Rad’s footsteps echoed unevenly across the cracked pavement of the undercity streets, the sound swallowed by the dense, smoggy air hanging between the towering ruins of old buildings. The dim light from the flickering neon signs above painted him in hues of sickly green and pale purple as he trudged toward home, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His mind was a battlefield, the robot baby’s cold, cutting words still playing over and over in his head.
I am truly sorry… I have no memory of you in my data banks. Rad clenched his fists inside his pockets, his jaw tightening as a wave of irritation washed over him. “Damn piece of junk,” he muttered, his voice rough and bitter. Spotting a small, loose rock on the ground, he kicked it with unnecessary force. It clattered noisily across the street, hitting a rusted metal pipe with a dull clang.
Despite his anger, Rad couldn’t ignore the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just the robot’s words, it was the way it had looked at him, like it knew something he didn’t. Something dark. Something inevitable.
He shook his head sharply, as if the action could physically dislodge the thought. “Screw it,” he muttered. “Next time I see that creepy thing, I’m punting it across the damn school.” He cursed under his breath, his voice low but seething as he continued his walk home.
The closer he got to the apartment complex, the more oppressive the air felt. The building was a decaying husk of its former self, with graffiti-streaked walls and shattered windows patched haphazardly with scrap metal. The door to the lobby creaked loudly as Rad pushed it open, the familiar sound setting his teeth on edge.
The smell hit him as soon as he stepped inside his home. The acrid stench of cybernetic cigarettes clung to the air, mixed with the faint metallic tang of old machinery. It was a scent he hated, but he knew better than to say anything. His mother was likely slumped in the corner of the living room, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, her eyes glazed as she stared at whatever hollow entertainment program was playing on the ancient holo-screen.
Rad barely spared a glance in that direction as he headed straight for his room. He slammed the door shut behind him and dropped his bag to the floor with a heavy thud. His room wasn’t much better than the rest of the apartment, cramped, with peeling wallpaper and a single flickering lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The only personal touches were the scattered posters of mechs, and street racers plastered unevenly on the walls, and a small, battered desk covered in spare parts and failed projects.
Rad threw himself onto the squeaky mattress of his bed, staring blankly at his scuffed shoes. Despite his attempts to push it away, the baby’s voice came rushing back, clear as day. Your existence won’t leave any impact.
Rad scoffed bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. “What the hell does it know? It’s just a stupid piece of junk. Probably programmed to spout creepy crap for fun.” He tried to laugh, but the sound came out hollow.
The words weren’t just creepy, they were haunting. They echoed the doubts he tried to bury deep inside, the ones that whispered to him in his darkest moments. The fear that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t matter. That no matter how tough he acted or how hard he fought, his existence would fade into nothingness, forgotten like so many others in the undercity.
Rad rubbed his face roughly with both hands, as if trying to scrub the thoughts from his mind. But the baby’s eerie voice lingered, its words sticking like burrs in his psyche. For a moment, he wondered if it really did know something about his future. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one he quickly tried to shake off.
“Whatever,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed. He stared at the cracked ceiling above, his mind spinning. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was all nonsense, the uneasy feeling refused to leave him.
Rad tilted his head to the side, his gaze drifting to the cluttered desk across the room. Scattered on its surface were the remains of his small, failed projects, half-finished drones, a sputtering holographic display that barely flickered to life, and a crude mechanical arm that never moved the way he wanted. The parts gleamed faintly under the flickering lightbulb, mocking him with their stillness.
His chest tightened as he stared at the mess. These weren’t just scraps of metal and circuitry, they were pieces of his ambition, tangible proof of his attempts to claw his way out of the undercity’s suffocating grip. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to make them work.
“Maybe that damn baby was right.” The thought crept in, uninvited and unrelenting. Rad shook his head, gripping the sheets of his bed tightly as if to anchor himself. “No,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not useless. I’ll figure it out… someday.”
