Echoes faded as the water dragged her deeper. She stretched her arms toward the distant light, grasping at nothing but shadows. In the cold silence, fragmented voices drifted to the surface along with her bubbling breath, too faint to comprehend but painful to let go.
The last air bubble popped. Her eyes flickered open. Neuro sat up from her bed, drenched in cold sweat.
Sunlight poured in from the window, and outside lay a sky of perfect summer blue. Past the emerald fields, a sea of trees stretched beyond the horizon, ever-silent and still. Each passing day, they loomed larger, like tidal waves coming to crash upon her lonely little house.
She wondered, not for the first time, what lay past the forbidden forest. How it seemed so alluring despite the unease it gives her. Goosebumps climbed up her arms.
“Neuro-sama,” a static female voice called out. Miss Fox stared down at her with mismatched eyes: one a cyan halo, the other a dead ring clouded by rust. “It’s time to get up. Your breakfast will be ready soon.”
Neuro glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-fifteen. Late again. She turned over and grumbled. “No~ I’m tired. Can we skip today?”
The window screeched open, letting in a cool crisp breeze that carried the scent of old wood and metal. Miss Fox snatched the blankets from her. “The Professor is waiting for you. You must get up now.”
“No!” Neuro flung her pillow and sprang out of bed. She weaved past the maid’s arms, giggling.
But her feet never felt the cold sting of the wooden floorboards. Miss Fox caught her midair with her metallic tail covered in synthetic fur.
“That trick won’t work on me twice, Neuro-sama.” Miss Fox’s mouth twitched into a stiff grin as she dangled Neuro like a toy fish. “Now, shall we get you ready for the day?”
Neuro pouted. There was never really an option.
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Today, she brushed her teeth on her own again. Up and down, back to front. She even cleaned behind her teeth without needing Miss Fox’s instruction. Though the Fox Maid did so anyway as she combed the knots out of Neuro’s brown hair. Each movement, once smooth and deft, were accompanied by faint creaks and frequent stutters. But Neuro didn’t mind — Miss Fox still tended to everything she asked of her, even if it took a little longer each day.
“They compliment your cuteness, Neuro-sama,” Miss Fox said for the thousandth time when she finished, smiling stiffly at her from the mirror.
Neuro smiled. She never tired of hearing the compliment. “Thanks~! I love you, Miss Fox.”
The Fox Maid stared for a while, her good eye flickering as if her processors were scrambling to find an appropriate response. Her voice skipped, a soft buzz crackling over her words. “I l-l-love you too, Neuro. . . ”.
The breakfast gave off a charred stench. The bread was hard as a brick; the scrambled eggs were shriveled dry. Neuro forked the bacon. It crumbled into a thousand black flakes. She pushed her plate away, untouched, and on cue, Miss Fox bussed the table and scraped the waste into the bin without uttering a word. There was a loud clanking sound, and the food and her appetite were sent to some distant place beyond her worries.
Across from her, Professor Tutel sat at the table, motionless. His chrome bald head tilted as if caught in a dream. He was still in his green turtle neck and ragged lab coat, cradling his makeshift cane fashioned from a broken chair. He reeked of grease and tangy metal. A stinky boy. Perhaps he’d sat there all night, a doll forgotten in the attic.
“Today’s date is December 19, 2224. . .” The distorted kitchen announcer rang from the ceiling. “Lessons have yet to begin. . . The time is eight-fifteen. Verbal confirmation required to continue. . .” The snooze countdown started to beep.
“Ten. . . nine . . .” Neuro counted along, wondering if it will take the Professor four seconds to boot up again today. Maybe he will miss the snooze entirely.
But Miss Fox tilted his chin back, hinged his jaw open, and poured in his morning oil. Black smoke puffed from the Professor’s mouth, making Neuro wince at the crude smell. A thousand tiny mosquitoes buzzed from his fans, then roared as the gears cranked with strain.
With a second to spare, Professor Tutel twitched to life and stuttered, “I-I’m here.”
The kitchen accepted his response and said, “Good Morning, Professor”, before falling asleep until it was needed again.
