Ø Forte's Life Ø ©Julia Ford 2009
Part III.
-power on
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-firewall reached
-activation code?
-waiting for activation code…
-input="*****"
-working…
-activation code correct
-proceeding to login…
-done
-login(1)
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="login"
-command entered
-waiting for reply…
-access granted
-command?
-command= "activate keypad drive: E"
-command entered
-working…
-recognized "drive: E"
-activating hardware…
-done
-command= "create document1"
-"document1" created
-waiting for reply…
-done
DRW-01-XX is coming along nicely and just as planned. Flux balancing module is almost finished. Armor is complete. This Fortinum metalloid is remarkable. Let's see Dr. Light match this!
-entry saved at 1:48 PM, November 19, 2018
-logout(-1)
-power down sequencing…
-done
……………………
-power on
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-command?
-command="run diagnostic scan"
-command entered
-booting scanner…
-done
-working scan…
-scanning…
-done
-12 error(s) found
-repair errors?
-waiting for command…
-command="repair"
-command entered
-working…
-done.
-login(2)
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="login"
-command entered
-waiting for reply…
-access granted
-command= "present document1"
-waiting for reply…
-done
Some problems with my programming… They've been repaired. Should I install the three laws yet? I'll need a failsafe to protect myself from my creation… I'll begin to code the program tomorrow. Might acquire help from Cossack, might not. I hope the project continues smoothly.
-entry saved at 12:07 PM, January 13, 2019
-logout(-2)
-power down sequencing…
-done
……………………
-power on
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-login(3)
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="login"
-command entered
-waiting for reply…
-access granted
-command= "present document1"
-waiting for reply…
-done
I've finished the personality algorithms. My state of health is lower than it should be… might hinder plans. I'll wait to install his personality. First, I'll get the three laws installed. Next thing I'll be finishing is the combat program. This could take a while.
-entry saved at 3:12 PM, August 27, 2019
-logout(-2)
-power down sequencing
-done
……………………
-power on
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-login(4)
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="login"
-command entered
-waiting for reply…
-access granted
-command= "present document1"
-waiting for reply…
-done
I've installed the proper programs to allow me to leave his power on, as well as the Three Laws. His exterior isn't quite finished yet, so I can expect no damage to myself or my lab from him. I've named him, "Forte," as his metal of the same name is the reason he exists.
-entry saved at 3:14 AM, December 4, 2019
-logout(-2)
-done
……………………
-low power mode (80% capacity)
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-command?
-command="run diagnostic scan"
-working scan…
-scanning…
-done
-3 error(s) found
-repair errors?
-waiting for command…
-command="repair"
-command entered
-working…
-stopped
-1 problem(s) unable to repair
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="present problem"
-command entered
-working…
-file "ThreeLaws" interferes with file "BasePersonality"
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="delete ''"
-deleting…
-done
……………………
-low power mode (76% capacity)
-run ""
-waiting for completion…
-done
-command?
-run "base "
-reading file…
-working…
-done.
-run full diagnostic scan
-beginning primary tests…
-testing optical module…
A light on the ceiling.
-test results: pending
-test results: optical module working correctly
-testing thought processes…
There's a light on the ceiling so I can see.
-test results: pending
-test results: thought processes working correctly
-testing visual references…
The light is six feet and three quarters of an inch away.
-test results: pending
-test results: visual referencing working correctly
-starting 'free thought' boot
-working…
-done.
Where am I…?
…Who am I?
Wait… my number is DRW-01-20.
…But what is my name?
…my name is Forte.
-loading 'muscle' data…
-done
-run thought process(2)
-loading…
-done
My… hand… can move.
My legs… can move also.
Am I alive?
………
-waiting for command…
-command="activate"
-command entered
-loading data…
-done
……………………
I gaze upward. The ceiling… with a light installed so I can see. My… hand… twitches. My eyes turn to face my hand. I look at it. It's new. There are no marks on it. I feel my artificial muscles tighten as I slowly lift my hand to my… face. My eyelids quickly close, then reopen. I blinked. I will be doing that as long as I live. My abdomen tightens, and before I know what's happening, I'm staring at a laboratory. There are papers resting silently on tables. Schematics. Of me. What am I? I'm not human. What's a human? The man sitting on a very expensive looking lab chair. He's a human. His… eyes… they are old. A weary bluish hue. His face is wrinkled, and his hair is a faded grey. He has a tuft of hair above his lips… a mustache. It is also grey. He is cloaked in a white lab coat. His red tie fastens the collar to his neck. Is he worried that it will escape? I wonder what to do, when I find the man has positioned himself closer to my resting place.
"Hello Forte," he says to me. I assume he is speaking to me, because if not, he would be talking to himself. It is not wise to be seen speaking to oneself. "Do you know what you are?" he continues. His voice is low and gravelly. There must be something blocking his airway. His accent is hard to place. I have never seen this man before, yet I feel as though I have known him for a long time. I inhale, deeply. My artificial lungs are filled with oxygen. I exhale slowly, and I feel the air escape my lips. That was a breath. I now realize my tongue can move. This is how the man made those sounds… how he spoke. I can move my mouth in the same way. I feel my tongue shift into positions I have not known. The words I speak are different from the ones the man had said. "What am I?" I finally say. The words are fresh on my lips. I like the sound I could make. My voice is not harsh like the… scientist's… It is new, and soft. And in a way, quiet.
I ask again. "What am I?" The sounds roll off my tongue like liquid silver. What is silver? It is a metal. When it melts, it is a liquid. What I thought was… figurative. It was a statement that wasn't real. I would be in pain if real liquid silver rolled from my mouth. The man holds his head with his hand as he stares deeply into my eyes. The big tufts of hair above his eyes move. One now faces up, and the other is low. Something tells me that he is thinking. He says to me in a tone which sounds like he is announcing something, "You are my creation. I invented you, Forte. You will respect me, and my lab." I felt retaliation to being ordered to do things, but since he is my creator, I will withstand my emotions. He adds, "How do you feel?" I ponder for a moment. I say, "Feel?" Then I realize what he meant. I am a machine. He must mean, 'is every part of your body functioning correctly?' I answer him. "All parts of my body are functioning correctly." His face twists. "No, I mean, feel. Are you in pain, or sad, or even happy? What does your mind tell you to think?" Why is he explaining emotions to a machine? Can I feel these so-called emotions? I reply, "I do not feel pain, as there is not liquid silver running from my tongue." He instantly tilts his head back, and short, barking sounds erupt from his throat. He is laughing. Can I laugh? Do I need a program for that? There is nothing natural about me, so it cannot come naturally.
