Cyberstory pt 1
Rain pattered on London's the roofs and sidewalks as a forlorn figure made it's way through the alley. Weary, it rested a hand on a nearby wall and clutched at its chest plate. The pain was there again, that terrible dull ache, an ache that couldn't be named or tamed as it gave meaning to countless memories contained inside it's metallic cranium. It paused wearily as words flashed across it's view.
'Systems 77% restored. Caution: IHDS (Internal Heat Distribution System) at 28%, EIC (Emotional Inhibitor Chip) capacity at 75%.'
The humanoid let out a low, static-filled groan as it bowed its head. Water drummed against its silvery armor, the sound and feel of it vaguely soothing to tortured soul. With trembling limbs, the robust stranger lifted its head and continued down the alley until it came to a decrepit old building, now sporting its own sign of condemnation on the cracked wooden door nailed firmly in its frame. The shadowy personage looked over at the demolition notice, briefly reading it over when the gentle sound of patrol police sirens echoed through the empty street. Mildly alarmed, the personage shuffle its feet retreated along the building wall and into a neighboring alleyway.
The clanging stomp of the mysterious being’s footsteps rang out over the rain until an unsuspecting foot landed on a slick slope and slid out from under its user. The wanderer didn't have time to yelp before it crashed onto the wet concrete like a box of tin cans. A pitiful electronic groan escaped the creature as it lifted itself up onto its hands and knees and gazed at the puddle beneath it. Reflected in the liquid surface was a cold, emotionless face with dull black eye sockets etched into the metallic skull that housed it's mutilated remains.
Horrendous images of the recent past flared in the cyberman's mind as the face in the water stared soullessly back up at it.
'Warning: EIC (Emotional Inhibitor Chip) capacity at 65%'
Pain.
'... 50%'
Terror.
'... 40%'
Thin blades cutting, stabbing and peeling away its flesh before encasing it in a cold metallic alloy. That day burned in its memory, like a branding iron searing itself onto its brain.
'..25%'
That day when they appeared and turned everything upside down. Friends split, families pided, humanity stolen by silver plated invaders, and the terrible moment when the man you counted on to put things right... didn't.
'...10%'
How long had it been since the Doctor abandoned it to this existence? A few days? A few years? The wanderer couldn't be sure; nothing seemed right since it was upgraded. Life just pass by like a fish in water, making the former human feel even more isolated and despondent.
'Warning: EIC (Emotional Inhibitor Chip) critical - human emotional overload imminent.'
The creature looked away. If it could, it would've closed it's eyes and never opened them again. It would've sobbed a river so it could disappear inside it, but it couldn't, so it didn't. Slowly its EIC Capacity status rose and it's emotions began to steady. Keeping its eyes off the puddle's reflection, the traveler pushed itself onto one knee and back onto it's feet. It was still a fugitive and if someone found it, then, like the rest of its acquired species, it would be curtains forever. So it walked, marching forward as it had been programmed. What else could it do?
As it walked, a sound cracked through the silence like a chorus whips. Recognizing the noise, the creature jerked around and detected something that made its circuits run cold. Humans were entering the alley, a group by the sound of it; small but still a group. Feeling the fear dulled by its damaged inhibitor, the metallic personage balled its fist and looked for a way out. The humans came closer, just a few more yards, a turn of the corner and they’d find it.
Desperately, it searched for an escape route and was rewarded by the sight of a rusted chain-link fence. But it was too late; a group of five black men rounded the corner. To the observing cyborg they looked like thugs or gangsters, to the thugs the figure before them looked like silver-plated death; a ghost from the past. Panicked, the cyberman did the first thing that came to mind. It raised its gun arm threateningly and cried, “You will be deleted!”. Recognizing the battle cry, the five men howled in terror, tripping over each other as they scrambled back down the alley. The mechanical-being lowered its arm and turned back towards the fence. Chances were that the authorities were already on their way, armed to the teeth with devious devices meant for exterminating its kind. Not that it wasn't warranted...
It gripped the fence in its steely hands and pulled. The wire easily snapped in its grasp and tore into a gaping hole. It stepped through onto the other side, grabbed the two sides of the opening and roughly bent the two torn seams together in a quick patch job to bar the way for anyone following. Satisfied and slightly invigorated, the refugee continued its way to freedom outside the clutches of the city.
4’th and Jefferson. Walnut and 7’th. Streets whose names were etched into the cyborg's soul as it walked just outside their view. Next would be a little park with swings, slides and a merry-go-round. It used to be its favorite hang out when it was still human. Friends and family would gather there occasionally to play, talk and hang out. Memories seemed to come alive as ghosts of the past were layered over the present. Little children playing and screaming with delight as they ran and chased each other around, while their parents watched, talked and played along with them. The cold face of the cyberman followed them as the memory played like a movie in its mind. It let out a slow mechanical sigh as the bright memory faded away, leaving nothing but the dark reality as a reminder of what once was.
With a quick survey of the playground, the wanderer felt a twinge of dismay as it proved a less than satisfactory hiding place. But then it spotted something that made its spirit leap. An old car garage had been left open. The traveler scanned for life signs and found it abandoned - and a perfect hiding place. With eager footsteps, the traverser made its way into the garage, inspecting its new hideout as it went and discovered that it wasn't as abandoned as originally thought. In fact, the place was rather tidy. Tall barrels were stacked neatly next to the garage door while power tools lined the walls in their respective shelves and drawers, with cords bundled up and hung on spokes beside them, and a clean car-lift waited patiently for use in its place on the floor.
Closing the garage door, the cyberman sat down and let out an mechanical sigh, resting its face in its hands. Its inhibitor chip was back up to 55%, but even with that, it wanted to sob, it wanted howl, to do something to relieve its suffering! Cybermen weren't meant to feel but for whatever reason, it could feel - however minutely. The tortured creature knew what "cold" was, and "loneliness" and "sorrow". It remembered "joy" and "peace" and what it felt like to be "warm" in its room and comfy bed. But what could it do? It was a Cyberman now, a tin plated monster. And what good were these memories, these feelings, if they only intensified its misery? As the cyberman brooded, a deep and painful longing grew within it. It wanted that peace, that warmth inside. It wanted to feel again... but how?