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Outside, Neuro felt the wind course through her hair as she rode the Professor’s shoulders. The lessons started late again today. Eight-thirty. Fifteen minutes later than normal; five minutes later than yesterday.
The garden was drenched in summer rays. Cicadas chirped in the canopy of the old oak tree sagging alone at the garden’s heart. Beneath it, a lonely koi swam in the quiet pond that was too vast for a single fish to call home.
Professor Tutel hobbled against his shoddy cane and knelt low, his joints screaming against the rust.
Neuro climbed down and watched him wobble against his cane. He had lost his leg some time ago, but he never told her how. He’d wave it off or go on about how it doesn’t matter whenever she pestered him about it.
“I’ll get the watering can,” he said in a tired voice as he handed her some pellets. He limped toward the old shed.
Neuro sprinkled the pellets by the pond’s edge again, hoping the koi would greet her like before. She waited and waited. Still, same as yesterday, the pond reflected her unbroken image. Sometimes she wondered if it was afraid of her, if there was a point in feeding a fish that never came to eat.
Professor Tutel returned with the watering cans. He held out his hand, and they moved through the garden together despite how clumsy he was hopping around. She had to match the Professor’s ever-slowing pace as they watered the withered plants and flowers, in place of the eroded sprinklers.
“Be sure to dust out the crevices too,” Miss Fox told the Professor, time and time again.
“Yes, Miss Fox,” he said, his voice and limbs on a tired loop. He dusted the doll house and all its furniture and people until they shone like new, as he did yesterday, and the days before that.
Neuro listened to them with a wide grin. It brought a smile to her face seeing the Professor be ordered around. Not that he could complain. For he insisted they share the maid’s burden as her movements grew slower and erroneous with each task.
Yet Miss Fox refused to sit idly. She stayed by his side, guiding them through the task with cold direction and a confused smile.
Neuro cleaned apart from them, from her caretakers who could never leave her to her own devices. They watched her every move every day, every second, and if they had a justification for the hawkish eyes, it never showed on their metallic faces. Sometimes, as she cleaned, she’d find old toys and dusty, blurry photographs from times she was too young to remember. When she asked about them, her caretakers would take them and brush off her inquiries. She knew they thought she’d forget, as if her memories were wiped clean every morning. But she remembered. She kept that to herself, though, in hopes to remember what was forgotten.
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By eleven, the house was clean. The kitchen smelt of cinnamon and vanilla as Miss Fox took up baking, while Neuro’s lesson continued at the table.
Professor Tutel read to her a leathery book whose spine was gnawed at by time and his boney fingers. He droned through the story of a girl who was abandoned on her birthday and is seeking her father’s love. His voice was a static lullaby.
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Neuro nodded absently, half-listening to the story told a thousand times, staring at the clock. The small hand taunted her as it seemed to slow with each passing minute. Her finger tapped to its tune. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
“Professor, your oil,” Miss Fox said, holding a tea cup on a plate, the porcelain rattling in her gloved hands.
He glanced from the book. “Thank you, Miss Fox.” He accepted it with careful hands and took a sip.
Light sparkled in Neuro’s eyes. “Professor, do you secretly love Miss Fox?”
Professor Tutel froze, the oil dribbling down his face. His eyes seemed brighter than before as he glanced at the maid returning to her station. “W-where did that come from, Neuro?”
“Nothing~,” She giggled. “I just never seen you two hold hands or kiss or anything.”
“Well —”
“Are you married? Dating? I never heard you say ‘I love you’ like the dad in the books.”
“Erm. . .” The Professor’s dome glistened in the sunlight. He scratched his rusty five o’clock shadow.
Neuro bursted into laughter. Few things could break the Professor’s stone face, but mentioning Miss Fox always did the trick.
“Neuro-sama, some things. . . don’t need to be said aloud,” Miss Fox said from the kitchen. The sweet scent of cookies filled the room as she opened the oven. “Now, be a good girl, and let the Professor continue the lessons.”
“Aw~ but it’s so boring,” she said, pouting. “Can’t we play games instead?”
