I Don't Believe in You.
The guardian could detect that something wasn't entirely formatted. He paced heavily back and forth with this arms folded tightly across his chest. It's been five cycles.
Things have been busy, no doubt about it, but that doesn't mean that he can continually be kept in cyberspace with all that is still going on at the Principal Office. Ever since Megabyte returned and had successfully turned majority of Mainframe's citizens into binome 'zombies' he had has his own hands full battling the virus…again.
He was frustrated.
"Again… again… again…" He turned the word over and over in his mind until it began to act like viral stain on his thoughts. Considering that the virus himself had first introduced him to his home, Mainframe, the guardian only had so many happy memories to recall. Most of which were now also plagued because of his love now also lost.
"But, now…" he allowed himself to exhale a sigh, "…itt was actually over."
All the fighting and the hell that he had been through here.
All over.
"I had promised to defend this system, and now that Megabyte has finally been nullified, I find myself wondering if staying in Mainframe is such a good idea."
He spoke softly to the only thing in his run-time that he felt he had left: his trusty hover-car. As he allowed his blue skin to touch the shiny paint, the guardian realized that not even his car was reliable for happiness. It was always breaking down, leaving him drained from time to time in run the run down sectors of Mainframe like it always did. Not that he had anything to fear, it allowed him instead to realize that he really had nothing keeping him here.
Allowing his pace to slow, he drifted slowly around the exterior of the vehicle. He ran his fingers over the old, chipped chrome, plucked at the tired un-upgraded leather thinking all the while of what he should do.
He allowed himself to stop. With heavy feet, he felt nearly deleted in front of the car. HE faced it with the admittance of its failure. Letting his fingers fall from the surface, he turned just as slowly to face the window that opened his hard-disk's wall to the city that turned to him for safety.
He found himself hit with a blow that forced him to stagger back. The city faced him angrily. The evening power-down left the red glow of the cyber-sea to glare at him. Buildings approached him; glaring at him through their dark silhouette. Everything seemed to rise and fall above with each breath he took. His internal CPU thudded heavier and heavier against his chest. He felt off balanced, suddenly weak as he stared wide eyed at the city throbbing in front of him.
It was as if it were possessed.
"Or maybe it's me." He thought, panting.
The heavy shadows revealed to him its dire need for his protection, for his strength, his courage, wit and undying optimism.
"…am I stong enough?" muttering.
He saw the fears of others travel out of the buildings almost as if they were radio waves. It penetrated the walls of his very own sacred space and threatened to tear it apart, binary file by binary file. He felt vulnerable as his breathing quickened and knees began to feel the pressure, the heat, of the prayers uttered.
The guardian threw out his hands to fly back in attempt to brace his fall against the red- medium behind him. His head sunk into his hands as he fell to the floor.
There was too much hurt in this city for one sprite to act like the User for everyone. This is what he realized.
"Is it too much?" He rubbed his eyes against his palms feeling the remaining scars he had gathered over the cycles.
"Can I really do it all alone?"
Pressing his hands tightly to his ears was the only thing he could try and do to stop the noise. Glitch couldn't help him now. What was he supposed to do, cast a giant dome over himself? Travel to another system via portal? Force him self to become deaf? There was nothing, the voices would keep coming straight at him. Impenetrable steel and stabbing like a knife.
"Why am I hearing this now?" He wondered aloud, nearly in pain from the city's phantom.
He sunk his fingers into the thick matting of his now short hair. Palms against his ears, he threw his head back and allowed himself to scream.
It was the roar of a wounded animal, or man, if someone truly knew the source of the sound. His throat shook. His lungs sputtered wearily, gasping for breath as he heaved the all of the pain from his body.
"Try to drown it out," he thought to himself. "You're… not a gua..rdia..n. You're the same as .y…ou were… before…"
His voice travelled like heavy rain in the tiny room. It flooded instantly with resonance. With his eyes shut, he imagined the window shattering and his own voice battling that of the city. His own voice would save him, in the end. His own determination. His own fight, and drive for a happier personal existence.
Soon, he began to believe that there actually was no sound.
That instead, his mouth was open and moving, becoming dry without sound. He was no longer strong, or brave or resistant. Instead, because of the wonderful disquiet, he was alone.
His hands fell first, leading the timber of the rest of his torso.
Everything then was still and quiet. And Bob knew that if he had awoken to see it, that everything would be beautiful and soft.
Even the crumpled heap of his body on the floor.