"You are laughing. That is a sign of happiness. Are you happy?" I cautiously ask him. He wipes a tear from his eye, and replies, "Ahh, everything is going according to plan. Well, except for that statement you just made… That was entirely unwritten. Based off of that, it appears as though your originality program is working. And that your thoughts are not scripted." I think for a moment. He was right. I run a quick scan of my database, and see my originality program is untouched by any bugs or viruses. A touch to my hand jerks me back to the material world. "Hmm…" my creator says. I'm not sure to whom that sound was directed to. Perhaps he simply said it for his own purpose. He announces, "The tension in your hands is fine. Do you think you could walk?" Walk… I think. The movement caused by one foot being placed in front of the other, causing the subject walking to accelerate forward. Additional swinging of the arms may be added for a brisker pace. "I do not know if I can walk, as I have never done so before." I tell him. He folds his arms across his chest. Is he angry with me? I should try not to anger him. He is my creator, and he has ordered me to respect him.
Before I realize it, I am standing on my feet. My body is new, so the newly-found muscles in my back and thighs tighten for the first time. I see that the level of my eyes does not match my creator's. I am slightly closer to the floor than he. I raise my hand to my face. I twist my wrist around, and move my digits. I have my hand now splayed outward in front of me. It amazes me how this man could build such an intricate weaving of synthetic tendons and bones. The scientist asks me if I am tired. I am not tired. My battery is at 71% power capacity. Why would I be tired? Because he thinks I would be worn out after being activated. I am not. I say to him, "No. I am not tired." He writes something with a black pen onto a clipboard. I do not remember him having a clipboard. Am I defective? I ask him if I am defective for not noticing his movements. He hurriedly says that I am not; that I was lost in thought. Lost in thought… That is another figurative phrase. Thought is not something that one can physically become lost in. I record this data. It has the minute potential of being useful in the future. I would need any preparations for my seemingly unscripted future.
The man steps approximately ten and a half feet away from me. It is an approximate distance because he is shifting his weight from one foot to the other. That is a sign of anxiety. Is he nervous? He asks me to come closer. Come closer to what? Of course, he must be the subject to which I am advancing. Had it been toward any other object, he would have changed the word, "come," to the word, "go," as in, "go closer to that statue." I am not like a statue. I walk forward toward the man who created me. My arms don't swing. I do not have my arms added for a brisker pace. It is not necessary. He smiles and says, "Good! Oh, this is perfect!" By 'this,' I believe he means that fact that I have successfully walked toward him. "That old fool Light will be amazed!" …I do not know the meaning of "fool," but I will probably learn it in the near future. "Light," however, is a different matter. Being a noun, I assume it is a either a person or perhaps a machine, not so unlike me. One thing bothers me, or at least tells my mind to make me "feel" bothered. The thing is this: My creator tells me to feel, and he assumes I can think for myself. Can I? I should run a scan… Perhaps I am flawed.
……………there has been much data recorded in this session. It has been saved in file folder "drive: C, day 1 data." Much more can be learned. …I am now at one quarter power. Any longer standing and I could collapse. I ask my creator if I can rest and charge. He says he forgot himself, and excuses me to rest. I retire to the pod, and lie within its contoured edges. It's… I cannot at this moment think of the word. A while of silence. I feel my power down sequence starting. Suddenly, I know the word I'm looking for… the world fades to black… I only have time for one more thought… "Soothing…" I say, and then fall into oblivion.
…My startup program booted me awake unexpectedly. I wonder what is going on, and then I see my creator's aged eyes peering at me from the lip of my pod. "Is something wrong?" I ask him. There is something different in the way he speaks now. It is hurried, like something must be done quickly, or else harm will befall him. "I forgot a program before I activated you. I need to install it now, so if you don't mind…" His hand falls below the glass dome, where I can no longer see it. Then, everything swirls into darkness.
……………………
-power on
-run "startup"
-waiting for completion…
-done
-new devices found
-scan device?
-waiting for reply…
-request declined
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="install new program"
-command entered
-working…
-installing…
-done
-program "combat" installed
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="restart system"
-command entered
-closing programs…
-system shutting down…
-done
What's going on?! What's wrong with me?! Am I broken?! I can feel!! I feel pain!! What's happening?! No! I can feel!! Don't take that from me!! Just let me-
I awaken with a start. The room is red and dim. There is smoke rising from a few computers. A fluorescent light dangles awkwardly from the ceiling. I don't know what happened… I need to get out of here!! My fist slams upward, shattering the glass covering my sanctuary. I spring out, landing with a thud on the ground. The broken glass doesn't cut my feet. I ignore it, and run toward the door. I fail to notice the old man lying breathless on the floor.
I'm running through the lab. I've never seen it before, and I feel like a rat in a maze, only there's no treat waiting for me at the end. My feet leave large, red splotches where I step. I don't know why this happens. I have not been programmed to sense blood. I continue running down the long hallway. There is a huge door at the end. I push against it, but it won't budge. Something in my hand shifts, and now I'm holding a gun. Where the hell did that come from?! I wonder. There is another, identical one in my left hand. They are black, lined with yellow and white. They fit into my fists perfectly. I look at them, then to the door, and I know what to do. I hold both guns straight out in front of my shoulders. I pull both triggers simultaneously, and unleash two massive shots of light green plasma. I stare in horror to what I did to the gate. There is a massive hole now, with its edges dripping melted metal. It is not melted silver, because that would burn my tongue. I jump through the ring of metal, and I am outside.
The sun is shining in my eyes, and my eyebrows furrow. The sky is blue. A red bird flitters past me, and out of instinct, I blast it out of the air. I realize in horror that I have ended a creature's life. Something inside me tells me that it was perfectly normal to kill the bird; that it was… fun. I look back into the skyline. There are monolithic buildings jutting from the ground, covering the sky with antennas. It's disgusting… something tells me. Oh, how I'd love to see them aflame! I've never felt this way 's no time for a diagnostic scan, so I keep running. I don't know where I am anymore. I'm on the street, and cars are swerving out of my way. Humans yell things to me, but then they see the guns in my hands, and they cease. The city is dark; its stony cubes foreboding and ominous. It is its own world, cut off from the forests and oceans. Well, one piece of it resembles a dark forest… The tall buildings block out the sun's rays, casting this undergrowth of a paved ground in shadow.
I run until I find a hiding place. I am not tired. I fall to my knees behind a dumpster. I don't know why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. There is graffiti on the dark crimson crumbling brick walls. There are puddles of oil and who knows what in small rivets carved in the ground. With a thought, my guns disappear. I sit normally now, staring at my hands. My mouth opens to gape at my newfound power. Then suddenly, I hear a voice sounding from above me. "Who said you could be here?" I look up and see a monstrous human towering over me. His skin is dark, and he has markings on his body. He is donned in baggy clothing. I search behind him and see others dressed the same as their leader. "Nobody said I could be here." I reply. His fist swings at my face, and then I'm on the ground. The other humans are cheering, "Yeah! Show dat freak!" The leader is holding his injured hand. Apparently, I'd hurt him in some way or another. One of the other humans says to his leader, "Yo, wass wrong?" The leader didn't get a chance to respond, because there was a hole in his chest.
