Myth
They kept running, for how long he couldn't guess, until 5 tripped and fell to the ground with a terrible sounding thud, the light-staff landing with a chink an inch away. He didn't pick himself up and neither 7 nor 9 helped him. Honestly, the thought never occurred to 9. He was exhausted– they all were– and, to be even more truthful, he was avoiding any thoughts so he wouldn't revive that moment that had already become a memory the three of them wanted to forget. He hated that most about memories. The present was impossible to keep before it became the past.
He looked behind him at the building, a small shape on the horizon again. Nothing about its appearance had changed since earlier, still a colourless structure against an overcast sky, but the ordinariness frightened him more than if he'd still been inside it.
Coward, his mind told him. Scared of a building, of the dark, everything. Worthless. He ignored the thought by studying a rusted faucet in the dirt. The shadows around it were sharp and long from the setting sun.
When he turned back, he locked eyes with 7 for an uncomfortable instant before they both looked away. She tightened her hand around the spear she already had a fierce hold of. So many questions he wanted to ask her, one being if she ever felt afraid like he did, but the loudest, strongest question was only 'What happened?' Somehow he knew he'd never get an answer.
He knelt beside 5, the other still breathing hard from the run, and started to help him up. 5's body was tense and unresponsive as 9 put an arm around him, his face blank as he was lifted to his feet. 9 wondered absently if they would have to lead him all the way to the cathedral when he was shoved backwards and almost lost his balance over the light-staff.
5's eye was tightly closed as he yelled to no one, "Why didn't you do anything?"
After so much silence, 9 winced at the shouted question.
5 kept going, "You could have helped him." He lifted his head to look directly at 9. "I tried to help him and you didn't let me!"
9 tried to speak, but what could he say? He didn't understand what he'd seen, none of it. Not the dark room, not the machine, not–
–2 stared at him, red glow above, then–
No, don't think about that. He lowered his gaze quickly and shut his eyes, pushing that image away. His chest hurt, another thing he didn't understand, and he clamped his fingers into fists just to feel the taut pain, something that made sense.
His mind had gone from empty to overflowing. He wanted to explain to 5 what he'd done but he didn't know, he honestly didn't know, and now 2 was gone because of him, because he'd been stupid and selfish, and all he could think to do was scream...
9 should have said this but he was too scared to open his mouth. I really am afraid of everything. It didn't matter anyway. 5 had already turned to 7, shouting, "And you!" 9 chanced opening his eyes to see her straighten, chin raised and expression hard.
Even though 5 was yelling, it wasn't anger 9 heard in his voice as he said, "You're always going on about fighting, always fighting, so why did you stand there and do nothing?"
For a second, the emotion 7 was hiding showed– enough to notice she was indeed hiding it and for 9 to think Yes, I feel that too– but then her face was hard once more.
"5, stop it," she said, perfectly controlled. "You were as surprised as the rest of us when that thing woke up. Screaming at us isn't going to change what happened."
9 watched as it seemed whatever had been the last piece of 5's strength faded away, and the hurt in his chest splintered. I'm so sorry, more than you can probably imagine. None of this was supposed to happen, we were supposed to have 2 with us. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry.
With his head down, 5 said, "I know." He breathed in and out quickly. "I know, I... Can we just forget about this?" He sounded like he barely had the will to keep standing.
"It's okay." 7's tone had switched to low consoling. "You were upset. Come on–" she gripped his arm gently– "it's getting dark."
They left without waiting for 9; or, to be more exact, 7 left without waiting, leading 5 ahead and not giving 9 a glance. You deserve that, he admitted. He bent down to carefully pick up the light-staff, checking that the bulb hadn't broken– it was fine– but he no longer felt the comforting awe at carrying light. Regardless, he wrapped both hands around the staff, the top resting on his shoulder, and kept watch of the ground in front of him for loose objects as he followed his companions. At one point, he looked up to see how far they were from the cathedral– the tower stood out, swathed in orange, from the rest of the city already in shadow– and guessed they would be walking for more than an hour.
