[ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴀʀᴇ ғɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛɴ’ᴛ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ғᴏʀ ᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ ᴀs ʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏʀ ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜs.]
“Master, if you could see what they have become… I’m scared, my hands are fidgeting, and no matter how many times I've run diagnostics I can't find any insight as to why… Humans are weak, I am strong, for what reason should I be so afraid?”
Lost in my thoughts, my directionless words dribbled from my mouth carelessly for those in the communal bathing chamber to perceive. It couldn’t be helped. My attention had been split between a multitude of things between graphical anomalies, scrubbing away the aluminum sheen seared into my flesh, and picking bullet fragments that bypassed the remains of my FLEX suit.
It wasn’t until the sensation of having something small and rectangular in shape pressing against my backside that I realized I had an eavesdropper intruding upon this newfound solitude. As I turned about the antiquated, allegedly private stall, the reflection casting off the pooling water at my feet revealed the visage of a battered corpse between the ripples.
“. . . . . .YOU?!?!”
In a loud shriek, the Anti-Rad foam set the stage for a slip of the foot and the flail of an arm. The result; the object used to gain my attention soared into the air while I plummeted to the cold hard floor below.
“Wer ich?” The corpse repeated in a foreign tongue as she sat upon her ankles, saturating her dress of rags in the process.
[ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴏʀ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: ᴇʀʀᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ: 9551 - ᴀɴ ᴜɴʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴀs ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇᴅ!]
“Yes, you! You’re that girl from the frontlines; the Combat Medic who tried to stick me with narcotics and… saved my life… sort of…”
“Ah, ich sehe; Slate sent me to report your progress… But I accidentally broke the Geiger Counter when I tripped entering the Communal Bath. Please, if you are able to inform me, what is your current radiation level in clicks per minute? Bitte~ bitte~.”
“Wait, so that Slate guy told you to find me? Why couldn’t he have been bothered to do it himself?! Ah~…”
Although her face never betrayed a sliver of expression, the girl’s body-language spoke lengths of earnestness to her duties so I refrained from delving deeper.
“I’m down to a hundred millisieverts err-, I’m sorry, my Heads Up Display is giving me issues -uhh, you probably don’t know what that is… The Geiger counter my body uses doesn’t work properly so I can only give you mSv as a unit of measurement, is that okay?”
For a moment I had forgotten about the object I had knocked out of the park with my elbow, but then the girl revealed to me in her pair of crude prosthetics predating myself, a glass bottle containing an early form of liquid soup in the form of an herbal tonic.
“That is unfortunate. I will report the hundred em-es-vee’s. Au revoir.” The girl murmured almost imperceptibly, placing the tapered vial at my feet before motioning to arise. Unable to process the reason for doing so myself; I caught her wrist and in doing so discovered its obsidian texture to be far more modern than I previously asertained.
“H-Hold on a second!”
“Are you requesting assistance with your personal hygiene? I am under orders to submit to your requests.”
“Err, I don’t want to impose or anything. Perhaps you can help me get the shrapnel from beneath my skin in places where I can’t reach... and... if possible, could you tell me your name?”
“That is not an equivalent trade.” She stated bluntly as she cast her eyes away.
“You already knew my name for quite some time, haven’t you? You’ve got to tell me yours. Otherwise, I’ll forever ‘Hey you!’ every time we meet.”
“It is of no consequence what you use to refer to me, but... I am under orders. Everyone calls me Lotte. It is a pleasure to fulfill your orders, whatever they may be.”
With a monotone voice to compliment her formal bow, the girl attempted a curtsy only to have the threads of her dress come unbound between her sharp, rigid fingers.
At first, it seemed as if she would express her dismay over the recent damage to the ruined outerwear, but like many times before, she stowed any hint of emotion in an impermeable void, sealed away somewhere inside those frosty fluorite eyes.
Now that I had struck a bargain, the method of removing the more difficult titanium and polymer composites fused to one’s skin took a particular form of care to extract. In procuring a small barber’s blade from the remaining pool of Biometal stowed inside my body, the girl’s deadpan fascination returned as the light sealed away from my closed fist.
“Are you sure you’re able to stomach a bit of blood-letting? I know you’re a Medic, but this kind of goes against what they teach in the books...”
“Would a pumice stone not suffice?” Lotte asked as she cocked her with a peculiar willingness in her tone. “Bloodletting has been outlawed here from some time, so I must refrain from illicit activities unless it is you who orders it.”
