The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network.
THE BIG O:
ACT 32
SEIZE THE DAY
Chapter Seven: The Emotional Android
Roger woke up and heard the sound of a woman crying. Her sobs came in short gasps punctuated by longer whines. She sounded hysterical.
Roger staggered out of bed to discover that he was back in his bedroom. He wasn't dead. He wasn't taken apart by Beck. He wasn't on the beach or in the orphanage where he spent his childhood. He was home. And he was probably going to have bourbon for breakfast at this rate.
In any case there was a hysterical woman on the premises. Norman had let her in without his permission, so this meant there was an attractive young lady who was pouring her eyes out nearby. Roger had left instructions that only attractive young women had unconditional access to his house, but what was Norman thinking taking her to the top floor where Roger's bedroom was? He wasn't even dressed!
Roger ran a comb through his hair and dressed quickly. The good part about always wearing black was that it was easy to accessorize. No tie and jacket today. Black socks, black boots, black pants, and black t shirt under a black sweater would have to do for right now, he had to get out and greet his guest in a hurry.
When Roger entered the upstairs parlor he wasn't ready for what he saw. "Dorothy! Are you all right?"
"Ruh-uh Roger!" Dorothy wiped her eyes with her sleeve and staggered to her feet. "W-what's happening to me? Why am I crying?"
"Dorothy are you okay?" Roger walked over and hugged her. "I don't believe it! Tears! Real tears! Well they look like real tears…"
Dorothy howled and buried her face in his chest. This was the reason Roger chose the sweater over the leather jacket. Tears won't ruin the sweater, but would whatever clear fluid that was coming out of her eyes leave spots?
"I'm sorry," Roger murmured as he hugged her and patted her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. They're real tears. It's okay."
"It's not okay!" Dorothy cried. "Why am I crying? Why am I yelling? Why am I gasping for breath even though I don't need to breathe? Why is my internal temperature fluctuating? Are you doing this on purpose? I don't understand!"
"I'll find Norman," Roger murmured. "We'll run a diagnostic. If it's a malfunction we'll fix it. It's going to be all right."
"Why are you dreaming about me crying?" Dorothy sniveled.
"It's going to be okay Dorothy," Roger kept his voice calm, for Dorothy wasn't making sense. "Are you upset about something? Did something make you sad?"
"No," Dorothy shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I always feel this way, just not so intense. S-so this is what it feels like to be human."
"Are you human, Dorothy?" Roger's body tensed in her embrace.
"No," she shook her head, "but you are."
"You're not making any sense," Roger frowned.
"I'm shivering," Dorothy said. "Why am I shivering? Why are you doing this? Are you afraid of something Roger Smith?"
"No, but I am concerned about you," he said. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes," she admitted. "I'm afraid all the time."
"All the time?" Roger frowned.
"Yes. All the time," she nodded, "but it usually doesn't show."
"What are you afraid of?" Roger asked.
A sad giggle escaped her lips. Her eyes widened. "My first laugh."
"Yeah," Roger said out loud. Creepy, he thought really quietly.
"I had hoped my first laugh would be under more joyous circumstances," she said in a voice that sounded more like the Dorothy he knew. Either whatever happened to her was wearing off or Dorothy had cried herself out and was numb.
Roger let go of the girl so he could look at her. "You're afraid all the time?"
"I suppose so," she said as she wiped her face with a handkerchief. "I assume it's fear. I perceive it as a distressing negative sensation induced by a threat. I use it to recognize danger and react accordingly."
"That sounds like fear all right," Roger nodded.
"I don't understand," Dorothy insisted. "I'm afraid all the time, but I don't act like this. Why am I shivering? It doesn't make sense. Is this how you see me?"
"What are you afraid of?" Roger asked again.
The disbelieving frown she gave Roger was strangely reassuring to him. "Would you like the list?" she asked sarcastically.
"Sorry," Roger scratched the back of his neck and looked away as he remembered all the horrible things that had happened to Dorothy on his watch. "You always seemed so brave."
"My body never reacted to fear before," the girl explained in her familiar monotone, "but yours does, doesn't it Roger? It's like I'm experiencing multiple malfunctions at once. So this is what it feels like to be human. How do you stand it?"
