"See, when automatons talk like that...?" Amelia repeated her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."

She again crouched to meet the little Roy at eye level as it descended to the ground again. There was something behind its eyes that had caught her attention—a small blue glow, similar to the one in her locket, flickering deep within its seemingly hollow head. The light was faint but unmistakable, as though a tiny spark of life was trying to reach out to her. Before she could examine it any further, the machine seemed to notice her staring and swiftly concealed the blue light behind the more prominent yellow glow of its eyes, as if shielding a secret.

“Little Roy," Amelia said, her voice gentle but probing, "care to explain what you mean by ‘life inside’?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on what she thought might be a small, hidden pupil in the form of a tiny blue flame within the machine’s gaze.

Before the little automaton could respond, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs shuddered, a low rumble resonating through the ship as if it were waking from a long slumber. The tremor rippled through the very bones of the vessel, and Amelia instinctively reached out to steady herself against the wall.

“What now...?” she muttered, her heart quickening. The hallway around her began to shift, panels sliding open and closed as though the ship itself was rearranging its innards. It was as if the Pappy Long Legs was alive, and Amelia was suddenly very aware that she was standing within its belly.

“Rick. Owl. Heart. More Hearts. One. Soul,” came Roy’s flat, almost lifeless response, the light in its eyes dimming as it spoke, leaving it motionless and inert.

“One soul?” Amelia murmured to herself, her voice barely audible as she tried to comprehend the strange words.

Startled, Amelia staggered backward, her breath catching in her throat. From hidden crevices, grates, vents, and darkened corners, a swarm of robots began to emerge, their metallic forms clinking softly as they entered the dim light. A small glimmer of blue shone its way through the darkness, flickering between the interchanging yellow and blue in their eyes. Each one was slightly different from the next, yet they all shared the same makeshift, jack-o'-lantern-like shape. Despite their varying appearances, there was an unsettling uniformity in the way they moved—purposeful, deliberate, and with a strange unity that set Amelia’s nerves on edge.

The machines turned their gaze toward the Roy closest to Amelia, almost as if awaiting orders. With a mixture of awe and unease, Amelia watched as the robots formed a silent assembly, their glowing eyes fixated on her with an intensity that felt almost human. She could feel the weight of their collective gaze, a silent pressure that seemed to pulse in the confined space of the corridor.

"Okay… friends? You are all Roys, correct?" mumbled Amelia, her voice quivering slightly as she tried to break the oppressive silence. The uncertainty in the air was thick, almost tangible, as if the ship itself was holding its breath.

“Friend!” the robots echoed, one after another, their voices ringing out in unison. “Yes. FRIEND. Order. Order.”

Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest, the word "friend" feeling more like a declaration than a reassurance. "How do I get back to my quarters? Care to show me?" she asked with a playful bow, trying to mask her growing anxiety. Sweat trickled down her neck, pooling at the base of her chin.

She cautiously turned to face the door adorned with an owl, a symbol of wisdom and watchfulness that offered no comfort in the current situation. But before she could take a step toward it, she was intercepted by yet another Roy. This one was smaller than the rest, but its presence was far more unsettling. Its blank, glowing eyes were fixed on her with a cold, almost malevolent intensity. Unlike the others, this Roy bore no trace of the mysterious blue light behind its eyes—only a stale, lifeless yellow that radiated an eerie emptiness.

There was something inherently wrong about this automaton. Its stance was more aggressive, its movements sharper and more deliberate, as if driven by a different, darker purpose. The ticking and tocking of its gears were harsh and disjointed, like a clock that had been wound too tightly and was now on the verge of breaking. The sound was unnerving, each tick echoing like a countdown to some inevitable catastrophe.

With a sudden, almost contemptuous flick of its wrist, the small Roy shooed the previous Roy away. The motion was harsh yet disturbingly precise, as if this automaton held authority over the others. The other Roys hesitated for a moment, their gears clicking in a collective murmur of unease before they slowly backed off, retreating into the shadows like obedient soldiers deferring to a superior officer.

Amelia's heart pounded as she watched the small Roy. There was no longer any hint of camaraderie in the air—only a growing sense of foreboding. The corridor, once filled with the faint, mechanical hum of the Roys, now seemed to close in around her, the silence punctuated only by the dissonant ticking of the small Roy’s gears.

It stood there, unblinking, its unyielding gaze locked onto hers. Amelia could feel the tension tightening around her, like the pressure of a storm about to break. The air seemed to grow colder, and the ship’s familiar creaks and groans took on a more sinister tone, as though the very structure of the Pappy Long Legs was watching and waiting.

“What do you want?” Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to keep her composure. But the small Roy remained silent, its eyes narrowing slightly as it continued to stare at her, its expression foreboding.

The oppressive stillness pressed down on her, making it difficult to breathe. Amelia could feel a chill creeping up her spine as the small Roy slowly raised one of its arms, pointing directly at the owl-adorned door. The movement was slow, deliberate, and filled with an ominous weight that made Amelia’s blood run cold.

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“Okay… little guy,” Amelia stammered, her voice faltering as she slowly turned back toward the growing crowd of Roys behind her. Panic began to bubble up in her chest. "Rick!" she called into the darkness, her voice tinged with desperation.

Amelia could hear the tiny automaton suddenly retreating into the thin floor grates that lined the Pappy Long Legs with incredible speed, its presence slipping away like a shadow. She kept her body half-turned, unsure of what was going to happen next. Before she knew it, there were no more Roys around her, her back simply faced the door with the owl on it and her gaze focused on the growing crowd of Roys.