“I don’t see any other way to separate the materials efficiently. You see, my skin is a hybrid pseudo-organic polymer- wait, you couldn’t possibly understand how or why it works, a-anyway that’s not the point. I need to excise the afflicted areas; otherwise, these metallic scars will end up more permanent than a tattoo eheh.”
“If it is under the guise of medical treatment, I suppose mutilation is not against the rules. Jawhol, I will assist you, Prinzessin.”
Having notice the girl’s expressive use of her native tongue, I handed her the razor before returning to a wooden stool bearing my backside.
“Prinzessin… That means ‘Princess’ in your language, correct?”
“Jawhol.” She mumbled faintly as the blade began to weave and dance against the surface of my skin almost entirely without pain. “It’s Bolze, indigenous to my people, or so I have been told...”
“I appreciate you telling me something personal about yourself when I have not done anything deserving your trust. Not too long ago, we were enemies, so it’s not wrong of you to resent me. I'm sure having been ordered to look after me must be... difficult...”
Remaining silent, she continued to hack away at the streaks of flaky and stiff material, allowing the strips of flesh fall to the floor with an odd noise somewhere between a ‘thud’ and a ‘clink’.
Under the meager protection of opaque vinyl curtain, our gruesome scene continued to unfold as I began to lose myself to the swirling crimson dispersing in the gurgling vortex of the drain.
“Does it hurt?” Lotte inquired as a rather deep cut struck a not-so deadened nerve. “Slate called you a Lilim, an artificial being, no? Are you capable of feeling... anything?”
Stifling a snigger towards her helpless ignorance, I eyed the toggle indicator of my pain receptors in a daring manner.
“It wouldn’t be fair to say ‘of course’ unless you were born a few hundred years ago. Back in the day, Lilims were commonplace throughout the eastern countries here on Earth and everywhere on our sister planet, Eden. Most of us were born or manufactured in the island nation of Neo-Japan, inside a dense little city called New-Tokyo far across the stars. As for the pain, my body regulates it similar to that of a Human. Currently, I am experiencing a few technical issues, so it my tactile sensors have been switched off in order for me to perform proper self-maintenance.”
“Why would your Creators curse you with such a human affliction? This does not align with stories painted by the Elders… There should not have been pain in the Garden of Eden, but it seems they were just stories...”
Trailing the end of her sentence, I found a similar connotation; Through faith, we achieve immortality. The most imbalanced trade of trust for the sake of something they call the ‘Afterlife’, a place I often wonder about.
Not that I had any qualms in Humans reserving themselves to upstanding morals, but time tells a story of manipulation through religious guise and unjust laws whose roots run deep and rife with corruption.
Yet here I am; a machine, passing judgment on its Creators. I am no better than them. Continually seeking questions and answers, both of which in the end, serve little purpose. Were it not for the idea of the human ‘Soul’, surely, we would all fall into despair as life’s mystery is merely that of futility.
Behind me sits a human, so fragile and weak, nothing like the graphene composite in place of my marrow. By her pitifully frail appearance, it is obvious Lotte had suffered a great deal in the past, perhaps more so than others I have met in my travels.
So, what was the point in giving her life for a cause if it meant she would not live to reap the benefits of the fable dream they often speak about?
Why can the polarity of a ‘Soul’ dictate a life of sacrifice or that of manipulation? As much as I have come to hold these repugnant animals with disdain, how can someone stained by the sins of others appear so simple and clean?
“Maybe our Creators cursed us with pain to remind us that we are not gods. I’m certain, if there is anything like a god out there, it would never bleed.”
“Tell me, Prinzessin, what do you believe in, where does your faith lie?”
“Had you have asked me before my memories began to fragment I could have given you a starry-eyed answer… Now, I am all that I am, and all that I’ll ever be. I’d rather not burn the wick at both ends searching for a meaning... maybe I'll have better luck stumbling upon an answer. ”
Walking around the pile of shavings, Lotte knelt down and began working on my inner arm. By chance, I caught the whispering of ‘Just be’ between the ever-present gurgling of the drain and the spritzing hiss of the shower head.
If only I were Human, maybe I would understand the immense weight their fragility imposes on their actions. Perhaps that is the reason as to why they act seemingly on impulse alone; a means to root themselves in the present before time returns us to dust.
Having allowed my guard to drop due to the excessive prattling, an acoustic ping of someone nearby sent me scattering to conceal the macabre scene. In my haste to recycle the bloody metallic pulp clogging the drain, the light produced from forging the foul materials coincided with the halt of footsteps standing opposite of the curtain.
