Fred, the Golf Cyborg

Fred, 38 years old and a robotics and IT engineer, had been fascinated by science fiction since childhood. The idea of a futuristic world filled with advanced technology had shaped his imagination and, eventually, his career. Today, he loves his job—so much that he often works late into the night. To balance all that brainwork and keep himself in shape, Fred has one great passion: golf.

At his golf club, Fred is known for his dedication and technical know-how—and for being the kind of guy who always steps in when the team needs him. He practices with military discipline, mastering even the toughest shots from awkward lies. His fellow golfers appreciate his focus and determination, though there’s one thing about him that never goes unnoticed: Fred marches across the fairways like a parade officer. For his shorter, rounder teammates, keeping up with his brisk pace can be… challenging.

On this pleasant afternoon, Fred was once again on the course. A light breeze played through the trees, and it looked like he’d finish his 18 holes in under four hours—plenty of time for a drink at the clubhouse, a chat with friends, and maybe even a friendly smile from the charming waitress at the bar.

At the tee of hole No. 3, Fred and his group were getting ready to play. Suddenly, a loud “Fore!” echoed from a nearby fairway—a misfired drive. A ball ricocheted off the trees to Fred’s left with a sharp crack before coming to rest somewhere in the rough. Silence returned.

Fred stepped up to take his shot. A 7-iron would do nicely to land him close to the green. He swung smoothly; the ball soared straight off the sweet spot of his club while the white tee snapped and tumbled to the ground. Fred watched the flight with satisfaction—until, out of nowhere, another golf ball came flying and struck him squarely on the forehead.

The “Fore!” came too late.

Fred collapsed. Blood trickled down his brow as he slipped into unconsciousness.

His playing partners rushed to his side, shouting his name. One sprinted off toward the clubhouse for help. As the others hovered anxiously over him, they noticed something strange: despite the impact, Fred was smiling.

But why?

Because Fred was experiencing something extraordinary. In his mind, he felt an exosuit forming around his body—metal plating fusing to his limbs, hydraulics humming to life. His hands transformed into articulated mechanical tools; his arms whirred with electric power. His legs became a sturdy chassis with all-terrain wheels, and a built-in drawer stocked with tees and balls completed his new configuration. Behind him, his e-caddy locked into place, while laser sensors scanned the fairway, measured distances, and instantly detected lost balls.

Fred had become a golf cyborg—the first of his kind. Every golf course on Earth was now stored in his neural database, and an AI algorithm automatically selected the perfect club for each shot. He no longer had to shout “Fore!”—a built-in speaker system did that for him.

With flawless precision and tireless rhythm, Fred rolled across the course, shot after shot, on track for a record-breaking round. But then, dark clouds gathered.

The rain came fast. Heavy. Fred’s wheels began to sink into the mud. On the steep incline toward hole 18, the tires slipped helplessly—his heavy cybernetic body was too much for the terrain. After several futile attempts to climb the hill, he tipped sideways. Water poured into his circuits, and he could feel his systems shorting out. After all, he was still only a prototype—not designed for wet conditions.

With his last remaining strength, Fred brushed the rain from his metallic forehead—then heard voices.

“Fred, can you hear me?” One of his playing partners was leaning over him, dabbing blood from his brow.

“Stay down, the medic is on his way. You were out cold for a minute—and you were mumbling something about… evolution. Don’t worry, it looks like just a cut. You’ll need a few stitches, that’s all.”

Fred came around quickly, thanks to his sturdy constitution. Only a small scar remained to remind him of the incident. But something inside him had changed.

From that day on, Fred no longer stormed across the fairways like a commander on parade. He took his time, played calmly, and smiled more often—as if a little bit of that future technology had stayed with him after all.

Ok Golfers, take it easy when you play next.