Chapter 6: Innocent

The enforcer marched behind Tracer in total silence. His body language, however, spoke volumes. He was herding Tracer through the streets. He could hear the enforcer clenching his knuckles if he wandered too far to either side. Tracer looked around as they walked through the streets. Drones were scurrying to their next assigned task, enforcers were marching casually as they patrolled, and protoforms were carrying supplies and monitoring various systems.

Tracer looked around. This was the first time he saw recognizable cooperation within the city. Protoforms weren't being hunted, captured or executed in the streets. It stirred an uneasy feeling inside Tracer: whatever flames of dissension once burned have clearly been stamped out. The conflict had passed; and a victor surely decided.

Inside the Quintesson's palace, the composition was very sophisticated. Compared to other robots and constructs this structure was masterfully built. Modular components fit seamlessly together. Parts weren't just made to look the same, but the elemental structure was also uniform. Flawless archways of copper; a floor of identical scale-like aluminum tiles; conduits of iron; nothing was merely painted scrap metal. He stood out as imperfect.

Tracer turned a corner and saw two high doors made of gold. He hardly took notice to the two guards standing at either side. His enforcer escort left him under the supervision of the guards, one of whom seemed distractingly familiar. Tracer looked him over again, but it wasn't until the drone grunted that he realized it was Predator. He was clad in heavier and darker armour than before, although it seemed he didn't recognize Tracer. The guards opened the door and Tracer marched into a grand chamber with a high arched ceiling and a set of shallow steps leading up to a central, vacant throne. On one side was an open balcony looking out over almost the entire city. The guards followed Tracer to monitor the doors from the inside. As Tracer walked in, he wondered if they were to keep robots from entering, or escaping…

[Shunnk]

Tracer was focused so much on the sheer size of this chamber he failed to notice the cleaning drones working away on a section of floor in the centre of the room. He had walked right into one as it scrubbed and polished something out of the scale-like tiles. Tracer could see tiny scuff marks over shimmering specks inside the metal itself. These drones have clearly been trying to polish these for several cycles and they could easily be working for several more. Tracer was intrigued for a moment, wondering what might have happened here…

Numerous clicking sounds crept up behind him. Tracer nearly jumped as he turned. It's not Rubbish, but yet there was something still haunting about this being. He didn't realize the Quintessons were so gigantic. Four faces ran around tracks set in a spherical cranium as tentacles waved, coiled and uncoiled through the air. The face in the centre was a horned, toothless skull. His hands were raised, scratching at the air. He looked at the space on the floor. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with… merely a lesson in…" The head paused to find the right word, his eyes rolled around until the face itself spun around, sliding up and over the top of the massive sphere. A white face slid in from one side. The hands dropped down, clasping one another behind as the being stood erect, looking down their wide chin. "...the repercussions of disrespectful insubordination." The face stated, enjoying the sound of its own eloquence. He turned to glide over the tile floor up to the throne, seemingly uninterested in Tracers presence, existence notwithstanding.

"I… I'm… I am Tracer…"

"We know." The Quintesson's calm voice easily filled the room.

Tracer paid close attention for any signs of interest in the creators. "Alpha Trion was the protoform setting off the explosions. After the second generator was destroyed Alpha Trion escaped through the tunnels beneath the city, and Razor made me go after him. I guess he didn't make it out of that generator. It probably looked like I didn't survive." Tracer watched the sliding faces express shock, doubt, and intrigue at his tale.

The Quitnesson body slowly turned around, "The rogue protoform, Alpha Trion… escaped?" queried the familiar face of Inquiry.

"Yes, into the caverns beneath the city. That's where I came across Lodex here…" Tracer turned to show off the odd, broken recorder. The Quintessons could see the movement in his one optic and seemed rather unsure of what to think of it.

Lodex sounded off his salute "Lodex Beta, my esteemed creators. It is a privilege to be in your graces again."

"A recorder?" Inquiry mused "And you accompanied this protoform through the pits?"

Tracer and Lodex overlapped their affirmations.