But the words felt hollow, and the longer he stared at the desk, the more the weight of his failures pressed down on him. His eyelids grew heavier, exhaustion from the day slowly taking over. With a tired sigh, Rad rolled onto his back and let his eyes close. The flickering light above him became a dull rhythm, lulling him into an uneasy sleep.
The room fell silent as Rad’s breathing steadied, the sounds of the undercity fading into the background. Then, with a faint crackle, the flickering bulb went out completely, plunging the room into darkness. For a long moment, there was only silence.
But then, two glowing purple eyes pierced the shadows, cold and unblinking. They belonged to the cybernetic baby, now seated menacingly in a wooden chair that hadn’t been in the room before. The baby was different now, its once curly brown hair was gone, leaving its onyx-black metallic head exposed, smooth and gleaming faintly in the dim light of its glowing eyes.
It sat perfectly still, its small hands resting on the arms of the chair, its feet dangling lifelessly above the ground. The faint hum of its internal systems was almost imperceptible, a quiet, ominous sound that blended into the stillness.
The baby’s gaze was fixed on Rad, who lay oblivious on the bed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The robotic eyes flickered faintly as they scanned him, their glow intensifying briefly with each pass.
Within the baby’s internal systems, countless streams of data cascaded like waterfalls, its processors combing through an infinite array of universes, timelines, and possibilities. It searched tirelessly, scanning for clues, connections, anything that would explain the anomaly before it.
Rad, in this universe, was a puzzle. A variable unaccounted for, with threads that weaved chaotically through the fabric of existence. The baby’s systems churned with cold precision, piecing together fragments of knowledge and analyzing probabilities.
Despite its cold logic, there was something unsettling about the way it watched Rad. Its gaze wasn’t just clinical, it was invasive, almost predatory, as if it were appraising him not just as a subject to study but as a potential threat.
And yet, Rad slept on, blissfully unaware of the entity in the room. The faint glow of the baby’s eyes illuminated the contours of his face, the shadows casting sharp angles that made him look far older than his years.
The baby tilted its head slightly, the faint whir of its servos breaking the oppressive silence. Its scans continued, a relentless search for answers in the infinite chaos of the multiverse. But even as it worked, a faint note of something almost imperceptible lingered in the air, malice, curiosity, or perhaps something more terrifyingly unknowable.
And so, it sat, a silent sentinel in the dark, its glowing eyes locked onto Rad as the boy lay dreaming of failures, unaware of the calculating entity that watched him from the shadows. The rays of neon light barely filtered through the grimy windows of Rad’s small room as morning arrived. The air felt thick, heavy with the silence of the early morning. His body ached as he groggily lifted himself up from the bed, still trapped in the remnants of his dreams.
The worn-out sheets clung to his limbs as he rubbed his eyes, squinting into the dimly lit room. His mind was hazy, sluggish from the restless sleep that had evaded him. But as his gaze shifted across the room, a sudden weight in his chest pulled him sharply from his stupor.
His heart skipped a beat. There, on the rickety table next to his bed, was the cradle. The cradle. Rad’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the still form within it. The robotic baby lay there, motionless, a stark contrast to the nightmare that had erupted in his mind last night.
He wasn’t imagining this, was he? This eerie encounter, this strange entity. The baby had been with Kite, so his did he get here? Rad’s thoughts raced. He could have sworn Kite had taken it home, far from this place. But now, now it was here.
The unsettling stillness of the room felt suffocating. Rad blinked, his head spinning. He could almost feel his pulse ringing in his ears as his feet hit the cold, uneven floor. A strange compulsion to approach the cradle surged through him, pulling his body forward against his better judgment.
“no way,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. Rad muttered as he stood beside the cradle, his trembling hand hovering above the baby. It was lying in an unnerving calm, its form unnaturally perfect, even in the low light. The same black, sleek frame, the same cold, lifeless features.
But then, as his eyes scanned it, Rad’s gaze was drawn to something far worse. The baby’s eyes, still shut, felt like they were staring directly into him, probing, waiting. He felt an instinctive rush of fear, but he forced himself to move closer.
