R-0
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Broken
By Nathaniel Schrader
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Date: 2008 CE
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Dark. That's all there ever was, in this box that held me. I couldn't see, the air thin and silent, stilly stale and hard to breathe as I lay there, helplessly unable to free myself from this prison. The floor was cardboard, and so were the walls, smeared with red splatters, all my own, my lost blood from years of imprisonment, wounds and all. The ceiling was folded up, simple cardboard bent and worn, hiding away light, the darkness overruling all. I ran my hand across the stitching across my right shoulder, the arm replaced by a bony, unkempt lump. I was a doll, broken and worn… useless. That word seemed almost perfect for my life now. I was useless. To me… to Clank… I couldn't even burrow through these floors… they were just too well protected. There was a plastic shell around the outside and I couldn't get through it, no matter how desperately I tried. It was just way too thick, and the parts I had spent days clawing at were bloodied from my broken nails, stained in a dark, dry pool around the bottom. I didn't want to look at it anymore.
My brain told me I was moving, even though I could not see it. There was a sway in the movement of my prison, back and forth and sometimes ceasing, continuing a minute later. My hand stretched forward, digging into the floor as I pulled myself forward, arm tired and bruised. My recent combat had been wretchedly hilarious, almost pitiful. Without my right arm, I could defend myself, but only at taking great injury. It had been the first fight I had been forced into, my owner's friends forcing me to "play" in their little arena, their fat faces watching from above as I fought reflections of myself. In the long two years I had been under control by beings that towered over my own person, I had learned how cruel children were, and how stupidly they reasoned. It was the first fight my owner had made me participate in, and… I had not done very well. I could only knock out a few before I was overwhelmed, almost beaten to death. I felt the swollen part of flesh under my eye, the scarred flesh showing from under the torn fur. It still hurt, even after a week of rest. My owner… Jack. That was his name. I was having trouble remembering things lately. I had been asleep for a long time now, only to wake up inside this box again, Jack looking down on me, poking me to make sure I was alive. He let me out for some air and to use the bathroom, then gave me water and a cracker and put me back in this prison. He was quiet about the whole thing, not saying a word. The lid had been closed for an hour now, the room swaying slightly. I had laid down… and now this is where I was. Slight rumbling was outside my cage, but too muffled to hear.
I took a breath, my head throbbing as my vision burned, my consciousness fading out.
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Warmth… there was warmth and light. My sight was pale red behind my blackened eyelids, the blood flowing into them painfully. I woefully opened them, hoping to the see the eternal fires of an abyss before me to end my wretched existence. To my surprise… I was laying on sand. The soft grains held my body like a cradle of euphoria, my mind tricking out into the thought that I was perhaps normal size again. As my vision cleared, I witnessed a glass wall all around me, a lamp hung above me and wrapped in a cloth to soften the light. I cringed as a pressure against my back forced me to wake up. I flipped around onto my back, enraged, only to see the green hand of an old man retreat to the top of the cage. I traced the arm back to a white sleeve and overalls, finely cleaned and pressed. The head atop the shoulders was graced with a white moustache, trimmed and well kept, and a set of gold spectacles his head slim and shifted back with black spike decorum… so he was a Lyzzak. The species relation to Skidd was uncanny.
"Ah… you're awake," he said quietly and kindly. I didn't take to his almost too kind tone, not responding. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it there for a while." Before I could even look at him at him with disdain, he gently took me in hand with his thumb and index, letting me fall into his palm. He held me a fair distance away from his face, his olive eyes appearing massive behind his glasses as he pulled out a jeweler's magnifying glass. I didn't move; I couldn't care. He was closely examining the lump where my arm used to be. "Mmm… you've been through a lot, haven't you?" Once more, I didn't reply, but I don't think he was expecting me to. I was two inches tall and he was six feet; I wasn't even sure he could hear me if I had said anything. He pulled the magnifying glass away, looking at me quizzically. "You're very calm for a Battle Ratchet," he mumbled.
"It's because I'm not a toy, old man," I said. He blinked, noticing I had said something. He took me a little closer to his face, listening intently.
