My sleepless nights have been inexplicably plagued with fidgeting bodies, drawn upright in webs of charcoal for as long as I can remember. They walk like us, interact with one another, all without words. I’ve been seeing them more frequently throughout my aimless journey, but I haven’t the courage to ask who or what they are. Sometimes, they take me by the hand including me in their shadowy charades, and resistance often proves futile.

No matter how I come to find these visions, it almost always ends the same. There's an expectation of waking up, although I never do. I just fall into a more profound state of lucid slumber until time decides to backtrack where it had abandoned me.

Occasionally, I'll have some indication of the ritual used to summon these seemingly harmless spirits, be it an apparent forecast as a string of errors or a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

But not this time.

As I leaned against one of the many faceless corridors struggling to catch my ever elusive breath, a lone Specter came to my rescue just as the strength in my knees gave way. With care and precision, the featureless being caught me by the underarm, inexplicably shedding a portion of its mantle of static in the process.

“You alright, Skipper? I’m trying not to be insulting when I say this, but; you seriously look like shit…”

It's voice… Its... familiar...

Those words came from the being clutching my arm, the same being that was partly responsible for a sudden spike of ice-cold adrenaline.

Disregarding 'what' was actually asked of me, it was the voice and face piercing the inky black veil that brought about roll of shivers.

Both thoughtlessly and breathlessly, the answer I gave in return must have slipped from my subconscious in an effort to root my place in reality; a means of pinching myself awake.

“Who are… you?”

It wasn't, 'Where am I?' nor, 'What's happening?' nor anything else close to what I was already painfully aware of, but before I could open my mouth to correct myself, Slate’s reaction added another unexpected layer of perplexity just as the static retreated into oblivion.

“Did you lose yourself again, or is there an unseen reason to be wandering the Men’s living quarters after curfew? Gee little Sis, must I hold your hand through everything?!”

“EH...!?!”

To add insult to injury, my reaction only served to further this perturbing scenario, which in turn, closed the cycle of perpetual confusion that provoked my Cyberbrain's lengthy string of errors.

“Come on now, let’s get you something to eat. You’re probably too fatigued to even remember what you got out of bed for. Come-come, take my hand...”

For the first time, I saw his smile not backed by an ego, resentment or humility. It was indeed genuine, and as Slate intended to sell me this story for purposes beyond all logic and reasoning, he wholeheartedly placed himself in this baffling state of mind without hesitance.

What, for my sake?

Is there something to be gained in return?

How will I be taken advantage of this time?

Am I paying some form of compensation for the soup from the other night?

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɴᴜʟʟ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ-ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴀɴʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ɪʟʟɪᴄɪᴛ sᴜʙsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ-ᴡᴏʀᴋ. ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɢᴜᴇssɪɴɢ, ɪ'ᴍ sᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ᴅᴏɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴊᴇᴡᴇʟs.]

“What with that shameful look? Finally realizing you’re too old to hold your Brother’s hand?” Slate simpered, retrieving my attention before I could reexamine the contents of an automated diagnostic prompt clinging to my vision.

Since an adequate response would not come quick enough, I rolled with the punches by meeting his eyes with a clueless glare. But for curiosity's sake and an unhealthy lethargic hangover, I took Slate's hand knowing this rabbit hole may very well have been crafted due to the consequences of yesterday.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʀᴜɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ-ᴅɪsᴄ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ!? ᴍᴏʀᴏɴ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ sᴄᴀɴ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ!? ɪ'ᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪɴᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs!]

“So, what were you doing out of your dorm past curfew?” Slate purred as he intentionally pivoted us away from the T-Junction leading towards the Dormitory Wing. “We were just going over the rules with the Mayor two days ago! Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”

There are times where I can appreciate having a body disconnected from the mind, now was one of them disregarding the nagging in the base of my skull. If he had felt my hesitation and where Logic picked up the reigns just then, this ploy would have been over already.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴏᴏᴏʜ~ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛᴡᴏ ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴀʏs…? ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴊᴜsᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ᴄʟᴏᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇɴsᴀᴛᴇ!]

At Slate's mention of the Mayor, the last clear memory cut to a still frame of my tightly wound fingers wringing Tesla's feeble neck. Just what could have transpired on that ill-fated night to justify Slate's rather... genuine... and unwarranted treatment towards me? Just how far could I stray without triggering a proverbial landmine?