“What the…” Rad’s voice cracked, the words barely a whisper, as his mind raced. “I thought Kite took this thing home with him? No… he did… he did take it home with him!" The thought swirled and tangled in his mind, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.
In a moment of panic and confusion, Rad’s hand shot out to grab the nearest object, a screwdriver. The metal felt cool in his grip, heavy in his trembling hands. His muscles tensed as he lifted it, his fear morphing into something more primal. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand it, but all he could think about was ending whatever nightmare this was.
“Stab it. Destroy it.” His pulse pounded in his ears, the screwdriver’s sharp tip aimed directly at the baby’s chest. But as he swung it down, something strange happened. A sudden, blinding light filled the room, surrounding the robotic baby with an iridescent, shimmering purple aura.
Rad’s mind barely registered what happened next. His screwdriver collided with the glowing shield, and the metal tip shattered like glass hitting stone. The jagged pieces flew into the air, glittering for a moment before clattering to the floor. Rad froze, staring at the broken tool in his hand, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“What…?” he gasped, his voice thin and desperate. His body locked in place, heart racing as he stepped back in horror.
Then, the baby’s voice cut through the air, smooth and menacing. “Such impulsiveness.” It was cold, almost bored, as though it had anticipated every move he’d made. The words sent a shiver crawling up Rad’s spine. His legs felt weak, like they were made of jelly, and he stumbled back, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.
The baby’s glowing purple eyes flickered open, sharp and predatory, but there was something else, a cold, calculating malice, something deeper than mere machinery. The sudden Intensity of its gaze felt like a physical blow. Rad’s breath hitched, his throat tight with panic, and he instinctively stumbled backwards, his body shaking uncontrollably.
“W-what are you?” Rad whispered, his voice barely audible. The baby stared at him, its expression unreadable, before speaking again. “The same as you… cursed.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Before Rad could process them, everything around him shifted in an instant. The cramped, dim-lit room faded into nothingness, the walls, the table, the cradle, everything, disappeared as though it had been erased from existence.
Rad’s breath caught in his throat as the air shifted around him. The dim light of his bedroom was gone, replaced by the pale, bluish-gray glow of the undercity. He was no longer standing in his cramped apartment, but in front of the familiar, crumbling façade of the rundown school. The sudden change was disorienting, and he stumbled slightly, the weight of the cradle in his hands grounding him.
Rad blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the sudden shift, but it was too late as he stood outside, his feet planted on the cracked, grimy pavement in front of the rundown school. His body felt disoriented, as if it had been yanked from one place to another. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he looked around, confused, unsure of how he had gotten here.
He glanced down, and in his arms was the cradle, exactly where he had left it, with the robotic baby still inside, still silent, still watching him.
“What the hell just happened?” he muttered, his voice trembling. His hands gripped the sides of the cradle tightly as he glanced around, his heart racing.
The robotic baby lay perfectly still within the cradle, its glowing purple eyes half-lidded now, watching Rad with an unsettling calmness. The malice that had radiated from it earlier seemed to have been dialed back, but it was still palpable, lingering in the air like a faint hum in the back of Rad’s mind.
“What the hell…” Rad whispered again, his voice cracking. His mind couldn’t keep up with what was happening.
The baby remained perfectly still in the cradle, its glowing purple eyes now dim, watching him with an eerie calmness. But Rad knew, he knew something terrible was coming. This was just the beginning.
“I was just… in my room,” Rad stammered, his words barely audible. His knees felt weak, his mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. “How did we… how did I get here?”
The baby blinked slowly, its purple glow dimming slightly as it shifted in the cradle. Its voice, cold and detached, pierced the silence. “You lack discipline, Rad. Impulsiveness leads to an ill fate.”
Rad’s jaw clenched, his fear morphing into frustration as he glared down at the baby. “What the hell are you talking about?!” he snapped. “You just- how did we get here?!”