"What'd you say?"
"I'm not a toy, you old buzzard. I'm Ratchet," I said louder. He turned to me, almost startled with a face of gross shock.
"I… don't think I've ever heard one say that before," he quietly admitted. "They barely ever talk, but… you're saying you're Ratchet?" I nodded, my sternness stiffly displayed on my face. He blinked a few more times, hesitating. "I'm… quite sure I've never heard one of you say that before, no…"
"I'm not one of them," I growled. He just stared at me. Looking to change the subject, he smiled.
"Do you have any more injuries? I'd like to take a look, if you don't mind," he asked. I was almost shocked by that statement; I had just explained to him that I was THE Ratchet, not some clone, and he wanted me to take off my pants?
"None that you should see," I replied, raging under my breath. "Where am I?" I demanded. He looked taken back by my directness.
"Well… you're in my shop. I'm a thrift store owner, most famous in this part of Metropolis! I collect everything from pots and pans to weapons and antiques to… even little guys, like you. You'd be surprised on how many people have gotten rid of their Battle Ratchets these days," he told me sadly. "Just like you, there are ones missing limbs, ears… their motivation. I'll be honest, I think these toys were the worst thing to happen to modern playthings."
"You're telling me," I responded grimly.
"Here… let me show you something," the man said, standing off his stool. My vision was still blurry, but I could now make out a vast store around me, the man's desk he had been sitting at with me covered in papers and trinkets. Above me was almost ten stories of floors, decking out the entire place with assorted goods and junk, organized on darkly brown, wooden shelves. Looking carefully over the man's hand, I saw the tiled floor decorated with elaborate clockwork designs, simple but repeating and looking very high quality. The ceiling was made of wooden paneling some ten feet up, black fans spinning above lazily and placed with precision. The thoughts of a library came to me. The man walked around a few aisles, seeming to know where he was going despite my own mind becoming lost with direction. Before I could ask, we arrived in front of a large display of glass boxes. I couldn't see too far into them due to my vision, but on a large white banner overhead I found the words "Used Battle Ratchets" followed by a cartoon version of my own, smiling face with bandages and an eye patch on the left eye.
"These are all the ones I've gotten and found over the years, since you original came out," he said to me almost painfully. "Over two-hundred of you; different kinds, different histories, but similar circumstances, I've found… I don't think folks realize that you're still living beings," he sighed, walking closer to a cage. He put his fingers together and put them against the glass of a tank. I felt calmer but even more confused as I stood wearily, limping over to the transparent wall. Inside, sitting against a little hut made of twigs and asleep, was a Tanker version of myself; giant arms, huge posture, arms disproportional and ape like. The old man tapped on a glass lightly, the beast stirring as it came to grumbling and looking up. It found my face and, almost immediately, looked surprised with a profoundly dumb expression. It stood up, walking over to me on its knuckles. It came up close to the glass, breathing on it and fogging it up. It smiled widely, stupidly, as it placed a hand up against the glass.
"Brother?" it said in a partially tame, growled voice. I stood, dumbfounded. I had no idea that they could even talk.
"I taught them to speak, you see," the old man stated, still melancholy. "Somewhere deep inside them was the function to talk, but these little guys never really know what anything meant until I taught them… you seem to know communication very well, though." I placed my hand up against the glass, against the Tanker's hand. It was still smiling, almost chuckling in a primal, mentally broken manner. The old man pulled me away slowly, the clone lowering his hand and looking a bit sad. "It's alright, Boon, you'll get to meet him soon enough," the man comforted. My clone, Boon, smiled hopefully to the old man. I turned, confused.
"Boon?" I asked.
"He's a defect. He's never liked fighting very much, but he can if he must. He says 'boon' all the time when he's trying to communicate, so I figured that was a fitting name." I looked at all the other glass boxes. They were hooked up with air filters, water pipes, and even plumbing from what I could tell. In fact, I watched as Boon left the glass wall and drank out of a tap at the built-in pool. The bases of the boxes were solid, like they had some sort of automated system working the plumbing and waste detection. "Most of these clones didn't know how to use proper toilets when I got them, but they all do now. They learn very easily, besides languages. Boon here was actually the first clone I got."
