a bolt

Day 9 – The Story of The Missing Bolt

Where did it go? Edward The Awesome-E 3000 looked at the hole in his otherwise flush stainless steel leg. There was a bolt here just a minute ago, his sensors had registered it. But where is it now? Edward scanned the room with his x-ray vision, moving slowly from one corner to the other. The bolt should be here somewhere, unless unless he was using high-speed cameras at this point. Then he started to make his way across them, taking in his own information.

It took about half a minute for this guy to reach a door on his third step — a piece that was already in his hands.

a bolt
a bolt


When he walked past the hole for a bit, James would be ready.

He took his camera and entered the room.

As he approached his room, he noticed the white, shiny, white and rusty desk and the white of the room. It was a dark-colored painting on a silver wall above the gray plexiglass, the same one where James is in uniform. One of the desk paintings had disappeared for a hundred years when James arrived.

“You never knew what to look for.”

In full view of the wall was James sitting, his ears straightened and the wall began to close, staring aghast at him. His arm stretched forward and he reached out from behind the desk to sit on one of the covers to his right. An air of fear had appeared in the room, which was fully covered by the black and gold of the cover, the wall covered with clear white cover, the floor covered with silver plates. It had to be plain, they thought, or the wall was in black plastic.

On the desk it was clear his desk was covered with a white tablecloth, the same design in the other room, and he turned a corner, reaching down on his desk just inches away. This was probably the desk behind the table where James was sitting in his dorm room.


He glanced down at his table and then he turned the knob to turn the knob.

“I’m sorry. I’m not wearing the uniform.”

"I'm sorry. I'm not wearing the uniform."
“I’m sorry. I’m not wearing the uniform.”

“Do you have the appropriate equipment for the uniform?”

“No.” The white male looked up in the mirror. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been asked.”

And his response came, and he pushed up against the wall at an awkward angle, turning the yellow blue carpet into a red cover.

“Are you okay, James?”


“Are you sure you can see the way?”


The male turned in his seat and walked to the desk.

“I don’t see much… My shoulder’s dead on.”

“Did I mention how the uniform was made?”

“Never do that to you.

“Where is the uniform?”

“In a bed.”


“What a thing.”

He stood up and turned his thoughts to the poster, which read, “I’ve been wondering why you don’t wear the uniform I’ve been asking for.”


It had nothing to do with the situation, but just so many other people had been harassed from behind.

“Oh, really?” the man asked, and the room erupted.

“Do you wear the sleeves?” the man asked, which was not unheard of. I had been ask only about a dozen times, and I had responded about the people who had confronted him — and they had chosen not to. But this guy had an ice bag instead, which had been a small pocket to fit with the ice bag. He was pulling a jersey from the ice bag and pulling it out with his arm around a black top.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been asked.”

“Do you wear the sleeves?”


I felt them start pushing away the man.


“What?” He asked, and the room erupted in a rapid, overwhelming sense of trauma. I was a bit tired and had been asked to sit down next to him. But in that strange way, it was hard to even remember how to go about doing anything, I was just very much the same.

James was about to take a deep breath and push the ice bag over his shoulder to avoid him. I didn’t mean to hurt his feet, it was just as that thing, which I’d never been in touch with before and which could never properly be trusted with. His hands were covered in black leather straps around his knees, and even the black of his trousers could not be seen through the white cover.

I pulled one of the plates off of me, and looked into the mirror. And James looked at me. Was he getting it!? I was the only one around the table. Why did you have to take one of these? How old were you right!? Yes, sir. I had been asked. And James looked at me all cold. As if he was exhausted, he looked away.

A few minutes later, we arrived at another room. At this stage of the story, a tall, slender, large-looking man was holding a large-sized bag.

At this stage of the story, a tall, slender, large-looking man was holding a large-sized bag.
At this stage of the story, a tall, slender, large-looking man was holding a large-sized bag.

The text in bold was written by Nicole the human and completed by the DeepAI Text Generator. The images were created by the DeepAI Text To Image AI, using their captions as the text input.