The baby tilted its head ever so slightly, as though amused by Rad’s outburst. “The how is irrelevant,” it said, its tone eerily calm. “What matters is what lies ahead. You are burdened with a curse, one that will shape your path whether you wish it or not.”
Rad shook his head, his grip on the cradle tightening. “Stop talking in riddles!” he shouted. “I don’t know what you are or what you want, but I’m not cursed, okay? I’m just-”
“Small. Insignificant. Weak,” the baby interjected, its voice slicing through Rad’s protests like a blade. Its glowing eyes locked onto his, and Rad felt a chill run down his spine, his anger quickly giving way to dread.
Rad’s mouth went dry as he struggled to form a response, but before he could speak, the baby continued, its tone taking on an almost mocking edge. “You lash out, hoping to find control in a world that has none to offer you. But control, true control, comes only to those who embrace their curse, their fate.”
Rad’s breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling as his mind raced. He didn’t understand what the baby was saying, but its words stirred something deep within him, a gnawing fear he couldn’t quite place.
“Stop it,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Stop messing with me.”
The baby blinked once, its gaze unyielding. “I am not here to mess with you,” it said coolly. “I am here to prepare you. The end approaches, Rad, and you are far from ready.”
Before Rad could respond, the world around him shifted again. The pale glow of the undercity morning faded, replaced by the harsh, artificial lights of the school hallway. Rad blinked rapidly, disoriented as he realized he was now standing in front of his locker, the cradle still in his hands.
Stolen novel; please report.
Students walked past him, their voices and footsteps blending into a cacophony of noise. No one seemed to notice the robotic baby in his arms, nor did they pay any attention to the look of sheer panic on his face. Rad stared down at the cradle, his hands trembling.
Rad stood frozen, the cradle still clutched in his hands, as students of various ages bustled through the school hallway, their voices a background hum. The robotic baby shifted slightly in the cradle, its glowing purple eyes narrowing as it regarded Rad’s hesitation. Its voice cut through the noise, calm but commanding.
“Pay attention,” it said coldly. “Look at the faces around you. See them for what they are.”
Rad scowled, glancing around at the crowd with a mix of annoyance and confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?” he muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention.
The baby ignored his frustration. Its gaze locked onto a tall girl with tired eyes and a worn-out jacket as she walked past. “That is Myra,” it said softly. “She wears her brother’s old clothes because her family can’t afford anything else. She works a job after school and still fails her classes because she’s too exhausted to focus.”
Rad blinked, his scowl deepening. “Why do I need to know this?” he grumbled, his fingers gripping the edges of the cradle. “What’s it got to do with me?”
“Because she is a person, like you,” the baby replied bluntly. “She fights battles you do not see. Do you think you are the only one who struggles?”
Rad scoffed and shook his head, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, well, I don’t have time to care about anyone else’s problems,” he snapped. “I’ve got enough of my own.”
The baby’s glowing eyes flickered, scanning the passing crowd until it focused on a familiar figure. Its voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “That boy, Kay,” it said, nodding toward a timid bunny chimera child walking past, his floppy ears drooping slightly.
Rad’s gaze followed the baby’s, his chest tightening as he recognized the same kid who had tried to sit with him during lunch the day before. Kay walked close to the lockers, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with everyone.
“What about him?” Rad asked gruffly, though his voice lacked its usual edge.
The baby tilted its head, studying Kay’s retreating form. “He has an abusive mother, much like yours,” it said matter-of-factly. “He struggles to make friends, not because he doesn’t try, but because he is too timid. And yet, he reached out to you. Do you remember what you did?”
Rad’s throat tightened as memories of yesterday flooded back, his harsh words, the fear in Kay’s wide eyes as he scrambled to leave the table. He looked away, unable to meet the baby’s gaze. “So what?” he muttered, though his voice was quieter now. “Why should I care?”
The baby’s reply was sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. “Because everyone has their own battles, Rad. You are not unique in your suffering. What makes life meaningful is how we connect with others. Helping them, even in small ways, is how we leave a mark. It is how we matter."