I'll have to settle for the placebo; an answer in the form of a medley of scents permeating the halls, but in all likeliness, it was merely my broken body deciding to voice its priorities. My spontaneous statement, “I’m hungry!”, was just as suddenly shushed to just above a whisper.

“Quiet! It's called curfew for a reason. Normally I leave a soup floating on a tab at Mr. Sugimoto’s, but they’ve buttoned the Market District for the night. If you stay real quiet, I’ll take you up to the top-floor.”

“Will there be food?” Logic vocalized in my stead.

“Certainly. But if we're to get anywhere near the upper deck of the Hanger let alone around the A.I that guards the halls on the few floors below, you must be absolutely silent. No shoes, no whispering, reflexes like a dog.”

At the sight of my raised brows, Slate stifled a corrective cough. “Alright- friggin cats! It's not that I don't like them - they just don’t like me for some reason! Must you be so anal~lytical! Alight! Fine! We need reflexes like a cat! That idiom serves you better anyways. Hit up your best 'Stealth Mode' and I’ll see about digging up a treat, so just bear with me for a bit.”

Sneaking around in a casualty-free environment? I couldn't deny the glimmer of excitement in my heart. The notion of such a mischievous adventure dredged up a long forgotten memory back in the days of my youth. Many years it had been since I had been chased around the confines of that white laboratory in the buff with all my dermal access-panels splayed open just before my first scheduled maintenance.

For over half an hour I zipped around like a nectar-crazed beetle with its shell encasing such delicate wings outstretched in the wind.... those alluring colored ribbon-wires were such an object of pride and enthusiasm as I twirled them about like streamers for all to see.

If only the prodigious lecture that followed the incident didn't leave a permanent aftertaste from the peeved maintenance staff. Thankfully, the sour memory of embarrassment has by now, almost entirely faded, and the sensation of having discovered something new drew upon that same childish exhilaration.

Would it...?

Would it be wrong of me to entertain the idea that maybe... things could stay this way?

“Do we need to visit the twins down in medical to get you some eye-drops? It’s pretty stuffy down here with all the dust and mold. Maybe we should get your filters check out while we're at it.” Suggested earnestly, Slate placed one hand on my head and the other across the old instrument panel of the familiar freight elevator I had used leading up to the ambiguous encounter with the Mayor.

As I gave a nod under the resistance of his grip, I noticed his selection of multiple floors in the form of back-lit buttons across the yellowish glow of the Nixie tube display.

Passing each of the indicated levels undisturbed, as if Slate had entered a secret passphrase, the cart came to a grinding halt upon what I allege to be the top floor. The numerous bulbs read, however, that we had stopped impossibly between levels.

By now it was far too late to consider backing down, but as soon as the rickety doors peeled back, a sputtering blue glow overwhelmed the rising trepidation; a blinding light that swallowed us whole.

“Yo, Au-De! Shut that shit off, would you!” Slate shouted, casting his voice into the expanse before us. “It’s like Oh-three-hundred’, Fella, take a break before you drop!”

Calling back in a foreign accent, the dazzling light switched off abruptly, leaving my optics reeling to wash the clingy black stain seared into my vision.

“Bloody oath! That you, Eight, ya bleeding Dog?!”

“Yeah it’s me! Who else would be able to sneak by that irritating A.I probing the corridor down under?”

“Oy can name bout half a dozen steecky-feengered lil Rag-a-muffins hangin around ya mate Cole! Can ya believe the lil Crooks made off with a can’a'oil? What you reckon keeds gonna do with that, ya know what oy mean!? Someone awta approve renovatin those cowllapsed tunnels. Give them lil Dingos somethin’ to explore, keep’n them theive'y lil hands busy collect’n somethin of value- lioke scrap!”

Parting through the inky haze, a fair-haired young man sporting a welder's bib and an olive boiler suit approached us with a swagger to match the irritably blithe exchange.

As I continued to discern the Mechanic’s perplexing choice of movement restricting, almost ‘armored’ apparel, Slate took it upon himself to present me like a plated turkey without its garnish.

“Aude! Yah blind bat! Bet with all that welding, you missed this Bearcat, eh? ”

Apologetically, the man bowed gesturing with quite possibly the filthiest leather gloves I’ve ever seen. “Blind as I’ll ever be, Mate, buh' that's the proice t' earn mah keep and ta' lube the gears keepin everyone out of a tizzy! But if I’m a winged rat, what does that make you- yah devilish bush dog? What's keep’n ya busy these days?!”

