The room was a cramped, rectangular space that barely held its contents, with walls streaked by years of neglect and faint water stains. The faded paint was a patchwork of peeling gray and grimy beige, the kind that seemed to absorb the gloom of the undercity rather than reflect any light. A single, sagging bed dominated the room, pressed tightly against one wall. It was just big enough for two people, though it left no room for comfort. The thin, mismatched blankets were neatly folded despite their threadbare state, and the metal bedframe creaked softly as Mira shifted.
Across from the bed was a small desk, its surface cluttered with makeshift tools, scraps of paper, and a flickering desk lamp. The lamp’s orange light cast uneven shadows on the walls, doing little to push back the dimness of the space. Beside it, a cracked mug held a few pens and a screwdriver, and a small, framed picture of Mira, Dorian, and a baby Kite leaned precariously against the base of the lamp.
The room had two narrow windows on one side, streaked with grime and partially covered by old, mismatched curtains that hung slightly askew. The neon lights of the undercity poured through the uncovered portions, painting the walls and the bed with shifting hues of electric blue, toxic green, and pulsing red. A flickering neon sign advertising some forgotten diner threw its glow across the room every few seconds, creating the illusion of movement where there was none.
In one corner stood a wobbly shelving unit that held a few faded books, a single, empty picture frame, and a haphazard stack of utility bills and repair manuals. The room’s only other furniture was a battered wooden chair with one leg shorter than the others, shoved under the desk to keep it out of the way. The air was thick with the metallic tang of the city outside, mingling with the faint scent of oil and solder from Dorian’s workbench.
Dorian and Mira sat together on the bed, their bodies slightly turned toward one another. Mira’s legs were crossed as she leaned against the wall, her eyes tired but focused on Dorian. He sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if trying to hold something invisible together. The bed frame groaned softly beneath their combined weight, a low, almost apologetic sound that underscored the heavy silence.
Despite the small, suffocating space, the neon light streaming in through the windows painted the two of them in a momentary glow, making them seem like figures trapped in a portrait of endless fatigue and quiet perseverance.
The room was heavy with the hum of distant machinery and the muffled noise of life in the undercity. The neon lights from outside painted fractured patterns of red and green across the cracked walls and the narrow bed, where Dorian and Mira sat together. The springs creaked beneath their weight as Mira leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face hidden in the shadows.
Dorians broad shoulders slouched with exhaustion, his calloused hands resting on his knees. The room’s single lamp cast a dim, flickering light over their tired faces. He watched Mira carefully, noticing the way her shoulders trembled just slightly.
“Every day feels harder,” she whispered finally, her voice breaking the silence. Her words carried the weight of countless sleepless nights and relentless shifts on the factory floor. “They just keep asking for more, more hours, more output, more of everything.”
Dorian didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. “I know,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It’s like they’re squeezing us dry. They don’t care how much we’re breaking down.”
Mira’s breath hitched, and she wiped at her eyes quickly, but the tears kept coming. “And Kite…” Her voice faltered. “I’m so worried about him, Dorian. He begged to stay home from school today, he begged. I let him stay, but…what if it hurts him? What If he falls behind because of us? Because we can’t give him a better life?”
Dorian sighed deeply, the sound of it full of frustration and guilt. He turned to her, his hand moving to her back in a slow, comforting motion. “We’re doing the best we can, Mira. Kite’s smart, smarter than either of us. He’ll make it through this, no matter what.”
Mira shook her head, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “But what if he doesn’t? What if we don’t? We can barely keep up as it is, Dorian. How long before…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Dorian tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer, resting his chin gently on the top of her head. His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke. "Rook can’t stay on top forever,” he said, his words heavy with conviction. “Someone or something will bring him down. Nobody like him can hold power forever. People like him always fall.”
Mira leaned into his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt as she clung to him. She sniffled and whispered, “God, I hope so. That piece of shit needs to rot in hell.”
For a long moment, they said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. The noises of the undercity carried on outside, a dull reminder of the world that seemed determined to crush them. But in that moment, the world felt far away.
Mira’s breathing began to steady as Dorian continued to hold her, his strong arms wrapped securely around her. She lifted her face to look at him, her eyes red and puffy but still searching for reassurance. He met her gaze with quiet determination. “We’ll figure it out,” he said simply.
