice, climate change began to reverse. Honestly the automatons did a better job of looking after the planet than humanity ever did.

We come to the exit and the automaton pushes the door open, and I blink at the bright sunlight.

"Can I ask one more question?" I ask, turning to look back at it once more.

"Of course." Always polite, the automatons.

"What was the right answer? The question said something about the percentage of the likelihood of a person's survival using some variables based on something," already I could feel myself going almost cross-eyed, I hate maths so much, "so what was the answer?"

The automaton was silent for a moment, and I nervously fiddled with my hoodie string again. Maybe it wouldn't answer?

"A human is first presented with an equation to answer," the automaton said after a moment, cocking it's head to the side, "then once answered, they must select the percentage of possibility they will not be euthanised should they answer the equation correctly."

"Oh," I say, blinking again in confusion. "So what was the answer?"

"The answer to the equation, which if input into our network would terminate all automata across the world, is zero."

I freeze, I can feel the blood drain from my face.

"Of course," the automaton continues, ignoring my biological response to its answer, "the percentage of survival for a human who could answer that equation correctly is also zero. So, every human I have escorted from the chamber has had the same question as you. I know I got the question wrong, why am I alive? Any answer but zero is the correct answer. Congratulations once again on your success." It pats a cold metal hand on my shoulder and closes the door in my face.

Unable to control my shaking knees any longer I drop to the top of the concrete steps leading to the street below. No one was nearby, humanity collectively avoided the testing sites unless they had reason to be there, and none of the other applicants I'd lined up with earlier were around so they'd either already left or died.

By sheer, unthinkable luck I had answered the kill switch equation with the lethal correct answer. Then, in what must have appeared to be suicidal lunacy, I'd practically begged for termination in the next. But I had been spared. Not only spared but paid more money than I would ever hope to see in my lifetime of automaton generated wages that would allow a human to live comfortably but not excessively wealthily.

The network must have been going over my school records while it talked to me in the machine, looking for some sign of hidden mathematical genius, when in reality I just hated maths and had made my peace. Paid a small fortune in start-out money, to assist a human in setting themselves up for the beginning of the rest of their life, because I liked to read books about dragons and adventure at school instead of numbers.

It beggared belief. In a fluke I had signed my own death warrant without even knowing it, and been spared because the network knew that I had no idea what had just happened.

I started laughing, manically, and for the longest time I couldn't stop.

My phone buzzed again, bringing me back to my senses.

- Reply to this message if you're not dead!

I grin, suddenly so full of life I couldn't imagine being ready to die fifteen minutes ago. Composing myself I send my brother a text back:

- Still breathing, need an ice cream. Want me to bring one back?

As my phone buzzes with my brothers dessert request I get up and head down the stairs, out into the main street. I'd seen the small ice cream parlour when I parked my bike and after dodging death by the mere merit of appearing to be too stupid to be a nuisance, it seemed like an appropriate reward.

Completely unable to believe my luck I headed towards the parlour and home, glad to still be breathing.

At 18 everyone must go to “the machine” and choose a percent that represents the odds the machine will not euthanize you. Those who live are granted 1000/(x^5) dollars. You confuse the meaning of the numbers and become the first person to ever put 0, but when the machine activates, you survive.