"Please, protoform." The white face shifted in and walled him off with his palm. "We will speak to you in due course…"

Inquiry shifted back to resume with Lodex. "Did you encounter Alpha Trion down in the pits?"

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Yes. He had been injured by an axe, but the injury was not mortal. His spark was in the final stages of expiration when we found him." Tracer retrieved the tomahawk from his holster, presented it to the Quintessons.

The toothless skull forced its way into the centre slot. "AHHH! Summon that deceitful lieutenant immediately!" He looked over to the guards at the door. The second guard left through the giant doors, leaving Predator to remain at his post.

The Quintessons moved in toward Tracer. They stood in front of him and picked up the thin, shiny hatchet, observing the dried mech fluid on the blade. Tracer watched the heads crowd in to scrutinize the artifact. Tracer counted the faces he saw: one… two… three… four and—

—FIVE! Tracer jumped when he realized the final face was creeping under the shadow of the giant sphere. Two pale-red eyes glared at Tracer, particularly his missing hand. Faith: the toothed skull then crawled across the crowded surface of the head, never taking his eyes off Tracer. "What happened to your arm?"

"I ran into Rubbish, um—masters."

"What?" The Quintessons turned to Lodex "How is that possible?"

Lodex smiled. "Well, as your honour recalls: Rubbish was severely crippled, but he retained enough of his logic matrix and power cells to survive. He has been scavenging off of every drone, machine and faulty component dropped into the tunnels. He has rebuilt himself a formidable body and we narrowly escaped every encounter with him."

"Escaped… So Rubbish is functioning still?"

Lodex continued, "He had fallen with a collapsing structure when we ascended from the pits, your honor. It is likely he has finally been destroyed."

"Hmm yes. Enforcers are designed for brutal combat. Few enemies can dispose of them…"

Predator heaved his voice up from the doors. "Your honors, Razor awaits without."

"We will see him now." The Quintessons spun and hurled the thomahawk. It shot across the room and stuck into the door just shy of splitting Razor's head in two. Razor braced himself and looked over to the Quintessons, ready to intervene if a fight had broken out. When he saw the Quintessons standing casually, even smiling, he seemed to grow very suspicious and uneasy.

"Razor..." called the white face of Pride. "Stand before us."

The uneasy enforcer marched into the chamber. Tracer recognizes the sleek, open-faced helmet and the pride he carried with each step. Razor made it out of that inferno after all. His armour seemed more decorated than Tracer remembers; it now had a deep, glossy black finish and a light gold trim. Razor grimmaced as he closed with the Quintessons and their guests.

Razor groaned as he nodded formally to his superiors. "Was it your will, my masters?" Razor looked over at Tracer, glaring with disgust.

The Quintessons lowered themselves to closer observe the enforcer's body language. "You told us that you personally executed Alpha Trion, did you not?"

"As I said in my report," he began "I tore him to pieces, and left them to burn in the ruins." He turned to Tracer. "Am I to assume that this protofrom tells a different story; that you are considering he is telling the truth, and I am not? May I remind you, protoforms always lie if it benefits themselves."

The Quintessons glided across the chamber, speaking loudly "We based many decisions on the details of your report, including your promotion. Your exact words were 'I removed Alpha Trion's spark, and watched it go out in my own hands.' You also claimed that Tracer was destroyed in the second explosion. Can you explain how he is standing here before us? We have many teams scouring the debris of the complex, none have yet to find any remains of Alpha Trion. Can you explain how this protoform found Alpha Trion deep in the pits still functioning? Your prey not only escaped, but their ultimate cause of death was old age!"

"Once I had Alpha Trion in my sights, I devoted all my efforts to completing my mission. In the chaos of chasing down and defeating my primary target, I must've seen another worker killed in the blast, and assumed that it was him." Razyr chuckled in confidence. "That still remains a minor detail, but need not remind you that Alpha Trion is, in fact, dead and I personally saw to it."

"Did you?"

"Yes..." he paused, looking suddenly nervous "With all due respect, your honours, You can't possibly believe this protoform! Can you trust any of them as much as your trust us, your loyal servants?"