As she scanned the large crowd of Roys, Amelia called out to the smallest one she had been speaking to earlier, distinguishing it by the large golden gear embedded in the side of its temple. "Don’t go! Listen… uh, the walking bucket in the front," she addressed the foremost robot, beads of sweat sliding down her neck as her brows furrowed in deep thought. "I won’t call ya’ Roy anymore. We’re f-friends now, right? Give me a name?"

"Name. R-," began the automaton, its mechanical voice faltering as if struggling to form the words. Before it could finish, Amelia interjected, her tone more decisive.

"Whisky! I promise. You'll warm up to it. You are now Whisky," she insisted, a touch of resolve in her voice, trying to assert some control over the situation.

The smallest of the Roys—now Whisky—stood before her, its once-empty gaze sparking to life. The gears inside it began to tick faster and louder, its curiosity evident in the quickened rhythm. It seemed to consider the name, its mechanical mind processing the new identity with a kind of childlike wonder.

"If. I’m. Whisky. You. Are. Roy?" inquired Whisky, his voice tinged with a newfound curiosity, as if the simple act of naming had granted him a deeper sense of self.

"No, I'm still Amelia," replied Amelia, forcing a nervous smile. Despite the tension, she couldn’t help but feel a strange connection to this little machine.

“I am Wh-is-ky?” Whisky repeated, almost as if testing the name on its non-existent tongue. Then, with a sudden burst of pride, it turned to the other Roys lingering in the shadows. “I am Whisky!” it declared loudly, its voice echoing through the corridor.

Amelia, still nervous but now reluctantly amused, watched as Whisky seemed to command respect from the other Roys. They shifted slightly in the darkness, their eyes dimming as if acknowledging Whisky’s newfound status. The little automaton paced back and forth, its gears ticking with excitement, as though it was beginning to understand its role as a leader among the Roys.

"Look at your hands—they're like whisks. That's why you're Whisky," Amelia explained, trying to keep the conversation light to ease the growing tension.

"Your. Hands. Like… Wren-ches. You. Wrenchy?" replied Whisky, tilting its head as it tried to comprehend the comparison.

"Not at all!" Amelia chuckled awkwardly, though her laughter was laced with unease. "Curious machine, aren’t you?" she observed, studying Whisky closely. The more she looked, the more she noticed the intricacies of its design—haphazardly assembled from extra sheets of metal, rusted gears, and mismatched tools. It was clear that Whisky, like Roy, was more than just an ordinary automaton. There was something almost… alive about it.

Once again, Amelia’s eyes were drawn to the dim blue light behind Whisky’s gaze. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, captivating her attention. But before she could examine it further, a tiny metallic claw reached up and grasped the locket around her neck.

“Roy’s heart. Rock. You’re Heart. Rock,” said Whisky, its gaze suddenly becoming eerily human. The automaton held the locket for a moment longer before releasing it, its metallic fingers clicking softly as they withdrew.

“This was a gift. When I was born,” Amelia replied, her voice softening as she gently pushed down her fear. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of endearment toward Whisky. “Do you like it?” she asked, but Whisky remained silent, its attention elsewhere.

Whisky turned its gaze up toward Amelia, its square, cracked spotlight-like eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the yellow light in its eyes was overwhelmed by the blue glow, as if something deep within the machine was trying to communicate.

“Know anything about monsters that like blue light?” Amelia wondered aloud, her fingers idly fiddling with the locket around her neck. She opened the locket, revealing a small, worn picture embedded within. The image depicted a family—five individuals laughing together, their clothes smeared with food as though they had been caught in the middle of a playful food fight.

“Do you know what family is?" Amelia asked tentatively, hoping for some kind of response. But Whisky didn’t answer. Instead, it seemed to lose interest, its focus drifting as it resumed its peculiar dance, spinning and ticking in an oddly rhythmic pattern.

Amelia sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she realized she was no closer to understanding the strange little automaton. "Whisky… let’s just head back. Back to wherever it was, I could get some sleep."

Whisky paused its dance, turning to confer with the other machines nearby. After a moment, it refocused on Amelia with a determined stare. "You. Know. Where," it stated, its tone firmer now. "We. Are. Too. Inquisitive."

"Why not show me? Whisky, please," Amelia sighed, the exhaustion creeping into her voice. She gestured for the other robots to disperse with a wave of her hand, but to her dismay, they simply ignored her, their glowing blue pupils fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

A strange silence settled over the ship, heavy and foreboding, like the quiet before a storm. Whisky rolled up to Amelia, its rickety gears squeaking as it stopped in front of her. Its squared, cracked spotlight eyes flicked between Amelia and the others, its posture stiffening as if sensing danger.

Without warning, Whisky began to whirr like an alarm, a cacophony of overlapping screeches that set Amelia’s nerves on edge. The noise was shrill and disorienting, sending shivers down her spine. The sound acted like a signal, and upon hearing it, the rest of the Roys melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the grates, vents, and cracks in the walls, leaving only Whisky standing before her.

"Owl. Heart. Owl. Soul," announced Whisky, bowing its head to Amelia with a solemnity that felt strangely human. Then, with a final glance, Whisky turned and disappeared into the darkness of the ship, leaving Amelia alone in the dimly lit corridor.

Amelia watched as Whisky’s small form vanished into the grates, only turning back to wave goodbye before it too was swallowed by the shadows. The hallway was now empty, the ship returning to its usual mechanical hum.

"Who would have thought I'd walk away from this feeling guilty?" Amelia mused, her confusion deepening as she realized just how strange the encounter had been. The Pappy Long Legs seemed to be hiding more secrets than she could have ever imagined. "Looks like I'm on my own," she murmured to herself, her voice trailing off into the stillness.“Shit.”