She nodded, her head falling back against his shoulder as they sat together on the narrow bed. Despite the cramped space, the peeling paint, and the weight of their struggles, their embrace felt steady, a fragile piece of solace in a world that offered none.
Hours later the day then gave way to night in the undercity, the hum of its machinery a constant, unchanging lullaby. Many of its inhabitants, whether human, chimera, or robot, succumbed to restless sleep, lulled by the ever-present grind of fans, motors, and distant industrial echoes. But Kite was not among them.
His room reflected the meager existence he shared with his parents in the undercity. A cracked, grease-stained window let in faint beams of neon light from a blinking advertisement outside, bathing the room in erratic pulses of pink and green. A single, flickering bulb dangled from the ceiling by a frayed wire, its weak glow barely illuminating the clutter around him.
The walls were lined with shelves made from scrap metal and salvaged wood, holding various tools, wires, and the skeletons of half-built devices. The floor was bare concrete, cold and unforgiving, and his bed, little more than a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket, sat unmade in the corner.
Kite himself sat on the floor, his back pressed against the wall. In his trembling hands, he clutched a ray gun. The gun was crude but functional, its body fashioned from scavenged components with wires that still sparked faintly. He had built It the night before while his parents slept, driven by a mix of terror and determination. Now, it rested tightly in his grip, a fragile shield against his growing fear.
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He hadn’t slept in nearly two days. How could he? The encounter with that robotic baby haunted him, its glowing eyes and unnatural voice replaying in his mind over and over again. His watch beeped faintly every few moments, showing a readout of the baby’s “vitals” and location. But the data made no sense. Instead of the usual percentages, the vitals flickered wildly between 100% and 1,000,000%. The location readout wasn’t any more helpful, displaying a constant “Unknown” that made Kite’s stomach churn with anxiety.
His tired mind began to wander, his thoughts an incoherent jumble of fear, exhaustion, and questions he couldn’t answer. Then, without warning, the shadows in the room shifted. Two piercing, purple glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, unblinking and fixed directly on him.
Kite’s breath caught in his throat. His heart raced as he raised the ray gun instinctively, his hands shaking. “Stay back!” he shouted, his voice cracking.
The robotic baby stepped forward, its form illuminated by a flickering, cosmic aura that clung to it like armor. Kite pulled the trigger, and the plasma blast shot toward the baby’s head, the room lighting up in a searing blue flash.
The baby didn’t flinch. The plasma dissipated harmlessly against its aura, scattering like water against glass. Its glowing eyes remained locked on Kite, its expression calm and unreadable.
“I realize now,” the baby said, its voice even and soft, “that I may have been a bit rash before.”Kite froze, his fear locking him in place. “W-what do you want?” he stammered, a tear sliding down his cheek.
The baby tilted its head slightly, almost curiously. “To talk, father.”
“Father?” Kite echoed, his voice trembling. Before he could react further, the ray gun was gently pulled from his grip, encased in a violet glow. It floated in the air for a moment before drifting away, leaving Kite defenseless.
The baby began to approach, its small form moving with an eerie grace. Above its head, a portal shimmered into existence, swirling with cosmic energy. From the portal, a candy bar fell neatly into the baby’s hand before the portal closed with a faint pop.
“Where I’m from,” the baby said, holding the candy bar out to Kite, “this was your favorite food.”Kite stared at the baby in a mix of awe and horror. His mind screamed at him to run, to get away, but his body wouldn’t move. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and took the candy bar from the baby’s hand.
The baby smiled, soft, gentle, almost human. It lowered itself to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of Kite. Its glowing eyes dimmed slightly into an emerald, green hue, and the cosmic aura around it flickered faintly as if to make itself appear less threatening.
Kite clutched the candy bar tightly, his breaths shallow and uneven as he stared at the strange being before him. The room was silent except for the distant hum of the city outside, and in that moment, the Impossible reality of the situation began to settle in.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and taut. Kite gripped the candy bar tightly, his fingers shaking slightly as he tried to muster the courage to speak again. His voice came out in a whisper, barely audible above the faint hum of the neon light outside.
“Why do you keep calling me father? Who are you?”
The baby, or rather the being before him, didn’t answer immediately as its aura dimmed. Its glowing eyes seemed to flicker as it processed the question. Finally, it spoke, its voice calm but carrying an undertone of something deeper, something that sounded like pain.
“My name is Ray Cooper,” it said, its gaze fixed on the floor. “Your future son.”