"Tracer is not the only one. He has recovered an early Lodex model from the pits. To be direct, his word alone would hardly convince us, but a recorder is far too loyal to consider rejecting their testimony outright. We stand here with two versions of same event. We have serious doubts about your motives, lieutenant Razor. Is there something you wish to tell us?"

Razor stiffened himself. "Yes, there is. Why would you deny the products of your own designs? These protoforms you created are not loyal!" he pointed wrathfully at Tracer. "We enforcers have always fought just to keep them in line. They do not follow your every order. They are not made precisely to fit your plans. They're incoherent! Imperfect! Everything that I am is directly because your greatness wished it to be. If I destroy a protoform to maintain order, I have done your will. If I send a protoform to complete a task that I had started, then the victory and the kill are still mine by rights! What does it matter how I gain your favour so long as I use it to better serve you? I can only do your will, DON'T EVER question my motives!" Razor's clawed feet clenched the floor. He straightened his back, holding his chin and shoulders high. He held a look in his optics that he could not be challenged. That he was irrefutable.

He was wrong.

The Quintessons shuffled hastily over to the arrogant enforcer. This was their great hall. They owned the floors, ceilings, walls and air. And nobody: collector, recorder, protoform or enforcer enters these halls without paying the proper respect to the true masters. Razor found himself completely surrounded by their single, enormous form. Tentacles crept behind him, five hateful faces loomed above. Pride's eye quaked with rage as he took control.

"And what could you possibly know about our will? Do not be so quick to assume our intentions by our perceived methods. We are not mere tyrants seeking conquest. We are unequal among the galaxy in military force, wealth, and spiritual purity. Every strength we possess, every truth we have learned has been paid for by sacrifices you cannot match, and trials you could not overcome. See the miraculous achievements we have realized, and know that we're right to demand your reverence. Or have our priorities become so transparent they can be fully comprehended by your single, petty, incompetent, MYOPIC, ARTIFICIAL BRAIN?"

A tentacle ensnared Razor's ankle as a skeletal hand slammed his head into the floor. Pieces of helmet sprayed out as the Quintessons lowered themselves onto the pinned creature.

"Your mind is soft in our grasp. We can shape it into anything we desire. Your cunning and ferocity were gifts not to be squandered. When you lied to us, dear Razor, you placed your perspective… your ambitions before those of your masters. You forgot that there is nothing IN ALL OF YOUR EXISTENCE that is above our satisfaction."

The disk of tiny, claw-like legs completely covered Razor while tentacles restrained his limbs and slithered into the armour of his torso. Tracer could hear the legs chipping away at the thick armour while Razor writhed and shrieked. Tracer could feel the terror in his voice. Tentacles forced their way up Razor's neck and into the circuitry in his head.

Inquiry calmly spoke, "We know much about pain: were you to experience it constantly, you would develop a tolerance. No, we want you to look back on this moment as your greatest failing that must never be equalled. For the rest of your waking life, you are to feel… surges of pain ranging from mild stings to excruciating agony…"

Malice took control, "… You will dread the next surge to come. And come, it will. You'll leave behind all the armour you've lost: let all who see your exposed, misshapen form know that our rule is absolute, and that loyalty to us is the only luxury." The Quintessons gripped Razor by his arm and flung him across the chamber. He skidded over the floor as shards of lingering metal flaked off of him.

The creature sprawled on the tile was not Razor, or any enforcer Tracer had seen. A more tattered, slender form shook as he slowly stood up. Somehow, beneath all that armour was frail robotic body. Several internal parts were left exposed, but his face was the most strikingly different. A face serves to distinguish individuals and can also express thoughts and feelings at work deep inside. Faces also house the optics, vocal processors and audio receptors, and the main computer encased safely inside. A face therefore serves as the command and communications seat for an individual. Lacking a face would be akin to not being an individual. Tracer could see the surface of Razor's head was scraped smooth, leaving a scratched visor as the only feature left. The head turned to look at Tracer, pausing only to flinch with a sudden surge of pain before clenching his fists with hatred.