No one talked.
Eventually 7 let go of 5, her face still expressionless. She was a mystery 9 would never come to fully understand. Only a few hours ago she'd kicked him to the ground, smirked, put her hand on his shoulder, teased him. Now she wouldn't even look at him. One moment she was harsh and commanding, the next kind and encouraging. Always distant. And not once did she admit to feeling anything aside from the need to fight. When it all mattered, though, he was certain this was the way she wanted to be remembered: no complicated emotions, no exaggerated personality, only the memory of someone that protected.
He hadn't realized how much he missed her.
Colour drained from the world as night took over, second by second, until everything turned the same lifeless grey, scattered bricks identical to the rusted hubcap he passed. 9, observing dusk for the first time, could've sworn the city was melding together it was so difficult to separate objects from their surroundings, so he was more puzzled than questioning when 5 slowed, staring at something to his right. Wordlessly, he left 9 and 7, searching for what could be spotted in this gloom only he knew.
While they waited, 9 risked glancing quickly to 7. She appeared bored, arms loose and the spearhead almost touching the ground. He'd hoped to see some sign of tenseness in her to match his own during the uncomfortable silence. At least in that way she'd be acknowledging his presence. After 5 finally found what he wanted—they knew for certain when he started brushing dirt off of it—she simply adjusted her grip with a short, habitual movement and resumed walking as soon as he joined them again. 9 couldn't tell at first what he was holding—it looked like a disk with some other thing stuck on top and then a hole through the center—until, in less time than it took to blink, he recognized it as part of 2's hat. He'd made the assumption when they found him that it had fallen off during his capture, but he'd soon forgotten of it upon seeing how 2 and 5 were so relieved, and then he'd become jealous...
Before he could convince himself not to, 9 said, "5?" The other turned to him apathetically. "I'm sorry."
5 kept his head down, watching his own fingers skim along the disk's edge. The only response he gave was a half-hearted shrug. 9 could have asked exactly what that meant –was it acceptance or rejection?– or tried to explain himself again but the words stuck in his mouth.
The first stars were above them as they climbed onto the steps to the cathedral. There was no urge to run his hands over the ornate doors, no marvelling at the high ceilings, no questions about who created everything around him. 9 felt empty, tired, and just wanted this day to end. That morning and that evening were two divided lives. Tomorrow would be different, he believed, without danger or joy. Tomorrow would be simpler.
He didn't give any attention to his surroundings, not until after he followed 7 into a room and a deep voice right beside him said, "1 wants to talk to you."
5 jumped with a choked shout and 9 clutched the staff in defence as he backed away from the person by the doorway. He guessed this was 8, smirking at their reactions. He understood now 5's earlier tone at mentioning him.
As could be expected of her, 7 didn't even twitch her head when she noticed him. She said, "He can wait until later. Right now we need sleep."
8's smirk disappeared. He moved to stand over 9 and 5, arms crossed, scowling. That was enough to say they didn't have a choice.
7 sighed in annoyance, her first unfiltered emotion in the past two hours.
She remained in the lead as they walked through a new section—to 9, anyway—of the cathedral. When he saw a staircase, 9 paused to ask how they were supposed to climb it but barely got out "What" before 8 told him to hurry up and he fell back in step with 5. His question was answered as he saw 7 hop onto an unnoticed pile of books arranged into a U shape, the books stacked taller and taller until they formed a smaller scale staircase to the banister. Even that was altered, with notches carved periodically into the wood for their feet. 9 had his wonderings about this, but they were faint, forgettable, and he left them behind as he followed 7 down the landing.
1 was sitting as they entered the room but stood to say, "Did you enjoy your little outing?"
His sarcasm did nothing to improve anyone's mood. 5 continued staring at his grim souvenir. 7 rolled her eyes, as much as she was able. 9 didn't do anything.
"I keep telling you to stay inside where it's safe. I even reminded you today after you'd already left once and gave you orders. But, no, you had to go on a rescue mission." He was standing importantly in front of them by now, 8 at his side. He continued his berating directed mostly at 5. "Meanwhile the rest of us are here with no one to keep watch and half our defence skipping after you."
