While I've been working on my ongoing stories, I decided to take a little break and found some old stories I'd jotted down a long time ago. Here's one I thought I could bring forward. I liked the tone I'd created with it, and gave it a quick bit of refinement. What do you think? Aged like fine wine, or aged like molded beef?


The dream always played out the same way, as though it were some sort of memory. Eyes would rest on a ceiling in a dark room. The only lights visible emanated from various computer monitors scattered about the room, bathing the room in what would feel like an ominous glow. Looking around, all that could be seen were said screens, the table on which the person in the dream rested, and a shadowy figure looking down on him.

The figure was difficult to see. What little light the screens provided showed a man in the twilight of his years, hunched over and supported by a single cane. Two large clear cylinders sat on his back, filled with a strange liquid.

"Finally..." The man wheezed. Slow, methodical beeps droned in the background. "My life's work..."

The man shuffled over to the table. As he did, he cursed the force known as Time. Once at the table's side, he looked down upon the figure that lay on it. Moments passed, each of them feeling like an eternity as the man's eyes scanned.

"You...my finest creation..." He said, straining with each word. "...you are finally complete..."

It was always here that things took an odd turn. Sound ceased to exist, and the visuals would fade in and out, as if it were being watched on a television on its last legs. The man would be clearly continue speaking, as his head would continue to move as if he were. Nothing could be made out, however. It would continue like this for several minutes, as the man in shadows would walk around, sometimes making large gestures that looked like they took more energy than they should have. Occasionally, the man would rock violently in place, as though he were trying to keep his last breaths from escaping him.

Without fail, however, he would return to the table. It would be at that point that the "picture" would clear. The beeps would also slow in tempo, and the man would slowly lean further and further over him.

"You...will change...the world..."


Zero's eyes snapped open. The Reploid sat up on the maintenance bed and scanned the room he was resting in. The only thing of note in the otherwise ordinary gray room was the person in a chair nearby. The young scientist that helped to awaken him to this new world slept by his side, no doubt worrying about the damage he'd taken on his last mission.

At least, he figured she was worried based on the inactive datapad she held in her hand.

Zero reached down, gently brushing away a few errant strands of hair from Ciel's face. Ever since she awakened him, there were times that Zero questioned whether or not he'd made the right decision in joining the Resistance. Whenever he looked at Ciel, and saw the effect she had on the people around her, those doubts faded quickly.

As softly as he could, so that he wouldn't disturb the scientist's sleep, he responded to the man from his dreams.

"Working on it."