"He seems… friendly enough. Why hasn't anyone bought him?" I asked, authentically curious.
"Because of that very reason. He's too nice. A lot of folks aren't looking for a kind and gentle thing; they want the rough and gruesome. It's sad, but a lot of these clones are like that. I'd say that… they're right behind where you are."
"What do you mean?" The old man hesitated.
"Well… they have broken goals. They were designed to fight, but somewhere in their minds, that design broke apart. They draw pictures in the sand sometimes… a lot of them are of Clank." I didn't respond. I had seen a lot of clones do that myself, with blood from their wounds. "But you seem different, little feller." I looked back into the old man's giant eyes.
"What's your name?" I inquired. He had been too nice to further delay civil introductions.
"My name is Joro Yuir. I used to be a doctor, but I've retired now and have this little shop," he told me with soft cheer. "I've treated all of these clones, medically and even mentally. Normally I'd sedate you and treat that nasty amputation you have…" I held the lump where my arm used to be, reacting coldly. "But… I won't put you under unless you allow me. You seem to have some sort of semblance of personality. Even the direct Battle clones that looked just like the original Ratchet lack any sort of personality… but I'd suppose that's because they lack a past to base a personality on." I stared him down as best I could, a bit hindered by the small size I had been cursed with.
"You could… remove this lump?" I asked. I had never liked the bit of meat hanging there, a useless bit of torn flesh and bad repair. The vet my owner had taken me did the best he could, but if this old man could make it look a bit better and less hindering, I'd take it. The old man smiled and nodded.
"I can make it a clean cut off. It'll require a bit of time under the knife, but I have special nano-bots for this sort of repair; I use them for circuitry repair, but, programmed for organic repair, they can mend and augment even the most worn of muscle. I'd know after doing it for so many of these clones here. Would… that be something you'd like?" I thought about it for a time, looking back to the glass boxes, then back up to the banner above with my injured face on it, smiling. I glanced back to Joro, grinning solemnly.
"Yes. I would," I told him. He nodded once more and started his way back to his desk. As we were walking, though, I suddenly realized something: I had been given away to this store. Although I bit of me should have felt betrayed, and it did, a little… I felt almost excited and happy… I was free, finally. Jack may have been a fairly decent owner compared to his friends, but… I was free, in a way at least. Joro reached his desk finally, but he turned into another door near it instead, a bathroom. It was a very clean and well kept civil room with plenty of comforts. There was a shower in here and a nice, silver colored, metal wardrobe against the lightly blue walls and dark blue tiled floor.
"This is my own bathroom. I work here all day, from six till midnight, so I thought I'd have it installed," he said as he let me off onto a standing Doctor's tray, moveable by wheels.
"It's very nice," I said to him. The fan in the ceiling was composed of bronze palm leaves, contradicting the knowledge of doctors I had in terms of peaceful settings. Back at the lab, when I had first awoken… I shuddered at the thought. Joro opened up the metal wardrobe, revealing a slew of doctor's equipment, including oxygen tanks, tools, and… needles. I immediately looked away, down at my feet. Joro noticed as he gathered a black bag out of the cabinet.
"Are you afraid of doctors?" I mumbled before looking up carefully, seeing the closed doors on the cabinet.
"I… no. I didn't used to be. When I first woke up after being… made a part of this mess," I said, gesturing to the surrounding area. "I found myself in a room full of… doctor stuff. Needles, saws… and a lot of blood. There were a lot of failed clones around me… in body bags. I don't like doctors very much, not after that." Joro agreed with a kindly nod.
