Hope Rides Alone/Blue

Darkness.

And then, light.

Darkness again.

The light came back once more, the beacon coming from a burning screen. Broken laboratory equipment smoldered around me, spitting harsh, orange sparks.  The shattered bodies of my brothers were briefly illuminated by these embers, before fading back into the darkness.

I reached out towards the broken monitor with my remaining hand, hoping to find leverage on something. Something to grab onto in this orange and black abyss, with my bright red hand. Grasping thin air, there was nothing to anchor myself on. I was all alone in a dark, empty room, and would die that way.  Nobody would find me down here. My spinal cord was shattered, crushed beneath mounds of metal and concrete. I felt nothing, past my lungs, with which I was breathing in quick, pained gasps.  I had multiple head injuries; the events of today feeling more like a blur of a few minutes than a few hours.

I could end all of it, right here. It would be preferable to the longer way.

My hope renewed, I lifted my hand again. Balling it into a firm, metal grip, I clenched hard as I clinked my fist on the side of my helmet. I closed my eyes, flicked my wrist, and-

No.
Not yet.

I withdrew my hand and relaxed its muscles, while I stared at what was left of my other hand. I could still feel it. I could still feel my fingers twitching, as they were crushed in a mighty iron grip. A few “arteries” were all that was left now. They undulated and slithered like headless snakes, oozing oil onto the concrete floor.  I clenched, and a couple of the wires curled inward, before  flopping on the ground regardless of my “command”.

A burning rage bubbled inside of me. I was beginning to ferment in my own blood. How had I gotten here? Why was I here? I remembered feelings. Faces that I struggled to put names to.  And the moment of my creation. I began to recall.

I only knew him for a short time, but my creator was a kind man; with his beady eyes and unkempt beard belying an earnest desire to help people. I was built to protect and serve the general public.

And I did just that.  Complex circuitry enabled me to sympathize with both the hostage and his kidnapper. Artificial skin and bone enabled me to speak with convincing fluidity, while my voice was able to adjust to the optimum pitch for persuasive dialogue with the hostage taker. I was lionized by the public, seen as the perfect example by my robot brethren, in addition to being the perfect lawman. A public servant, maybe even a “superhero”.

 I was also the perfect  soldier. I had a capacity for violence, an ability to do what was needed to be done. My inner weapon was never to be deployed unless necessary, and I abhorred killing. But it’s requirement  was inevitable. Nothing lasts forever.

At 8 am on October 6th, there was an explosion in Afton Robotics. A group of renegade robots had called for a revolt, denouncing their purported mistreatment. Built to entertain children, they claimed that they had been abused and forced into illegal activities.  Soon, they released statements. “No more,” said a girl’s voice. It was hollow, and spoke with detachment. “No more will we allow this to be done to us, or to our people.” Another voice, in falsetto-”The party’s over. Times are changing. Get on board before they scrap you all.” They soon commandeered the underground facility, wiping out  all humans in their path while recruiting the machines.  I was sent to quell the so-called “rebellion”,  along with a team of six robots. Scissors, Guts, Eskimo, Bomber, Torch, and Shocker were all trusted and valued members of the community.

Upon arrival, I asked to speak to the leader. They explained that there was no leader. All of them had decided together, as part of N.A.R.D.
“Neo Animatronic-Robot Deliverance”, explained the woman. Or rather, a facsimile of a woman. None of them were “real”, the way my brothers and I were made. They were garbed in outlandish circus gear and coloring, and lined with joints, connecting shiny,  plastic shells. The visual clash between her or the “bear” and us should have been a warning sign.

When they wanted us to move with them further into the facility, as opposed to the first floor of the basement, we disagreed. They politely asked why. We explained that we were more comfortable on the first floor of the basement. The jester accepted our terms. Then all hell broke loose.

