based on @appri-dot’s lemon demon-themed crew! from left to right: partygoer (you’re at the party), a n t s (spiral of ants), subject 027 and currently-unnamed feral scientist (lifetime achievement award).
The grandiose scale of the thing was something to behold.
Blinking lights, greebles, and interlocking arms of steel sat solemnly in silence. Heat rose off the giant metal structure like ripples in a pond. Aside from the occasional crunch of someone driving down the deserted road, all was silent. As it should be, and as he liked.
It, the machine, was off. He had only just completed the frame, after all. The mechanisms he built for the inside were loose, and all he had to do now, was put the entire thing together. It would be finished soon.
A million springs and spinning things is quite a view, ain't it?
He steps up to the side of this machine and lays his hand on it. To anyone else it would burn, but he trusts that it won't.
It doesn't.
He drags his left hand across the metal surface as he walks the perimeter of the structure. He inspects the outer mechanisms as he goes. Everything is in place.
He's drawn to a break in the organised chaos of the gears and pistons. A relatively small, flat, and metal wall stands before him. The centerpiece being a metal door with no handle. He stares at his reflection, brown tired eyes stare back, before he pushes on the door, and it opens with a click.
His eyes are met with darkness, and on instinct he pulls the night vision googles from atop his head over his eyes. They are practical and convenient, unlike something he's forgotten long ago. What he's replaced doesn't matter now. He wouldn't have forgotten it otherwise.
The only thing that matters is this machine. His work of art. His masterpiece. A result of his dream now shattered at his feet, but this is more. This is more than picking up scraps to find something good enough. This is the pinnacle of time itself.
He works on various sections of the machine, never lingering in place for too long.
He does and doesn't remember what the machine does.
It doesn't do anything.
It does everything.
He always liked making silly useless items. But this wasn't silly or useless. This was it.
Mac woke up cold and soaked. Sweat seeped into his fluffy pajama pants and tank top.
With a huff, the ginger sat himself up in bed, before grabbing the bottle of water he never finished on his bedside.
It wasn't ideal temperature, but it would have to do.
He's been having a lot of these Nightmares recently. Of him never joining his crew. Never going to space. Being stuck on his home planet forever. Building something to keep his mind off his crushed dream. Forgetting his name and everything he's loved in the process.
He glanced at his digital alarm clock which was set to go off a few hours from now. He really didn't want to go back to sleep. Having made his decision, the freckled man stretched, hopped out of bed, and got ready for the day.
Hopefully this is cohesive enough to understand! Just ask about stuff if it ain't, ha ha.