Razor was about to turn and run off before a deep voice blasted through the room. "YOU WERE NOT DISMISSED!" A drone on the main level would be forgiven for freezing in place. Razor scrambled to turn around, trying hard to stand as confident as he had only a moment before. He still shook in absolute fear. Malice breathed in the sight of fearful obedience, drank it with a cold delight, and relinquished the centre slot.

Faith slid into position. His eyes were open, his gaze on everything.

"Tracer…" Faith began as he glided across the floor. "We are all pleased with your performance. At only two days old and you've proven yourself more loyal than one of our elite constructs. Truly, you are to be a shining example that all of our subjects should aspire to become." His pupilless eyes stared into nothingness as he glided past Tracer, contracting the mechanism anchoring their body to their base. They dropped to his level and placed a palm on Tracer's chest. A tender touch—these hands seemed uneasy with the concept. "You have more than earned the spark you carry. Take it with our blessing. But know that we will expect just as much dedication when next we call on you." He then gestured to Razor and rose his voice without altering his directionless gaze "And you, Razor, the wasted—as you shall henceforth be known—are hereby stripped of your rank and enforcer duties. Get your repulsive, rusty shell out of our palace! You're the newest labour drone in melting mill omicron."

Faith was replaced by Malice, rather eager to get the last word in. "Remember to put your back into the labour, or the rest of you will be put into the product. Heheha…" Even with a low speaking voice, Malice made each word sharp and satisfyingly threatening. His tone dared you to interrupt him. "Dismissed."

Razor turned on his heels and marched out of the room. As he passed his former comrade, Predator, he snarled. Predator opened the high doors and Razor held his composure as he marched out of the Palace. His footsteps held their military pace until they could no longer be heard.

The Quintessons turned to Tracer. Tracer filled the silence. "If I might make a request, my masters…" Tracer unclipped Lodex from his hip. "Lodex Beta here was really helpful. I don't think I would have made it back if it wasn't for him. I wonder if it might be possible to rebuild him."

"Why would we do that?" dismissed Greed.

"I think he'd be a great help to me—to us. If you're grateful to me, he should be rewarded for the part that he played. I also like having him around. As a protoform I found that I prefer to have companionship."

The Quintessons rose up again while Pride took control.

"All the Betas have long since been made obsolete. The effort required to refurbish and reintegrate him within our operation is more than any benefit he would yield. Any contemporary recorder will make a better assistant. You should not feel—ugh—obligated to this drone. It is, after all, a mere instrument. If it could feel any gratitude at all it should begin and end with its usefulness alone." Pride cocked up an eyebrow and glared at Tracer. "We might say the same goes for protoforms… You should try to be more in control of these—ugh—sentiments in the future."

Faith calmly clarified "Place the head on the floor. We'll have a drone come and dispose of it."

Tracer looked down at Lodex. Trying hard to pretend that he didn't care. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"Don't be." replied Lodex. For once, Tracer wanted to hear a lengthy speech. He wanted a story about drones, about calculations, about anything. He pulled the wires out of Lodex and promptly placed the inanimate head on the floor. Forcing his feelings aside so they wouldn't show.

Tracer was trying so hard to suppress his thoughts he wasn't focusing on what the Quintessons said next. He knew their tone wasn't threatening. He was listening just enough to know when to nod. Words like 'loyalty' and 'upgrades' flew past him with little notice.

"—But you're surely overdue for a recharge." Greed gestured to an approaching recorder. "Gamma, here will show you to the nearest stowing sector."

"Thank you, masters." Tracer bowed graciously before following the drone through the doors. The guards remained at perfect attention as Tracer, the favorite disciple for the day stepped through the doors into the hall. With them the guards took their leave of the royal chamber. Standing at their original post outside the high doors to leave their masters in their godly solitude.

Inside the chamber, four of the faces stared at the odd head lying on the floor. Inquiry in position—hands clasped together as he cocked the spherical cranium to one side. Slowly, he crept their form up to Lodex. He tapped his fingers together in amusement. "Now this is rather unexpected…"

"Just get rid of it." dismissed Greed from behind.

Malice forced himself in "No, fool!"

Pride slid in, "Beta has been in service since before we arrived."