I pull my hand out of the body. The other humans tremble. I can see in their eyes that they fear me. They should. One whips out a knife, and I generate my gun. Anyone could imagine who won our duel. As I walk away from the massacred gang, a dark smile creeps up my face. An hour later, I'm in a different alley, guns drawn and ready to fire.
After this new gang is finished, I hear a siren. I start walking in the street away from the sound. The blue and white car stops some distance behind me. "Freeze!" the police officer yells to me. I turn to face him. "I do not know which definition of the term, 'freeze,' you mean to command me. Please restate your sentence or leave me alone." I yell back. "Dammit! I'm serious! Stop moving or I'll shoot!" He must mean to shoot me, as I'm the thing of interest. My smirk returns. "No. I don't really feel like it now." I say. I begin walking to his car. "This is your last warning! I will fire upon you!"I ignore him. He grimaces, and squeezes the trigger. The bullet hits my chest, and ricochets off into the ground, leaving a small crater. There isn't a mark where the steel was crushed against my Fortinum armor. I can see his aim falter in fear. I continue advancing. When I am next to the car, I look inside. There lie a computer and a very frightened cop sitting in the front seats. The cop lifts his gun to my face. I smile, and say, "That's not a good idea…" He pulls the trigger. This time, the shrapnel bounces off my forehead and hits the cop in the eye. He was dead before his head was smashed into the steering column.
I notice my reflection in the rear view mirror as I turn to leave. My eyes are red… I notice. And I can see dark purple stripes coming from each eye. So that's what I look like… My hair is ice blue. That's not a natural color. I am not natural. I smile once more. I walk away from the vehicle. My gun appears in my hand. I fire upon the abandoned car. It erupts in a ball of flame- smoke growing darker as it ascends to the sky. Dark black smoke billows from inside the windows and hood. I believe it to be a pretty sight. I walk away.
Now, after I'm done with the car, another man finds me. He looks like the leader of the first gang I ended. There are tears running from his eyes, and he's holding a pistol. He is in despair, but still on his feet. "Yo, he was my bro, man. My only brother. You killed him, you freak." His lips curl in rage. "Dammit! He was my bro! And you'll pay for his life!!" He raises the gun. In a flash, he's struggling against my iron grip. His feet dangle above the rough concrete ground. The gun has fallen out of his hand, and I kick it away. His hands fruitlessly wrap themselves around mine, but it's useless. I have him supported by his neck. "…you used the term, 'brother.' What is a brother?" I realize he can't speak, so I drop him. He lands, and then falls to his side, choking and gasping for air. I crouch beside him. "What is a 'brother'?" I ask again. "…Go… go to hell!" he yells to me. Stupid human. I shoot him in the face, and walk away.
I now return to the lab where I was supposedly created. I approach and find that there are police cars surrounding the door I made, so I slink around. I enter from the roof access. I fall onto the cold floor. I hear a rustling sound, and I see a flashlight beam flick to my position. I dash away into another room. I silently close the door. I rest. My battery is at three-quarters power. I should charge soon. I look around in the darkness. There is no light so I can see. I might at a later time install night vision software. I stumble around, arms outstretched to warn me of incoming objects. I bump into something hard and cold. Unexpectedly, the object lights up. It is a small pod of some sort. A hatch opens, and something flies out onto me, knocking me over. I almost shoot it, but it shows no hostility. With the dim light of the pod, I see that it is a… dog? No, it's mechanical… It's purple and white and grey. So it matches my colors. Coincidence? I feel as though I've known it for a while. I get to my feet and look it over. Nothing. I glance back to the pod, where I find the words, "Gospel, DRW-02-18" I look at the beast, then to the pod. "Gospel?" I ask. It just looks at me lovingly. Hmm… Forte and Gospel… We'd make a nice pair…
I peek outside into the hallway, ever so slowly, until at last I can see around the doorframe. The officers have shifted their positions far away from where I intend to go. I jog down this hall until I find a door labeled, "NR." I open it. The door is heavy, but it swings noiselessly. There are huge grey cylinders attached to the walls. There are yellow and black signs pasted to them. I ignore the warnings and find what I'm looking for. It's a toolkit and miniature nuclear reactor. I carefully wire the reactor in a way that it can be connected to my neck peripheral. It stings a bit, but I feel a strong boost of energy enter me, and I sense my battery is charged fully. I unplug the cables from my neck and hand the reactor to Gospel, and attach it to him with cords.
Next, I'm in the hallway with my new comrade. The walls are old-looking, like the place has aged. The police moved to a new section, leaving my exit clear. I run through; my companion trotting along at my side. I breathe the outside air. There is a new smell on the wind, like something was moldy or damp. I run forward. I don't know where I am anymore, but it looks like a construction zone. I scale the skeleton of the building with catlike precision. Somehow, Gospel follows me. When I reach the top, I pull myself and Gospel to the top of a rebar pillar. The orange sun has sunk into the horizon. Now, in its place are a few pink clouds, fading to purple as they left the sun's rays. I wanted to see the city like that: red and burning. Suddenly, Gospel arches toward the sky. I look at him, wondering what is wrong. A small plasma screen erects from his back, and I hear a Russian voice say, "…Hello? Is anyone there?" Then the visuals appear on the screen.
I see a lab of some degree, as there are tools and metallic prototypes lying around. The walls are very light; perhaps they are a bluish hue? I can't say for sure, because the quality of the picture is subpar to my preconceived idea. I thought it would be clearer. The silver instruments shine in some unseen light, making something similar to a lens flare appear on the screen. The room seems warm in this soft light cast from the ceiling. I wonder what it would be like to exist in a room such as this, but then I am disrupted by the man resting in a leather work chair.
It is a light haired man, with thickly rimmed glasses. His eyes are hazel. He stares directly into the camera, eyes straining. "DRW-01-20…?" I nod. "That is my model name. Who are you…?" He starts to say something, but turns his head away. His hand rises to the level of his forehead. "I… you…" he stutters. I try to diagnose his problem. "You are stammering. Are you anxious?" I say. He looks at me. "Uhm… well, I never expected you'd be activated so late. Now, if it were me building you, you'd have been completed earlier." I think a moment. I come up with a suitable question .00158 seconds later. "And who exactly would you be?" He says that he forgot himself. Forgetting oneself… First, one must be aware of oneself to forget oneself. He answers me briskly. "I am Dr. Mikhail Cossack. I once worked with Dr. Wily to help build a miniature nuclear reactor, along with several other projects." I looked down to Gospel who held the thing Mikhail was talking about. "Alright." I say emotionlessly. "Who are you in relation to me?" I ask him, searching for answers. "And how do you know my name?"
