Contributing Author: Baba Vader
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Tick, tock.
Trey Goodkind considered the noise. For a few minutes now, he had been hearing something like an old grandfather’s clock. The problem was, he didn’t have one in his apartment. He only had a digital alarm clock in his bedroom and a silent analogue clock in his kitchen.
Tick, tock.
Yet, here it was. Happily ticking and tocking away, not wanting to let him sleep off his horrible hangover. He really should know better than to get drunk with his old friends. They could still hold their liquor while he clearly couldn’t.
Tick, tock.
Trey groaned. He wanted to sleep. But if the noise wouldn’t go away, he’d need to find its source and deal with it. That meant waking up. He groaned again and turned over in his bed. A much quieter clickidiclack sounded out and he blinked his eyes open.
Click Clack.
Wait a moment…
Trey blinked again, just once this time.
Click.
Were his eyelids making loud metallic clicking noises?
Tick, tock.
He bolted upright and threw the covers off. What greeted him was not his slightly flabby but still relatively fit flesh and skin body. No. Instead, there was something far different–brass, steel, and was that a diamond gear?
Hissing pipes vented out air as he compressed his metal fingers. They were plated in gleaming steel, a Chrome-Vanadium alloy to increase its resistance to rust. Just like the brass and the diamonds and… Why was he an automaton?
Click Crrrk.
A joint in his jaw unlocked and his mouth dropped open until it was caught by a spring. A few gears started turning and some kind of membrane at the back of his throat was set into motion.
“I am soooo glad you are finally awake!” his body said with a rather androgynous and slightly metallic voice, “Do you know how long I have waited for you to stop sleeping? Finally, we can get started!”
Click Clack.
Trey blinked again. Had his body just started talking to him?
“What?” he managed. This time, the voice was slightly lower, like he was hearing himself through a telephone speaker.
“Oh, right,” his mouth said. “Let me introduce myself. I am the great Geneva, Master of Clockwork! I have been chosen specifically to adjust your body for your first scouting mission. My Clockwork is unsusceptible to the woes of corruption and will serve you well to form an initial plan of attack!”
In truth, Geneva hadn’t been chosen. They’d won a simple game of chance to the unified annoyance of their fellow space aphids. Still, the followers of The Leafy One all agreed: the root-pull was sacrosanct. Whoever it was–whether they sought biological or mechanical perfection–the one who pulled the biggest root won.
“What’s going on?” Trey said, using the Master of Clockwork’s ingeniously designed voice-box to let the two of them have a conversation with distinct tones.
“You, Trey Goodkind, have been chosen! Trust in The Leafy One, for she is infallible. Even I, a virtuoso of cogs and gears, an imposter of the natural, cannot help but worship her splendor!”
Tick, tock.
That clicking noise… it was his vitals? His organs? Whatever it was, it leapt into every pause, every silence, and it had prevented him from sleeping off his hangover. Hold on. How did he even have a hangover? Wasn’t his body mechanical now?
Crrrk.
“Well, since you seem to be rather confused, I will start with the mission. First step: Resources! I just need a little…”
There was a whirring noise in Trey’s head before a few more gears started to crunch and click.
“Yes, that is absolutely marvelous! I shall be using this!”
Geneva pushed away the rest of the blanket and stood up, gears and cogs turning. With efficiency and precision, they used their modified joints–which had a higher range of motion in one direction but less so in all others–to stride confidently to the closet. There, they quickly grabbed a shirt, pants, and underwear and started to dress.
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Precisely 13.44 seconds later they made their first step out of the cozy but small bedroom and into the rest of Trey’s apartment. More whirring noises sounded out as Geneva turned Trey’s head to scan the combined living room and kitchen area for salvageable parts.
The space was pleasantly spacious, with a comfortable corner couch standing in front of a large flat screen TV, just 1,733 millimeters away from the bedroom door. A low table stood slightly off-center but still close enough to reach from wherever one was sitting on the couch. It seemed Trey had a utilitarian approach to furniture. Geneva approved.
To the right, behind the couch, were two shelves filled with books, CDs, and a slew of small memorabilia and decorative junk. Nothing, of course, of the quality the Master of Clockwork required to improve their body. A compact dining table with four chairs hugged the nearby wall. There wasn’t enough room for four people to sit comfortably at it, but that was alright. It seemed Trey mostly ate alone.
In the kitchen, Geneva stopped for 3.12 seconds to examine a tiny cactus standing on the windowsill of the sink. Light streamed in from outside, but despite the ample energy it received, the cactus was far from The Leafy One’s grace.
Next, they eyed the stove. A used pot stood on its surface, uncleaned. They ignored it, instead working to strip the appliances wires. Unsatisfied, Geneva turned their facial expression into a displeased frown.
Exactly 7.98 seconds had passed and, unfortunately, the apartment did not appear to contain a single viable part.