"You train yourself," Roger reassured her. "You discipline yourself. If you make the cut you can join the military police and they'll train you to be brave. Dorothy, I don't understand. You always seemed so disciplined."
"I'll manage," she said stoically. She studied her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Finally she spoke. "I don't understand. Everything seems so normal. I thought you were having nightmares."
"Hey I just thought of something," Roger offered. "Maybe this isn't a malfunction. What if you're still developing? Maybe when your android brain reaches a certain level of sophistication it unlocks previously unknown capabilities, like the ability to feel emotions or something? This could be the beginning of a whole new phase of your life Dorothy." That sounded familiar. Where had he heard that before?
Dorothy gave him a disappointed look. "Don't talk nonsense, Roger Smith. I've figured out what's wrong with me and I should've expected it."
Roger refused to give up. "You seem okay, but let's let Norman take a look at you to make sure you're all right. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."
"I'm fine," she assured him. "Don't worry about it. I've figured out what's wrong with me. It's nothing to get concerned about. Let's talk about you."
Breakfast was… different. Roger didn't hide behind his newspaper. He preferred to stare slackjawed at Dorothy Wayneright.
Dorothy was crying again. Off and on. She tried to stop herself but it was like watching someone trying to stifle a sneeze. Her eyes would get puffy. She would blow her nose. Her lips would tremble and a quiet sob would escape.
"Want to talk about it?" Roger asked.
"There's nothing to talk about Roger Smith," she retorted. "I'll manage. You're less tortured than I expected. Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?" Roger frowned.
"Y-you've been having nightmares," Dorothy's voice cracked but she kept going. "L-lots of them. F-for hours at a time. Then you get quiet and it looks like you're dead. And then you get nightmares again. This has been going on for some time. And you never wake up. Are you all right Roger? N-Norman is getting worried about you."
"My sleep stinks, but I really think that your problem is a lot more pressing," Roger said. "Come on, Dorothy, something's got you really upset. What is it? You look like you're about to cry again."
"Don't worry about it," she said sadly. The poor girl looked miserable. This was way beyond her normal dour expression. She looked like her little gray kitten just got ran over by a car. "This is only temporary. I'll be fine once I'm out of your head."
"Dorothy, I can't help worrying about you…" he began, but she cut him off.
"I don't need your pity," she hissed. There was an awkward pause and she looked away. "I apologize. That was an emotional reaction. You were simply reaching out to comfort me. It wasn't your fault."
"Care to talk about it?" Roger asked.
"No. It will only upset you," she replied.
"Sometimes it helps to talk about it," Roger smiled disarmingly. "There's no need to be embarrassed Dorothy. I'm a mess myself. I've barely slept at all and when I do I get nightmares. We can get through this together, what do you say?"
"My problems would only depress you Roger," Dorothy said with a hint of finality. "Let's talk about you. How are you? What have you been dreaming about?"
"Dorothy my problems can wait," Roger frowned. "I think that yours are more serious. Look at you. You look like you want to start crying again."
"I always feel like crying," Dorothy hissed in a scratchy voice. "It doesn't matter."
"You always feel like crying?" Roger repeated in horror. "Really? How come?"
Dorothy's body trembled as she hid her face in her hands. Her breaths came in long gasping sobs. "I'm… sorry…" she croaked. "I d-don't want to make things worse…"
Roger sprang from his side of the table to put his comforting hands on her shoulders. "Dorothy, it's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to help…"
She looked at him with red puffy eyes. "Very well," she said in a hoarse miserable voice. "Maybe if I let you console me it will help boost your self-esteem."
The hairs rose on the back of Roger's neck. Even when she was upset she was still so cold and analytical. "So uh… what's wrong Dorothy?"
"I'll tell you when you wake up," she said miserably. "It isn't your fault."
"Dorothy, I'm already awake," he said. "What isn't my fault?"
"You're too close to it, it will only upset you," she croaked. "Let's talk about something else, something you won't blame yourself for."
"Okay, let's start with that," Roger nodded.
"My father died because I frightened the man who held him at gunpoint," Dorothy whispered. "If I would have just gone along with them…" she coughed out a painful sob and wiped her face.
"That wasn't your fault," Roger insisted.
