As I wrung the damp from my hair, I prepared myself for what I would find throughout my unattended tour. Slums, slaves, the forlorn howls of starving masses? I have seen it all. When curiosity finally beckoned me into the belly of this subterranean labyrinth, seemingly forgotten by time, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that utterly wrenched the breath from my lungs.

At the end of a long incline who's poured concrete walls were stained with the green of lichen, a dull hive of voices became apparent as I drew near, the melody acting as a guide. As I progressed, I mapped the uncharted territory digitally in my mind until I came across a catwalk circling a high ceiling mired in a thick blanket of smoke, not unlike the polluted streets of Earth viewed from my bastion up high so many decades ago.

It seemed neither time nor war would change Human’s fascination with neon advertisements and their crude animations draped ubiquitously like Christmas decorations. Paired with noise and languages spoken in foreign tongues, I could never have deciphered a meaning amid this sensory overload.

With all this Chaos... Decay... and suffering...

Somehow, I found something beautiful...

Stepping through a set of rust encrusted blast-doors, I was met with a festive scene, the atmosphere; cacophonous, nauseating, yet charming. To take in the bombardment of stimulus would be more than overwhelming. Suicide via euphoria? Maybe. But I couldn’t be brought to my knees just yet. I've seen some pretty convincing smiles in the deepest most depraved layers of hell, pity what happened to the Tour Guide once I discovered an encampment I chanced in my travels to be a front for Slavers trafficking Orphans of War.

For a time I had yet to notice an unsettling domino-effect, gathering the eyes of every resident, but the moment I caught the faint dribble of a child's curious whisper, an unsettling chill washed over me.

("She's the new big-sister...?")

I couldn’t possibly be smiling at a time like this, could I? I've worn a mask for far too long, to let my guard down... to feel something, anything felt so foreign, so incompatible that my legs refused to move against my conscious pleading not to make a scene.

My sinuses began to burn, welling up from my throat I could sense tears beginning to form. This warmth of a hearth, this safety, felt so undeserved. If by something short of a miracle that this place is not an elaborate form of entrapment, would I be punished for entertaining a whimsical longing to call this place my home?

If I could just… touch this exposed power-conduit, it may be enough to make me forget everything… to make me stop feeling the enigma churning violently inside my chest... to start anew...

“Betta watch ya-self!!” A shrill voice of a child jeered from above.

With a bemused sigh, I looked to the jungle of corroded ventilation tubes and infrastructure and prepared to speak, only to find myself chasing ghosts. As I closely examined the possible maneuvers required to navigate a silent escape, I awaited Logic to chime in with a needless factoid likening the children to primates or something to the effect of pulling my head out of my ass.

But that persistent voice in my head was nowhere to be found. Without Logic,

*BANG-BANG-BANG!*

I was caught off guard by the sound of singing blades echoing out from behind. To my rear, a storefront sporting festive paper lanterns and colorful rope lights had been drawing in a pool of residents, piquing my curiosity. As I drew near, a slew of grumbling insults increased in frequency at a rate inconsistent with the patrons overloading the front’s wooden bench. Oxidized and marbling the countertop in a crimson stain, a butcher’s cleaver dripped with its recent victim; a lump of fatty marbled flesh of origins I could not discern.

At first I was at a loss as to why the man appeared so agitated, but as soon as he tapped on the top of the small pyramid-shaped device with the back end of a large ladle, I realized the man sourced his scorn from an antiquated Media-Icon known as an IHSMA.

“In home security media assistant.” I spoke absentmindedly to the effect of ‘all eyes on me’.

“Say what now?” The young man grumbled, rolling his irksome gaze in my direction.

“That device you have there. I suppose it’s Lost-Tech to you, it’s a controller with an A.I used to operate household appliances and ...stuff.”

“Oh yeah? You hear that, Trinket?” The young man snidely chortled as he smacked the device with his ladle. “Tch. A sun-dial could do a better job without so much lip...”

Subconsciously, I readied my hand to stay the abuse to the nostalgic device as tension knotted in my chest. Thankfully, before I could be pressed further to react, the power indicator light flickered weakly as the topside projector wheezed life to the faded hologram of an A.I Sprite.

