There were rarely any tears left to shed, it became more of a courtesy if one or two could manage a few. They were dying, but how long could they live surviving on skeletons? Death breeds death, that was all he had gotten out of it. Cyberlife had put so much effort into making them look and feel real, their eyes were what sold the illusion. They blinked, their gaze wandered, they caught the light and could replicate any expression, but once they shut down, all that was left was the stiff mask of a doll. Sometimes in pain, sometimes in fear. The worst had to be the cold acceptance of the inevitable.
Simon swept his fingers gently over Tyler’s face, closing his eyes in the process. Now he looked human, the LED colourless and dead but his skin was still activated, and they could not lose colour like a corpse. He looked like he was sleeping.
The blue blood would be useless. Optical units could be salvaged. He glanced over to the fire they had burning, even if they didn’t need the heat, it was comforting and tended to draw those lost ones in. Lucy sat nearby, her skin unstable and eyes pitch. It had been touch and go for a while there after she arrived, but she had stabilized. She didn’t desperately need new units, but he would ask. He hoped she would say no.
The pump regulator was functional, the pump itself was shot. Tyler would complain constantly how it felt like it was glitching. It took too long to replace the blue blood and having to circulate the crystalized waste for so long was ultimately what had killed him.
His eyes trailed up to the wall in the corner, the etchings carved into the metal with a piece of scrap. Tyler wasn’t the first to arrive with the compulsion, he had seen several who would write. Some used rocks, some were so insistent that they would claw the markings into their chosen surface. All of them had been struggling with over-processed thirium.
And if things continued like this, it wouldn’t be long before the rest met the same fate.
“You are troubled.” Lucy stood over him, undeterred by the body he knelt beside. The others avoided this part of the process instinctively. It felt nicer to remember them still alive. Still in one piece .
He looked back to the WR400 (Tyler, his name was Tyler) beginning the deconstruction process, starting with the regulator. “The optical units are compatible for you,” he dodged her statement, avoiding eye contact all the while, “I know you never complain about your vision but-.”
Lucy’s ethereal gaze was initially quite off putting, but Simon had long determined it had little to do with how they actually appeared and more with how she seemed to look through everything. She had seen so much, experienced more than he would ever dare imagine and still made her way to Jericho, alone. She was designed to help others, like he was designed to care for others. He felt her presence as she settled beside him, something both calming and disconcerting. He couldn’t say he enjoyed it.
“Are you sure?” she spoke softly, but without a single inflection of emotion. It was nonjudgmental, designed specially for those on the edge. But Simon didn’t feel like he was teetering over an abyss. There was no danger of giving in, no effort in hanging on. Rather he felt as though he was being crushed, and nothing he could do or she could say could make it any better.
“No,” his voice wavered, barely above a whisper. He stared at the lifeless face, reaching to the dead LED, a gentle hand laying over his before he could. Reflexively, he ripped his hand away from her’s, only retroactively aware that she had made no attempt to connect with him. The anger quickly simmering out to embarrassment, Simon avoiding Lucy’s gaze entirely.
“You stand alone in a crowd, too afraid to look back. Too afraid to take a step forward. Afraid of the past you know, and afraid of the future you don’t, you exist in the space between time, the observer.”
Simon remained silent, proceeding with his duty, removing the skin, watching the face melt away to reveal the doll beneath.
“How do you expect to lead when you can’t choose your own path?” It sounded like chastisement if it wasn’t so flat; as if she was scolding a stubborn child who hadn’t quite broken a rule, but was still remaining difficult.
“You are what they need you to be. That iswho you are.”