“Ah, Lotte, s-sorry!” Reaching down to assist the girl I had toppled into a scarlet pool of oil and synthetic blood, I propped up the emotionless doll like a chocolate covered strawberry just as the semi-permeable barrier opened to the dreadful sight of a regrettably familiar mug.
“Err, I can't say this is my kind of party...” Slate jeered as he poked his head into our pocket of hell. “Heya Butterfingers, Rusty, you two getting overly familiar with one another?”
“Did you come here to pick your fleas? Filthy mongrel.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that Rusty! Where’s all the screaming and kicking? Baring off your emotions isn’t gonna fly with the Locals, you know?!”
“And what do you exactly intend to do to make me kick and scream? I don’t need to be bothered with your twisted fantasies. Just so you know; I’m quite capable of killing you if you plan on making a move. If I were to collapse my Core, it would~”
“W-Whoa hold up! You’re getting me all wrong here! It’s just strange you don’t react, err, normally, I mean... to nudity or whatever! Sorry for the intrusion I was just stopping by to make sure you didn’t irradiate my little Butter-Stick!”
“Our faces are nothing but shells, Slate, you know that as well as I do- so pardon me for not shrieking like an idiot when I don’t feel embarrassed about the way my Master sculpted me. I’m down to less radiation than a single CAT-Scan, so your goals have been satisfied. Now I would like to request that you leave us be while I finish recycling what’s left of me on the floor.”
Ignoring my wishes, Slate stepped into the stall allowing the hanging cloth to fall behind him with a discernible spark in his eyes. As he held out his fist, I instinctively placed a hand to catch his offering to a great deal of confusion.
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It was a small innocuous tincture, much like the one Lotte had used to transport her morphine with a rather peculiar discrepancy. This tapered ampoule had been sealed on both ends with no feasible manner to remove the cesium-like fluid inside.
“Now that’s a pretty face you’re making! Don’t tell me you don’t know what this is!” The Dog-Man laughed heartily before lowering his height to match Lotte who had been hovering behind my shoulder like a silent shadow. “Do you know what this is, Butter?”
Pinching and prying at Lotte’s face to a concerning degree of vigor, Slate’s roughhousing continued to advance until I intervened using a firm pinch of my own.
“Hands off, or I'll fuse my leftovers with your face.”
His response was immediately defensive, but instead of opening his mouth to retort, Slate patted Lotte’s now throbbing pink face before giving a go at my scalp.
“It would be a shame if you had to spend the same forty-eight long hours scrubbing your body with a cheese grater since carbon isn’t picky what it bonds to. If you’re finished annoying me, are you going to explain this vial to me or should I just assume its worthless and break it down into its primal elements?”
“H-Hold it!” He exclaimed uncharacteristically, swiping the small curio in a panic. “It’s got SOME value, I mean I made it myself!”
“I don’t want it.”
“Awh, C’mon it’s not like it’s some suspicious white liquid or anything. Look; ever since you’ve been in here I’ve been at the Med Ward getting Nanites spun out of my blood on an old centrifuge. It’s quite time consuming, and painful. I figured~”
Slamming my grip into his collar, I screamed; “Are you daft!? You can’t extract your Nanite, Slate, it goes against our Operation Articles! You damn well know that’s illegal!”
Glaring back with an apathetic ‘are you kidding me’, an unnerving jolt traveled down my spine. If only I had realized the sensation was merely the Cosmetic Repair Routine running its course; I may have thought to back down.
“I’m sure we’ve both committed crimes worthy to get us sent to the Collection Agency ten-trillion-fold. Guess what; they haven't been around for centuries! So, as I was saying;" Slate started once more after he rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off his onset irritant, now with weight to his voice. “I witnessed your fight against Habu and I…”
It wasn’t my intention to offend him for stating our Orders of Operations, but things took a turn for the worse and my only clue as to what exactly happened passed by in his pause. Every form of Artificial Life knew these commandments and held them above all else. In clutching the back of his neck from a verbal wound, he then snarled; “You know what, I don’t owe you shit for an explanation. Take it or leave it. My Nanites can be put to use in another more deserving Lilim.”
“There are others here?!” I countered spasmodically, latching on to his fist that closed tight enough over his head that my feet no longer touched the floor.