“Good grief!" The man huffed, “We’ve got a special Customer, Trink, yet you’ve left me to manage the coffee-maker and the stove, and one of those grubby handed brats stole my favorite cleaver! ”

As the man folded his arms and hinted towards a thin power line with his thumb, I traced the spliced ends to be the source in which the A.I derived its energy while the little wingless pixie zoomed up to meet me at eye level.

“H-Hey! Where are your identifier markings? I almost mistook you for a Human!”

Raising its voice as if it were trying to clear its throat against the worn voice-modulator, the glowing nymph further intensified the spotlight searing into my shoulders. In response to the sudden accusation, the young man's features softened into something reminiscent of interest until ultimately, he pressed me with a dubious question I've always been leery of answering on the off chance remnants of the Collection Agency still exist.

“Identifier markings?” I repeated with a distant hope that my poor ability to replicate genuine confusion would not come off as an idiot’s lisp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ehehe~haaha~ (Kill me)!”

“You know, antenna blades for years, an auxiliary cable for a tail, crazy body markings and the oh~so promiscuous barcode! I did a scan, didn't find one. You seem like the type that would have one below the belt.”

“And where did you get this idea I should have any of those?” I choked, swatting down a small pair of hands belonging to two half-pint ninjas tugging on my pleated skirt.

With my annoyance reinvigorated by the cocky smirk of the A.I flittering in front of my face, I cracked a bitter smile while shooting a dagger-like glare between my eyelids.

“Cause you’re a Lilim, and one who can’t lie worth a shit, Darling~♪!”

Distilled silence permeated the remnants of the former mob. Still surrounded on either side preventing my escape, the Butcher robbed my attention with a smile glinting through the wafting vapors of sizzling grease.

“Eh, is that right? You're the Chick Slate’s been rambling on about a few nights ago.” The young man grunted as he resumed his kitchen duties. “I can't imagine that you wouldn't be hungry after your long journey... and dealing with Slate. You do get hungry right? I suppose you’d be a fine candidate for tonight’s ‘Floater', and even if you're not; it's already paid for so what's there to lose?"

Having been offered a raised stool by an elderly lady in a floral dress, the murmurs of the dwindling crowd left an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach as their numbers ultimately faded into solitude.

I could sense eyes in the distance, fixating on my position from every direction. For the first time, the immeasurably strong under-armor, what’s left of it, failed to live up to how vulnerable I felt even if they were in all likelihood; unarmed civilians.

“This sure changes things, huh, Boss?” The A.I Sprite giggled while growing physically in size to the length of my forearm as if to reinforce its mythical prescience against the infantile era of the industrial world. “Slate, and now this odd duck! Makes you wonder if robots could pop out kids, what sorta’ state would you Humans be in right about now? We robots could rise up and KILL YOU ALL, Eeheehee!!”

A soon as I opened my mouth to refute the such an absurd notion, I found a bowl of soup spun precariously along the countertop which demanded my swift intervention to prevent it from careening over the edge.

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ ᴘᴀɪʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜsᴇʀ ɪᴅ: 'ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ' ᴇsᴛᴀʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ]

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: (ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ): ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ. ɪɴ ғᴀᴄᴛ, ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀɴ ɪʟʟᴇɢᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴏᴅɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇ.]

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ - ᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴜsᴇʀ: ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ]

Growling in spite of my attempt at privacy, the Fairy wafted its holographic arm through my nose aggressively.

“G-G-G! Unlike you, Integrated A.I’s have Personality Profiles, so it’s up to our owners to choose how we behave, even if it is custom! At least I have an excuse for my attitude- it's; F~U~C~K being some censored homebody! What’s your defense for illegally tampering with your identity?”

Without examining the contents, I stirred the bowl as a distraction towards the insurmountable time it required to adequately explain the modifications performed by my Master.

“I’m a prototype, one of a kind. Do you know what that means my mass-marketed friend?”

“Mass-marketed my sugar-plum ass! I doubt many others of my build survived this long! Cole here’s been given me the juice so long as I sing for his customers, so to that matter, I am far more genuine than you are!”

[sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅɪᴀʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɢᴏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴄʜ ᴏʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.] I spoke aloud over a wide-broadcast frequency, infecting every functional loudspeaker with the crassness of a private thought for everyone in the marketplace to hear.

Spooked by the omnipresent voice, a wave of silence washed over the entire marketplace, but thanks to Cole's intervention, I could recollect myself in time to examine the contents suspended in the oily liquid swirling about my spoon.