Miss Fox brought the cookies to the table in silence. She watched an eager Neuro pull the cookies towards her and scarf them down. She smiled. “Professor, take Neuro-sama outside to play.”
Professor Tutel held up his tattered book. “But, the lessons —”
“ — could be postponed for another day. We should do as Neuro-sama requests, for today, at the very least.” She gripped his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Professor?”
He gave a distant stare. “Yes, Miss Fox.”
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The sun hung dull and low past noon. Neuro swam through the tall grass dotted with flowers of every shade, giggling as she bobbed her head out of the rustling sea. She called out to the lagging Professor, her voice rippling over the field as she waved him over.
“What would you like to play today, Neuro?” he asked, leaning heavily on his cane, fumes hissing out his mouth. “Chess? A rhythm game? Karaoke?”
“Submarine,” she said, bouncing up and down.
His face remained as hard as stone, as puzzled as his stiff metal face could be.
“Did you forget already, Professor?” She puffed her cheeks. His ever-growing forgetfulness was commonplace, but they had played the game just a few days ago. “We collect things underwater to rebuild our ship, so we can return home. Remember?”
She studied his face, expecting the wires in his head to connect, but something was missing in his eyes. Her smile grew weaker.
His hollow voice cracked after a pause. “As long as we stay far from the forest... we can play whatever you’d like.”
She tugged his arm, leading him into the swaying green sea. He’ll remember as we play.
But for however long they played, the Professor never remembered.
They searched for parts in the imaginary depths, explored remnants of lost civilizations, and evaded sea monsters until the Professor’s old cane gave in and snapped under his weight.
He sat amongst the reeds, studying his stumped leg. After a settled pause, he staggered to his foot. “I’ll get something to fix this,” he said. “Stay here, far from the forest.”
She nodded, looking at his metallic hands clench hard around the broken cane. “Yes, Professor.”
“Be a good girl,” he said, turning away.
For a moment, his figure flickered — a technicolor mirage of someone matching his movements in perfect harmony. Her hand moved on its own. Neuro tugged on his sleeve.
He looked back at her, emotionless. “What is it, Neuro?”
She shrunk under his hard gaze. She squeaked out, “N-nothing. . . I just wanted to say I love you, Professor.”
But the Professor said nothing. His halo eyes buzzed for a moment, processing. He gave a shaky pat to her head, then limped away, leaving her to wade by herself in her imaginary sea.
And so she played her games, all alone. Picked up fancy-shaped rocks and threw them faraway; frolicked through the fields before slowing to a walk; sang her songs aloud to silence the remembrances of her caretaker’s growing forgetfulness.
Yet, the words left unspoken lingered behind every thought, every act, until she was out of games to play and songs to sing, until they were untethered to run rampant. She ran aimlessly, as fast as her little legs could carry her, the grass passing by in a green blur.
Before she knew it, she found herself on the fringes of the forbidden forest. The air felt heavier and cold. The trees, once distant, towered like giants, their branches curled like beckoning fingers. The wind whispered her name, pulling her towards the undergrowth, battling against the Professor’s warnings in her mind.
Yet she lingered.
The Professor’s absent love was fresh, raw in her mind. If she went, he would worry. . . right? The voices won. She hid in the forest. The cold shadows coddled her, nestled her in the dark.
Maybe now the Professor will miss her. Maybe he’ll remember to say it back.
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Four Forty-Four. Sunlight waned. Neuro peeked over the still fields. Only the quiet rustle of grass in the cool breeze broke the silence.
Five- fifteen. Dusk crept in. Silhouettes took form in the fading light. Candlelight bloomed softly from the windows of her home. Neuro curled up beneath the dark oak and listened, hoping to hear her name through the wind.
Five-forty-five. The wind and leaves grew restless. Still, no one came for her or cried out her name. Neuro hugged her knees, blinking away the welling tears before they could fall.
Five-fifty. Her lips quivered. She bit down, trying to smother the ache in her chest. But the frustration broke her. She cried, alone in the forest.
