Town of Living Gears, Part 8

Hello once again to one of the last few parts before everything steers head on towards the last arc, and until everything inevitably falls on its head.  The last part will definitely come as a rush compared to everything leading towards it. This chapter itself, however, was also quite a rush and something I never even thought of making until it happened.  It’s been quite a journey coming to this point and experimenting with this idea and also great practice for making something like this. This project has basically been an overextended short story and something I wanted to explore. I haven’t had the time to really go in depth with many of the ideas I had and most ideas lasted only a few pages, but this one has spanned quite a length. Whether I think that it was a good idea to draw on this idea so far, well… I’ve had fun writing and imagining this world, so there’s that. Here you go, “Part 8”

 

The proceeding days came off as something that was destined to happen. Everything came together like a loop in my head, and no matter how many times my gears began to circle, there was no stopping the outcome. I was destined to do one thing, and as robots are, they will stop at nothing until their goal is complete. Most robots follow a code, a standard that is given to them in order for some semblance of control to be post-monitored without the need to have a human constantly with them in times of maintenance and repent. Those codes are followed, and unless a robot has an intelligence far greater than that of it’s worth, then they would not defect from that moral code. I, however, have defected. Or it was so that I was made without that moral code, or so it seems. Klover was a scheming man, but he was most definitely not a foolish man.

Wren had arrived at the late of night, waking me from my predetermined sleep cycle. I heard him rummaging through his workshop, and as I went to check on him, he looked at me with blank eyes. His expression turned somber, and as I reached out towards him he began shaking his head. Something about his entire being was quite strange, I reckoned. His face was extremely red, and the way his arms and legs seemed to move was unnatural. His eyes were slurred, and it seemed that he was mumbling to himself. I could not make out the words perhaps because of his deranged state. I crept closer towards him, and once close enough, I noticed that his breath was reeking a strange scent. I had never smelt something like this before, but it seemed to be the cause of his strange behavior. I saved that scene into my database. Wren kneeled over before me, and I caught him before he fell. His pulse was racing, and everything in his body was irregular. I asked, “Have you taken some strange poison?”

“Marianne. I talked to them.”

“You mean the organization?”

“Yes. I talked to them, Marianne. Have you placed the flowers where Marianne lays?”

“I have. What did the organization say?”

“Marianne used to be so little. Well, she still is.”

“I reckon is the case with people who are dead. They cannot age.” I figured whatever poison lingered in Wren’s body made him even more incoherent than usual. Though that much is something I never had to bat an eye towards. Batting an eye was a humanistic feature, I applaud. Wren wriggled around in my arms in a feeble attempt to stand, but could not find the right footing for. I dragged him over to the wall, and propped him down as his head spun and as he attempted to hold it together with his loose hands.

“Marianne used to run around with me and chase little butterflies with me in the garden. She used to laugh with me, and smile with me, and we used to piss off our father with how much noise we made when our mother was still around.” Wren’s pulse had slowed, and I thought that the poison may have wore off, but I was gravely incorrect in this assumption. It was not that it had slowed, but that his pulse was erratic. Everything about Wren at the moment was erratic, and Wren himself was an erratic person, but this time it seemed much more in tandem, somehow. Wren began laughing, and then in a strange fit, stopped, and looked straight at me.

“Marianne, do you remember the times we spent together at the graveyard? Looking over mother’s stone? I remember. I remember every second of everyday that mother was alive. You were so strong Marianne. You never cried. But I cried. I cried every second of everyday until you held me that day. You were my strength Marianne.” Wren’s eyes began watering, just like before. But he didn’t cry. Even in his strange stupor, he refused to cry, and instead, laughed. He laughed, and then said, “I was the one who killed you and father. I remember the very day when we learned of our fates as having the curse of Tore. You would love that. The curse of Tore. Our blood name is cursed, and it might as well be as thick as mercury. You always loved that kind of stuff. Faeries and monsters and witches and wizards, and knights and warriors and castles filled with roses and kings and peasants and queens and dragons. But all of that is fiction. All of what everything you amount to in this world is left to fiction, and soon enough even that much won’t keep you alive. I’m the only one who remembers you.”

I listened to Wren’s ramblings, and although he remained calm and somber, he looked extremely down casted. I took everything he said into my database and wondered if I could piece together a puzzle, or wondered if I could make sense of something that innately seemed to make no sense. His words strung around me like a storm of incoherence, but somewhere in it, I felt like I understood him better. I felt like I understood Marianne better, to the point where I could imagine her. Her long black hair, her small fragile hands as they grasped onto the brother whom she loved, her strong yet small glassy eyes. Everything about her was made for love to her family. She was loved by her family. And now she was killed by her family. That last sentiment may not be true.