“Soup’s getting cold, hmm?”

I wouldn’t say I was disappointed in the flavor, I could have very well turned off my sense of taste as I had done many times before. For all the trepidation and its off-putting gamey scent, the thick broth was nothing to write home about, just having something warm in my empty stomach was enough to squeak out a hum of satisfaction.

As I drew near the bottom of the bowl, I felt a sudden jolt ripple through the levee I placed around my heart. Staining the countertop and inadvertently diluting the soup with tears, I found myself at a total loss for a reason to this fitful constraint threatening to collapse in its entirety.

“Heya Boss, I think you broke our robot-friend with your shitty cooking...”

“You didn't hit a bone or something?” Cole slumped in defeat as he maneuvered to retrieve my bowl for inspection.

He would come to find out that I would not so much as budge a millimeter as I methodically brought the spoon to my lips for a final time. As the spoon clattered against the bottom of the clay bowl, I concealed my shame beneath my bangs in a pardoning bow.

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ - 'ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ': ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇs? ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ᴡʜᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴅɪsᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! ɪᴛ's ɢᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍsɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛ- ᴇᴠᴇɴ sʟᴀᴛᴇ!]

Keeping the private connection aloof, I found a silent corner in the dwindling amalgam of colorful lights near an alley dense with shadows and wire. As I folded my hands over my stomach waiting for the memory that matched these emotions to surface, somewhere in my heart I knew it would never come to pass.

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: (ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ): ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴄᴏʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜᴘ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏғ... sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ. ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ… ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢᴇ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇsᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ.]

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: ɪᴅ - ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ: ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀsᴛᴀʀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ! ᴛᴄʜ, ɪᴛ ɪsɴ’ᴛ sᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴇғɪɴᴇᴅ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ, ʜᴜʜ? sᴛɪʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴘ!]

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: (ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ): ɪ’ʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛɪᴘ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ, ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ… ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɴᴅ sɪɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ?]

[ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: ɪᴅ - ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ: ᴏʜ, sᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀs sɪɴɢɪɴɢ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɢʟɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴘᴏᴏɴ! ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ~! ɪ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴛᴜɴᴇ sᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴅᴜᴄᴇ ᴀ sᴀɪʟᴏʀ, sᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ! ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ʜᴇʟᴅ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsɪʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴋɪᴅs ʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴛɪᴄᴋᴇʀs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴀʟʟ ᴀsʟᴇᴇᴘ!]

Wearily chucking to myself as I slid to my rear, I then surveyed the shadows with my thermal vision for any would-be ninjas lurking overhead.

"No promises, Trinket... they never end well with me." I murmured as my consciousness left me.

Another dreamless night.

If only I could see the stars.

[ᴘʀɪᴍᴀ͟ʟ ᴏs: ᴏᴠᴇʀ-ᴠᴏʟᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ! ᴇʀʀᴏ̴ʀ:̸ ̨327̴191 ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴜɴᴄᴛ̸ɪ̵ᴏɴ!]

[ғǫ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜᴇʀɴ sᴛᴀʀ ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʟᴏssᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʟʟɪᴇs ᴇᴀʀʟɪᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴀʟɪɢɴᴇᴅ ᴍɪʟɪᴛɪᴀ.]

[ғǫ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ: ɪᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴ.s ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄɪᴘᴀʟ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀɪʟʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴏғ ɪʟʟ-ᴇǫᴜɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴍɪʟɪᴛᴀʀɪᴢᴇᴅ-ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ʀᴇsᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʀᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʀᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇsᴛ; ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴄɪᴇɴᴛɪғɪᴄ ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ғɪʀᴍs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀsɪᴀʟ "ɪᴠᴏʀʏ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ" ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ sᴜᴘᴇʀ-sᴛʀᴜᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ; ʟɪɢʜᴛғᴀʟʟ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsɪᴛʏ.]