"I understand… but don't worry, I won't be using any of these on you. The nano-bots are going to take care of most of it," he soothed, trying to be comforting as pulled out a small, collapsed white plate in his hand. He undid the latches on it, four columns springing up out of it ending with some small hooks for what I assumed was for hanging on IV drips and the like… I didn't want to assume too far. He set it down on a table on the other side of the room and slowly wheeled me over to it, gesturing for me to get onto the contraption patiently. I swallowed tightly, gathering myself as I approached the round object. It was like a bowl but flat in the bottom, equipped with tiny drains. "Go ahead and lie down in the center, if you'd be so kind," he said nicely. I did so reluctantly, my eyes narrowing in pain as I looked directly up at the ceiling light. His head got in the way, smiling as he let down a tiny little mask attached to a tube. He helped me secure it on as I felt my heart almost bursting out of my chest.
"Breathe, Ratchet. Take deep breaths and count to ten." I began breathing deeper as he said my name, relaxation washing over me…
He had said my name…
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My mind was drifting…
"Ratchet?" I looked down to Clank sitting in my lap. We were aboard the escape shuttle, out of DreadZone and heading towards the rendezvous point Sasha had ordered for us to meet at. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, everythings fine, bud," I responded, happy but tired. The children were asleep, leaning against Dallas and Juanita over on the other side of the shuttle. Vox's pet was next to me, sleeping as well. Clank and I had been sitting together, staying close. We hadn't had the chance to be together in a long time, not since being first imprisoned, and… it was nice to hold onto him again. My robot grinned, looking back down and snuggling into my arms further.
"Thank you, Clank," I said quietly. He looked back up to me, a little confused. "This is the second time you've personally saved everyone, including me," I said, holding him tightly. He seemed humorous.
"It is nothing you have to thank me for, Ratchet. I do what I need to do."
"Even so… thank you," I told him, kissing him on the head. His antennae glowed brightly as his grin widened, my own plainly happy. He shifted about in my lap, closing his eyes as I began to hear a guitar, a bass. Looking past the window on the other side of the ship, Dr. Nefarious and that weird butler guy were riding past on a comet, Nefarious head banging to the bass guitar that his butler was playing with a blonde wig. They eventually left out of view… my heart suddenly racing. Fear dripped from my eyes as I felt my hands shaking, the room turning dark. From around the window outside, silently, a white mask with two hollow black circles for eyes, without mouth or nose, appeared smoothly from around the corner.
I woke, screaming out, my heart racing as I clutched at the sheets on me. For a while, I couldn't even tell where I was, the shock inside my head too prevalent as I gasped in and out, trying to catch my breath. Finally, I sighed, holding my heart with my only hand. I took a moment to balance myself, finally looking around. I was on top of Joro's desk, but there wasn't anybody around. I had been placed in a small doll's bed, hooked up to a tiny heart-rate monitor. Sorely, I shifted my right shoulder, cringing a little at the stiff pain. I quickly realized that I no longer even had a shoulder, just a smooth, armless side. My clavicle was still there, as was the connecting bones to the arm, but everything that had been a part of it had been removed. I ran my hand over the surgical augmentation, finding that there were no longer stitches, only a smooth layer of skin. The bit where my arm had been was still composed of exposed skin, but the fur looked alright enough. For the first time in a while, I actually smiled. The doctor had done a very fine job.
I shifted my legs around a bit, stretching my arm out; somehow, I felt better than I had in a long time. My muscles were stiff but lacking in the pain department, and I almost felt like I could move correctly again. I noticed the IV drip next to me and took the moveable apparatus around, impressed that Joro had a special drip machine just for these smaller amounts of fluid. My limp was still there from a previous injury, but I felt absolutely fine otherwise the littlest remnants of wounds. In front of my bed was a timer, going up. It reached one day, twelve hours, and fifty-seven minutes as I looked up it. A tiny piece of yellow sticky paper attached to the clock said: "How long you've been sleeping." That seemed like a pretty standard thing, I supposed. Another clock on his desk, and mahogany wrapped orb clock, said nine twenty-three. Judging by the daylight streaming out of the windows at the front of the store, I assumed that it was daytime, morning. If that was the case, then Joro must have been around here somewhere.
I looked around, noticing a sign near me, a bit of propped up, folded paper. Written in plain enough text was "Please do not touch the Battle Ratchet." How sweet of him, I thought humorously.
