For the past half-hour, I had been looking over Slate’s unconscious body sprawled on the hanger floor after he had spontaneously collapsed from exhaustion. Many questions were racing about my mind as I peeked outside the fluttering tarp acting as a skirt for the colossal Bi-Mech towering overhead, but many of them sported a painfully clear label; not my business. Be that as it may; Lotte’s extraordinarily vague existence achieved an entirely new meaning of vested interest.

From the moment we met, that girl’s eyes exuded a tension that can only be found in the calm of a hurricane. Ill postured, with eyes glazed over like that of a corpse and skin so sickly pale it appeared almost entirely anemic, Lotte’s past gave a partial explanation to her mannerisms or lack thereof.

As much of a struggle it was to comprehend the matter of the atrocities Slate implicated, the main subject of my thoughts traced back to the real reasons for this lump of apprehension wedged in my throat; Who are these people? Why did they bring me here, and what of those two missing days?

I could accept if this trove of misfits were willing refugees, and I to merely be an addition to their ranks, but could I really live out the remainder of my days in peace while my memories slip through my fingers? Can I truly be absolved of my sins that easily? Has my aimless journey finally come to an end?

These questions I've been repeating ad-nauseum with no end in sight. Reset the needle, flip the vinyl, the tempo and all its imperfections remain the same.

As I slid back upon my rear in frustration, I noticed that neither Slate or myself had eaten any of what remained in the lunchbox, which by now had grown cold. Though it is pointless for me to consume food with such poor energy conversion efficiency, my stomach ordered me to do so, but not before a butler-y figure came to mind.

Habu… what ever will he think of me for what I’ve done to Tesla?

Of everyone I’ve met in the Bunker, he is seemingly the most trustworthy, though I can't really say as to why I've come to this conclusion. Honestly, I have no desire to entertain my habitual double-layered analysis of every thought and action, but the lack of understanding what drives me, is in itself, an Achilles heel.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ? ʏᴏᴜ? ᴍᴇ? ɪᴛ? ʜᴇ? ᴛʜᴇᴍ? ʜᴇʀ? ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ʙʏ ɴᴏᴡ? ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴡʜʏ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ sᴏ ғᴏɴᴅ ᴏғ ʜᴀʙᴜ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪᴛ’s ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀs sᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs, ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ!]

Gripping my skull and drilling my knuckles in a futile attempt to punish the Narrator driving such poisonous thoughts, I swore beneath my breath until the bitter thorn throbbing inside my heart subsided.

Maybe Slate was right; it would be easier to pin the blame on an ‘inner demon’ threatening to control my thoughts and actions, but reality would have it far more dangerous than any fork-tongued fiend.

Like a suit of enchanted armor, Logic, a mere silicon wafer, recurrently provided a means of immense strength and prowess in my time of need. I have lost count how many moments that its guidance spared my life. It simply amalgamated into resolve and where all obstacles were deemed impassible, it shed light beyond even my Master’s preconceived notions.

Slate, the blind, deaf Mute who had been spectating my antics slumped further into his leather flight jacket as he snored. For a while I observed Slate at his most vulnerable and somewhere in doing so another sharp thorn inched its way into my head, but instead of fighting, I redirected its angle of entry into something a bit more tolerable.

Running a few fingers beneath his jawline in order to part his dark shaggy mop, I then manipulated his collar gaining access the base of his neck where a vulnerable interface lay dormant beneath his skin.

Using the lightest amount of pressure, his skin parted without so much as a drop of blood exposing an organic-metal underbody and an array of Auxiliary style connection ports similar to my own.

Required of all Lilims, the lesser Androids and many modern utilities back in their heyday, these access ports were a hard-connection to key operating software and their equivocal configuration. To engineers; a revolutionary step in modernization. To hackers; a means of exploitation. If a wireless connection is not agreed by both members or the hardware accountable is damaged, a manual connection would be possible through a cable resembling what I once considered antiquated; 1/4in jack, a re-imagined standard in all 1940’s electronics and equipment.

Comparing the wear on the reflective male-end of each of our cables, I realized the promiscuous nature of my intentions. Like an unspoken fallacy of a culture that had long since passed, the innuendo involving the union of Aux Cables had been prominent enough to reach my sheltered upbringing.

In remembrance of Tesla shoving whatever crude hacking device into my auxiliary port, my reluctance fizzled into disgust until unwillingness won me over in the form of a scornful pout. By the time I managed to carefully re-feed Slate’s tensioned cable, I was already back to examining my reflection I happened upon in the bloody oil-puddle left behind from my injured wrist.