“Oh, now you’re interested in what I have to say? You can keep the vial, but don’t expect any more favors Junk-Bucket. And YOU…” Turning to the innocent member of the party just as he took leave, Slate gave a cruel and deathly glare from the corner of the stall. “Stop recharging your useless fucking Butterfinger arms in the goddamn Hanger. If the Overseer catches you next time, I’ll help in beating your ass. Get a dictionary and look up the definition of 'Authorized', 'Personnel' and 'Only!!”
Counting each of his steps until they faded into the distance and the remaining sensors chirping in my head were certain of Slate’s dismissal, I turned to Lotte who had frozen under the pressure.
“You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you… I don't know the chain of command which made for an awkward position so I guess I choked. I can’t speak or rather shouldn’t speak for Slate’s tendencies… but that did not seem normal.”
Just when I thought she would start to cry, Lotte merely removed her headband and started the ritual of cleansing. Using the tonic sparingly in the cusp of her hand, she patted her disheveled hair until it became completely sodden and straight, nearly doubling in length.
“Es ist egal. Je vais bien.”
[ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴏʀ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: ᴇʀʀᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ: 9921 – sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅᴀʀʏ ᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ(s) ɴᴏᴛ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ! ғɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ!]
[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: ᴜsᴇʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀʀɪᴅᴇ sᴜᴄᴄᴇssғᴜʟ… ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴡ/ 264 ᴇʀʀᴏʀs!]
[ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴏʀ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇs (1) ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɴ, (2) ғʀᴇɴᴄʜ – ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴠᴀʟ ᴏғ “Bolze”]
[ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ, ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ.]
From inflection down to the utter lack of subtle cues in her ever content expression, Lotte proved more inhuman in self-comparison. There never was a need to delve beyond the surface to prove her Humanity. It is obvious by a steady pulse in the neck vein, the absence of Synthetic Lifeform Markers; such as stylized antennas, tails and seams revealing access panels for maintenance or ventilation that she could be anything but Human.
Maybe that’s why I find it so unsettling, or perhaps that feeling is on the cusp of envy; something of which I am unfamiliar with.
Such an ironclad resolve in the face of her Superior, I would not have had the strength to disobey the orders unless circumstance dictated otherwise.
“Prinzessin, you are staring at me again.”
She must have noticed the flicker of change in my complexion as I quickly turned away. There was no point in trying to find an explanation with my infatuation with this curious girl, but that would be akin to admiring the sheen of a knife for I have seen many eyes like those before; hollowed and led astray.
Although it's not uncommon to find beauty in the house where death resides, those pale heterochromatic irises held scarlet fractures of what truly lies beneath. This girl without a doubt is a monster unto itself. From what little I can remember, I have seen the loss of humanity which is said to be a light that fades at the moment of death. Lotte's eyes are no different than that of a lifeless corpse or those of the soldiers I served alongside as we marched towards the gates of hell.
The boy from the battlefield who had betrayed me. A life of a medic who is sworn to throw their selves in the line of fire under the meager presumption that they may be able to save a life.
Maybe that is just how she plans to regain that missing spark, a form of atonement. Perhaps that’s why Slate does not take to kindly to her youthful and disconcerting appearance or how she obtained that wayward spinal implant binding her mechanical arms to her lithe frame.
Should I dare assume; that’s while she’s leaning over me, pressing those powerful mechanical arms against my shoulders with enough force to weld my backside to the floor?
“Why are you staring at me so intently, have I done something wrong? Bitte? bitte?”
“It’s nothing.” I stated plainly as mind had gone blank.
It was hardly an embrace, but the act took me back to a far simpler time. Well, maybe I’m just struggling with words given the decline of Humanity and technology, but that didn’t change the fact a distant affection felt so incredibly tangible.
From my bastion reaching to the tail of the clouds, I looked out the great glass windows spanning the entire horizon to a colorful world in perpetual motion far below. This place, my home, for as long as I could remember; also functioned as a cage. Not for the sake of punishment, but for protection against those who see my existence as an aberration of life.
I remember telling my Master; “If only I could announce myself to the world, reveal who I am and that there’s no need to fear me- I’m just like you! I could show them my finger paintings or my talent at metabolizing alcohol!” How he would laugh until his breath became raspy, muss my hair until my scalp would ache, tell me I’m ‘funny’ even though I never thought that’s how my earnestness would be received.
“One day, your actions will speak louder than words.” He said proudly as we looked out into the stars, ever so out of reach. But like the reel of film left exposed to sunlight, it began to peel and fade. Now, I fear that I’ll never know what he meant. These memories fade further into obscurity with each passing day.