5 took all of this with little reaction, apart from a cringe over 'rescue mission', and so 7 argued on his behalf, "Leave him alone. At least he has the courage to step outside."
1 glared at her. She stared back with defiance. He said, "We don't need more people leaving us all at risk. There are enough problems with you and 2 running off into that wasteland." Only after saying that did he notice someone was missing, presumably because that someone would have been the next subject of a tirade. "Where is 2?"
There it was. The question that had to be answered. He must have repeated it to himself a hundred times during the walk but he'd never thought of a response. 9 hadn't let himself think of one. Instead his thoughts had been guesses of how this moment would go. He expected 7 to stay quiet. He expected himself to shuffle around the question. Maybe he even expected 1 to ask it again, impatiently. He did not expect 5 to speak.
Voice aimed at the floor, he stated, "2's dead."
Dead. That word landed between them all and 9 realized that was the first time he'd ever heard it. Of course he knew of the word and the fact his life could end, but that didn't stop the feeling of surrealism covering him, hushing the last denial of no, that didn't happen. At the time, he chose to concentrate on how dull the word sounded. An ugly word for an ugly act.
The others jolted at the short sentence. 7 seemed as stunned as 9 that 5 talked, 8 went from being amused at seeing someone in trouble to being worried, and 1... His thoughts, whatever they were—shock, anxiety, perhaps even sympathy—were barely glimpsed before he reverted back to standard, aggravating 1.
"It was bound to happen sometime," he said, though there was a certain strength absent. It returned as he went on, "Let this be a lesson to you for how dangerous the world can be. Hopefully you'll make better decisions from now on."
5 finally looked up, a slight lift of his eye, and his mouth and arms tightened the more he listened.
Another memory: The sun sat on the horizon as 9 confessed that, back in that moment, he'd actually been afraid of 5 and how filled with hate he was. 5, sitting beside him in the dark orange light, said, "It scared me, too."
Now he was remembering out of order. If he started that then everything would become impossibly entangled and the details would become blurred.
He was having trouble remembering this moment on its own. Most likely it was because he'd stood off to the side, merely watching. The result was a sense of detachment. He wished more of his memories were like that.
The next he could recall was 7 telling 1 in an oddly casual tone, "If you're going to start the 'dangers of outside' lecture, I may as well leave."
Before she could do just that, 1 demanded, "You're not leaving until I say you can."
7 halted. In the doorway, she spun around to face him and, in that single movement, her pretense collapsed. "We saw someone killed today! There's a new machine now, and I think finding out how to defeat it is more important than listening to you rant." She left in a loud stride.
Her short-lived anger didn't cause much fallout. 1's response was a muttered "One of these days..." If the end was I'll throw her out or she'll be the death of me, 9 didn't know and didn't much care. Real thoughts had finally come back to him and questions, so many questions, about what he'd seen and what those laced together images meant. 7 had most likely gone to the tower where the twins lived and where they could help her find information. He said, "Um... I should probably go..."
He got the same feeling from earlier, of a child caught doing something wrong, as 1 turned to him. "I almost forgot about you," the older said. "Here for an hour and already disobeying orders."
9 waited, anticipating his turn to be yelled at. He was strangely disappointed when all 1 did was sigh and wave him away. "Fine. I'll think of some punishment for you both later."
9 went to leave, coaxing a sullen 5 to come with him, but they were still a ways from the door when 1 called to the latter in the manner of an afterthought. 5 half-turned to him.
"Leave that here," 1 said, giving the pathetic reminder of 2 an offhand nod. "You won't need it."
5 didn't move for the longest time. Or so it seemed to 9, still watching. Finally, 5's arm shifted and he tossed the object he'd dug through the dark for aside. The metal disk clattered on the floor like a dropped coin. He never broke the line between him and 1.
1 commented "Do something about that attitude" as he looked away.