Rad clenched his fists, frustration bubbling over. “Yeah, well, I don’t buy it,” he shot back, though the words felt hollow. “No one cares about anyone else. Everyone’s just out for themselves.”
The baby studied him in silence for a moment, its gaze unyielding. Then, without warning, the scenery shifted again. The school hallway dissolved, replaced by a vibrant, bustling marketplace. Rad staggered slightly as his senses were overwhelmed by the explosion of sights, sounds, and smells.
“What the?” he stammered, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.
It was nothing like the undercity. Bright sunlight filtered through glass ceilings, casting golden light on the crowded stalls below. Vendors called out to potential customers, their voices blending with the chatter of the crowd. Neon signs flickered above the shops, advertising everything from street food to high-tech gadgets. The air was alive with energy, the scent of spices and sizzling meat wafting through the air.
Rad turned in a slow circle, his jaw slack as he tried to take it all in. “Is this… the Overworld?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The baby, still resting calmly in the cradle, watched him with a faint glimmer of amusement. “Indeed,” it said. “You have spent your entire life in the shadows, Rad. But the world is much larger than you realize. Larger than your pain, larger than your anger.”
Rad said nothing, too awestruck to reply. For the first time, his hardened exterior cracked, revealing a flicker of wonder beneath the surface. But as the baby’s words lingered in his mind, that familiar resistance returned, and he shook his head, scowling once more.
“I don’t need to see all this,” he muttered. “It doesn’t change anything.”
The baby’s eyes glowed brighter, its voice calm but firm. “That remains to be seen, Rad. But perhaps it is time you started paying attention.”
Rad stood frozen, surrounded by the vibrant chaos of the marketplace, his mind unable to fully comprehend the overwhelming sensory experience. The sky above him was impossibly blue, the sun a blazing orb in the distance, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. People hustled and bustled around him, their faces filled with purpose and intent. Children ran between the vendors, laughing and shouting as they played, while traders shouted out their goods to potential buyers. Everything was moving, alive in a way the undercity never could be.
He felt like an outsider in this world, a voyeur to something he wasn’t meant to understand. His fingers still clenched the cradle in his hands, as if holding onto it would somehow anchor him in this strange, dazzling world.
The baby shifted in the cradle, its eyes glowing faintly, its voice cutting through the noisy marketplace like a thread connecting Rad’s thoughts. “You see this, Rad?” it asked, its tone as cold and detached as ever. “These people, their lives, their struggles, are they any different from yours?”
Rad blinked rapidly, feeling his chest tighten as he glanced around at the vendors, the children, the elderly, all going about their lives as if they had purpose, as if they mattered. It was foreign, this sense of… belonging. He’d never felt this in the undercity, where every day was a battle for survival, every encounter a negotiation with death. He turned away from the scenes around him, unwilling to let it sink in.
“I don’t care about any of them,” Rad muttered, his voice hoarse, as if saying the words aloud would help him believe them. “They don’t care about me. Everyone just uses each other to get ahead. They’re all just as messed up as I am.”
The baby’s eyes glowed brighter, flickering as it looked at Rad. “That is your fear talking, Rad. You see their lives, their connections, and it makes you afraid. Afraid to acknowledge that you are not as alone as you think.”
Rad’s breath hitched, and he turned to glare at the baby, his anger rising again. “What the hell would you know about it?” he spat. “You don’t know anything about me!”
The baby didn’t flinch, its voice unwavering. “I know that you are scared. Scared of the world, scared of people. Scared of feeling.” It tilted its head slightly, its purple eyes narrowing with a piercing intensity. “You bury yourself in anger, in resentment, because it’s easier than facing the truth. Easier than acknowledging that you too want what they have. Connection. Belonging.”
Rad took a step back, his mind swimming with the implications of the baby’s words. He clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar walls rise around his heart, blocking the ache that had suddenly taken root in his chest.
“I don’t want that,” Rad lied, his voice tight, strained. “I don’t need anyone. I’m fine on my own.”
