Author's Note: Due to college applications, I have little time to work on the actual story of my main fanfic. To keep myself sharp and utilize the time I do have, I will be writing small stories that are apart from The Forewarned. They will be both much shorter and not regularly updated, but will have a full storyline.
William's Journey - Concept Scene
It was just before midnight, and a full moon hung over the Factory. Rays of light flicker and reflect off the water flowing slowly around the monolithic structure.
The control room is very dim, the layout barely visible. The computer interface is black, and the holosystem inactive. The audio mike lies across the keyboard, unused. Although the scene looks eerily undisturbed since the beginning of time, dust has only barely begun to gather on the surfaces.
Unexpectedly, the heavy door clunks, cycling open, the noise almost deafening in the formerly silent space. The hub rotates, electricity arcing across its surface, disengaging the bolt locks. They release, and the heavy doors retract. William stands alone in the chamber beyond the doorway. Light from the bulb on the ceiling of the cargo elevator spills into the room.
William looks tired. Defeated, even. He has changed. His shoulders are in a slight slump, with no sign of his old confidence. He looks almost weak - but not quite. He still has… something… a flicker of light, driving him, pushing him. He steps into the room. He walks over to the metal command chair, facing the interface.
He numbly realizes that he has never sat in it before. His body had, once. But he hadn't. Almost reverently, he drops into the seat. He has a small, worn, but very thick notebook on his lap. A simple, brown cover, giving no insight into its contents. The edges of many of the pages are ruffled and folded from heavy use and earmarking. William glances down at the book for a moment, but after hours of gut-wrenching deliberation, he knows the first steps by heart. He takes the mike, and puts it in his ear. Reaching under the keyboard, his fingers search for the hidden catch. A small click, then the screen lights up. Power flows through the interface once more. Slowly, the black screen comes to life. A blue progress bar momentarily appears, filling within seconds. It collapses, and the interface snaps open, the turquoise wireframe background of the supercomputer. The hologram projector warms, ready for use, but nothing appears.
William takes the small book on his lap and opens it to one of its myriad earmarks, propping it up against the keyboard. The pages are covered entirely in a small, dense, scribbled handwriting. Some sections are scratched out, and other areas are devoted to small, detailed diagrams, or line after line of code. The product of two years of frantic work, unabridged and unedited. Slowly, he begins typing. Every few commands, he pauses, glancing down at the notebook. But he continues, keystroke by keystroke.