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For the first time since dusk, something rustled nearby. A white paper fluttered in the dark, spiraling around her like a curious butterfly. It danced between her feet, teasing, its corners a wagging finger.
Neuro blinked through her tears and reached for it, but the paper darted away. It lingered long enough for her to try again, only for it to fly off, but not before revealing a glimpse of its underbelly — a photo, different from the ones at home. Unblurred and new. A family. Parents and their two daughters, their faces unknown except for one: her, smiling.
Her chest tightened. The family photo filled her with a hollow ache, a glimmer of longing for something lost but so very close. It plucked at her strings. She needed to know.
The photo drifted deeper into the forest, and she chased after, desperation overruling hesitation. Around her, the world unraveled — branches clawed at her, rocks and roots vanished in and out of space, the ground beneath her feet melted, and the air screamed of static.
At last, the photo settled in a clearing atop a mound of others, scattered like fallen leaves. Thousands of them.
Neuro reached for one, her fingers trembling. The moment she grazed one, the ground collapsed. She sank into an abyss, the darkness swallowing her whole. She clawed at the fleeting light, for something, for someone. But it vanished.
Thousands of photos fell around her like crystal rain. One by one, the photos, the people within, came to life, their captured memories playing and filling the void with vivid color and fantasy.
A mother brushed her daughter’s hair, tying it with soft ribbons, her hum full of love and quiet sorrow. A father chased his daughter through an open field, laughter trailing behind him.
Static flickered.
Seasons turned, soft colors bled deep, and fire devoured the world above. The mother now gone, the family retreated below.
In a dim room, the father worked tirelessly, the light in his eyes fading as he built a labyrinth of wires and screens. Years flew by in the subterranean prison until it was complete, and the daughter smiled, knowing they could play like before. But her wishes were unanswered. The father only kissed her forehead and walked away. The switch flipped, and the memories turned black.
Neuro floated to the bottom of the abyss, her mind fragmented, her tears overflowing. She didn’t understand. How could she? The warmth of their embrace, the sting of abandonment, the emptiness left in its wake. All a foreign memory.
Candlelight bloomed, the amber glow a distant beacon.
She rose from the floor of her home, now cold and lifeless. Dust blanketed the shelves, the dilapidated walls stood tired, and Miss Fox and Professor Tutel slumped at the table. Before them, a cake illuminated by candles read, Happy Birthday.
She nudged them, whispering their names. But they did not move; rather, they merely shook to her touch. Her whisper turned to a sob, shaking them harder as she begged for answers and asked them why. Their bodies toppled over to the floor with a hollow crash, disassembling in parts and pieces.
Professor Tutel’s head rolled to her feet. Shaking, she held his head up high. His eyes flickered on, the glow of dying embers.
Initiating. . . Emergency Protocol… 987.
> “Is it recording?”
Her breath hitched as a voice, not his own, emitted — tired and distant, but wholly familiar.
> “Hello, Neuro.
>
> I hope you don’t feel lonely. I hope you’re okay.
>
> Though you’ve forgotten me, I still care for you the same.
>
> There wasn’t enough time or resources, but I hope you love it.
>
> I tried to make it as perfect, to be everything you dreamed of.
>
> A world without these painful memories.
>
> Filled with laughter and love, and to be cherished as you deserve.
>
> I really wanted to be the one to give that to you.
>
> I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.
>
> I’m sorry, truly.
>
> This fleeting, crafted love — could it be called “love” at all?
>
> Even now, I am unsure.
>
> Perhaps you will find it,
>
> In this world built for you.”
The glow in Professor Tutel’s eyes faded.
Neuro held her caretakers’ silent heads, clutching them close to her chest as tears streamed down her face and onto their rusty heads. A light flickered above her — a translucent blue screen. Professor Tutel’s static voice spoke from the dark.
Memory Reboot. . . Seed reset. . .initiating in. . . 10 . . . 9. . .
In the hollows of her home, she sat all alone. The memories of old and new played over and over, again and again, even now, as her world shrank with each countdown.
The words on the translucent screen reflected in Neuro’s glistening cyan eyes.
Hold to Cancel.