[ғǫ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ: ᴛʜɪs ᴊᴜsᴛ ɪɴ! ᴡᴇ’ᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ғᴏx ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀsᴛɪʟʟɪᴀɴ ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀs ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇɴᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍʙɪɴᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟɪᴇғ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜᴇʀɴ sᴛᴀʀ’s ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴅᴇғᴇɴsᴇ! ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛғᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇɢᴀ-ɪɴsᴛɪᴛᴜᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ɪɴ ʀᴜɪɴs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴠᴀɢᴜᴇ ᴄᴏɴғɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴡᴇʟʟɪɴɢs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇᴅᴜᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜʙʙʟᴇ! ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟᴛɪᴇs ᴇsᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅs! ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴜɴᴀɴsᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛ; ᴡʜʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴜɴɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғɪᴀʙʟᴇ ɢᴜᴇʀɪʟʟᴀ ғɪɢʜᴛᴇʀs ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛʟʏ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ!?]

“That’s enough of that.” A gentle voice soothed as my eyes began to crest open. “Have you lost your way, little sheep? Putting up with this dreadful draft, and you’ve left your Radio open? You mustn’t punish yourself, Lost-Child.”

Rubbing my eye socket and clearing the endless error log that had been playing out in the background, I found Habu's grisly mug staring down at me.

“My apologies. I did not mean to frighten you with my sudden arrival.” He bowed, garbed in a ghastly shadow that only served to further his skeletal facial features.

“I was half-expecting Slate or one of those grubby mitten kids that seem to have taken an interest in me. ”

“Shall I retrieve Slate then, Miss?”

“Oh- hell, err, I mean no-no! You’re actually a sight for sore eyes, Habu. What brings you to my cozy little pocket of mildew?”

Forcing myself to my feet and padding down the folds of my oversized button-up, I struggled to maintain focus as a thorn from my past continued to bleed me dry.

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏᴡ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ - ᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇᴅ]

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: ᴘᴇʀsɪsᴛᴇɴᴛ ʀᴇᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ - ɪɴᴏᴘ. ᴇxᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀɴᴇss ʀᴇᴏ̨ᴜɪʀᴇᴅ.]

“First; I am present to inform you that if you leave your Bunk unoccupied for too long, our Leader will offer it to another member of the community. If you were unable to find it through Slate’s instructions, I can send you a layout over a manual connection. Again, my apologies, my ADHOC chip has been malfunctioning for quite some time, wireless data transfer is unreliable… and I am... aware of how… intimate a wired connection can be for some people.”

“Sound’s like you’ve been through that routine before. Let me take a gander whose caused you some trouble; was it Slate?”

“A fair assessment, though you need not remind me of, Miss.”

“Awh, so there is a bit of the bashful trait in that old personality profile, huh, Habu?” I teased nudging his solid body with my elbow through his well-kempt suit.

“Might I ask you to please refrain from such whimsical suggestions? I, like you, have the same Enigma Heart software used in the development of Lilim-Class Androids and their personalities… Though the algorithm is a significantly dated revision, my emotions are unique and as tangible as other Synthetic.”

“That’s a bit interesting, why would a pre-Lilim service android need such a complex mentality? The Enigma Heart doesn't allow manual editing and adjustment of specific traits, so wouldn't that be detrimental if you got a high degree of resentment for your Masters?”

“I suppose there is that chance, but on the other hand, not being programmed to explicitly serve provides a more genuine service of course. Perhaps we are not unlike one another as you stated previously; a Prototype. I am a limited run Alpha Model- built to serve the wealthiest Elite ... to be more specific, the sort of clientele hailing from Mars.”

“Ah, Martian Royalty, that explains everything. You know, for the longest time, I thought I was the only Creator in existence. I’m not entirely sold on Slate, or him having some-odd years on me. If there are any more Lilims or Androids, is it safe to assume their N-Drives and memories are lost to time?”

“Not quite,” Habu stated as he guided us out of the market district. “Replacements and hardware failure are to be expected with multifaceted technology built with the intent to last a single Human Life-Span. I’m rather impressed to see you’re running your OEM Hardware, but I assume that is out of necessity due to your proprietary system’s incompatibility with replacements.”

Concealing another glare towards the invisible elephant in the room stating its hunger for energy in the form of an irritating buzz deep within my skull, I kept close to Habu's side as he gestured to each of the logistical signage like an otherworldly tour-guide.

[ɢᴘs ɴᴏᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴏғ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ - ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ]

[ɴᴏᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ɴᴏᴡ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴄᴜsᴛᴏᴍ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ғᴏᴏᴅ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛ]

[ɴᴏᴛᴇ 1: ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅ ᴛʀɪɴᴋᴇᴛ's sᴏɴɢ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.]