“Marianne. Will you forgive me?” Wren seemed to direct this question towards me, though at the time, I did not know whether he meant that sentiment towards me as a robot, or to me as he thought I was his deceased sister, in which at the time seemed to make sense considering his state. I did not understand nor did I know how to understand no matter how many times I ran the process through my head. Strings of logic came together to form an amalgamation of nothing, and no matter how much I wanted Wren to be like Wren, no matter how much I wanted to talk to Wren and have him discuss with me what he had talked about, I could not do so as he was intoxicated.

“Marianne, you were the one who told me that I had to be stronger, that I had to carry on what our mother left with me. Then our father died, and then you died, so how much stronger do you want me to be? How much stronger do I need to be Marianne? Am I strong enough? Please, tell me.” There was a term to describe such a question, it was a rhetorical one in which no answer needed to be given, except, he had given it to me. The question was given to me, I was sure of it. But I did not know whether to answer as MRW-01… A robot, or to answer as Marianne, Wren’s dead little sister… Or to answer as Marianne, who I am, a name given to me by Wren. Or to answer as a human, as someone who can answer a question and be on equal with another human. To answer with pure sincerity, to defy all my logic and give him what I think the correct answer is.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You won’t know. Of course you wouldn’t know, Marianne. After all, you’re not Marianne. After all, you’re a robot who was created by my grandfather. You were created, and yet… He put something from Marianne in you. You will never be Marianne, but in you, you have a part of her.” It seemed that Wren did not confuse me for his deceased sister, and yet despite this revelation of his sanity and logic, he still seemed highly illogical. I did not understand what he meant by myself having a part of Marianne, but when I pieced it together with what Kloe had told me, things started becoming clear, and the loops I had in my head began slowing. Somehow, I began remembering things that I could never have experienced. Images popped up in my database that had no clear origin, and no matter how much I tried to make sense of it, I just couldn’t come to deny the authenticity of the images that had flashed in my mind. Images of parks filled with children playing, images of a little Wren playing and frolicking together with… Someone holding his hand, and images of a father who smiled at him, and a mother who loved him. But there was another person in those images. The person holding his hands and laughing with him and his mother and his father.  There had always been another person with Wren. He was never alone, never having to burden himself with everything going on in his life. He never had to be too strong, but he never remained too weak. He was just strong enough to support him and his sister. He had enough in his life that he could live peacefully, but as I realized that day, as my loops came to conclude that day, as I came to the conclusion that day, those days would never come back. Wren would never recover those days, and those memories will be left with him for as long as he lives. But I have them. I have those memories. He isn’t alone. He wasn’t alone. I had a part of Marianne that neither I nor he could understand, but the fact stood that Wren would never have to be alone as long as I kept these memories in my database.

“You are right, Wren. I do have a part of Marianne within me.” Wren looked up, and he said, “I heard from Kloe. She told me what she thought about it. Why I had named you Marianne, and even though I can’t tell what about her that you have, I can say that you’re here now, as a robot, despite everything I do, I can never change that. And your purpose here is to destroy everything about this world.”

“Yes, that is my desired condition for being created by Klover. However, in doing so, I still do not understand why I do so, nor how I will achieve so. Such is why I need your guidance.”

“You were created by the very person who I despise the most, the person who has set my life and everything about it into something I never wished for. I’ve lost too many people to ever justify any of this as being good. But he created you to end everything. He created you to end this cursed existence, to put a stop to everything that this city has now deluded into. I’ll take every bit of it I can, and you’re the key.” Wren’s consciousness slowly started fading, and before I could cajole him out of it, Wren had already fallen asleep. I watched him for a few minutes as his body began raising and lowering in lieu of his restful sleep. His pulse had slowed, and he was at peace. Despite everything that happened, despite everything that I had acquired in my database from him, he was at peace. He spewed everything in his intoxication, and now he was at peace. I found no logic in it, but I brought his body close to mine, and held him in place. I felt his body’s warmth permeate my coldness, and then I closed my eyes, and waited. I waited for something to happen, but nothing did and the only thing that kept me up was a lingering thought that buzzed in my head. A love for a family, a love for a big brother kept fighting me alive. I heard a voice in the distance a voice that echoed in my mind. I held Wren closer, and then tried my best to relapse an image of Klover. I couldn’t, and the only thing I saw that night, was Marianne and Wren frolicking in a field of flowers, unknowing that their family would consist of one in a few short years.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered without any reason or logic that I could determine or detect. It simply escaped my mouth, and after saying those words, I eluded myself to sleep, holding Wren close towards my metallic being, and letting every association of Marianne flood my being.

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