Motivation of a Different Color

	Deep within the metropolitan area, one anger-infatuated man with a tinge of purple walked about the streets. Most people stayed away from him when that rumor of a robot spewing out of him circulated. Except for today, where one too many strange coincidences lined up. Another man with a purple tinge crossed paths with him. Similar in looks, down to the poor zombie-like posture. The only real difference being one looked a lot healthier than the man missing his intrusive mechanical innards.

"Let's cut to the chase, this is getting ridiculous" The better off of the two started off abruptly.
The shell of a man barely registered the man across from him.
"Do you know how many of these games we've been forced to go through? Do you even know who you are?"
The less vigorous of the two coughed up some blood to speak.
"Will, I am."
"Great, I'm William as well. Same story and all."
The dead man's gaze focused intently on him.
"What is your purpose?"
"I coughed the robot up."
"Awesome, glad we're on the same page. Now what?"
"I kill the kids."
"Why?"
The deathly man had only obeyed for a while now, a certain spark within his eyes started up.
"Why do you kill the kids, why do you go to the restaurant to dismantle the robots?"
"What's with the questions?" The somewhat livelier zombie-man inquired.

"The phrase is 'you're going to make a grave mistake' but there's no grave where we're going. You see, I've seen this shit happen again and again and again. I'm a ghost too, you know. You see, we are a character lost to time in the future. We never reached the end, so I'm stuck waiting for the springsuit to return in another stupid game. I had a lot of time to ponder being stuck in story-time limbo. I came upon a realization: why did I do all of this? I don't remember much of my madder times and quite frankly, being in limbo is extremely dull. That's why I went back here to ask you, and thus me, why?"
The spirit focused on his past-self intensely.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You had a purpose far earlier, why did you perform a complete 180 without an explanation?"
"Does asking really matter?"
"Not really, but it kills me in more ways than one."
"I don't know, but I am angry. I must kill a child NOW."

	Various people saw the once-normal neighbor talking to himself. They assumed it was just one of those anti-social habits he developed while watching television for too long. He had a nice life. Good kids. Where did it all go so wrong? Did he just get tired of everyone? Why did he walk so stiffly? He recently acted like he had a stick shoved up his butt, figuratively and literally.

The walking dead man groaned at his ghost of the future.
"I don't care. I don't need a reason. I just want to do it. My entire body hurts, I don't think a doctor can help with this. I don't think I have insurance for invasive skinwalker robot parasites. If I'm going to go down I may as well do it taking it out on the one thing I hate right now, and that's kids."
"But why children? Wasn't that the whole reason you went into the sister location? To save them? Supposedly a little girl?"
"If I can't have a child then nobody can!"

	The ghost backed away and to the side as the hateful and somewhat-animated man began to storm off to his vehicle. The wheels screeched as the purple car peeled out of the driveway. The apparition began to fade as he found the answer to his question. A final inhuman wail only his spectral ears could catch rang from the driver:
"WHERE, WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?!"

In a perverse way, it brought the timeless phantom peace.