On their way down the stairs, 5 began complaining about 1 with an uncharacteristic but understandable frustration. The complaints were short bursts, the syllables sharp, talking of he'd always known 1 was a terrible person but this definitely proved it. "To make an example— Out of that—" The hollow echo of his voice faded into the ceiling, his exasperation alongside it. 5 never could stay mad for long. Soon he was mumbling things 9 couldn't decipher and which sounded more like apologies, except for an insistent "He shouldn't have said it."
9 listened, fiddling absently with the light-staff. He stared at it for so long that his eyes unfocused and the bulb became a pale yellow blur, hazy white in place of the burning filament. He wanted to say something—mostly I'm sorry; it was amazing how quickly he fell into that habit—but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. Why bother? he asked himself after the first attempt. Words wouldn't be any comfort to 5, they wouldn't fix anything and he was sure they'd sound as empty as the darkened hallway they passed through. So he listened.
He was greeted upon entering the tower by the sight of the twins hugging 7. She glanced over her shoulder at him and the twins followed her movement. There was a scarcely noticed nod, devilish grins, and then they rushed over to 5 and 9, embracing them as well. 9 had 3, 5 had 4. It was endearing how, even in silence, they found a way to tell them, "See? We're happy, you should be too." 9 glimpsed 5 give his twin a pat, heard him say quietly, "Thank you," with the effort of a smile. 4 hugged him a bit tighter before returning to 7.
3's arms were still wrapped around 9 and the other was staring at him with too wide a grin.
"You have to smile," 7 informed him. She sounded more like the person he'd met earlier, the person who'd bluffed killing him, although he figured that was more to make them forget her outburst than any kindness for him.
9 looked down to 3, waiting patiently. He would have preferred to shake out of 3's grip, be alone, not feign happiness, but he tried nonetheless. It must have looked awful, yet 3 accepted it and let go, beaming with accomplishment.
7 stroked 4's head lightly. "I haven't told them what happened yet."
Under her hand, 4's air of a job well done diminished. The twins glanced at each other, a few small, surely nervous flashes between them. They were realizing some problems weren't so easily fixed with a hug and a smile.
They turned to 9, and he then saw 5 and 7 had already done the same. Something like panic gripped him and he unwillingly took a step back, shaking his head. "But I don't know what happened."
"You know more than we do," 7 said, the fake kindness still there. To the twins, she explained, "We were separated earlier. 9 is the only one that can answer something for me."
He shook his head and pushed that emotion like panic away. "I'm sorry, I really don't know. Everything happened too fast." Again: "I'm sorry." It was all he could offer.
She didn't call him a liar or a coward, although he knew she thought it because of the slight way her lips pressed together. No, 7 simply turned her back to him and began detailing her side of that memory to the twins, pretending she hadn't noticed 9's weakness, pretending she didn't hate him.
The worst part was how easily 9 accepted this fact.
He looked above him, noting the moonlight resting on the shelves. There were countless newspapers, books, and who-knew-what-else in the tower. There had to be an answer hidden somewhere.
He tried not to but he could hear 7, and the closer she came to the end of her story, the harder it became to distract himself.
"... 2 had fallen behind," she was saying, "and the machine..." Her pause was short. "It killed him. I'm not sure how, but it did."
9 checked the twins' reactions. 4 was clasping 3's arm. They seemed frightened, confused, and a little intrigued. The thought of death, and the truth that one of them was already gone, was terrifying. But, at the same time, the idea of a new danger brought curiosity and with that a want for information.
7 soothed, "Don't worry, it can't get us here. We're safe. But I want to learn more about it, see if there's a way to destroy it, so there's never any chance it can hurt someone again."
Guilt forced 9 to speak up. "I'll help." He'd planned to describe the machine, to make up for his previous silence, but he only had time to breathe in before the twins left to another part of the room, waving for everyone else to follow.
They stopped in front of a thin pad of paper curled against the wall, long enough to see the others were actually following. Together they tore off the first dust-stained page to reveal the clean sheet underneath. While 3 smoothed the paper, 4 scurried over to 9 and looked up at him, head tilted.