The baby’s gaze softened, a flicker of something almost like pity crossing its face. “That is what you tell yourself,” it said, its tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But it’s not true. You’ve been alone for so long, Rad, that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to need someone. You’ve forgotten how to care.”
Rad’s hands shook, the cradle trembling in his grip. He stared at the cobblestone street beneath his feet, his thoughts racing as memories he’d buried deep within himself began to surface. His mother’s sharp words, the hunger in his belly, the pain from trying to live in a city that had given up on him completely… He’d spent so long convincing himself that he didn’t care, that none of it mattered.
“Shut up,” Rad muttered under his breath, his voice breaking. “Just… shut up. I don’t want your pity.”
The baby didn’t respond. It simply pointed to a figure walking through the crowd, its voice cutting through Rad’s turmoil. “There. That girl. She too has a story.”
Rad followed the baby’s gaze, his eyes landing on a girl who was no more than a teenager, her shoulders hunched in defeat. She wore a faded jacket, her hands clutching the straps of her bag like they were lifelines. Her eyes flickered nervously around her, as if she were looking for something, someone, but couldn’t find it.
“Her name is Alyssa,” the baby said, its voice oddly tender. “She left her home years ago, escaping from a city that wants her dead. She’s been living on her own ever since, surviving by doing whatever it takes. She hides behind the walls she’s built, because if she doesn’t, the world will break her.”
Rad felt a strange lump form in his throat as the baby’s words sunk in. He saw the girl’s eyes for just a moment, and in them, he saw something that mirrored his own, fear, uncertainty, pain.
“She’s…” Rad whispered, though he didn’t want to admit it. His fingers tightened around the cradle once more, his heart beating faster as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Exactly,” the baby replied softly. “She is a reflection of you, Rad. And so is Kay. So is Myra. Everyone you see, everyone you meet, carries their own burdens. You are not alone in your suffering. You never have been.”
Rad swallowed hard, his throat dry. He could feel the cracks forming in the walls he’d built around himself, the walls that had kept him safe for so long, but also kept him isolated. The baby was right. He wasn’t alone. But the thought of connecting with others terrified him. He didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to care.
“Why… why should I care about them?” Rad asked quietly, almost to himself. “Why should I bother?”
The baby’s gaze softened, its voice steady and unyielding. “Because, Rad, this world isn’t just about survival. It’s about living. It’s about sharing the weight of your burdens with others, and letting them share theirs with you. That is how you make a difference. That is how you leave an impact.”
Rad stood there for a moment, the bustling marketplace fading in and out of focus as he processed the baby’s words. His chest felt tight, like he was suffocating under the weight of his own emotions. He looked down at the cradle in his hands, the robotic baby watching him with those haunting purple eyes.
“Connections don’t mean anything,” Rad muttered, his voice small, distant. “It’s all just… meaningless. It doesn’t matter.”
The baby’s gaze hardened, its voice sharp and final. “That is a lie you tell yourself to protect your broken heart. But one day, you will realize it matters. And when that day comes, you will understand.”
And with that, the world shifted again. The marketplace dissolved, replaced by a dark, towering cityscape. The familiar, claustrophobic undercity loomed ahead, the crumbling buildings and flickering lights a stark reminder of everything Rad had ever known.
As rad stood atop an ancient rooftop, he glanced down at the cradle in his hands, the robotic baby still watching him with its unsettling calmness. Rad felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but deep inside, something stirred. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
But he wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Not to himself, not to anyone. Rad stood frozen, the reality of the baby’s words sinking into him like a lead weight. The rooftop beneath his feet seemed to sway as if the entire undercity shared his sense of imbalance. The air, heavy with the metallic tang of rust and the faint acrid scent of distant smog, filled his lungs, grounding him in the chaotic familiarity of his world.
“…Am I really going to die?” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly as if saying it louder would somehow force a different answer.
