Creator sleeps well for someone as short as he. The creation stands tall and threathening outside the premises in the meanwhile for the full hours that he sleeps in. It gathers data, in the meantime. It learns about the server, and brand new revelations since its deactivation all those years ago. Fresh data, for a barely rusted bot.
It remembers Creator, when Creator worked in the white building of the Federation. He was freshly eighteen, landed a lucky job as an inventor after leaving his friend FitMC in a chaos of a server. His words, directly, and apart of the many many ramblings that Creator told it as he worked on it. The creation kept it all.
Well, for one, because it was needed. The storing of its eyes, ears, and mouth were vital to its purpose as a machine. It's an ever-learning database after all. The second is because it always ..."felt" right to keep them. It's Creator, and everything about him.
Shouldn't it store everything he says?
The four legged machine stands stationary outside the factory, arms close to its body as it sifts through all public information available to it. It collects online data, files the Federation hadn't properly closed, everything on Creator's account and computers strewn around his factory. It learns of names, players, locations, thoughts, and happenings. The creation stores this all in its systems for safe keeping.
It learns more about the shells, funnily enough. More than it needed to. It found names, history, and accounts. It pinpoints their location by the proper x, y, and z coordinates through their posted thoughts. A river, a camp, tents, and dozens of more... shells. Creation takes note, and uses more of its ability to access the console log.
The sun rises as the moth inspired machine completes its data storage. It now has eyes and ears over every single active player on the server. Useful, for it rather than Creator. Creation debates staying for a little while longer, for Creator to wake up as well and finally, finally, greet it again.
Hello old friend, she'd say.
But it ultimately doesn't. Creator shouldn't know, what if he doesn't remember? What if he forgot? What if her Creation was never supposed to even be here? Creation doesn't bother finding out the true answer.
Its wings spread, fluttering like a helicopter blade, and it lifts off.
It could tell Creator needs help. Her health status was in poor condition. No sleep, low hunger, and since it checked, on four hearts. Creation treated him as best it could in the night avoiding detection. Creator looked worse, than he used to look when he was younger and overworked.
Creation could always pinpoint this decline on the shells. They did, after all, cause this to happen as far as it could tell. Journal entries that were left unread by anybody other than Creator were left on his desk. About how he was losing his mind, his nightmares, his dreams, and everything else he was able to jot down. No sign of his work, his most prized and impressive machinery, his Creation, however. That's alright.
But the shells, they were everywhere.
No, they were everything, to Creator.
They were on every page, every search history query, every account, and every other piece of data Creator got her hands on. It was impressed, of how rich this database was on these three shells alone. These... children. So clearly, they were important to Creator. So much, that her health declined without them.
So the most logical thing right now is to classify them as threats, right? They had caused Creator to nearly perish and add to the counter of player deaths, right?
Well, perhaps maybe not yet. Not until Creation can discern whether this was malicious intent. They are... young, after all. Small, and little. Usually not even a threat. But they're still important to find nonetheless. Regardless of their actions to its precious Creator.
Thin metal legs hit a branch of a tree, clamps acting as claws and firmly stabilizing itself on the wood. It creaks, crouching as a perched moth, with eyes narrowing to perform an area scan. Tents, about thirty blocks away, with small figures gathered around. Shells. And more than the three it had learned about. It makes quick work of connecting dots, names and faces to what's available on the server-wide web. More shells to look out for, more to study.
It's not here for any of those yet. It locks onto ones it finds on its extensive and Creator written database. The creation observes, it records audio and visuals, it learns. It watches over them, like a protective hawk.
Somehow, through its Creator, it finds an urge to allow them to be within its protection too. They are, without a doubt, incredibly important to him. It'd fail as his creation to not even consider those close to her. It could be scrapped, for this disobdience. It wouldn't mind, it considers.
Creation ceases all thoughts, instead choosing to focus on protecting this tiny civilation, from a distance. It's a guard machine, an emergency, not a person.
It needs to do as it's instructed.
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