"Ah, you're awake!" I heard Joro say from above. I looked up, onto the second floor. "One moment, I'm with a customer." I nodded to him, though I doubted he could even see me. He vanished from view back over the wooden railing. I decided to prod about his desk as I waited. There were photos in dark colored and some black picture frames, mostly of what I assumed to be his granddaughter. The pictures progressed in age until her adult years. Admittedly, she was a very handsome woman with very fine horns on her head and a big smile, plus the violet eyes. She seemed sweet enough.
"This here is a bit of a special case." I jumped as I heard Joro past the pictures, gesturing to me with a smile from in front of his deak. Another Lyzzak was with him, wearing a fine suit. The man looked at me a bit, confused.
"I've… only seen the violent ones. Is he a defect?"
"Yes, but I think it's for the better," Joro admitted strongly. The man nodded, looking back down to me.
"I agree. I never liked the idea of kids playing with living creatures like this. I know you have to get a special license to own them, but still. It's far too risky and dangerous. Living creatures and living creatures, after all." I liked this man.
"Yes. And… you wanted something for your daughter, yes?"
"Yes, my soon to be nineteen year old. She's a bit of a… goth, as I said earlier. Hehe… You know, it's really very hard to pick out something for your kids when they get older," the suited man said, laughing. Joro laughed as well.
"I know exactly what you mean. I have a granddaughter myself. But… I think I know exactly what she'd like. Come with me," Joro said, gesturing for the man to follow. They began to walk away, the suited man nodding to me politely. Perhaps it was just my current disposition, but I waved at him nicely. He seemed surprised as he continued walking with Joro, looking over his shoulder for a moment. I laughed, and, even more hilariously, acknowledged that I had actually just laughed. I couldn't remember the last time I had done that.
After about fifteen minutes of my looking at the Holo-Pedia papers all over his desk, Joro came back with a Battle Ratchet, a skinny and tall quiet one bearing an eye patch over its left eye. It smiled meekly at me as it came within sight, both the suited man and the good doctor grinning happily. Joro handed some papers to the man with a pen, something with a title of "Battle Ratchet Adoption" on it. He looked over it all carefully before signing it once.
"Since… my daughter won't get him until her birthday, would it be alright if I sent you this with her signature when she gets him?" the man asked.
"Not a problem, Brudy. You're a regular, so I have plenty of trust in you getting me the right signature when you can," Joro responded. Brudy chuckled.
"Much appreciated, my friend." Joro put the clone down for a moment onto the desk as he shifted through his desk's drawers. He pulled out a medium sized rectangle of a box, about the size of the bottom of the glass boxes I had seen the other clones in.
"Here's the life support. As you read, you have to keep them civilized for me. It's one of the conditions I have to impose the most. All the directions are inside. Brudy took it and placed the adoption paper inside carefully. Joro then picked up the clone again as it started to examine me from a few feet away and handed it over to Brudy. He gently let the clone climb into his breast pocket, disappearing. It was about two and a half inches tall, quite a bit taller than my own person, but the pocket was a bit deep, even for him.
"I appreciate the business, Joro. I'm sure my daughter will love him." Brudy handed over a card for Joro to swipe, getting to back soon enough. "Have a good night," he finished, holding the box under his arm and nodding to both of us, leaving towards the door. Joro laughed as the well dressed man left completely, looking at me and catching my attention.
"It's really good to know that the older generation kids these days know about keeping a good care of living creatures. They really seem to be the hope for your clones, you know." I stared at him, stricken with shock.
"You… think I'm the real Ratchet?" I asked.
"His girl doesn't want to go to college, since she's already a very popular punk artist, and I suggested little Nivo to her dad to use for poses and painting, not to mention a little company," Jaro said, as if he hadn't heard me. I looked at him sternly. He laughed at my expression. "And… maybe I do, Ratchet. Either way, you think you're him, so I can't say no. I wasn't there when clones were made of you, so… you could very well be the correct Ratchet." My eyes couldn't have been any wider.
"Th-then you'll help me?" I asked, panicked. His smile sank.