The robotic baby hovered out of the cradle and into the air beside him, its softly glowing purple aura casting faint shadows on the cracked, dust-covered rooftop. For a moment, it didn’t respond. The silence stretched out between them, only punctuated by the distant hum of hover engines and the muffled din of life far below. Finally, the baby sighed, a sound almost too human for its mechanical frame.
“Yes,” it said, its voice calm but burdened with a weight that seemed to echo across time. “You will die soon.”
Rad’s breath hitched, his pulse hammering in his ears. The city’s sprawling chaos blurred as fear clawed at his mind. “But… why? Why me? Can’t you stop this? You’re strong, right? You’ve gotta be able to do something!” His voice cracked, panic creeping into every syllable.
The baby tilted its head slightly, its gaze fixed on the skyline. “Because, Rad… you are an anomaly. An anomaly that threatens to alter the future of this universe.”
Rad’s brow furrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. “Alter the future? What does that even mean?”
The baby’s cosmic purple eyes seemed to dim slightly, its tone quiet yet resolute. “To have you live means I am never born.”
The words hit Rad like a punch to the gut. “Wait… you’re telling me… you’re from the future?” His voice dropped to a whisper, disbelief mingling with desperation.
“A future, yes,” the baby replied, finally turning to meet Rad’s gaze. Its unblinking stare seemed to bore into him, ancient and weary. “One that hinges on my interference in my own father’s life.”
Rad blinked, his confusion growing into anger. “What are you talking about? Father? You mean Kite? What does that nerd have to do with this?”
The baby didn’t answer immediately. Instead, its pupils shifted again, glowing with swirling galaxies of purple light. “Everything,” it said simply, the word laden with meaning that Rad couldn’t fully grasp.
Rad’s breath quickened. He’d heard crazy things before, but this? This was too much. “What’s going to happen to Kite? What’s going to happen to me?!” he demanded, his voice cracking.
The baby’s expression, or as close to one as its mechanical face could convey, remained cold and detached. “I cannot answer that.”
“The hell you mean you can’t?!” Rad stepped forward, his voice rising as anger overtook his fear. “Don’t tell me you came all this way just to screw with our lives! I have hopes! Dreams! Goals! I’m not about to let some weird, floating baby take that away from me!”
The baby didn’t flinch, Its response cold as steel. “…Neither of us has a choice in this matter, Rad. I am just as much a puppet as you are.”
Rad’s mouth hung open, the weight of those words momentarily silencing him. “…What?” he finally muttered, confusion etched across his face.
The robotic baby hovered in front of Rad, its glowing purple eyes dimming to a subdued hue, like the dying embers of a once-vibrant fire. Its metallic frame seemed heavier now, weighed down by something far beyond its physical form. When it finally spoke, its voice carried a quiet, pained edge, a tone that hinted at countless unseen battles and defeats.
“You don’t understand, Rad,” it began, its tone trembling ever so slightly. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You haven’t felt the things I’ve felt.”
Rad looked up, his pained face contorted with confusion and frustration. But the baby continued, its voice thick with regret.
“I’ve tried, Rad. I’ve tried to defy fate, to fight against the chains of inevitability. Time after time, I’ve clawed at the threads of destiny, desperate to pull them apart. I’ve broken rules, torn through entire universes, and done... horrible things I can never undo.”
Its glowing eyes flickered as it stared past Rad, as if seeing memories only it could perceive. “And yet,” it whispered, the weight of its words pressing into the air like a suffocating fog, "it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The future always snapped back, cruel and unyielding. Every step I took against it only seemed to tighten its grip on me.”
Rad blinked, his anger faltering under the weight of the baby’s words. “But… but why? Why can’t you stop it? Why even try if it’s hopeless?”
The baby’s head tilted downward, its voice breaking with an uncharacteristic softness. “Because I had to try, Rad. Because I thought… maybe, just maybe, I could change something. That I could save the people who mattered. That I, out of every single Ray in the multiverse, could somehow make a difference."