He is about to say something, but he turns away abruptly. "…What is wrong?" I ask. This man is interesting… I'll let him live. He quickly turns back and says, "Umm, there's… Hang on…!" He runs away, off of the screen. I hear some clanks and heavy footsteps. A loud thud, and the scientist returns. There is sweat running down his face, like he has been straining. I will have neither problem to deal with. "Umm… so…" Now he clears his throat. "Do you have a real name? I don't mean your model name." I reply, "My real name is Forte." Now, I notice there's something different in my voice; my undertones more prominent. It now is rough, but still quiet. I take note of this. "So where's Wily?" Cossack says. Wily…? "What is, 'Wily'…?" I calmly ask. His eyes widen, and his forehead creases with thought. He jogs over off of the camera's view. I hear the rustling of paper, and the scratch of an ink pen. Within a minute, he is back, staring into my eyes. He looks down, and back to my crimson optical receptors. "You don't know who he is?" he asks me. There's a hint of surprise in his voice, along with something I don't understand.
"Perhaps you should… Umm… Did you run a diagnostic scan?" I run a diagnostic scan. The results on viruses and/or bugs are negative. I am clean. "I have run a scan, and found no errors." I tell him. He ponders a moment, and gazes once again onto his paper. Suddenly, I see the doctor in a different light. He cares… I think. For my well-being. Nobody has done that before. I get an idea. "…Can I visit you at your lab?" I request. I have no idea if he'll actually allow me, but I ask anyway. He stops reading the paper. He looks up. "Visit me?" he asks. He is confused. But still, he says, "Well, I guess you could… but there's a problem…" Now I am curious. "Problem?" I ask. "I am located in Russia, so transportation…" "Where am I?" I quickly ask him. "Far away." He sternly replies. I generate a plausible solution to this dilemma. "Do you know where I could find an airship?" I ask. "I could commandeer one, while relying on the global coordinates you will give me, and fly there. I could easily pilot a ship, given the proper programs." Cossack was stunned. I could tell by the way his eyebrows and lips moved in quick succession. "Wow. I suppose you would be able to, but I don't know of any ships you could use. I'll go ahead and send you the programs and coordinates though." I smile. I know what my plan requires of me, and it will be disastrous. Well, at least for the humans involved…
A minute passes, and an acceptance message appears on the screen. I take my handmade cable and connect it to the screen, then into my neck peripheral. Gospel shudders a bit, then stills as the information leaves him and is passed on to me.
-new devices found
-command?
-waiting for command…
-command="install new program"
-command entered
-working…
-installing…
-done
-program "pilot" installed
-command?
-waiting for command…
-involuntary command="restart system"
-command entered
-closing programs…
-system shutting down…
-done
……………………
I didn't expect to be shut down and restarted. Next time, I will remember this.
I awaken with a nudge to my head. My eyes slowly open, and I'm looking at Gospel's gentle face, staring at me curiously. I hold my head and sit up. I notice the sky is dark, but it has a hint of brightness. It must be nearing dawn. I run a diagnostic scan. There is (1) new program installed in my database. So it worked… I think. The screen is still there, but Cossack is not. I say to the screen, "Dr. Cossack? Are you present?" In the distance of the monitor, I hear an alarm bell ringing. "Is something wrong?" I hurriedly ask. No answer. Then, suddenly, the bell ceases. I'm left wordless. Was the threat deleted so quickly? Then Cossack paces past the camera. He is half-asleep, and wearing only night clothes. He doesn't notice my presence.
He passes the camera, but later returns with a steaming cup of coffee. "Dr. Cossack?" I ask, just as he's taking a sip. His eyes widely open in surprise, and hot coffee spews from his lips. "What?! Who's there?!" he yells, frantically searching the room. He seems to have forgotten the camera he has set up for conferencing. I smile, and reply, "Just some wires and metal. Nothing to fear… For you, at least." He regains himself, and looks wearily into the camera. "Oh… I apologize. I guess I walked off when you restarted." I wave off his apology, saying it wasn't his fault. "So anyway, did the programs get installed?" He asks me. Wait… I think. Does he worry about me? I brush the thought aside for now. I nod, and say, "Affirmative." He laughs. It is a crisp, clear sound, unlike that of… Damn! Who was that old man I remember? I can only see his face, but even that is bathed in shadow…and something red… I leave my thoughts, and return my eyes to the screen. Dr. Cossack is smiling to himself. His eyes are closed, and his eyebrows are high on his face. His hand gently caresses his left temple.
I am worried about his personal well-being. He is demonstrating a common practice used when one is suffering from pain or thinking deeply. "Is something wrong?" I ask him. He looks up. "Nothing's wrong. What you said reminded me of the Terminator." I don't understand it. He said 'terminator' like it was commonplace. Perhaps it is something I am in relation to? I decide to further investigate the thing. "What is a terminator?" I ask. He replies, "Ah, it's nothing. It was a TV show, but… Well, it's not important. Anyway, is the program I installed working alright?" I have forgotten about it already. Am I dysfunctional? Frequent memory loss is considered a flaw. I read my history, and find that I have indeed been forgetting various things recently. I must be broken, or perhaps this is my programming. Why would my creator code me to become flawed? …I can't comprehend anything about my creator's motives. I'm getting off subject. That is another flaw. I wish to yell out my questions into the ether and discover the answers, but I know it won't help me. I turn back to Dr. Cossack.
"Yes, it should work fine once I'm finally using it. Do you know the location of any nearby airships or alternate flying vehicles?" I ask the wary scientist. I hear clicks and other sounds. He must be accessing a keypad and mouse at a computer terminal. He returns his gaze to my eyes, and I see… something in his dark hazel eyes. Not a physical thing; of course not, but some underlying emotion. Hope, my mind tells me. Fear, my other mind tells me. I can contradict myself- What a surprise! I thought only humans could do that. The light-haired man breaks my silence, saying, "I need to log out to use this computer terminal, but you'll still be able to hear me. Alright? I need to download your coordinates, and cross-reference them with the nearest airport. In the meantime, I suppose you can charge, or something… See you soon!" Then the screen goes blank, and I'm left alone with Gospel on the skeletal building, just before sunrise.
