Daniel Wilson - Robopocalypse

An hour and fifty minutes fuel. Two hundred sixteen souls on board.

+00:03:14

M. FITCHER

Ryan, get on the computer. Whatever this problem is, both of these planes have got it. Figure out when these two were last near each other. Do it now!

+00:03:19

R. TAYLOR

You got it, Fitch. (sound of typing)

+00:03:59

R. TAYLOR

Those planes both flew out of Los Angeles yesterday. They were at gates right next to each other for about, uh, twenty-five minutes. Does that mean anything?

+00:04:03

M. FITCHER

I don’t know. Shit. It’s like these planes want to hit each other. We’ve got about two minutes before people die. What’s going on in Los Angeles? What’s (inaudible). Anything weird there?

+00:04:09

R. TAYLOR

(sound of typing)

+00:04:46

M. FITCHER

Oh no, oh no. They can’t fix this, Ryan. They’re still on a collision course. That’s what? That’s, like, four hundred and fifty people. Give me something.

+00:05:01

R. TAYLOR

Okay, okay. A fueler robot. An autoramper. It malfunctioned yesterday. Sprayed a bunch of fuel on the ramp and shut down two gates for a couple hours .

+00:05:06

M. FITCHER

How many planes did it fuel? Which ones?

+00:05:09

R. TAYLOR

Two. Our birds. What’s it mean, Fitch?

+00:05:12

M. FITCHER

I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling. There’s no time. (sound of a click)

+00:05:14

DENVER

United 42 heavy and American 1497, I know it sounds far-out, but… I have a hunch. You’re both experiencing the same issue. Both your planes passed through LA yesterday. I think a virus may have entered your refuel control computers. See if (inaudible)… find the circuit breaker for the subcomputer.

+00:05:17

UNITED

Roger approach. I’m willing to try anything. (static) Uh, that’s probably behind the seat. Right? Be advised, American 1497, fueling circuit breakers are on panel four.

+00:05:20

AMERICAN

Roger. Looking for those.

+00:05:48

DENVER

United 42 heavy. Traffic is now twelve o’clock and two miles. Same altitude.

+00:05:56

DENVER

American 1497. Your traffic is now nine o’clock. Two miles. Same altitude.

+00:06:12

UNITED

(voice of Traffic Collision Avoidance System) Climb. Climb.

+00:06:17

UNITED

Can’t… find the breakers. Where are—(inaudible)

+00:06:34

DENVER

(emphatic) See and avoid. American 1497 and United 42. See and avoid. Collision imminent. Collision… Oh no. Oh, shit.

+00:06:36

AMERICAN

(unintelligible) …I’m sorry, Ma.

+00:06:38

UNITED

(voice of Traffic Collision Avoidance System) Climb now. Climb now.

+00:06:40

AMERICAN

…where (shuffling) Oh! (exclaimed loudly) (long moment of static)

+00:06:43

DENVER

Do you copy? Repeat. Did you copy?

+00:07:08

DENVER

(inaudible)

+00:07:12

UNITED

(hysterical yelling)

+00:07:15

DENVER

(relieved) Oh my god.

+00:07:18

AMERICAN

American 1497. Roger. It worked. That was a close one, y’all! Oh my! (sound of hooting)

+00:07:24

DENVER

(heavy breathing) You had Fitcher worried there for a second, kids.

+00:07:28

UNITED

United 42 heavy. Flight control restored. It worked! Fitch, you magnificent woman, can you get us cleared for landing? I need to kiss the ground. I need to kiss you , sister.

+00:07:32

DENVER

Uh, roger that. United 42 turn right, heading oh nine oh. Airport is at your two o’clock and ten miles.

+00:07:35

UNITED

United 42 heavy. Roger. Airport in sight.

+00:07:37

DENVER

United 42 heavy, cleared for the visual. Runway sixteen. Right. Contact tower one thirty-five point three.

+00:07:40

UNITED

Thanks for the help. Tower on thirty-five three. See ya.

+00:07:45

AMERICAN

American 1497. Same story. Got a grin on my face up here. But, uh, somebody sure has some explaining to do.

+00:07:53

DENVER

That’s for damn sure. Bring it home, pilots.

This incident led directly to the invention and propagation of the so-called fitch switch, designed to manually separate peripheral onboard computers from flight control during an emergency. No passengers were harmed on either flight, although the experience of passing within feet of another 777 aircraft was incredibly frightening. I know this for a fact. My brother Jack and I were both passengers on United Flight 42.

I assembled these transcripts from footage recorded by a webcam in a bedroom in south London and by several closed-circuit television (CCTV) cameras in the nearby neighborhood. The video was grainy, but I have done my best to relay exactly what unfolded. The identity of the room’s occupant has never been fully verified. In the transcripts, he simply calls himself Lurker.

The screen is nearly black, offering little information. There is only the sound of a phone ringing, very faint. Someone breathes, waiting for a person on the other end to pick up.

Click .

The figure in the chair speaks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Perk up your ears now, duchess. You’ll want to know this. I’ve got two people here held hostage, right? One of ’em is bleeding all over my carpet like a stuck fucking pig. Now, I know you can trace my address, and that’s fine with me. But if a single cop comes round and sets a foot in my flat, I swear to god and all his cronies, darling, I’ll fucking kill these people. I will shoot them and kill them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. May I have your name, sir?”

“Yes, you may. My name is Fred Hale. And this is my house. This bloke reckoned he could get off with my wife in my own place without me knowing. In my own bed, no less. And the fact is that he was wrong on that account, wasn’t he? And he knows it now, don’t he? He was dead wrong on that account.”

“Fred, how many people are there with you?”

“Just the three of us, duchess. A right happy family. Me and my cheating wife and her fucking hemorrhaging ex-boyfriend. They’re duct taped together in the family room.”

“What’s happened to the man? How badly is he injured?”

“Well, I slashed him in the face with a Stanley knife, didn’t I? It’s not complicated. Wouldn’t you protect your family? I had to do it, didn’t I? And now that I’ve started, I’m not sure that I shouldn’t just keep stabbing until I can’t go on. I don’t care anymore. You understand, darling? I’ve lost my fucking grip here. I’ve completely lost my fucking grip on this situation. You hear me?”

“I hear you, Fred. Can you tell me how badly the man is injured?”

“He’s on the ground. I don’t know. He’s all—Ah, fuck me. Fuck me.”

“Fred?”

“Listen, duchess. You need to dispatch some help here right now because I’m going off my nut. I mean it, I’ve gone psycho. I need help over here right fucking now or these people are going to die.”