Rock remembered Tima.
Rock remembered his sister all too well.
He had been an orphan after the last war. He remembered that, too. He remembered the constant air raids, the sirens, the blitz of bombs. He remembered the shaking ground, crashing skies, and shattered glass. He remembered screams.
God, he remembered the screams.
The only thing worse was the silence that had followed.
But Tima?
Rock remembered Tima.
He remembered the little blonde angel that had flittered down cold, broken steps. Her laughter had beaten out the silence. The light of her heart had driven back the shadows of a war torn city. The warmth of her smile had thawed the frozen grey reality of winter in the slums.
That beautiful, perfect little angel had skipped right up to him and turned with flawless cupid's bow lips and cried, "Daddy, can we help him?"
Duke Red could never deny his daughter anything. And that night, after being clean, and full, and warm for the first time in months, when Tima had confided, "I always wanted a big brother." in the softest whispers, Rock could never deny her either.
Rock remembered Tima.
He remembered the way green eyes would crinkle in joy when he helped her sneak out of the mansion to play. He remembered the way her mouth widened into a perfect "O" when he told her wild stories that Duke Red would certainly never approve of under the cover of blanket forts and pillow castles.
Rock remembered the way his father would open his arms to both children with a wide smile.
Rock remembered the first time glass had shattered under the weight of an assassin, looking to strike at Duke Red through his precious child. He remembered feeling helpless as guards shunted him to the side in order to rescue his sister. He remembered holding her tiny shaking body as she cried through nightmare after nightmare.
Rock remembered how Tima would tuck herself into his side for protection when they were introduced to new people. He remembered the look of approval and pride in his father's eyes when he asked him for shooting lessons.
Rock remembered his heart breaking when he came home from one such lesson to discover she had been killed when a malfunctioning robot maid had pushed his tiny, perfect sister down a flight of stairs. He remembered holding his father's hand through the funeral, standing sentinel beside the only family he had left through cold, relentless downpour.
Rock remembered every shut down, every blockade, every rebuttal Duke Red had thrown at him since Tima had died.
Rock couldn't remember the last time his father had truly smiled.
But Rock remembered Tima.
Rock had loved Tima. Loved her more than he dared to admit. He missed her in all sorts of small, silly ways he would never say out loud in case his father ever caught wind of it.
Rock remembered Tima.
And he hated the robot in front him that dared to wear her face.
Author's Note:
I love Tezuka's body of work, but Rokuro Makube was always a favorite character of mine from his manga. Rock's character in the animated adaptation of "Metropolis" is amazingly subtle and refined. I loved all the hints of his history that build him up into a surprisingly complex character, if you know what you're looking at. Throughout the entire movie, the plot line put forward all these scenarios that are supposed to make you feel sympathy for Tima, but I could never connect. Because honestly, in Rock's place, I'd shoot the damn robot too.