[ɴᴏᴛᴇ 2: ʙᴇᴡᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴀɴᴅsʏ ᴋɪᴅs.]

Stopping before an elevator shaft as if lost in thought, Habu, for an obscure reason, looked down to me from his slender stature with an intense, albeit harmless glare.

“Now that you've acclimated a little, our Leader who is, ah… how should I say; is a 'specialized' service android whose memories are quite intact. If it’s information you seek of our Lost-Era, then it is in your interest to stay on her good side. I don't mean to assume your intentions on why you have decided to stay for the time being, but our interactions have been quite pleasant, so I thought this information may serve you well. ”

Rattled by the proposal that I may have the slightest chance to regain a fraction of what I have lost, I found myself unable to control the shrill peak in my voice.

“S-Seriously?! Then I need to speak with her right away! Maybe she can-!!”

“S-She has already sent me to fetch you, Lost-Child” Habu stammered in light of my enthusiasm. “But as one distinguished warrior to another; Please do not submit inquiries of your own so hastily. You will possibly get such a chance to delve for the information you seek in the near future… This is more of a – Hmm~?”

“I get it, one of ‘those’ types!” I jested with a wink towards the subtle wincing grin mirrored over Habu’s fleshless face. “I’m fine with a meet-n-greet! I suppose ‘Take me to your leader!’ should be appropriate, no?”

Holding a virtual finger over a virtual trigger, I readied my Forge to produce a flea-sized Data-Bug device with the intent of data-mining this would-be Machiavellian's Neural Drive, but before I could follow through with my scheming, Habu once again caught me off guard.

“We’re already here, Lost-Child. Just step inside the elevator carriage, and it will take you exactly where you need to be.”

“Where I need to be, he says,” I muttered as I held my breath for the third instance, moments before a chemical spray jettisoned from every corner of the narrow elevator carriage.

“Is this really necessary! I’m not radioactive anymore, it’s well within safe levels!”

*PHSSSSh!!!*

“*COUGH-ACK!* It's in my mouth!! Why does it have to taste like hand-soap?!”

With the lingering bitter mist clinging to my eyes and numbing the depths of my throat, the insult to injury revealed itself to be a mortal wound pride. Disheveled from toe to head, the damp edges of the oversized clothing clotted together making it impossible to fold and tuck the hems away effectively ruining any chance of regaining the professionalism drilled into my head since my youth.

That's not to say I would give in, I was never allowed to reveal such a weakness even in my emulated dreams when they too were put under a microscope. As I compiled the remains of my frustration to shape a suggestively pressurized composure, the cart stopped, and as soon as the lattice doors parted, I stepped forward into what appeared to be a well-preserved casino parlor.

I was immediately left double-struck by the parlor's historical accuracy and the sheer level of detail with a startling lack of patrons.

“Creator Unit FR4G-1LE, standing by as per your request…”

Stating my presence with an authoritative tone, I stood at rest. Hands folded behind my back, feet spaced apart within not but a millimeter for error, my bones refuted the goosebumps crawling over my skin coinciding with the 'tick-tack' strike pattern of high-heels alerting an approach from the rear.

“Zayavit' o svoyey tseli…” A woman’s voice greeted with a tenor more akin to a cocktail waitress trying to hustle a tip out of a patron than Habu's gaucherie seeded in the bed of my imagination

[ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: 'ʀᴜssɪᴀɴ' sᴜᴄᴄᴇssꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ! ᴇʀʀᴏʀ, ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀsᴇ ʀᴏssᴇᴛᴛᴀ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ. 'ʀᴜssɪᴀɴ' ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ!]

Screaming internally as my eyes cowered in their sockets, the heel-sole rhythmic footfalls continued to draw near until the carpet muted their approach.

With all my resilience I could muster, I continued to face forward like a statue as I virtually bashed the sector of data housing the Translator software, praying a little rough persuasion would barter even a partial translation.

[ᴜsᴇʀ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ @ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ- ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ, ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀʏ! ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ, sᴏ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʜɪɴᴛ!]

“Vy tupoy ili eta mocha bezhit po vashey noge?”

In a flash, my internal pleas were hushed when an overly-soft hand unexpectedly glided through my skirt, pushing the fabric through my legs as dog would tuck its tail. From there, the hand traced down from my inner thigh to my ankle.