The sun is still missing from the sky, but there is still some light, just enough to catch a glimpse of the silhouetted buildings jutting into the sky. The massive towers reach to the sky like bamboo stalks in the early morning. Somewhere, I hear a siren. I distinguish it from the other nighttime sounds easily; not everything else's voice wavers in such a way- high, low; falsetto, baritone. There must have been some action on the street tonight. Suddenly, I hear another sound, this one internal. It's a ringing, but very faint. I look up to the satellite orbiting the planet. The sound crescendos to an infernal tone, not unlike the sound of the world after an explosion renders your hearing dead. My hand unknowingly lifts itself to my right temple. I touch it gently, and upon contact, a new voice appears in my head. It's not exactly a voice, and it's not in any language, but I interpret it perfectly. The noise is guiding me to the global coordinates of the nearest airstrip.
I look at Gospel, and I think we both understand what to do. I slowly pace back to the work ramp, my automatic canine at my heels. I take a final look at the skylight, and stop. Gospel continues trotting along, ignorant as pie. I shift my left foot to the edge I came from. Now Gospel looks up to me, dark eyes wide with wonder. He sees the dark grin on my face. I crouch, much like the starting position of an Olympic runner. I stare intently forward to the ground directly in front of my face, and then I slowly raise my head to where I'll be in two seconds; twenty feet ahead. I take off, and everything around me becomes a blur of distorted color. My white hair flutters behind my neck as I fly along the incomplete rooftop. I near the edge in 1.7 seconds. Having only .3 seconds to determine my next course of action is no extreme feat for me. My toes perch on the very edge of the soon-to-be skyscraper, and as my feet extend, I leap off of the building.
I'm falling. No- not falling… I'm flying through the air, arms outstretched- I am a god. It's… peaceful… to fall without a care in the world. This is a new emotion for me. The fierce winds whip across my face, but I feel nothing. My mind is deep in thought. I close my eyes and let the cool wind tug at my hair. An ordinary human would be screaming in sheer horror of what lay below, but I'm not a human. I twist my body to face upward, and I see Gospel floating right above me. His eyes are shut as well, but I doubt he's thinking the same thing. I turn again to face the ground. It is approaching rather quickly, and I feel I should devise a suitable landing plan. My worries are swept away as Gospel shoots past me and hovers right under my feet.
With the doubled force of both of our powerful sets of legs, we crash into the earth, forming a small crater. A huge plume of dust envelops us, and we are hidden. I step off of Gospel's wolflike form onto the shattered concrete. The smoke clears, and I see that I've totaled a small building. I look at Gospel, and smile. He snarls a friendly growl to me, and we're off. Now I'm walking down a lonely, deserted street. The ancient buildings had most certainly seen better days. They were built with bricks and mortar, but reinforced by flexible steel alloy. Perhaps this building was a museum? I'm about to go inside when I hear the whine again, reminding me of my mission.
I follow the droning sound until I reach a busy highway. I climb a light pole to find the airport waiting on the other side. I wonder if I can pass across the road silently and unharmed, as I don't desire to make a scene here. I motion for Gospel to come closer. I lift him onto my back as though he weighs nothing, and he holds on tightly. I gaze down the heavy line of traffic, waiting for proper cover. And there it is, a monstrous two-story truck, carrying what I believe to be Ride Armors. I wait until it's about forty yards away, and then I prepare for my leap. I take off for the second time today, and soar through the air for a brief moment. Then I slam into the side of the truck, causing it to swerve as the driver tries to regain control. My hands automatically grab the railing, but only for a second. The driver's lack of control forces me to switch vehicles, or possibly fall.
I quickly look for another car, and I spot it: a new, shiny black sports car. It has everything, new tires, folding doors… But then I remember what I'm going to do, and make my jump. The truck makes a final, desperate turn, but fails, and busts through the cement barrier and careens off the highway into the street below. I land on the roof of the car, denting it a little. This driver, unlike the trucker, continues driving just fine, without swerving at all. The driver sticks his head out of the window; a look of surprise on his face. "What the hell?!" he yells upon seeing me. I smile, and depart to another vehicle. I continue my mobile path until at last I near the edge of the highway. I jump off of the last car, and it drives away, mostly unscathed. I hear a lot of horns honking and people talking on their phones, and I think it best to leave before the authorities get here.
So, now I'm running over a hill. Once I reach the top, I can clearly see what an airport looks like. There are huge strips of pavement running along the ground, all parallel to each other. There's a gigantic building, with thousands of cars swirling around it. I look farther until I see the planes. They look like giant metal birds, resting on the ground; ready to fly. Planes and shuttles are leaving in a blur. I try to near the airstrip, but at the bottom of the hill, there's a huge barrier blocking my way. I look left, then right, and generate my busters. I charge, and all hell breaks loose upon the wall. Heh, and nobody noticed… I think to myself, knowing my deed has gone undetected. I leap through the smoking crater in the wall, Gospel at my heels.
I gaze around. The sky is darker now, and I see millions of tiny pinpricks of light shining through the clear sky. Stars… I emerge from my thoughts to find myself staring at the exact model of airship I have been commissioned to pilot. I quickly glance around to find anyone near me, and enter the airship. I walk around with my head ducked as there is a lack of headspace. I cautiously make my way to the pilot's seat, and sit in it. The plush surface sinks, inviting me further. My back involuntarily retreats from the imitation leather chair, and I'm standing in front of it. Gospel cocks his head and stares at me wonderingly. I shrug and slowly lower myself back into it. This time, my sensors approve of the seat. I lay my forearms on the armrests, and find that it is a nice fit. Not as comfortable as the pod, though.
Wait… What pod? How do I know this? My muscles remember the relaxation brought forth by lying within its contoured edges, but my mind does not. Am I losing my mind? Or just my memories? I feel for the controls set out in front of me in the plane. The whine in my head resumes, louder than it had been, and instantly, I know what each button and lever does. Suddenly, Gospel turns and growls. "Hmm? What's wrong?" I ask him, more rhetorical than anything. Then I see the feet of the original pilot. "…Who are you?" he asks me. I slowly gaze up. He's somewhat young, most likely in his mid-thirties. He is garbed in the blue pilot's uniform displaying the logo of the airline company.
"Ummm…." I respond. Gospel looks to me for instruction, and I feel a spark of cruelty ignite somewhere in me. I smile at my wolf, and he turns to face the pilot. I decide to threaten him. "Go. You have three seconds before Gospel here makes mincemeat out of your face. Oh, and by the way, tell your friends that Forte likes this plane." The pilot makes a face of terror, and practically falls out of the door. He runs, screaming, from my vehicle. I smile, and return to the controls. I instruct Gospel to close the hatch, and he does so. He returns about five seconds later. My hands guide my mind as they turn knobs and pull levers that I don't know the results to. I hear the engines start up, and the craft lurches forward. My base instincts for flying, recently added to my database by Cossack, take over, and my conscious mind takes a break. I hardly even noticed the time pass. Gospel also goes into sleep mode.