Kite’s brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to piece together the impossible claim. “But… you said that he was your creator, that you were just a-”
“It was a lie,” Ray interrupted bluntly, his voice carrying an edge of finality. He sat there cross-legged, his small frame almost lost in the dim light of the room. "This… vessel,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his robotic body, “is not my true form.”
“But then why take the form of a baby? Why not just stay as you were?” Kite asked, his tone tinged with confusion and frustration.
Ray sighed, a sound that felt far too weary for someone claiming to be so young. He looked down, his glowing eyes dimming slightly. “Let’s just say, I’m not supposed to be here. And If I’m found out…” His voice trailed off as his gaze shifted, distant and haunted. “Certain people… beings… will try to hunt me down.”
“Really? But then why take the risk?” Kite pressed, slowly unwrapping the candy bar, his hands trembling slightly.
Ray’s gaze snapped back to Kite, his voice quiet but firm. “Because, Father, if this universe doesn’t progress exactly how I need it to, I am never born.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, oppressive and cold. Ray’s shoulders seemed to sag, and he whispered as if to himself, “And everything I will have endured, everything I will have done, will have been for nothing.”
Kite froze, the candy bar halfway to his mouth. He stared at Ray, the weight of those words sinking into him like a stone. “I… I see,” Kite said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. After a moment of silence, he asked quietly, “How old are you, actually, then?”
Ray hesitated before answering, his voice dropping into a softer, more vulnerable tone. “Fifteen.” He let out a bitter chuckle that sounded like it carried years of regret. “My birthday was a month ago.”
Kite’s stomach churned at the thought. Fifteen. A child who had seen and endured more than he could fathom. He lowered the candy bar, unsure what to say. “I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said nervously, his voice cracking. "It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”
Ray looked up at him, his glowing eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a sense of resignation. “You being alive means that it’s all worth it.”
There was a calmness to Ray’s words, but beneath that calmness was something deeper, an acceptance of a cruel fate. Kite could see it now, in the way Ray sat with his shoulders hunched slightly forward, in the faint flicker of pain in his glowing eyes. Whatever this being had endured, it had shaped him into someone far older than his years.
Kite stared at him, his heart heavy. For the first time, he felt something more than fear toward the strange, impossible being before him. He felt pity.
The quiet stretched between them, heavy yet no longer suffocating. Kite stared at the candy bar in his hand, lost in thought. After a moment, he broke it cleanly in half, the soft crack of chocolate breaking the silence.
Ray’s glowing eyes flickered upward, his expressionless face tilting slightly as if in confusion. “Here,” Kite said, holding out one half of the candy bar in his hand. His lips curled into a tentative smile, faint but genuine. “You can eat this, right?”
Ray stared at the offering, his mechanical body eerily still. For a moment, he almost seemed unsure of what to do, as though the gesture was something foreign to him. Slowly, his small, articulated fingers reached out and gently took the piece from Kite’s hand.
“Yeah… I can,” Ray said quietly, his voice timid and almost hesitant, as if speaking the words might break the fragile connection forming between them. He brought the candy bar to his lips and took a small bite, chewing slowly, his glowing green eyes fixed on the piece in his hand.
Kite’s smile grew slightly as he watched Ray eat, the sight strangely heartwarming. He took a bite of his own half, savoring the bittersweet taste that now felt oddly significant. For the first time since Ray had appeared, the tension in his life eased.
The two of them sat In silence, the soft sounds of chewing the only noise between them. The neon lights from outside flickered across the walls, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow that danced over their forms.
As Kite glanced at Ray, he noticed something subtle, a faint change in the way the robotic baby sat. Ray’s posture, though still rigid, seemed less guarded, less distant. The candy bar in his small hand almost looked too big, the incongruity of the moment striking Kite with an odd sense of tenderness.
Ray took another bite, his movements slow and deliberate. “It’s… good,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the act of admitting something so simple felt unfamiliar.
“Yeah,” Kite replied, his tone warm. He took another bite of his own piece, savoring it with a quiet sense of companionship he hadn’t expected to find.
And so, they sat together, eating in silence. The once-overwhelming tension between them had shifted into something unspoken, a newfound understanding, fragile yet undeniable. For that brief moment, the chaos of the world outside and the inevitability of what lay ahead faded, leaving only the quiet companionship of two unlikely souls sharing a simple candy bar in the glow of neon light.