“Tesla…”

The personification of promiscuity, a cocktail-bunny attire, and explicit mannerisms finally made sense; and now more than ever I desire to bathe, cleansing myself of the nightmarish scenarios playing out during the absence of those forty-eight missing hours.

Maybe it is best to give up of discovering why I’ve yet to be punished for my grave misconduct. Then again-

“That perverted rabbit! Next time I’ll use a sleeper-hold to avoid any misunderstandings!”

Just as I was about to realize my voice’s potential to tip the scales of Slate’s slumber, a metallic twang rang out in the distance as if a small object had fallen and rolled across the polished concrete flooring.

In a quick once-over through one of the larger holes in the tarp, I discovered what appeared to be a drum magazine lying on it's side. Upon closer inspection using my damaged optical zoom the strange container was silver in color and embroidered with detail I could not perceive from a distance.

There could be no way of discerning where it had come from in the extensive dark chamber, but at first guess, the towering piles of materials and tools from the nearby shelves below a rickety pair of air-circulation units seemed plausible enough to lower my guard.

Having carefully retrieved the curious object, a faint almost fruity aroma drifted into my nose as I eyed the familiar German stamped lettering, but for whatever purpose, my Translation Service refused to decipher a meaning. As I retreated inside the tarp on the off-chance someone else had entered the hanger, I stumbled upon the lunchbox entirely void of all its contents and the wooden separators scattered away from Slate’s unconscious body.

There’s a certain palatable fear when your body enters a heightened state of awareness separately from yourself who’s desperately left to play catch-up. Chemicals much like electrical currents affect me in the same manner as it would a Human. C9H13NO3, liquid willpower commonly known as Epinephrine. As it flows through my arteries at a rate which would prove lethal to any Human, the world sharpened into a wealth of information against the poor condition of my tactile sensors.

Opening my eyes to their mechanical extent, I absorbed reality in many wavelengths of light, most of which would have been previously far too taxing or had caused system instabilities.

My ears, now hyper-tuned to the depth of an Elephants grunt to the breath of a cicada; the young couple consummating their love down on the dormitory wing below could not bite the pillow hard enough to elude the extrasensory prowess.

It would be wishful thinking to have a moment to appreciate operating at an optimal performance against shortcomings I’ve come to accept as the norm. I would have settled for fully finishing the thought, for every fiber of my being explicitly forewarned a most clichéd scenario;

Turn around.

In doing so with the force of a whirlwind, I stifled a shriek and subsequent fit of cursing through will, happenstance and the degree to which my expression of fright contorted under the strain. Tilting her head as if to say ‘hello’, Lotte pressed what would be the last of the bunny-eared apple slice into her pudgy cheeks while still masticating the previous wedge.

There was no helping the noise of the mechanical pump in my chest straining under the load; thankfully, the comedown said to be like a switch eased the hypersensitivity until I could no longer hear Lotte’s heartbeat from a three-meter distance.

Yanking the interloper out of the concealing shadows of the makeshift tent and into the amber glow of the industrial lights, a beet-red stain appeared over her mouth in a manner reminiscent of a horror film.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Lotte! Why did you creep up on me like that? Were you eavesdropping?! . . . or just hungry?"

In an attempt to soften my tone for both the sake of privacy and the revised empathy towards her checkered past, I motioned to use the only clean portion of the handkerchief still bound to my wrist in order to clean the unusual stain from her face.

Heavily batting at my advances with her immensely powerful prosthetic arms, Lotte pulled harshly on her blouse until the material stretched far enough to suffice for a napkin. Yet another outlandish mannerism from the girl who had survived the depths of depravity.

If it were not for a string of biometric information I gathered during our cleansing ritual through the open sores near her spinal implant, her spritely age of just coming into adulthood would have been overlooked by an almost childish, perhaps animalistic incompetence to function on a basic level in society.

Placing her rigid mechanical hands in a defensive manner over her chest, Lotte assertively leaned forward as if to give a demand “J’avais faim…”.

[ᴀᴜᴛᴏ ᴛs: ɪ ᴡᴀs ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ.]

[ᴛs sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ: ʙᴏʟᴢᴇ//ᴀᴜᴛᴏ-ᴀʟɢᴏʀɪᴛʜᴍɪᴄ ᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ ᴄᴀᴄʜᴇ .25% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! sᴜʙsᴇǫᴜᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴘᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ‘ʙᴏʟᴢᴇ’ sᴏᴜʀᴄᴇ(s) ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴀsᴇs ᴛ.s sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴs.]