It was time to leave. Geneva knew from Trey’s thoughts that New City was a big place. It was bound to have what they needed.
Geneva stepped into the hallway, quickly going for the coat that contained Trey’s keys and wallet. As they slipped into his shoes, Trey shook their head.
“I’m hallucinating,” the poor man said, “There’s no way this is real. One of those idiots spiked my drink or something.”
“You are not hallucinating,” Geneva said, “You are on a mission. Or… we are? Anyway, we need to secure materials to maintain this form. I believe Fred’s Bike Supplies will have what is necessary.”
“What?”
Just as Geneva reached to open the door, what should have been a hangover headache turned into a spiking pain like a plasma torch being taken to their finest mechanic parts. They froze and doubled over with a whirring crrk click tick tock. No more than 142 milliseconds later, the pain was gone completely. Trey was still crouching down in the fetal position and Geneva found themselves unable to take control away from him.
“Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck,” Trey muttered.
Thanks to Geneva’s soothing subsurface movements, Trey’s panic attack lasted no more than 3.48 seconds. They mentally pumped a fist. Show them one person who wouldn’t be calmed down by the ticking and tocking of a proper Clockwork mechanism! Especially when that mechanism was their brain!
“I am not sure what happened there, Trey. Your mechanical parts are all in order.”
“You didn’t hear the voice?”
“Yours?”
“No! Not mine. Not yours, either. Some sort of female, a bit older. It sounded almost like rustling leaves.”
“Oh! The Leafy One spoke to you! What did her Arboreal Brightness enlighten you with?”
“I… fuck. It was kinda staticky? I couldn’t hear it clearly. Something about a bug. Is she trying to fix a program?”
“Hum… In a way she has a program, yes. I am unsure what she wanted but it does not matter! I know the mission and the mission is to scout!”
“What-” Trey managed before Geneva had already jumped up and ripped open the apartment door.
The hallway was your average New City apartment building hallway. Blank white walls, doors every 8.4 to 8.5 meters, and a carpet that couldn’t have been more unassuming. Geneva strode down to the staircase with purpose while Trey looked back over their shoulder, sighing in relief as the door managed to click shut. When he turned his head back forwards, he blinked.
Click Clack.
“How can you keep walking straight?” he asked.
“That, my dear Trey, is the beauty of Clockwork! I will never be imprecise in my movements, nor will you if you take complete control of your new form!”
“Huh? My new form?”
“Yes, Trey. This is still your body. I have simply replaced it with a superior form. Now, obviously, when one of my lesser brethren beats the high score on the root-pull and replaces my position, your body might change depending on their preference. However, nothing will compare to my own greatness. It is incomparable to the failings of biology! I, the Great Master of Clockwork, have removed all the useless and frankly inhibiting imperfections in my beautificious imitation of nature!”
“…is that even a word?”
“It is now!” Geneva proclaimed, only to leap back as a door flung open right in front of them.
“Trey, that you?” a quiet voice asked.
“Yes?”
A small round face framed in neat black hair peeked out from behind the door. Two large black eyes blinked at the sight. The girl was Trey’s neighbor and acquaintance, Jill. She was a petite person with an amazingly vivid imagination, which she made use of in the creative process of drawing digital art.
She was home almost all the time, often awake in a rhythm many would describe as unhealthy and, maybe most importantly, someone Geneva had seen before. Namely, last night, when they and their fellow space aphids had carried Trey’s body back to his apartment and the girl checked the hallway at the commotion of their attempts at opening the door.
“Um…” Jill started, seeming to freeze as she faced the now-mechanical Trey. Her eyes fixated on his neck, where a finely-carved metal lily flower had replaced an old tattoo, and she began to drift back behind her door.
“Greetings, Madam Jill!” the automaton said, “I am Geneva, Master of Clockwork, and I have granted Trey Goodkind a vastly improved form! We are just about to procure some necessary products for maintenance.”
“I-I,” Jill gulped. “Um, hello Geneva?”
“I’m still Trey, in here,” the automaton said in a much more familiar voice, “Somehow, Geneva is here with me. Or something. I don’t know.”
“Oh,” Jill’s eyes lit up, “that’s interesting.”
She inched out a little further, a finger playing with her lips.
“So, you’re okay?”
Trey nodded.
“We are more than okay, Madam Jill. If you have no further requirements from us, we will be on our way!”
“Yes. I mean, no. I–um–I don’t need anything.”
“Then, I wish you farewell, Madam Jill,” Geneva bowed gracefully, causing the girl to blush.
“Yeah. Bye, Jill,” Trey chimed in, ruining the moment.
Jill watched them go as they walked down the hallway, only to cringe and wince as the automaton suddenly stopped with a painful sounding, CRRRRRRKRKKRK.
“Ah, bollocks! Someone beat my score on the root-pull already?”