"—And he does not have the proper coding to ignore protoforms!"

Inquiry contemplated "If its memories are still intact…"

"…He could have told Tracer everything! We may have a data breach in our midst!"

Faith waited patiently for Pride to finish his thought and leave the centre slot vacant. "Have a little trust in our handiwork, fellow judges. The old recorders were—at times—a little loquacious, but let us not forget they were reliably methodical. He would not answer anything unless he was explicitly asked. Could a protoform like Tracer intentionally seek out a lost recorder, probe it for our secrets only to drop the evidence right at our feet? He may be a brighter-than-average protoform, but a master strategist he clearly is not."

Inquiry spun himself around "We can access the drone's entire memory tracks and know everything that he saw and heard."

Greed was fed up "This is a waste of time!"

Malice groaned "Argh!"

Faith calmly waited again to take possession. "Need I remind you, Greed, that although highly improbable, some critical information may have escaped us. Everything regarding our operations on this world is a vital secret. We still have yet to find this traveller. To maintain our state of power we must locate whoever it is on our terms before they can locate us on theirs. Our drones, and especially protoforms must focus on their work, and we alone will investigate any clues for this traveller. Do we understand?"

Greed slid around while whispering "Yes, Faith."

A moment passed before Inquiry cheerfully spun into position. "Right, let us move on shall we? I have been compiling designs for various weapons systems to be powered by the sparks. Estimations are very compelling, but before we can conduct any further tests, we must perfect long-term storage. They will be of little use to us if we cannot leave this star system without half our payload expiring. We must continue to monitor the designs and conditions of our workforce to find if any factors improve longevity."

Malice took over, hunching forward and leading their body over to the view outside. "Protoforms… Their resistance was doomed to fail from the start. The entire city may be momentarily under our uncontested control, and yet it seems their inborn desire for retribution is impossible to suppress. Increasing the enforcer guard and imposing strict punishments have failed to deter insubordination. Personally I find it rather amusing, and yet despite all that we do to contain them further they continue to challenge our rule even in the face of obliteration. I sense we cannot prevent these desires, but perhaps we can redirect them… in a more controlled environment."

"Yes, we'll examine the head." muttered Pride.

The other four Quintessons paused. "What?"

"I, uh… I mean w-we should. Put on more guards!"

"Is something wrong, Pride? You are very slow all of a sudden."

"It's nothing-uh. Let's… let's please continue"

Faith took control, holding his arms out to each side "Although you may be listening, Pride, I can sense you are not giving the matter you full attention. I can sense you… feel… guilty; that you're responsible for the inadequate disposal of this recorder. We must not dwell on the past; such thoughts distract us from more… impending matters. To preserve our purity of mind, the source of these feelings must be… excised." Tentacles retracted into the giant spherical cranium. The single tentacle belonging to Pride waved around in protest. "We know the process is painful, but do not fear, fellow judge, remember that it is only by shedding all of our weaknesses that we are able to ascend closer to... perfection."

Pride's face spun and sped down the tracks. Trying to escape the pain coming from inside. Sounds leaked from within the massive cranium: mechanical, electrical, chemical… biological. Pride could feel his very thoughts being probed. Sensations, ideas, memories... the experience is like having your mind ripped apart one thought at a time. Thoughts of humility and inner reflection... and a vague memory of artistic self-expression were erased. It only lasted a moment, and then it was all over. Fragments of thoughts were pieced back together. Pride fell unconscious. No scars to heel. 'This is how it must be. It has always been our way. He'll awake in a few hours with renewed dedication.' Faith picked up the single limp tentacle and coiled it around their thin torso.

"Now then—Hmm..." Faith looked out over the city. Buildings still smoked off in the distance, but not far off was the collapsed foundation of the old generator complex. The entire structure seemed to have fallen into a large hole, creating a deep, round pit. Deep thoughts reached out and made their elegant connections. "A controlled environment we shall have! Look there, judges. That crater will make a perfect site to build a Colosseum! Imagine: all the protoforms gathering together to watch their favorite champion dismember new challengers every week! Pit prisoner against athlete, and both against enforcers. Let them argue amongst themselves who is truly the greatest fighter of all. And let them feel shame when their beloved fighters are unsparked in front of a cheering crowd of their fellow protoforms."