9 asked, "You want to know what it looked like?" He was just starting to grasp their way of "talking." He also wondered what the paper was for. After 4's nodded response, he began, albeit shakily, "It was bigger than us, by how much I don't know, and tethered to the ceiling, I think. It had a glowing red eye and many arms." He tried to think of anything else important but came up with nothing. "Is that good enough?"
Another nod told him that was an adequate description. The twins seemed to confer with one another until 4 turned to the paper and then 9 understood what it was for. It substituted as a projector screen. He must have been surprised the first time seeing the twins' unusual ability but, as he'd long since tied it into who they were, like their names, he couldn't truly recall.
A sketch lay over the paper, ghostly outlines showing some kind of spider that had come out of the ground to grab an unsuspecting ant. The picture was supposed to be a way of asking "Sort of like this?" but the comparison seemed far too accurate for 9. Beside him, 5 shuddered, not taking his eye off the ant. The poor insect's terror, portrayed in ink marks, called for solace as it fell under a monster's grip.
7 answered, "Yes, like that."
The image changed from a standstill picture to a grainy film. 9 couldn't at first make out what he was seeing but then it snapped into focus and he saw the machine in front of, he assumed, an assembly line. Its eye, now a grey smudge, looked all around it. The film clip had no sound, leaving him to guess this was news coverage of the machine's creation. He kept his attention on the machine as it pieced together another mechanical thing, but then the shot changed and he saw them.
Humans.
They weren't doing anything that could be called interesting, mostly standing, though once it showed a few males writing on a document and shaking hands. For a moment, he ignored his painful guilt and looked in awe at the footage of an entire species he'd forgotten about. How in the world could he forget about them? They'd shaped the world to fit to their liking. Everything he turned to had been made by them in some way: the light bulb he held, the cathedral, the footage the twins were showing; all of it had been made by human hands. He wished he could find just one of them to ask "How did you do that? Could you teach me?" And then, simply, "What happened to you all?"
That thought sombered him and he felt almost ashamed. He didn't have time to wonder about humans. They were gone and there wasn't anything he could do about that, but he could try to stop the people he knew from reaching the same fate.
After 4 ended the clip, 9 asked, "Do you know anything else?"
The twins shared an insulted expression that said of course they knew more. 9 added, "I mean, it's all right if I look around and stay here for a while?"
Again they had that of course face– though more comforting than prior– and then slipped off to another part of the tower.
7 told him and 5 before leaving, "Start searching. This won't be easy."
It didn't take long– the first book he opened– for 9 to realize a major problem: he couldn't read. Singular words he was fine with and knew the meaning behind the words but he lacked the ability to combine those into a coherent sentence. For an hour, and probably more, he strained to put together I believe I must go out into the world again, a line from an unimportant storybook. He should have left to tell 1 to stop thinking of a punishment- the frustration of reading was enough.
He concentrated so hard that the world shrank to the size of the page, causing him to jump at a tentative "Hi" behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see 5 standing not too far away, smiling feebly.
"You've been sighing," 5 said after a moment.
9 returned to the page and tried to keep a light-hearted tone while replying, "Just reading, that's all."
He heard 5's shy steps on the floor, although the other didn't move any closer. "3 and 4 are the only ones that can, really. I've just been handing everything I find off to them."
Why are you talking to me? 9 wanted to ask. Why are you being so nice? You can't actually feel that way?
They both shifted uneasily, not wanting to leave but not knowing what to say. Those questions were still there, prodding 9, Ask him, ask him! Maybe he isn't mad at you, maybe you're forgiven.
He glanced to 5 and asked, "How are you?"
5 seemed to relax at the safe question, responding with a brisk "Good." More shuffling, more silence. 9 was sure that was the end of their conversation– if it could be called such– but then 5 started, "Listen, I know 7 seemed like..." He approached 9 to meet his eyes. "Don't take anything she does to heart. It's just been a long day and everyone's tired."