I am startled awake by the sound of angry Russian shouting coming over the speaker. I set the plane to autopilot, and look out of the window. There are at least three Russian fighter planes surrounding my craft. "…the hell?" I ask Gospel, who also wakes up. I walk over to the speaker, and lift it to my mouth. I press the button down, and say, "Americanski. English?" The speaker buzzes, and then I hear a heavily-accented voice say, "You, Americanski? Speak now." I laugh, and respond, "In Russia, the speaker speaks you!" Again, I hear angry Russian chattering. I say again, "A joke, da? What do you want?" The voice continues. "You are in Russia airspace. You escort to our Russia base, wait for further instruction. Da?"
I look at Gospel, who shows his teeth in defiance. "You know what? Nyet. I really wanna get through your forces, so I'm just going to go on ahead, da? Stay out of my way if you want to live." I throw the speaker down and continue on my course to Cossack's lab. "That was not a very good choice, Americanski. You have failed to comply with our laws; we shoot you down now." I just smile and stand up. "Gospel," I address my mechanical companion. "Take the wheel. I'm going for a walk. " He looks at me with an, "OMGWTF are you doing?!" expression on his face. I sense his worry, and reply with, "You'll hear me. Just pick me up when I'm done, okay?" I make my way to the cargo hatch on the back of the plane. I take a breath, and close my eyes, and then I pull the open lever.
I look downward, and see the Russian's plane right below me. I straighten my body as I fall so that despite the wind, I still land on the glass dome of the cockpit. Looking inside, the pilot is freaking out; his face is wet and sweaty. His hands frantically dash around the board, attempting to find the 'escape reality' button, but there is no escape from me. I ball my hand into a fist, and in a flash, send it through the glass and around the pilot's throat. With a heave, I tear the Russian from his seat and into the cold, overcast sky. He tries to find what appears to be his parachute button, but fails, and continues screaming as he falls down to the snow.
Now I'm given a choice. Do I try to maintain control of this plane, or switch? I choose a combination of the two. I lower myself into this cockpit, and try to gain a feel for the controls. The frigid wind tears across my face, but I can barely feel it. I search for the other Russian planes. One is almost directly above my new craft, and the other is assailing the original airship with gunfire. Suddenly, I remember Gospel, who's still in the defending plane, and maneuver the plane towards it. I spring from my plane onto Gospel's. Without a pilot to steer it, the aircraft falls to the snowy ground. Then I'm scrambling around my old plane, trying not to get blown off by the wind, but also attempting to close the distance between myself and the attacking plane. Somehow I manage to get on the proper side of it, so I jump, and jump far.
If I planned this right, I should fall onto the side of the other plane. But if I didn't, I'll end up like my most recently commandeered plane, which is now exploding. I feel the warm air rush past me, and I take advantage of it by elevating myself a few feet. Now I slam into the tail of the Russian airship, sending it spinning because of my added momentum. Damn, Damn, Damn!! I think, as we both sink lower into the snowy landscape. "Gospel!" I yell, in the vain hope that he could help me. Swiftly, I hear the engine's fuel emerging from a rupture in the gas tank. All time seems to slow as the engine explodes, sending me far downward into the snowy land. A piece of shrapnel skims my chest, ripping me open and sending my dark red coolant everywhere. I'm wondering just what kind of metal could do that to my armor when a huge chunk of it crashes into my torso, knocking me senseless. I only have enough time to see Gospel's body leap after me as I fall onto the snowy plain, just outside a city. Everything gets darker, and I cease feeling the cold as I lose consciousness.
I feel cold. It numbs my body; my spirit… Everything is frozen. I can't see very clearly, but what I do see is white. Is this death? I ponder. I try to move, but can't. I think about the various endings that may have occurred. Avalanche, and now buried. Just dead. Trapped in purgatory. Imploded by a ton of snow. Yes, I'm dead. No, I cannot die. Am I instead in comatose? That wouldn't make any sense, unless I'm being repaired. Or salvaged. I don't care anymore. I want to go home. Wait… I …hear something… a… shovel? There's someone- My chest wound reopens, forming a red blossom in the snow. My eyes close halfway, and I see a silhouetted figure standing above me. I try to say something, but speech fails me, and I lose consciousness again.
I awaken to Gospel nudging my face with his nose. "Nnngh…" I manage to mumble. Then I remember what happened. My hand flies to my chest, but finds no mark there. Confused and eager to learn what the hell took place, I quickly sit upright and look around. I'm sitting on a metal cot in a medium-sized room. There are two other cots arranged the in same way as mine; pillow side facing the wall at a ninety-degree angle. The walls appear to have been added on to over the years because there remain duct pipes, both old and new. Gospel sits on a bedside table, staring at me intently. I reach over and gently scratch the top of his head. I can feel his happiness, even through my worry. Then I recall the silhouette. Could that be…?
Then the man, (my savior,) walks into the room. Of course, who else could it be but Dr. Mikhail Cossack. He steps over to me, hands on his hips. "Ah, Forte… Welcome to my lab." I can't talk; I don't know why, so I nod. Gospel seems to have met him already, as he hasn't killed the doctor yet. Cossack moves his face closer to mine. "Hmm…" he says. "You're a lot shorter than I'd anticipated. Oh well." This is the first time in my young life that I have realized my height. I suppose I'm about five feet, four inches tall. That is still considered short for human males, even though I'm not one. Suddenly, I feel an itch in my throat. It causes my face to twitch ever so slightly, but Cossack doesn't notice. I know how to dislodge the phantom thing from my throat. I cough; my lungs rapidly discharge gusts of stored air in a pseudo-barking like motion. Well, now the obstruction has been removed, but there's a trail of blood running from my mouth.
I lift my hand up and feel the blood. It's cold, and very liquidly. And the most amazing shade of red. Cossack looks at it, and produces a napkin from his pocket. "Oh! …well, I suppose you'll be able to speak now. I've been trying to come up with some way to remove that, but you did it first." He smiles kindly as he wipes the crimson liquid from my chin. I wonder. Is this what it's like to have somebody care? Whatever it is, it's a good feeling. "…This is your lab?" I ask, now that I can. He nods quickly in a headache inducing way. "Yeah! Do you like it?"
I look around more closely, like I'm looking for evidence or something. I can't say I like it or not, but I do feel an interest in some of the machinery lying around. I hastily lift myself from my cot to fetch a better view, and a sharp feeling ripples across my chest. I fall back onto the bed holding my wound. Was that pain? It… hurt. Like I was being torn open again. Now I lay on my back, my hands open and my arms rising straight up at the elbow. "…was that pain?" I ask after a time. Cossack looks around with an expression of defeat or shame on his face, like he's trying to pin the blame on some other thing. "Well… To be honest, it most likely was. You see, I don't know your body well enough to actually repair you, so I just kinda sealed the wound…" he admits guiltily. I now know what not to do to cause the burning pain to return. "Do you have any anesthetic?"