It paused, its mechanical form trembling faintly as if burdened by an invisible weight. “But I was wrong. Fate doesn’t care about hope, or love, or desperation. It’s a machine, cold and unfeeling, grinding forward no matter how hard you fight it. And I… I’ve learned that lesson the hard way... I even have the... scorching scars to prove it…” the baby says shakily as it looks down at its body.
The baby’s gaze returned to Rad, its glowing eyes now dull, as though dimmed by sorrow. “Do you think I want this, Rad? Do you think I chose to be the harbinger of your fate? To look into the eyes of a child with so much fire, so much potential, and tell them that it will all be extinguished before it can truly burn?"
Its voice cracked, a faint tremor betraying the emotion it struggled to suppress. “I didn’t ask for this, Rad. And if I could trade all of my existences just to give you another chance at life, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. Because no matter how many times I’ve tried to bend the rules, they don’t break. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
The baby turned away, its gaze fixed on the sprawling undercity below, its tone now hollow and bitter. “I have walked through universes where everything I’ve loved has been destroyed. Where every connection, every bond I’ve formed, has been ripped apart because of forces I couldn’t stop. I’ve tried to rewrite those futures, Rad. I’ve tried to tear down the machinery of fate itself. And all I’ve found is pain and hopelessness.”
It turned back to him, its glowing eyes narrowing with a strange mix of anger and grief. Its cosmic aura now flickering wildly “So don’t tell me I’m wrong. Don’t tell me I haven’t tried. I’ve fought harder than you can imagine, I’ve suffered through hell and lost everything because of it!”
Rad’s eyes widened as he instinctively took a step back, left speechless by the baby's sudden outburst. The two of them now standing there in silence for a long quiet moment. The baby’s voice softened, a faint tremor of vulnerability creeping into its words. “I envy you, Rad. You still have time. Time to live, time to love, time to make your mark. But you have to accept that your time is finite. Fighting that truth will only bring you more suffering.”
Rad stared at the baby, his own anger and confusion swirling with something new, empathy. For the first time, he saw the machine not as some unfeeling harbinger, but as something broken, weary, and deeply, painfully human.
“I…” Rad tries to speak. The baby tilted its head slightly, its glowing eyes steady. “What you do with your life is entirely up to you, Rad,” it replied, its tone almost tender now. “And that is a gift not everyone is given. Yes, your time is finite, but that is what makes it precious. You still have a chance to shape the world in ways no one else can. To create, to connect, to leave behind something greater than yourself.”
Rad's heart sank further, his anger and denial giving way to the crushing ache of despair. He slowly unclenched his fists, meeting the baby’s gaze. The green light of its eyes shimmered faintly, radiating an almost parental warmth.
“Live your life to the fullest, Rad,” the baby cooed, hovering closer with its small, mechanical frame. “And when the time comes, die without regrets.”
Before Rad could respond, the baby extended a small robotic hand and gently placed it on his forehead. A soft, pulsating purple glow emanated from its palm, enveloping Rad in a calming warmth. His frantic breaths slowed, his tense muscles relaxed, and his eyelids grew heavy.
The boy's consciousness steadily faded away, as encompassing peace washed over him. Rad slowly and safely slumped forward his fall eased by the baby's telekinesis, his body gently cradled by the rooftop as he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The robotic baby’ hand lingered on Rad’s forehead for a moment longer before pulling away. It gazed at the boy, its glowing green eyes now tinged with something that almost resembled sorrow. “May you wake up a kinder person,” it whispered, its voice barely audible above the ambient hum of the undercity.
Turning its gaze upward, the baby focused on the towering structure of Rook Enterprises in the distance. The monolithic building seemed to pierce the smog-filled sky, its silhouette blotting out the faint light of artificial stars and clouds. The rings of hover ships encircling its massive frame buzzed with activity, a testament to the company’s iron grip on the world above and below.
Its gaze lingered on the towering edifice for a moment longer before it turned back to Rad, its green glow softening once more. And then, with a flicker of its purple aura, both the baby and Rad vanished into the shadows of the undercity night, leaving no trace of them having been there.