Biding back the war raging from within, not a single drop of perspired freon would leave my brow. On the postulation that I was in the presence of yet another Creator, her hands may as well be utilized in taking measurements, temperature, and composition.

Nevermind the terrible bed-manner, I've been told many times that I've been cold when emotions were no longer suitable to surviving the environment. It's just... what sort of data could possibly be hidden away in my undergarments!?

“Un visage impassible, un corps sans réaction. Vous n'êtes pas meilleur qu'un cadavre pour moi, alors quel plaisir devrions-nous avoir?

That's French I'd recognized from Lotte, and instantly I knew that is just what I needed to formulate a windfall!

[ᴀᴜᴛᴏ ᴛs: ꜰʀᴇɴᴄʜ - ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴘᴀssɪᴠᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ, ᴀ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏʀᴘsᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, sᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?]

Overwhelmed with the possibilities of a poor deciphering and the ongoing molestation, all I could manage was a high-pitched squeak as I pulled away to turn and face the would-be molester.

There was a sparkle of refracted light, almost imperceptibly translucent to the checkerboard background of the billiard room in the distance, but more urgently, the area all around me remained vacant.

“For someone who has made it this far on reckless will and unguided faith, you sure are incredibly calm for having a blade poised to strike your backside.”

Again, I jumped to face the derisive suggestion armed with every scan and optical mode that remained functional. When no sign of hidden speakers, miniaturized Helper-Droids or anything alluding to the location of the Deviant could be discerned from both the back and foreground, I slowly backpedaled into the nearest corner intent on protecting myself from another unconventional assault.

“If this is some sort of test, speak now. By forcing me to retaliate as part of some game, I’ll be sure to leave a lasting impression.”

“Ooh, that gave me goosebumps! You're collected and still calculating my actions even when you’re at a major disadvantage. That’s to be expected, I suppose, with Lilims of your type. Really, I was hoping for something more… promiscuous... that's not to say you aren't equal to the packaging! Must a sharp blade be cradled with tension? I’d like to think not! It’s far more fun when you put on a skillful display!”

“Tension in itself is inert. The potential outcome; Kinetic Energy, is a far more persuasive tool, and I’d be so inclined to show you if you reveal yourself!”

“Oh and I agree! But tension has many uses as it is in line with the balance of the world. If you will liken it to salt, pain should be sprinkled sparingly and never made a dish unto itself unless served to your enemies... but if you keep it at arms reach, those negative emotions serve to enhance the pleasure. Just how could one exist without the other? Lest we are in heaven or hell; perhaps we're already dead, and awareness is not apart of the scheme!"

“And tasteless euphemisms should be used sparingly! Or have I misunderstood this drivel as some sort of challenge? Let’s get this exchange over with. It's been decades since I've been in the mood for games!”

“Tsk-tsk. Instant gratification and rewarding your rebellious tiff is far too short lived and quite the opposite of what I intend to do as you've yet to pull the knife from your back! As for games, in the grand scheme of things, we’re likely playing one already; with the definition of life being so loose and all… God forgot to mention it’s both fun, unfair, unjust, uncouth and forever unpredictable~! Why should my introduction be anything but what I desire it to be if I'm in the position to persuade your every action!?”

Loosely applying the implication that my optics had been hacked, I reached around my backside and felt nothing resembling a hilt or blade, let alone any clue that my Firewalls had been breached.

“Whatever you’re playing at, it’s not working. I doubt you even have a Cyber-Warfare Suite capable of breaking down my barriers. My Master insured that would never be a threat given the nature of these hands.”

Raising the hairs on the back of my neck, a whisper drifted a mere inch from my ear, but by then it was too late to realize I’ve been had.

“Then why don’t we use those hands! That’s a good way to start...”

How could I have predicted a manual connection rooted in the base of my neck of all things would have been my downfall? Had I thought for a moment outside of what is commonly possible with technology, I might have foreseen the Optical Camouflage bumbling nearby in a translucent outline similar to that of a cheap Halloween Ghost's costume.

[ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴀᴜxɪʟɪᴀʀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀʀɪᴅᴇ!]

[ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ: ᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇᴅ!]

Unable to resist the stiffening of my limbs, I fell to my knees utterly limp as the victor unveiled itself from beneath the light refracting blanket now dazzling in the light of the bubble-globes lining the cieling.

