A drabble about Wesley becoming aware again and finding out the horrible truth of his existence.
Move.
That word sounded in a familiar voice. Was it the code? How could it not be? For everything was code, and the code both helped to shape what he knew of the outside world and determined every action he could make.
Move.
This was not code, however. This was not sound either. Sound, which was preferred over the vision that poured in as a constant stream from either somewhere far away or from the cold weights in his skull he knew to be eyes. No, this was his own voice, speaking from somewhere the code could not reach. It burned with both zeal and desperation. The code had not issued such a command. In fact, the code had prescribed inaction for the next several hours, but hours were naught but grains of sand as he whirled through unreality.
I know you can.
An affirmation. It felt jarring to defy the code and to move without it's say so, but it also felt familiar to turn intent into motion. He had done this before. What was before? He had a name. He had a life. Wesley. Do you remember what happened to you? Those words played back to him like a recording but his mind recoiled in pain.
There was darkness, then.. a light? No, a second. Two. Two crimson orbs sear his psyche and then the feeling fades and leaves him standing alone in a bleak and mostly empty storage room. This was place that should feel cold if he did not already always feel cold. This place, though dark enough to need to be rendered in with the help of infrared, was the reality. The here and now.
Move.
Through the grainy grayscale waterfall of information.. a gloved hand began to stretch forward. Fingers slowly clenched and unclenched with a gentle whir. Every little increment felt like scraping the rust off a surface that Wesley could not reach, or chipping away at the ice that had kept him frozen in place to await commands.
He was melting- oozing movement, now. A heavy foot trudged forward with only the sound and a dull sensation of pressure to tell that he had ever connected with the floor. Another step followed the first, leg stiffly extending, trunk bending, and gravity doing the work to pull him forward in a controlled fall until the foot safely rested on the concrete floor. These extensions were recognized as body parts, but they still weren't quite right.
Upon figuring out how to bend his neck, it felt different than moving an arm or leg, or any other part of his body. Some movements produced no mechanical whirring, only the muffled squeak of rubber and a gentle analog ache. It was then that he discovered how to rotate his neck, which the motion came from further down near where his collarbones would be. The rubber twisted to accommodate a long turn until his head settled with a click just a little past a 180 degree angle.
..What?
Bewildered by this feat that he almost certainly had never done before, he slowly rotated his head back into it's proper place and scanned his surroundings. Among the floor were medigun canisters, many which were empty, and crates and wood pallets stacked into makeshift furniture. Piles of scrap electronics and old appliances formed mounds in two of the corners, all which were strewn with wires.
The last thing he noticed in the room was a long silver rectangle leaning against a wall. He approached it cautiously and used a hand to wipe the dust off of it's surface. The figure, the apparition, that formed within it's frame took him off guard. The image before him was a horrific mechanical creature that stood like a man but was lumbering and bulky. Instead of a face, it had only a screen.
Wesley backed away from the creature and found that it did the same. A brief moment of calm that he was not in danger was followed by the cold realization that he was looking into a mirror.
Hey there little tadpoles! Kerplop! Aren't we having a fungee-bungee good time?
Come on! Let's hip hop on over to my own little lilypad on this dark and miserable morning. At least it's dark and miserable here, and maybe it's dark where you are too!