The doctor looks at me with an odd expression. "You're mad." he says to me in a tone signaling disbelief. I smile, and say, "I can't be insane. I'm not human, remember? And besides, what good am I if I'm bedridden?" Cossack quickly replies, "You could always hack into America's government records, play Warcraft for free, crash the internet… The possibilities are endless." I smile, and scratch Gospel behind his ear. "…what's the internet? Ah, but anyway, I will need to repair myself." I say. The mystery internet is forgotten as the Russian sighs, and then paces out of the room. I slowly lift myself into an upright position, carefully avoiding any pain. Once I'm up, I look down at my body. I guess you could say I have minimal muscular definition; you would never know how strong I am unless had prior knowledge.
Then I see my scar. It's lighter than the surrounding… skin? Armor. It's about a foot long, and what feels like three or so inches deep. That doesn't give me much extra room with which to work. It's funny… I can't feel any pain in my head. Ah, well, I'm not complaining. I notice that Gospel doesn't have any injuries, which is extremely good. I wouldn't want to repair him incorrectly. I look up and see Dr. Cossack standing at my side, holding some black medicinal bags. "And what tools have I to use?" I ask lightheartedly. Cossack smiles. For some reason, a wave of joyousness swept over the room. "Let's see what's in Bag #1, shall we?"
He pulls out an IV drip, and sets up the stand next to my bed. However, I feel this is a problem. "Umm, Dr. Cossack? I don't think I have veins… What exactly are you planning to do with that?" His face sinks in a hilarious way. "Ah, umm…" I smile at his foolishness. "Can it be applied externally?" I ask, breaking the silence and introducing a plausible idea. He smiles once more, forgetting his fault. "I suppose so, though I'm not sure how this will work. I mean, you're mechanical, and this is meant for-" I interrupt him. "Then maybe it'll have a placebo effect. Wait…" Then I realize my most recent mistake. "Hang on, I think I could just terminate my pain-sensing program for a bit, and it should prevent any pain… Why couldn't I think of this earlier?" It seems as though the author forgot an important fact about robotics. But all is forgiven, and thus, the plot advances.
I think deeply and hard about the program. What my eyes see simply fades away, and is replaced by a menu-like display. I scroll through a list until I'm able to select the correct program, and then I end its sequence. Suddenly, all feeling goes numb, and I couldn't for the life of me tell if I was being burnt or something. Somehow, I make reality come back in full view, and Dr. Cossack is staring deeply into my eyes. I quickly push him off. "What are you doing?" I ask, not understanding why he thought it would be okay to be that close to me. "Oh, sorry… Your eyes- they… Your pupils disappeared for a bit. I've never seen that before." he admits. I tell him that he's forgiven, and that I am indeed an enigma, and ask where he keeps his tools.
He reaches into a different bag from before, and produces a small but heavy toolkit. "So…" I ask him. "Did you finally find out the contents of Bag #2?" He smiles, and replies, "As you can see, yes, I have. The sedative programs are working, I suppose?" I nod, smiling in a nonchalant manner. He hands me the toolkit and steps closer. I look up at him, annoyed, but still continue the operation. I pull myself upright, so I can clearly see my wound. I carefully select a tool from the infamous Bag #2, (an Arctic blowtorch,) and begin my work.
Of course, I don't feel any pain, but I'm still unnerved at witnessing the contents of my own design, namely, the inside of my own chest. Once the primary incision is made, I calmly wait for my liquefied armor to harden so I don't get it all over my tongue, like I didn't do with the liquid silver. Wait… what? My mind says. I ignore the nostalgia (from wherever it came from,) and continue my own operation. I reach into the bag, searching for a pair of hefty pliers with which to seal the wound. I look back into the wound, and notice something wasn't right.
"Hey, Cossack?" I ask the doctor, who's about a meter away from my side. "Did you see anything sticking out of my chest when you found me? Like, anything darkly colored?" He says yes, he did, and retrieves it from a nearby table. It's the propeller from the nose of the Russian plane, or at least half of it. I'm surprised there's no mark on my back, too, from it impaling me. I hold the scrapped metal piece across my wound. It looks as though I've found the other half of the blade, deeply embedded in my chest.
"Well, damn." I say aloud. Cossack's attention is turned from wherever it was to me. "Well, damn what?" he inquires. I respond: "You don't have the right tools for me to extract this foreign piece. I suppose if I improvise, I could figure something out…" Gospel tilts his head with a frightened expression on his face. I think he should be used to my daring feats by now. I carefully replace my tools into the bag, and crack my artificial muscles. "Just what are you planning, Forte?" one curious Russian mechanic asks. I don't give him an answer.
Suddenly, I thrust my hand deep into my chest, feeling around for the blade. Cossack's hand flies to his mouth, and he bends over as he flees from the room. Ah, another human thing I'll never have to endure… Poor Cossack. While he's gone, I decide to finish the operation. I fish around, somehow determining my hardware from the blade, until at last I get a steady hold on it. I slowly find my way back out of the incision, until all my hand (and the blade part) is visible again. I set it down next to the other piece that Cossack has collected. As I stretch to retrieve the tool bag, a small fountain of blood-red coolant erupts from my wound. I only have time to think, "What's going on…?" before I lose consciousness for the second time that week.
All I see is black, or some dark shade of red. I know it's probably not real, but there's nothing I can do besides wait and try to figure out what's happening. Then, upon turning my body, I realize I'm lying in some sort of close-fitting box, like a coffin. I hastily reach upward, trying to escape, but there's something blocking my hand, covering my cage. And then it happens. The door (roof?) gently lifts up and outward, freeing me from this space. I lift myself out, and stand in front of it. The room is so dark, I can barely see, yet I know where the tables and desks are located. Have I been here before? I take a few steps forward, and the room lightens a fraction. Now I can see the man standing across from me.
Instantly, he falls to his knees, begging for his life. What's going on? What's happening? One of his hands is twisted and broken; there's blood all over the floor. A small, glistening tear rolls down the side of his face. In its reflection, I see myself, also covered in blood, but not my own. I'm smiling the smile of a devil. Another step toward the cowering man, and he falls backward over himself. He whimpers something to me, but I'm too far from sanity to comprehend. I reach down and place my hands on his shoulders. He doesn't even make a sound as I snap his spinal column in half. So now, I'm holding up his whole body with one hand by his chin. I say something, but even though I said it, I don't know what it was. I so carefully and gently grasp his head in my clutch, and twist. Hard. Not a sound as his head turns a full 180-degree turn, shattering his bones and splitting his jugular. I shake his blood off of my hands, and walk awkwardly back to my pod. Lying in it, I finally feel complete. Then, once again, I disappear into my personal darkness.