He was lying. It would take only a minute to tell him to stop acting like nothing had happened and admit that 9 made a horrible mistake and he hated him for it. Maybe not 'hate', he couldn't imagine 5 admitting that, but he must have felt some kind of contempt. How could he not?
9 stared at the faded print written by someone he'd never seen. 5 said his name anxiously. Just a few words and he would know...
He couldn't. As much as he denied it, a part of him begged to be told, "No, you just think everything's gone wrong, but it'll all turn out right in the end, you'll see." He couldn't bear to hear otherwise.
"9?" He heard 5 step closer. "Do you want me to leave or..."
"No, you can stay." A quiet laugh. "You'll have to get used to all of my sighs, though."
5 continued the pretend cheeriness, saying something that didn't matter while moving the light-staff closer. To make it easier for 9 to read, he added. 9 said a small 'thank you' in return and tried to hide how that one gesture, adjusting the light for him, had hit so hard. Why did the most insignificant things tear into him? It made sense, in its own way, considering he'd thought he was going to die and then witnessed someone's death barely minutes after. A person was bound to be overemotional under that situation. Yet what hurt him most wasn't how easily 5 chose to believe a lie than say "I saw my friend killed"; it wasn't how, in less than a day, he'd lost any respect 7 might have had for him; it wasn't how his own thoughts wouldn't stop shaming him. What pierced him through was how he'd taken the same lie and held onto it.
He needed it.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
Sometime later, 8 showed up. He appeared behind 9, said, "You're going to need a weapon," and walked away without waiting for him to follow.
9 turned to 5, thinking maybe he was who 8 had been talking to. The reply he got was a likewise confused look. "This is probably 1's idea," 5 said, returning to the books around him. "You should just go. It's too much trouble to ask questions." He gave a reassuring grin that, to 9, only ended up being melancholy.
9 hurried to catch up, though he couldn't stop glancing behind him. It wasn't like he was afraid of 8, of course he wasn't, but... Why did he need a weapon? Maybe 1 thought he'd be some help fighting, since 7 and 8 were so good with weapons. He had told him earlier to find something useful to do. But 9 couldn't fight, he really couldn't. He had to convince them he didn't need a weapon.
He followed 8 to a collection of weapons, close to where he'd first met the twins. 8 didn't pay him any attention. He focused on the array of broken objects that had been scavenged simply because they had a sharp edge: knives, scissor blades with rust on the handle, pieces from ragged dissection kits, even some sewing needles were kept to the side. 9 had no interest in anything he saw.
If he had a throat, 9 would have cleared it. He hated how faltering his voice was as he began, "I don't know if 1 thought of this, but could you tell him that I don't want to fight? I'm not really-"
He froze when 8 turned to him. The other looked him up and down before moving to the smaller weapons.
While he waited, since he had nothing else, 9 studied a newspaper clipping tacked nearby. He couldn't see the words from where he stood but he could see the picture. Black-and-white humans smiled, content, captured forever by a camera's eye. As far as he could tell, they were happy about whatever building was behind them, be it a home or business. How had they lived day by day? Waking up in the morning, nothing more than the thought of their work or school, passing through the veil of routine without much of a care. What was it like, then, to watch everything- the people, the city, the world- slowly die around them? To have those routines break, to then wake with the simple intent to survive to the next morning. It must have been worse for the last few; the humans that had lost all they'd known but were able to remember what this street used to look like, who lived in that house, the face of the person they passed everyday but never bothered to memorize their name, a moment they looked past the veil and saw a piece of beauty in the monotony. Those were the people he felt the most sorry for.
A noise alerted him and he barely had time to turn around and glimpse an object tossed his way. He fell back and the knife landed, harmless, on the floor as he staggeringly regained his balance.
8 laughed. (How nice to know dangerous projectiles could be thrown at him as long as it was good for a chuckle.) As 9 picked up the small knife- it didn't feel right to be in his hands- he said, "The oddball thinks you're going to be the new leader."
9 restrained his sigh. He was too tired to feel any surprise and it wasn't worth insisting again he didn't have any desire to lead. However, the comment reminded him of something he needed to do and he said, "I have to speak with 1. Do you know where he is?"