The Quintessons collectively grinned in corrupt anticipation as they watched their contemporary recorder lead Tracer out the gates into the city streets.

Tracer didn't know what he was feeling. He tried to remember the relief of being pulled out of the pits: a goal reached, salvation rightfully earned. Now he felt a danger, as if by its own nature, had passed over him. He'd now received praise for his words and mere existence, with little regard for the character in his spark that overcame mortal dangers. He had thought he was a true champion, now his only recognition came as some minor formality.

Should he be praised at all for simply obeying in the face of the prevailing rulers: these Quintessons? That wasn't what carried him through the pits. That feeling of victory meant something else to him. He started to wish he could have done more to save Lodex. And what of Escia? All alone… at first he thought she chose to rebel because life in this city wasn't fair to her. Now Tracer himself began to see what was missing in the city. There was something he longed for, though he was trying hard to understand what. Companionship. His first day back in the city, surrounded by drones and protoforms. It was the first time he ever felt alone.

"Here we are..."

The recorder lead Tracer to the entrance to a crude-looking structure. Not overly large, but clearly distinct from the buildings around it. The recorder stood beside the door, turning his body as he waited for Tracer to let himself in. Tracer tapped the open command and stepped through. The recorder followed. The way lead to a single railed balcony, looking inward toward thousands of storage chambers across a vast wall. A single drone stood at attention off to one side on a balcony section next to a folded-up armature apparatus.

"Drone," addresses the recorder. "Take this protoform to begin a recharge cycle." The drone didn't flinch at the order.

"All protoforms scheduled for recharge have been properly stowed." recited the drone. "Units are only to begin recharge cycles at predetermined intervals for efficient retrieval."

"I'm well aware of the protocol, drone. The Quintessons themselves grant exception to this…" The drone continues to look out into the complex as he reluctantly gestures Tracer to approach.

As Tracer stepped onto the platform the floor beneath him jostled. He held onto the railing to maintain his equilibrium. The platform began riding along the wall; running over and down as small storage chambers whizzed past.

Tracer looked at the mindless drone staring off at the rushing metal. "So, you're programmed to ignore me right? ...Yeah I thought so. I was a drone just the other day. You've got your directives, your assigned tasks. There's a type of satisfaction when you do your job, but now I… I can't describe this now. It's like the world can no longer be described by coding and protocols. Things aren't as simple as they were. It's like… like there's a piece of you inside everything you see and touch. You aren't listening to me, but I'm more now than any drone could know. It's overwhelming. I've felt enjoyment for going to new places, meeting new people. I've also felt fear, and other feelings that… drain you: you feel a loss that cannot be replaced, and a pain that cannot be consoled. I really can't describe these feelings to a drone like you."

The platform came to a stop in front of an empty storage chamber. "Looks a little small…" Tracer muttered. The drone keyed in a code on a tablet. Tracer heard a series of tones ring out…

[PENG-DA-BO-BEEB-YOM]

'That's odd…' he thought to himself. But no sooner had the tones finished, he felt his body wrench and contort involuntarily. "Hey! What the—" He couldn't control himself anymore. His legs folded in and condensed to his sides. His arms tucked in and behind. His neck retracted and collapsed into his chest.

When it was all finished, Tracer felt like he was a quarter of his full height. His optics were working and looking upward, but the rest of him was frozen in place. "Wow. I guess I still have a lot to learn about being a protoform."

The drone continued to tap his fingers on the tablet. The armature at his side spun around and gently picked up Tracer. As he was sliding precisely into the storage chamber he could read the number on the drones chest. It was strikingly familiar… Delta-M6.

'I've seen him before... he was in the generator facility!'

Tracer's gaze shot over to the drone's face. The drone was staring out into the high and narrow gap leading back to the entrance to the complex. He keyed in the recharge sequence. Before Tracer lost consciousness he heard the drone sigh.

"Yeah… I know what you mean."