"Yes it was!" she gasped. "Y-you t-tried to warn me," she sniveled. "You t-told me not to… b-but I didn't listen… I-if I would've m-my father would still be alive…" They hugged as Dorothy silently cried on his shoulder for a moment. Dorothy pushed him away and got up from the table. "I don't think this is helping."
"Sure it is," Roger patted her shoulder. "You got to get this out of your system before you can feel better. You got to grieve that's all. Let me help you."
Dorothy looked at him. "All right. I'll let you help me if you let me help you."
"Deal." The word popped out of Roger's mouth before he could stop it, but he smiled confidently and made it look like that's what he meant to say.
They left the dining room and found themselves in the ground floor lounge sitting in two divans facing each other.
"So. What are you having nightmares about?" Dorothy asked from her couch.
"Excuse me?" Roger blinked. "I thought we were going to help you first."
"It's give and take," Dorothy said. "I shared my issue with my father. Now you share something. Let's start with your nightmares."
"I uh… well they're nothing new," Roger stammered. "Why do you always feel like crying? What's wrong? Is something always bothering you?"
"It's nothing new," she said. "I always feel that way. Tell me about your dreams." When Roger pulled at his collar she added. "Are any about me?"
Roger blushed and Dorothy's emotionless façade was marred by a small smile. Roger raised an eyebrow. "Why won't you let me look at your blueprints?" he asked pointblank. Dorothy sucked in a breath and blushed. Her eyes were guilty. "So, you can't hide your emotions the way you used to," Roger grinned slyly. "I think that I could get used to this new Dorothy."
"You really are such a louse Roger Smith," Dorothy muttered testily.
"This is getting us nowhere," Roger sighed. "We have to learn to open up."
"Can you remember your dreams when you wake up?" Dorothy asked him.
"Not most of the time, no," Roger shrugged. "Sometimes I can remember parts of them, if they were really vivid dreams."
"Am I in any of them?" Dorothy asked hopefully.
"Yes," Roger said carefully. "You figure prominently in several of them."
"Tell me about them." There was a hint of longing in her voice.
"I ah…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's kind of embarrassing."
"It's all right," Dorothy said quickly. "It's nice to know that you're thinking of me."
They were both blushing and trying to hide embarrassed smiles before Dorothy abruptly frowned. "So what's wrong?" she asked him.
"What?" he blinked.
"What's wrong?" Dorothy repeated. "You've been having nightmares and I've been in your dreams. I had no idea I was so hard to live with Roger Smith."
"Oh uh… you know," Roger stammered. "Bad things happen to you. I guess I never got over the time Beck stole your memory drive."
"So you're afraid of losing me?" Dorothy asked.
"Yeah I guess so," Roger looked away.
"You guess so?" Dorothy's scowl wasn't subtle. Perhaps the old stone faced Dorothy had something going for her after all.
"I mean yes, of course!" Roger corrected himself. "It's embarrassing, but I get nightmares where you're taken away from me. It's weird. Every time we get a moment together where we bare our souls to each other something horrible always happens. I can't understand it."
"Perhaps you have commitment issues," Dorothy suggested.
"I do not have commitment issues," Roger frowned.
"Yes you do," Dorothy said as calmly as if she was discussing the weather. "It's the reason you wear black. You lost somebody important to you and now you won't allow yourself to get close to anyone. It's safer to remain alone than risk getting hurt again."
"Thank you Doctor Psycho-droid," Roger huffed sarcastically. "If you've figured everything out who was it? My mom? My dad? Girlfriend? Wife? Fiancée?"
"With your permission I'd like to run an experiment," Dorothy said.
"Go ahead," Roger snorted.
"I love you Roger," Dorothy blurted out. "I always have. Even before we first met. I've always loved you before I knew what love really was. In another life, we might have been destined for each other. I know it's ridiculous, but there it is. I love you and will always be there for you if you want me."
Roger stared at her in shock. Dorothy sat nervously, trying to be her cool emotionless self. Roger struggled to find something to say. "Dorothy I…"
At that moment the wall burst open and a massive metal claw seized Dorothy. Before he could blink she was pulled outside and out of sight. Roger ran outside and saw a gigantic misshapen skeletal megadeus holding Dorothy in the smaller of its two claws. It looked down at him and the Roger's vision was blocked out by the bottom of its colossal steel foot.
On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:
Next: You're Driving Me Crazy