He was told 1 was in "the big room" downstairs. 9 first considered the wording a sign of 8's simplicity but he soon had to agree that was the most fitting description. Even by human standards, the cathedral's sanctuary was magnificent, and 9 couldn't stop himself from staring up at the stained glass windows. Most of them were shattered and dirt-covered, but there remained a few pieces that showed colour, brightest in the moonlight.
He entered what he thought of as the rear of the room and found 1 on a table behind the pews, lighting candles. 9 walked forward, wondering exactly what the candles were for, and tried to plan what he would say. If 1 listened to him at all, he wouldn't do so for long. Another book-staircase– a single line, not the space saving U– let him crawl up to the bench, where he sat and waited. 1 ignored him completely.
Eventually, 9, looking up, questioned, "Why are you doing that?"
He was shocked when 1 responded, even if there was a long pause before "6 managed to get himself lost his first night here."
9 wanted to point out the hazard of candles around so many old books and papers but could already imagine the "Don't talk to me about something so stupid" look 1 would give him. He focused on the mention of 6, the person he hadn't met, and assumed he was the "oddball" 8 had referred to. He said, "Apparently he's been telling everyone I'm going to be the new leader."
If 1 had any problems with this statement, he didn't show it. His eyes were on the match in his hand as he lit another candle, saying "You'll learn not to take anything he says seriously." He then faced 9. "He's usually wrong."
9 had never thought hesitation and haste could be melded together but he heard both as he said, "I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier."
Another candle was lit. "You make mistakes that can't be fixed, but at least you're polite over it."
9 had to ignore that. "We're trying to learn more about the machine, to find a way to destroy it."
"3 and 4 have been searching through that trash for their entire lives. Why do you think you'll discover anything new?"
This wasn't going well. "We can try."
With a no transition— a sure sign 1 was losing patience— 1 said, "7 explained what happened earlier today." More to himself, he added, "In few words as possible." He continued to 9, "She said, though, that you would know more of the specifics."
Not that question again. Turning away, 9 replied, "5 already told you. 2 died. That's all I know."
"That doesn't tell me anything," said 1. He slipped into that commanding 'leader' tone that 9 was beginning to hate. "Living here means contributing to our survival in every way possible, which means giving as much information as possible."
Immature as he knew it was, 9 refused to answer and stared at the back of the pew in front of him. He anticipated 1 to demand he stop being so selfish, to be of some use to the people he'd successfully put in danger, or at the very least stop acting so needlessly depressing. What he heard was, "You make it seem as if you're the only one that's seen death."
9 countered weakly, "But this is the first time anyone has died."
There was a scoff before 1 said, "We lived through the end of humanity. You think we didn't see a few people killed?"
He turned around. "You remember humans?" 9 asked, the words like a whisper.
1 scowled. "I remember dead humans."
9 went silent, as he guessed was 1's intent, but his too strong curiosity couldn't stop him from asking, "What was it like in the beginning?"
"As difficult as you would imagine. Humans were stupidly running around and trying to kill machines ten times their size when hiding was the much safer option. 2 was probably the only other one that remembered them"–9 involuntarily winced at the past tense–"unless the twins found something before we met. Most of the humans were dead by the time they joined us, as well as most of the machines. There were a few attacks, the worst being when 5 lost his eye because of carelessness, but I kept everyone safe, made sure they were sheltered here, and kept them alive. In return, they have added their own skills to our survival. Be it fighting, creating, teaching, or leading, we were all made to do something."
9, relaxed against the pile of books that led up to the candle table, commented, "2 said the same thing."
From the way 1 looked at him, he considered comparisons to 2 an insult. He said, "Unlike him, I don't speak in metaphors. When I say we were all made for a reason, I mean so literally." Upon hearing 9's shocked gasp, he grinned. "Ah, you've never once questioned where we came from, have you?"
