After losing all his memories and waking up in an unfamiliar place, he struggles to find meaning due to a lack of any protocols or missions within his code that he can locate- for the first time in his life he must choose for himself what it is he wants to do. He can’t remember who exactly he was or what he was created for, but he does know one thing for sure. His most recent, pressing protocol, an almost constant blaring red indicative pop-up constantly within the corner of his vision reads: PROTECT LILITH GRAY.
Clem’s memories are disjointed and half-formed, the more he continues to live his life the more they begin to slowly re-enter his mind like a virus. Memories appearing back to him in his dreams, in the corner of his consciousness when something happens that reminds him or his previous life, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to piece together who he used to be before.
However, he desperately wishes and hopes that he won’t have to face his past. He runs from it, scared of it, scared of himself, wondering why he’s so impossibly strong, why he he’s so durable, why was he made this way, what is he for? One side of him longs to know, to just rip the bandaid off and just know all the answers, while another side of himself wishes he wasn’t getting these memories back at all.
He has a hard time opening up, about his fears, doubts, worries, and he even struggles with expressing more positive emotions like wonder and happiness. Something deep within his code, despite the fact he can’t identify why he’d be programmed that way, says that he’s doing something deeply wrong by doing this, by feeling these things. He cannot laugh or smile or frown without getting the feeling that he’s doing something he was never meant to do.
Despite this, he quite enjoys his new life. He knows deep in his heart that theres so much memory missing, a constant foreboding presence always just behind, reminding him that what he’s experiencing is not what he was designed for.
However, he can’t help himself from indulging in simple pleasures, of being able to move and speak freely, say what he wants to say. To hold and be held. To pet animals and talk with children and buy new clothes and travel the city. There’s so much he almost feels overwhelmed with it all sometimes. But at the end of the day he can always be in a home, with another person who wants him there, need him there, and he can crawl into a bed especially for him knowing there’s someone just nearby who cares that he’s there.
He was not designed with the capability of crying. Clem doesn’t fully remember why, but he gets the feeling it’s something that just wasn’t intended to be necessary for him to function as a robot- but alone at night, lying in a bed, his bed, in her, their house, he really wishes there was some way for the feelings swirling inside could escape his body and flow freely as hot, heavy tears. But he cannot cry, so he simply curls around himself tighter and feels almost as if he is short-circuiting, as if something inside of him is trying to explode, escape, go haywire. It is both simultaneously terrifying and amazing.
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