“As if you already don’t know; drifting and sifting is what pays my keep. But hey, if I’m an Archeologist, might as well be a devilish one while I'm up on the surface- ain’t that right; Bearcat!”

Teasing my shoulders vigorously, Slate and the Mechanic shared another roll of abrasive hyena cackling which left me to accept the brunt of the humiliation.

“Lil’ Dolly, if ya get any reddah Oy wont be able t' tell if moy bat-senses are tellin' me what Oy'm lookin' at is hawt blood or sweet fruit'! ”

As my embarrassment neared critical mass, I took full responsibility for what would happen next, only were it not for Slate who placed an immensely powerful resistance on my readied fist in the form of a bear hug from the rear.

“You better watch it, Aude, if you weren't a harmless little fruit-flapper, you might get burned. This little ‘Dolly’ here stumbled across the wasteland into her brother's open arms, and just in case you're getting any ideas; she’s off the market. You can tell the rest of the maintenance crew I'm the one looking out for this Brat.”

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛᴇɴ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ʜᴇ's ᴍᴜssᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴡɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪɴᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ--- //ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀɪʟʏ sᴜsᴘᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴀʏ//]

If I had not put an end to hair mussing by bending Slate's finger, I fear that I may have formed a bald-spot, but instead of taking the hint, Slate turned the top of my crown into a resting platform for his chin.

“Food…” I murmured in defeat with a sincere appreciation for the fated grumbling of my empty stomach.

“Ryght, that's what Dolly's after? An here oy reckon ya come ta check up on ya ol Mate while he's widdlin away at this yakka, maybe confess them brotherly feelins, but here ya are after some brekky n' lollies.”

“Dee, Mate, your shift ended five hours ago, and I'll sooner profess my steel-toed boot between your legs. Pretty sure the last I checked I’m not your type, but that’s what the lack of sunlight will do to you along with those dreary Louver lights you got all over the place. If you ever pause for break-time or look up from that unhealthy bright light from your stick welder; you’d notice when the Crew clocks for 'brekky', lunch and closing.”

“Ryght-o. Well sahpose' I can stay an' get a jump on the mornin shift… But aye, least I’m nevah late! Mayor’s 'preciation in its various forms makes it all worthwhyle! That Pin-up is the reason I’m so doll dizzy, so better mind yourself lil Roo! I'm the behaved one round these parts!”

“Surely Tes should keep you on a tighter leash. Get some rest, and I’ll reserve you a jumbo-bowl down at Cole’s tomorrow -only if I find you tonight without those eye bags!”

“You little ripper! Ya always lookin’ out for the squeakiest wheels, aye, Eight? For that, I'll do ya a solid; I’ll take the ladder down the vader' shaft, that way the carriage will give yous a warnin' before Day Shift arrives. I reckon it'l give yous the time to clean things up… less yous already got yer permit to, ya know, act out of season heheh!”

“I appreciate the extra mile, Aude, but did you listen to a word I said!? She's my Sister it's not like that!" Irritably, Slate rubbed the pits of his eyes with his fingers, then continued. "We won’t be terribly long here, it's just a case of the midnight munchies!"

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴇʟʟ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴜғғᴏᴏɴ sᴀᴡ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ sʟᴀᴛᴇ's ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʟ ғᴀʙʀɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʀ-- //ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀɪʟʏ sᴜsᴘᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴀʏ////]

Basking in the yellow caution light of the vacant elevator carriage, Aude gave a final parting glance with his gloves folded over his impressive tool-belt and a smirk which could only have been perceived momentarily beneath the revolving lamp.

“No worries, Mate~ jus make sure you save some lube ya-self! Seems like yous gonna to need it most, Squeak’a~♪ !”

With a whimsical bow and the flick of his cap, Aude disappeared down the open elevator shaft; leaving us to the surreal stillness of the vast Hanger whose interior layout had been purely formed of shelves, supplies and tarped vehicles of unknown form and purpose.

I was begging to ask the purpose as to why an eerie Hanger of all places would be suitable for a midnight-tuck, but Slate, once again, prevented me from voicing my concerns as he took me by the hand with an unusual grit to his grin, one of which failed to conceal a twinge of shame.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. Just ignore anything that dribbles out of Aude's mouth or anyone else that works in maintenance. They all have some nuts and bolts that could use a bit of tightening. I think the toxic materials they work with make them overly excitable or horny... or braindead.”