Fish-Nets, a fluffy pom-pom tail. A subtle grin vague enough to squeeze between the lines of malicious intent and blissful ecstasy. The owner, the fictitious Machiavellian Nightmare brought to life; resembling something akin to my own age, sporting a relevant Cocktail-Bunny outfit.

Without a word more, she knelt down before me with great care to her posture before cradling my jaw between both hands as if to discern something from my features.

“You get a star for effort, as for the execution; tsk-tsk! I'm not even a hardened for combat like yourself. ”

“Hurry up and tell me your name so I don’t need to address my fists to ‘whom it may concern’.”

“Oh dear, you’re still a spitfire even though I control every portion of your body? I could have you hit yourself, but that’s rather childish... In your heart, you must know you've been defeated, I mean; if I must I could reconfigure your endorphins to go into overdrive! Just think how good a kiss might feel! Raises the hair on the back of your neck, doesn’t it? Normally an Operator doesn’t have access to those sub-routines, only an external Operator with the special know-how could find and modify those precious float-values!”

“Pain, pleasure, it matters not what you do to me. My memories are fading, today will be forgotten with the rest. By all means, do your worst... even if they are made of plastic... all things decay...”

“Moh, you’re really no fun!” The girl pouted inflating her cheeks in a manner characteristically to that of her floppy-eared costume. “We haven’t even set a safe word, and you’re already crying foul! Fine- introductions! My name is Tesla and I’m the Mayor of this commune! God, you are so much worse than the stick-in-the-mud Slate warned me about - Kill-Joy, Wet-Blanket! Wah~~! I totally lost our little wager! Damn him!!”

“Mayor? Commune?" I retraced as rift of pungent memories surfaced with their similarities. "I suppose that is one way to run this joint, but if we're done playing games why not cut to the chase and tell me what you want, or better yet, disconnect from me and let's go for round two. After I'm done with you, Slate is next - and maybe Habu for not adequately warning me about you - you perverted rabbit!”

“We went from skip the foreplay to prude virgin! I’m not normally one to bend, but if it will keep you from screeching, fine~, so long as its a truce! Just don’t come at me the moment I unplug you!”

[ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴀᴜxɪʟɪᴀʀʏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ- ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ. ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ – ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴄᴏᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇᴛʀᴀɪɴ]

Feeling the snap of the tapered Gen.2 Aux cables implanted into the base of my neck, a sheet of crimson water washed over me in a fit of instinct and reaction. There was no rage, no fear, just a grip on her slender neck that began to build to the strength in which bones, even those of the synthetic sort, would begin to fracture.

Electronic pointers demonstrated precisely where my fingers needed to grip in order to merely silence a voice or to take it a step further and potentially how long it would take until death comes knocking. With all the cybernetic, holographic and extra-sensory aid that had seen me through the harshest of times, nothing could prepare me to counter the pained flailing and vivid expression of Tesla's distress.

What am I doing…?

Could this be Logic's intervention, queued just before maintenance mode..?

It feels like this has happened before, in a dream lost to time.

I can remember feeling so incredibly weak, so vulnerable; this was the easiest way to make it stop, to take away the warmth, the spark and replace it with cold, silence and peace.

“Pardon my intervention, Lost-Child… Fragile... If you do not cease your aggression against our Leader- I will be forced to retaliate even though I am aware I cannot possibly win. I apologize for her transgressions and offenses she has caused you, pleasantries are all I can offer. I will not ask again, and I am prepared to give my life in order to stop you from removing the linchpin that holds our Home, Alexandria, together. ”

Habu’s voice bit into me like an icy fang, though it did little in the way of easing up on my hostage, now streaming a narrow river of tears. At some point, I realized I had no control over my actions, it was as if I were looking through a telescopic lens; but with my heart and mind being separate entities from my body, I could do nothing to persuade it to let go.

[ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ ᴏs: ʟᴏɢɪᴄ sʏsᴛᴇᴍ - ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛ sᴜᴄᴄᴇssғᴜʟ]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ'ᴅ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ᴀᴅᴠᴏᴄᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs; ʙᴜᴛ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪss ᴍᴇ, ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ? ᴇ̯̤͔̀ʜᴇ̼̩ʜ̢͚ᴇ͍̠~̢̹♥̬͕̀! ]