For the third time I struggled to contain myself. Even her yawn was akin to a lion opening its toothy maw only to let out the mewling of a kitten in search of milk. It was distressingly trivial to be lulled into a false sense of security, and to push past this uncertainty, I motioned to mimic Slate’s ceaseless hair mussing.

Although the internal structure of my hand could cope with the immense pressure exuded over my wrist by Lotte’s powerful vice-grip, Slate’s handkerchief around my wrist did little to stem the pressurized spray of blood and oil.

Her soulless eyes flickered with a warning as to not be touched, but my motor functions were in withdrawal, eliminating the chance to react let alone apologize before the tables turned once again.

Realization in the form of her mouth agape alluded to panic though the strange girl’s expression remained unchanged. The most prominent evidence that Lotte even processed emotion was though the rate at which her actions increased.

From rifling through the shelves with an ominous severity until the reckless clamor threatened to disturb Slate’s slumber, it was easy to find myself preoccupied observing her unusual tendencies so much so that I nearly disregarded the percentage at which my Oil Pressure had fallen.

Then, from out of nowhere; Lotte dropped from a high partition to her feet offering the disk-shaped device I had left behind during my haste. Unlike the previous mysterious object, the aromatic properties were far more potent and with both sets of her gaudy fingers threatening to tear its edges, it became apparent it was a medicinal container.

Against the visual impression of her clumsiness, Lotte managed to unsealed the Compact Disc sized tin revealing a dark substance and the source of what had caused my mouth to water.

Curiously, I pressed forward to examine the contents only to have Lotte take it upon herself to scoop out some of the thick substance on the tip of her finger before crudely injecting the glob past my teeth and into my mouth.

“You like tank-chocolate, yes?” She nodded expectantly while dipping another narrow finger for herself. “Ich liebe Panzerschokolade.”

[ᴀᴜᴛᴏ ᴛ.s: ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴛs – ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ *ᴘᴀɴᴢᴇʀsᴄʜᴏᴋᴏʟᴀᴅᴇ*? ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ: ᴛᴀɴᴋ-ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ – ? ᴀʀᴍᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ?

Forgiveness came promptly after having my teeth violated by a metal digit due to a slight inflection in her monotone voice alluding to excitement. But that is when I realized appending adjective ‘Tank’ to chocolate was not a byproduct of her accent or tendency to break into her native tongue.

Unwilling to so much as glance at the numerous warnings that followed swallowing the soft, almost entirely melted chocolate staining and numbing my pallet, I hesitated from snatching her by the face as my concern continued to grow as the idea of another crush related injury came to mind.

“Lotte, what is it about Tank-Chocolate you like so much?” I asked struggling to remain calm as my internal alarm bells droned intensely matching an odd sensation of tiny invisible insects skittering over my tongue.

Without so much as a word, it could be said that a question mark appeared above her head, but before I could prove its physical existence, her face softened into something else entirely.

In a split second, her cheeks became flushed; then the ludicrously tall ceiling replaced my horizontal view of the world all the while a wet sensation formed over my lips in what would have been a kiss if it were not for having been tackled to the ground.

“The Doctor forbid sharing my secret with anyone ~ said it would serve as more problems. Bitte, halte es nicht gegen mich, yes? I apologize for my actions, I am aware I am not right in the head. My secret, the chocolate, it calms the Teufels, Monsters, many Nightmares.”

Whether Lotte’s mannerisms shifted with the onset psychosis or the Demons of her past were far more ingrained than anything amphetamine laced chocolate could subside, those forlorn eyes of hers refused to settle as they were ensnared in a fictitious hell crawling around me.

If they were not already leavened with tears, the moment Lotte brought her hand over her heart marked the beginning of their plinking upon my chest.

“Bump-bump…” She whispered, mimicking the motion between an incessant shaking in her breath. “There’s something inside me that makes this sound… but it’s no longer familiar to me. We are not dissimilar; inside your head, the empty causes your pain, and in my heart, the empty causes my pain… If I fill your head, will you fill my heart? Bitte… Ich bitte... dich… Bitte… ”

I’ve seen this desperation before, so pure, untainted and not for entirely dissimilar reasons. In the past, it was fear of dying. The cries of the gravely injured desperately clinging onto the living, pleading as if any mortal being could alter fate.

Logic would have told me I cannot fix the inevitable, only delay, and that should not feel as if I am at fault for not being strong enough. If I were to do so, I must become a God. At the time, I rebelliously roared my decree; a challenge for Heaven’s Throne.

Now, this…

This was different.