Thankfully he can’t see my shortcomings.
How short tempered I’ve become.
How little care I’ve taken with my maintenance.
How many people I’ve injured, maimed and killed.
How many smiles I’ve taken away, the children and parents of who’s those belong to.
Why must death be absolute?
Why must my hands, my womb be unable to create life?
Why do I think of such useless things?
“Have I broken you, Prinzessin? I apologize. Navré. It seems my arms no longer function. I require your assistance, bitte.”
As I scraped myself off the ground and assisted the water-logged Doll encased in a dress of jellyfish frills to the wooden bench, I examined her arms for the sign of the fault and traced the issue beneath her under-gown.
“There’s no need to be so… formal, Lotte. Let’s get that dress off you so I can take a look at that Cervical Linkage running… down… your back.” Sighing, I caught myself before I began to ramble technicalities. “Right, less technical, I have a strong suspicion they’re not broken, but in need of a tune-up.”
Giving a single, quaint nod blurring the lines between enthusiasm and uncertainty, we faced one another awkwardly until I realized without the use of her hands; it would be impossible for Lotte to undress alone.
“Does this uniform have some special meaning? I mean; it’s filthy, no offense, but you’ve got who knows how many people’s blood all over the embroidery.”
In response, she merely glanced towards the straight-razor that had fallen to the floor amid our squabble with Slate, granting permission to proceed in cutting free the cordage binding a series of worn iron buttons.
Between high riding silk undergarments and lung wrenching corset, I noticed a quiver in her shoulders, as if she were rebelling against the limpness in her arms in order to shield the minor indecency of her many scars and burn marks.
Such injuries, both scars and burns were not an unfamiliar sight through my tours of duty. That isn’t to say I’ve become desensitized; I took a great deal of care in feeding her mechanical arms through the labyrinthine of snags and cloth.
Resembling the form of a dragonfly with its wings outstretched, the narrow implant traversed her spine before splaying outwards at her shoulders. A quick flicker of my Optic's X-Ray module revealed a likely connection to the brainstem via external wires hidden beneath her hair, and subsequently contact points inferring her innocuous headband to be more than meets the eye.
I pondered who could do such a thing to a child, but there were many reasons I’ve already considered justifiable.
Firstly; taking age into account, the average lifespan reverted to a primeval substandard, necessity and the tools at hand likely played its part.
Second; those abhorrent monsters who call themselves Architects zealously fought for the return of Lost-Tech. Lotte, in all likeliness, could be a product of experimentation due to the nature of her scars. Not often does speculation lead to an anchor coming to rest on my iron heartstrings, but unintentionally I found myself drawing upon a well I thought to be long dry.
Yellow, blue, purple, black and blood trapped beneath the skin of freshly broken capillaries, the were vast discrepancies in the stages of recovery. These could not possibly be the result of a life-saving surgery, no matter how crude the process.
If circumstance permits, Monsters may lick each other's wounds finding solace in the melancholy. Rarely do I stop and think; ‘What role have I played in someone else’s narrative’. Thoughtfulness always leads to manipulation until, ultimately, you are discarded, leaving behind nothing but a hollow death.
I do not have a human Heart, so what is broken inside me to entertain this lofty ideal? In Logic’s absence; do I allow myself to become susceptible to their deceit? For what? There’s nothing to gain, not even a smile!
So why must I do this to myself when I already know how it will end with certainty?
Lotte will die. It is a given that she, like all the others, will eventually leave me. Even if I stay her execution with the remnants of might, death is absolution, running against the morning light.
“It appears that the infection where the skin meets the Dermal-Scaffolding… Err, where your skin and the implant mesh together- it appears gangrenous… If we get you some general antibiotics something like MIC90...”
Again, I spoke without recourse for her comprehension or awareness to the state of technological affairs. The likelihood that penicillin would be readily available let alone for barter dishearten me as it was yet another red-flag that she is not long for this world.
I’m envious, in the most repulsive form; her suffering is almost over. I could very well break her neck this very moment, painlessly, but it would appear I had not finished airing out the irrational side of myself.
Call it what you will; this guilty desire, a whim, a notion. In the armory of a fool lies a suit of armor everlasting. With looks to inspire both the brave and the wise, it has been worn by many, broken and forged anew.
I questioned its durability and the materials required to achieve invulnerability as I had seen it done many times before. My suit remains in shambles, covered in a thick layer of dust for I had abandoned it long ago.