No, of course not. With everything that had happened, 9 hadn't had time to ponder the facts behind his creation. He knew they weren't born like humans were, obviously, but the thought of someone putting him together piece by piece before he was alive, possibly even setting his personality for him, felt more than a little disconcerting. He stammered slightly as he asked, "But who made us? And why?"
"A man you should feel lucky you never met, and I can only assume because he was bored."
Another candle wick was set aflame. Very few were left to be lit and by the time they were, 1 would likely end the discussion. 9 asked, "But you did meet him, didn't you?" He took 1's silence as an answer. "What do you remember about him?"
1 said to him, "He didn't pester me with questions, I can tell you that much." That would have been the end of the discussion in 1's mind, but 9 wasn't going to let it stop there. He sat straight and held eye contact. 1 made an exasperated noise and, turning back to the candles that hung a translucent glow in the air, muttered, "You're not going to give up until I tell you something. Fine. Yes, I met him, but only once. He was an inventor that I can only assume created us so that some form of life would survive after the world's destruction." He quickly added, "Don't bother asking any of the others about him. They never met him at all. Presumably he left them anywhere in the city and went back to that house he'd holed himself in."
1 continued on about "him at least having intelligence", but 9 only heard it distantly as he thought of light from a single window, wooden floors beneath his feet, and a form in the shadows he now recognized as a body. "I..." He had to raise his voice and start again. "I think he's dead."
"I would think so, too, by now," 1 said.
"You aren't upset?"
"He's another dead human. I don't see what there is to be upset about."
There remained only one flameless candle. 9 didn't give himself time to think the words over before saying, "But he was the one that gave us life–"
"Don't you start thinking of him like that." 9 jumped. For the first time, 1 gave him his full attention and, if he was going to be honest, 9 preferred being half-ignored.
When 1 spoke again it sounded like he was forcing his voice to be quiet.
"You think just because he created us that we should respect him, look up to him like some kind of father figure. You're too young to remember this so I'll tell you now: that's all he ever did for us. While humans were dying because of the war they made, we had to keep the same from happening to ourselves with nothing but luck to help us. He gave us nothing. Just left the others in those ruins, not caring if a machine killed them. Every time we found someone new, he may as well have insulted us because their existence proved he was still alive and that 'the lives he gave us' didn't matter to him. If he really is dead, I'm glad to hear it. That man deserved death more than anyone and the world is certainly a better place without him."
9 could only sit there. All he could say, eventually, was "You can't really believe that?"
1 turned to the last candle, saying, "I'll believe what I want because it's the truth." The last flame shivered to life and he shook out the match, a think wisp of smoke soon trailing from its head. Without looking at him, 1 told 9, "Now leave. I'm done talking to you for one day."
Part of 9 was determined to stay but his spite wasn't worth it. Not on 1, anyway, he told himself. Despite the speech– which he was sure had been practiced before– 9 refused to think of his creator in the same vein as 1. As he stepped onto the broken cathedral floor, he thought But he made us! It doesn't matter if he didn't help you years ago, he's the reason you're here now. That's enough for me. And, possibly– though he wouldn't admit this to himself until much later– there was the childish want to believe the one person he could call a parent was flawlessly good. It was downright pathetic.
Just as he was about to leave the sanctuary, one final question came to him. 9 called to 1, "Why did you tell me all of this?"
"What did I just tell you?" was the annoyed reply. That was the closest 9 ever got to an answer.
The halls were nearly black as he made his way to the tower. Then again, perhaps he was so deep in thought he hardly noticed the walls surrounding him.
He made a decision that night. He may not have known what his "purpose" was, but he was sure of one thing: he wanted to become someone different. Someone stronger. He was sick of being scared of everything and already sick with the guilt of what he'd caused. If he stayed as he was, he'd become a burden and probably cause himself to go insane. The solution was simple. If someone he'd never met was convinced he was a leader, he could act as such. If he had a weapon, he may not ever use it, but he would keep it. He would protect the others. He would change everything about him. If he did– when he did, then maybe, hopefully, he could fix his mistakes.
He nodded to himself and hurried back to the tower.