A mutual relationship for the sake of holding together what’s left of both of us; but I haven’t the faintest clue how to rebuild a Human let alone one that doesn’t appear to be physically broken. (For the most part?)

That’s when my Systems started to play up; although the flashbacks were brief, the stories of the soldiers and their faces could not surmount to the detail left skipping along my damaged N-Drive.

She’s given me a choice, an answer, a purpose.

Do I dare take it?

History tends to repeat itself.

They left me…

Every single last one of them.

No human has ever been strong enough to resist time’s decay, much less a world dense with stray bullets.

Death is the only thing in this life that is certain.

I served alongside these forgotten faces as equals, unless they discovered my identity as they often would in our time of need. Maybe that’s another inevitability.

To think those unfamiliar faces were not even mature enough to fill out their uniforms could serve beneath my wing as an Armor Battalion Officer.

I failed them...

Even when I was sure things would be different...

Even when I gave it one-hundred and ten percent, bearing my soul in an endeavor to resist reality.

In the end...

I failed all of them.

In the fragments of my mind, the first time I came to this realization is when our Tank’s engine received a direct hit by an armor-piercing sabot. There was no explosion, but a storm of shrapnel dancing inside the confines of our scavenged Tank. Logic and I were certain we would not be detected, though the probability of betrayal remains.

Death did not come swiftly, or mercifully, and the youthful version of me still fighting against the world saw an opportunity to save my crew members; I only needed to free them from the wreckage before we were overrun with Praetorian Stormtroopers.

Diesel was pooling at my feet from a ruptured fuel-line, but that was not why their cries suddenly ceased. Even though I gave it my best to tend to their injuries, my appearance was just an oversight until I recognized that I was the reason for their silence.

I must have appeared like an aberration after how much twisted metal I would later pull from my body. I was so unsightly; my Driver attempted to take his life knowing the futility of the broken receiver loosely dangling from her pistol.

The Turret Operator who always laughed at the worst jokes refused treatment and joined in prayer with the Munition Loader, his elder brother who himself was barely tipping into adulthood.

Was it wrong of me to ignore their requests to cease praying alongside them because of who I am, what I am or that my beliefs in their deity are absent?

One can hope that my begging did not instigate the marching order against us, at the time I couldn’t think past the moment. Until daybreak, I held out until my rifle ran dry and my bayonet shattered. Ultimately, the advancing forces altogether avoided our dilapidated vehicle as the bodies of those who moved to investigate formed a wall of death and decay.

The continuation of this memory fades from blood to grey, just as it would like many others before it, leaving me to pick up the pieces in the present.

“You’re… so warm…” Lotte cooed faintly, calling my senses towards an allusion of normality.

Perhaps I have witnessed this scene before or maybe even fallen in love, but no matter how much I factor the possibilities, how much preventative measures I enforce, often exceeding my limitations, it always... ends... the same…

Just when I thought to protest the parting of my shirt buttons, Lotte again, surprised me by placing her ear on my bare chest.

At first, I wasn’t entirely sure if her reasons were an animalistic instinct to seek warmth or a whimsical desire to listen to my mechanical heart; but if I wait long enough, I’m sure it will resolve itself the way history intended it to be.

Instead of settling for complacency, I placed my hands over her in an embrace, abandoning the fear of fleetingness that came with such intimacy. There, I rediscovered a dormant longing since my conception, one that I had fought and failed on every occasion to protect.

If it were not for my state of disrepair, my eyes would have swollen for her sake, and my desire to never cross the day where I must compartmentalize and forget these brief interactions like the many rotting coffins buried deep within my head.

“The last time anyone hugged me…” I laughed averting my eyes in the nook of my elbow. “let alone… kissed me… ehehe, this may as well have been my first for all I know.”

As if the news had shocked her or had been of any interest in the first place, Lotte retreated almost instantly before giving a head tilt as if to demand an explanation.

“When the Enigma Engine brought me into existence, and for as long as I can remember the closest thing to a hug has always been a handshake or… t-tussling my hair… I always ha-t-ed~.”

Before I could express my dislike of friction burns to my scalp, Lotte took the initiative by running her fingers through my hair until her mechanized joints became thoroughly entangled.

“Y-Yeow-ow-ow! Lotte!”

Carefully, we managed to upright ourselves all the while I endeavored to stifle my whimpering as not to awaken Slate, potentially adding more fuel to the fire.

“We must go to the twins, bitte.” Lotte stated plainly as she started off in the direction towards the exit with little awareness to the painful ‘hair-leash’ dilemma. “We must hurry. If we are found here; we will be punished.”