"Hungh!" I yell as I tear the left rail off my bed. It cracks the metal plating on the opposite side of the room, and falls to the floor with a clang. What the hell just happened? I wonder, and then realize, I'm awake now, back in Dr. Cossack's lab. I've just been repaired and the wound is finally closed. I sit upright, and I experience no more pain when I move. It's as though a huge weight has been removed from my chest, and I feel better than I had in a while. I take in a deep breath and release slowly. The air smells good, like oil and chemical cleaner fluid. I flex my hand and find I have somehow regained my feeling program. Cautiously, (I don't want to accidentally cause pain) I step off of my cot. My balance is fine, but I run a diagnostic scan just to be on the safe side. No bugs and/or problems of any kind. I wonder what antivirus program I have…
I casually walk toward the door and peek into the hallway. This place resembles one I've seen somewhere before, but I can't place it. The hallway is long, with metal doors lining both sides. They're labeled, but not creatively, as the room I step out of is "MedLab1." I walk down the hallway, my reflection showing across the newly-polished, shiny floor. It resembles tile, but for all I know it's highly buffed metal plating. I stop for a moment and look at myself. I still have my violet stripes, but my expression has changed since the last time I looked at myself. Now I'm more… I can't seem to find the word. The closest is probably peaceful. My hair is the same white as it always is, fading to the most unnoticeable ice-blue, right at the tips. And, to top it all off, my vibrant red eyes, which seem to shine all by themselves. My skin-tight armor clings to my body. That is my Fortinum. It can reflect any bullet and metal sword. I'm not too sure about the newer plasmic weaponry though, or its effect on me. I hope I won't have to find out. Then I realize I've spent two minutes gazing at myself, when I should be making my way to Cossack's workplace.
So I continue down the hallway, my feet landing with a clunk whenever they touch the ground. My arms swing a little for added speed. I approach Cossack' office/work area with a deep interest growing inside me. What kind of man is he? Would there be tidy filing cabinets, or perhaps a supercomputer? Or would he be neat at all? The answer was no.
There are papers and schematics stuck to the walls, and matching hardware accompanied by pieces of failed machinery. Hydraulic tubes and the like rest quietly on shiny, polished to near-blinding tabletops. The doctor is sitting on a tall, possibly capable of rotating chair. He's hunched over something on the table. Is he working on repairing something? I walk up behind him, and, with hands crossed behind my back, study his creation. "What are you building?" I ask. He very nearly jumps out of his lightly-tanned skin. "Gaaah‼" he yells as he -chair included- tumbles backwards and land with a heavy thud on the ground. I tower over him, which reminds me of my dream… or was it even a dream? I'm startled out of my reverie by a human hand grasping tightly around my ankle. The scientist carefully grabs my calf and helps himself up. He sighs angrily, and says, "Don't do that EVER again, Forte… You almost gave me a heart attack!" I lift the heavy chair with one hand back into its upright position. My motion seemed to remind the Russian what I am capable of, as the anger drains from his face and is replaced by some other emotion. "Well, this piece of hardware is just a little something I've been working on as of late…" he says, cleverly masking his fear.
I remember his expression when I was repairing myself, and say. "For a doctor, you have a surprisingly weak stomach. I didn't even bleed that much!" He laughs nervously, and replies, "I'm not a medical doctor, Forte. I just have PhDs in robotic manufacturing, calculus, and electrical engineering. Not to mention programming." I nod, agreeing with him despite my preconceived thoughts. "But hey," he continues. "Check this out!"
I look down at it (whatever it is- it's hard to tell…) and feel something poke me in the back. I quickly turn around, but don't see anyone. What just happened…? I wonder. I face the front again, toward the desk, and see a girl blocking my way. "Hello!" she says kindly to me. She has long hair, the same color as Dr. Cossack's, but she's wearing some kind of hat. Her eyes are a stunning green which invoke curiosity, but then I realize she's a human when I notice her black pupils. "Lemme guess… You're another product of my father's, right? What's your name?" Father's… Oh, she must mean Dr. Cossack; they bear a striking resemblance. I reply: "My name is Forte, and Dr. Cossack did not create me. Who might you be?" My voice seems to have lost its emotion now. It feels like I'm not feeling any emotions upon seeing this girl. Cossack turns to face us. "Oh, hi Kalinka! Forte, this is my daughter, Kalinka." the doctor says to the girl, and then addresses me. "It's nice to meet you, Forte!" She extends a hand.
She's wearing gloves- tightly wound around her small, delicate hands. I gaze at them for a moment, then return my eyes to her face. "Aren't you gonna shake my hand?" she asks. Shake her hand? What for? It must be some human greeting… I think. "Shake your hand? What is the point? We have been introduced already, is that not enough?" I say in my quiet voice. Her hand retreats. "Well, I guess you're not a people-robot…" Kalinka decides. There's a hint of disappointment in her voice. Was she expecting something more? "Oh well! I'm sure you'll like it here. Oh, I completely forgot! I have a report to finish!" She turned and scurried out of the room, her heeled shoes clacking with each step.
"Hmm…" I think aloud. Cossack turns to me quickly. "Yeah, she's my only relation now… Do you like her?" I jump and face the scientist, a surprised look on my face. I nod slowly, and respond: "Well, she's human." Cossack asks me, "Yeah, what were you expecting, another robot? Ha!" Even though I was, I don't respond, but rather stare at a page schematics tacked to the wall that has caught my attention. I walk over, and gently remove the tack, loosening it from the board it was attached to. "What is this?" I ask. It's strangely familiar. Cossack gets out of his chair, exhaling as he does so. He slowly paces over to me, and I turn around to face him, schematic in hand. "What is this?" I point to the design.
A male-shaped robotic torso was expertly drawn and labeled on the crumpled sheet of paper. If Forte could see his own blueprint, it would be similar. Cossack straightened the design and sighed. "This was a failed project. I just couldn't find a material suitable for the exoskeleton, or even the proper funds… It was going to be my entry to fame in the scientific world."
And then I knew how to improve myself. Humans are, indeed, a greedy race, and will do mostly anything for wealth, power, and fame. Cossack was no exception. I quickly formed a proper way to ask, and most likely get my plan passed. "Dr. Cossack…?" I start. He looks to me in inquiry. "I've found your metal." His eyebrow is raised. I flick my Fortinum chest, and listen to the metallic reverb in my body. "Huh." the doctor notes. "You know that's gonna be painful and risky on your part." I just shrug. "I've taken worse."
-END OF PART 3.1-
Part 3.2 coming soon!