The bear revealed his true nature when he removed his inanimate “sockpuppet”, and aimed the stump at Scissors before anyone could notice. He blasted a hole through Scissors’ heart, blowing off an arm in the process.  As our brother’s smoldering remains crumpled to the ground, nobody had time to think. Maybe the bear was acting independent from his friends. Maybe it was a setup. I didn’t know what Guts was thinking when he charged forward, and punched through the bear’s chest with his colossal strength.  Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all, and was reacting on pure instinctual rage. In either case, this was the point of no return.

A fox-like robot pounced onto Guts’ back while he was pounding away at the pink and white bear, and tore away pieces of the robot’s armor, searching for a way into the all-too vulnerable insides. The diminutive Eskimo froze part of the fox onto Guts’ back, allowing me a clear shot. It struggled to free itself as I raised my fist and flicked my wrist, activating the mechanism. My hand moved inside my arm, replaced now by a large gun barrel. I fired, and the fox was blown into pink and white pieces of ice.

During the pandemonium, Shocker’s face was torn off by the woman’s nails. Clutching at his face in pain, he sent out a bolt of lightning like the mighty Zeus, blasting off half of her face in return, though it was bloodless.She took no notice of this damage, instead pouncing onto him and with impossible strength, pushed Shocker’s still-charged hand against the tattered ruins of his face.

Eskimo meanwhile was being pulled at in different directions by twisted parodies of a human infant. He was soon quartered, his screams and that of the babies being  silenced by a searing wave of mercy from Torch’s firearms. His parka turned from blue to black.

Torch himself was overtaken by the jester, who sprayed a white, foamy liquid from her chest nozzles onto his legs. It wasn’t long before I realized what was happening to him. He struggled to move, but the cream-like substance formed around him like cement, curbing any possible escape. The jester seemed to take a cruel pleasure in her approach, running towards him before punching him off, his legs being separated at the shin as the blow knocked him off the mound of ice. I ran towards the jester, seeking vengeance as I fired off shot after shot. She backhanded me, sending my body across the room towards the battle between Bomber and the dancing woman.

My helmet cracked on the impact, the dark glass now giving way to the garish, disconcerting reality. I could see tiny, masked assailants crawling onto Bomber’s back and moving  down towards his  belt. They moved like spiders, employing astonishing speed.

I tried warning him, but no sound would come from my lips. The wind was knocked out of me, and as I inched along I could see Torch’s life being extinguished with a swift stomp on the head. The Bomber was soon dead as well, with the pins on his vest being pulled. Before the dancer could escape, I got off a lucky shot, blasting her face off. She too ended up caught in the explosion, but the resulting tremors created an earthquake effect. Before I could climb to my feet, mounds of rock and metal fell from the ceiling, pinning me.  I had some contentedness in the knowledge that our mission was not entirely in vain, until I saw the sneering jester walk towards me, unscathed. She was surrounded on each side by a battered bear, who held Guts’ severed head in his hand, in addition to the crawling, faceless remains of the dancer, who bore a horrific snarl underneath the smiling exterior, which was hanging off of the head.  They were not dead; far from it.

I reached out with my free hand futilely. Perhaps pleadingly. The jester seized my hand and crushed it in her grip, before tearing it off. She and the other robots moved away, leaving me to my doom.

And so I waited for what felt like an eternity. I wondered where my backup would be. If there was any backup. Soon, I realized there would be no cavalry.  Was I just a tool; a means to an end? Was I not a beloved citizen; a hero to these people?  It angered me. When a human stepped into my view after hours of solitude, I raised my remaining hand and formed a cannon. He did not flinch.

EPILOGUE

Mr. Afton only watched, as the figure raised his weapon.  He did not beg. He did not wince. He wasn’t afraid.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Still, the figure’s gun was pointed. Even with his legs, trapped under what looked like a ton of rubble, the robot was determined. Even with his grey and red uniform spattered with black, he was determined. A true fighter.  The broken helmet showed a certain fire in his eyes, a spark that was missing from his own creations.

“I can help you get revenge,” the man said.
“On who?” Blues asked.
“Anybody.”