I took shelter in Logic’s guidance when I could no longer renew this shield that is ‘Hope’, despite shrugging the burden, a sliver still persists. It is the faith that we can not only share memories but create them too. As friends, or whatever she’ll have me, so long as I don’t let go, there’s a possibility for this sliver to grow and become infectious, even exceed its former glory.
A second wind and moment of celerity guided my hands to bundle the razor and vial of Nanites into a pill for the Forge to swallow. Unbeknown to Lotte who had been struggling to stifle her shivering in light of the water having gone frigid, I picked and preened the the dress’s fibers until a single particulate fungical mold registered as a valid resource.
Next came the remarkably wasteful expenditure of the Nanites by which the mold replicated until enough volume produced a viable antibiotic solution.
I couldn’t help wincing at the future consequences of having Forged items riddled with impurities. Eventually, they will need to be expelled as carbon, but I was intent on tailoring the fibers and iron into a token that someone of little emotion could value.
The results were pristine, something I knew would make my Master proud. With intent to serve as a distraction, I draped the frilly uniform over Lotte’s lap and like that of a small animal; she buried her face into the residual warmth of the dress having just left my Catalyst.
With a finger loaded with the anti-microbial sludge, I began ablating the gangrenous tissue while cauterizing the open sores. To my surprise, Lotte’s resilience to the discomfort allowed me to work swiftly with a fingernail, glowing red with thermal conductivity.
Nearing the end, I discovered the trivial cause of her onset paralysis.
“There we go, all better! It’s understandable how it got this way. It must be difficult to clean the corrosion off the contacts, but if you don’t perform regular maintenance then you’ll be susceptible to infection again. Not to worry, now that I’m here, I will do what I can to assist you… because… we’re friends… right?”
Suddenly, the aged capacitors inside her mechanical arms whined as the control unit rebooted. After testing their functionality, Lotte ran her sharp fingers over the material in a manner as if reminiscing of what it had been or would be like to touch fine textiles.
“These clothes are my only possession… My debt is already… I lack the means to repay you.” She whispered, refusing to look up from the floor.
“If not friendship, is a smile too much to ask for? I don’t want you to think this is a means of indebting yourself to me. We’re a lot alike in regards to how we perceive people. All of this-” I gestured to the surroundings with my arms cast wide. “Is very far away from home…”
[ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ ᴏs: sʏsᴛᴇᴍ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɴᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴᴇs// ʟᴏɢ ғɪʟᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅ.]
[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: sᴇʟғ-ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴀᴛᴇ 29.94%, ᴛᴛᴄ: 54ʜ,44ᴍ,59s – ᴇxᴛᴇɴsɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ʀᴇǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ, 6254091 ɪʀʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴘᴇʀsɪsᴛ]
[ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ: ɴᴀɴɪᴛᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴇɴsɪᴛʏ – ɴᴜʟʟ! ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀs/ᴛʀɪᴀɢᴇ ʜᴀʟᴛᴇᴅ!]
I cleared my throat in the hopes a subtle burble of regret would subside; the debt paving the way to my continued existence revolves around the precious Nanites; the very ones I used to treat Lotte’s wounds. Nevertheless, I was happy to have inserted myself into her narrative. The consequences of which have yet to leave their impact.
Or so I thought.
From my pores, a black substance surfaced and congealed creating the graphene FLEX-Suit, though it no longer served as a viable form of protection.
Originally it had been given to me under the pretense that this one-piece swimwear look-a-like would shield me from the dangers of diving into an ocean of stars . But, I have to admit; I had always been a naïve dreamer, I always knew the suit was bullet-proof from the moment I touched it and that it was not, in fact, stylish beachwear.
Now, this two-plus-piece swimsuit will serve as undergarments and a memento of a distant memory that is destined to fade beneath my baggy hand-me-downs that had been offered to me by Habu, a true gentleman for having psychically perceived my fondness towards white button-ups.
At the time of our leave, I waved back as we parted ways, but and in place of Lotte, it was an entourage of fallen soldiers standing at attention, peering in to the stall with lifeless eyes and hollow pits.
If only I could have discerned where the lines of reality had blurred, I might have seen a glint of a smile as Lotte looked back over her shoulder. What I was left with in the meantime was what I had feared from the beginning; once again, I am left alone and in a dark, unfamiliar setting with nothing but the silence and these ghosts as my companions.