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴏʜ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ sɪᴇsᴛᴀ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ɪғ ʜᴇ's ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜs ᴏʀ ғᴏʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ! sʜᴀʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴅs? ʜ-ʜᴇʏ, ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪsᴛᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ~?!]

“His accent was foreign to me, have I not met him before?” I asked, continuing to articulate my pseudo-amnesia and the sisterly guise.

“Aude? No, I don’t think I’ve ever taken you up here- most people don’t have clearance from the Mayor as it's a bit of a safety hazard, that's why it's a perfect place to hide excess rations... Hey- what's with that look? You remember who the Mayor is, don’t you?”

Although I would be lying in saying it was a total loss, the notion of adding another layer to this ongoing deception seemed weightless compared to the potential of remembering what had befallen those two missing days. Add in the feasibility to siphon information about Slate, this Community, their history and most importantly; their intentions, these lies came as smooth as an eel leaving my mouth and for that very reason, I've become thoroughly disgusted with myself.

“No, I just remember getting out of bed and then my head began to spin. Everything picks up right after I caught my breath, and you found me…”

“Don’t worry about it too much! I’m sure medical won’t mind checking you out once noon comes around. I'll see to it that the Twins find you an opening in their schedule, but nevermind all that; this is our stop and it's half past time to unwind!”

From every nook and corner of this cluttered expanse, an omnipresent buzzing of old bearings filled the silence, sourced from the numerous air-circulation units lining the walls. Although it was humid thanks to the infantile technology that employed water-filled coils to regulate the temperature, the artificial downdraft made it seem as if we were on the surface, if only it were not for the impermeable darkness.

Our stop as Slate suggested was concealed beneath a dancing tarp rolling with each plume of air, only to break against a faint rattle of chains. Beneath it, the evident and imposing silhouette of a Bi-Mech standing as tall as the scaffolding, meshed within the shadowy ceiling.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴏʜ, ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇɴsᴏʀ sᴜɪᴛᴇ? ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴀᴅ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ- ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs...]

With a manual Sonar ping via clicking my tongue, a painting came to life; a horrific outline, humanoid in form, encased in armor in place of the Mech lurking behind its massive blanket, I broke from Slate's side as he motioned to seat himself. Narrowly, I dodged his grasp as he called out;

“H-Hey, not over there, that’s-!”

As I dove beneath the latest wave rippling along the surface of the massive tarp, I came to face what appeared to be a bow of a small boat, but in fact; it was the serviceable armored 'shoe' of a Bi-Mech. Its wings both long and wide were folded into a pair of segmented arms, and at their tips, finger-like protrusions gave it a humanoid appearance.

I could never quite place how these machines made me feel. Unsettling would not begin to describe seeing technology that did not align with the rest of the world. For the sake of retaining some means of identifying technology that can be considered a fossil, a modern marvel, and bleeding edge, I devised a system by which I classify Tech, give or take five years from our baseline beyond the 1940s.

Not limited to my white collared button-up or Slate's leather flight jacket, 'Class-Zero' meaning 'Era-Relevant', they were the norm I've come to accept. A simple lie at times I longed to believe. This world, what it could it have been if the technology that led to my creation disappeared entirely; I could almost... imagine... had Slate's footsteps not been so fast approaching.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: sᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪғᴇ-sᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇs ɪɴ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ 1159 ʏᴇᴀʀs sɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴡᴀʀ ᴛᴡᴏ? sᴜʀᴇ, ᴡᴀʀ ʜᴀs sᴇᴛ ᴜs ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴀs ᴇǫᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀs ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇᴛʜ! ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ's sᴄʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄs sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ɪᴛs ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ 1970's, ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴀʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴄʀᴜsᴀᴅᴇs!]

[ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴜs, ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴄʜ's ᴄʜᴀssɪs ɪs ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴜᴘᴏɴ? ᴡʜᴏsᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ʀᴇᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇs ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴄʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪɴɴᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀɴᴜꜰᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇsᴏᴜʀᴄᴇғᴜʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟs, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ ɪᴍᴍᴇɴsᴇ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴡᴇss... ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴏ sᴀɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʙᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ? ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ; ɪғ ʜᴇ sᴛᴀɴᴅs ᴀs ᴘʀᴏᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ sᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs?]