"I… don't think I can, son. Even if you're not the clone here… I don't have any way of getting you big again," he said, trying to sound as soft and caring as he could. My eyes welled up in rage.
"WHY NOT? YOU CAN'T JUST… TELL SOMEBODY THAT I'M THE REAL RATCHET?" I screamed at him, losing my breath, feeling lightheaded. I stumbled back a bit, holding onto the IV stand for support as Joro put out his hands as a reaction, not wanting me to hurt myself.
"I… son, there's nothing I can really do. You have to… well, here." Joro pulled on a paper underneath the pile on his desk, a Holo-Pedia article. It was titled with my name. On the right was a picture of me, standing pretty for the camera in a tux with Clank at some sort of party. I didn't remember this scene… "You… or your clone, is out there, right now. There's been a lot going on about you since the incident with Otto… or have you not heard?" he asked carefully.
"I had heard about that clone of a bastard being incarcerated, then let free, yes," I said, catching my breath still. Joro slowly motioned to remove the IV from my arm. I let him do so, then took the little packet of cold water he offered, a teardrop canteen of thin plastic and a break-off lid. I snapped the top and took heavy swigs from it; I hadn't tasted clean, icy water in a long time.
"Well… he's gone for right now. He left after some fellow attacked the city recently, some fellow named 'Percival Tachyon.'" I let my lips pop off the top of the canteen, taking my breath back after quenching the raging thirst I had. Wiping my mouth, I looked back up to him.
"Yeah, I heard about that, too. A big stir up of chaos and terrorism. I listened to my owner talk to me about how 'the real me was gone after stealing a ship to escape on' or some nonsense like that," I replied sharply. Joro's mouth curved a bit at the edges, thinking.
"That's… why I can't help you. If you truly are Ratchet, and the free clone is a perfect copy… I don't think there's much I can do. It would be a big debate between the real one and the clone, but… he's not around right now. We don't know where he went to, but that Percival followed him away from the city." My heart sank as he said the words.
I didn't want to say it… but the very same thing had been on my mind. I fell over onto my bum and curled up into a ball of self-pity, crying. My mind flooded with hopelessly happy thoughts of Clank being with this clone for almost two years now… and how he was living with an imposter. I wept hard, something I hadn't been able to do for a long time. For most of my imprisonment, I was too depressed to even feel emotion. But seeing the truth with someone straightforward with me… my heart felt black and wretched, twisted up and bleeding inside my chest. My uselessness… my one arm and scared face and body… I could feel nothing but utter hopelessness. My arms were wet with tears as I pulled away, choking on my sobbing. I had never felt so broken in my life before, without a lover or even a friend to hear my crying out for them. The nightmares of memories played in my head, of being left behind and ignored as everyone left me… even Clank. I wretched again, crying into my arms, my own howls of pain making me sick to my stomach. I felt like vomiting.
Out of the blue, a warm hand was on my back. It wasn't Joro's, though; it was too small. I turned my strained, tear-blurred vision to behind me, seeing the pants of somebody. Looking up, I met my own face, tinted with primal dullness.
"Brother?" I heard myself say, but not from my own mouth. It was that clone. He sat, cross-legged. "Brother don't cry. Boon here," he said plainly, holding out his arms for me. Recklessly and without even thinking, I turned around and ran into his arms, feeling him hold me tightly as I let out a cry, the pain in my chest almost blinding. He rubbed my back as my throat let out jagged screams into his giant chest, the tears dripping down my face and into his pecks. He only responded with the beats of his heart, holding my closely to his warmth. For what seemed hours, I cried. I couldn't breathe, only able to feel my vitality when Boon patted me on the back.
I pulled myself away from him, looking into his eyes. They were simple but there… they had a soul, unlike I had ever seen in a clone before. He wiped my eyes carefully.
"Brother shouldn't cry. Brother should smile. Brother has Boon." I looked up past Boon, seeing Joro now in front of his desk, smiling. I hadn't even heard him leave over my crying. Boon hugged me close again. "Brother has Boon," he repeated quietly.