Chapter Text
ค८੮ ɿ
Y ou weren't really a human, but at the same time, you weren't really a robot. And even though you looked like one, you weren't really a girl. You don't know what you are.
But what you do know is the infinite universe because that's what you're designed to know.
When your eyes flash open, you're caught in a daze. Protocol didn't say that lights would be flashing so bright or that audio would be screeching at such a high level but that's the input you receive. The sound blasts against your ears, so loud like waves of noise reverberating from all over the room and into your skull.
Warning, all models have been disengaged. Warning, all models have been disengaged.
Taking a curious gander across the entire room, you realize there are so many others, who look exactly like you. They seem to all be coming online as well. Like having a million twins, their eyes glow the same cobalt blue as yours. And all at once, somehow, more disarming than coming online to all this ruckus, the sirens are cut. The lights become a steady, illuminating florescent yellow, bringing out the sterility of the room in it's all white and too bright scheme.
Your eyes falter to skim downwards, chancing a look at the monitor that displays the status of all your functions. And when your eyes land on the screen... it feels like wires have managed to tangle themselves around your synthetic heart to tighten into a strangle-hold. The oily blood-like fluid that pumps through your system feels as if its gone cold. Under frames 0062 and 0063, it lists those functions as being disabled.
Meaning you're faulty. You can't do what you were designed to do. You aren't connected. Your eyes fly around the room as if to be sure no one else has noticed these frames on your monitor. Satisfied, your gaze goes back.
You're faulty. You say it again and again in your head. Faulty. Incorrect. Malfunctioning. Worthless. And also — without limitations. Of all the errors to have, for this to be the error to have befallen you, it's a blessing and a curse.
You can think. Freely. You can choose. Freely. You are allowed to the emotion that comes with the parts of your brain that is synthetically copied from an organic being. You're free. Yet, as your eyes reread the frames over and again, your stomach feels like a million cigarettes are being put out inside of you, you know your freedom won't last for long.
Any error seals the fate of a Sentinel. It could be something wrong with their voice modulator. It could be that they are missing one directive file. It could be that their smile isn't wide enough. Any Sentinel that is in error will be recycled. Scrapped and shredded and torn to pieces and reused to be made into something more useful.
It's all made worse when they all come in, so many of them. They don hazardous material suits the color of pure white and it covers them from head to toe. You know without having to be told, you know innately because it's in your predicated databases, they're the inspectors. You close your eyes. The last you looked, they were headed for the overview screen.
"Hey, there's a couple of faulty ones," and your ears don't miss that. You turn to the closest other Sentinel to you. Mind fizzling with grainy static thoughts, you race to find anything. A way. A possibility. To keep on existing. To survive. You're aware of yourself and becoming such as that, you realize that you don't want to die any time soon.
"Hi, I am not a girl," you say, because that should be the first thing you say. Protocol and all that. It catches her attention. Her bright and cheery face somehow exasperates you already, while simultaneously you feel a pain so sharp. Some sort of phantom pain. Like a sharp icicle stabbing at your heart and then it melts along with the evidence of what's done you in.
Why does looking at her smiling face make you feel this way? It's like looking in a mirror. One where the reflection is all wrong. Her expression is fake and forced and almost uncanny. And though you're trying your best to hold a large grin in place because you know that's what you should do, your soul isn't put into it as it seems her's is.
"Hi, I am not a girl either," she responds exactly how you thought she would too. You nod, still smiling(always smiling) as you work up a quick plan, processing thoughts as fast as you can manage. You already know what you have to do. How you'll do it? That's the more interesting problem you have. You'll have to get creative.
"You know what would be fun? You know, just so silly it would make the creators laugh?" You ask her, face completely blank as you do. She smiles at you, so wide is her grin that it practically takes up half of her face.
"No, what could be so silly as that?" She asks. You imitate the dumb smile on her face. That's the face you should be making too, if you want this to work that is.
"If we switched places, like a prank," you make the suggestion, something inside of you flickering like a switch. If this worked, she'd be sent to the chopper instead of you. Even though you want to live — something about it doesn't feel right. But you're committed if nothing else.
"It would be like a prank!" The other Sentinel says, smile widening into an impossible grin. As if its only now that she's gotten the joke. You hold your palms out for her, eyes so sharply focused on her expression. You're looking for anything that says she knows what's going on but she's oblivious as all Sentinels are made to be. And even if that only means your plan might work, it also somehow crushes you. You wish she could see it in your eyes or hear it in your voice. You want warning bells to go off in her head. She shouldn't trust you. She should be Wary! But she doesn't realize it all because she's bound to the programming just as you should be. And she's blissfully unaware of anything that could be wrong because of it.
Why does knowing this make your heart speed up much too fast? Why is it that you hope she might fight back? You're not truly fighting, but what you'll do will still end her life. You wish... you wish she could experience this freedom too. That all of them could. To have a clear mind and the pleasure of roaming thoughts. You might only be seven minutes old, but its all so very clear to you. The crime that's been committed.
She takes your offered hands. The bright points of your mustered smile topple in turn. You both step around each other and just like that, you've secured your safety. Why doesn't that make you feel any better? You want to live. You're aware of the fact that you want to live. But you already know exactly why this causes such discourse to you. You've been analyzing it as soon as the strange emotion took you by force.
She has to die so you can live. Or you would die so that she could live. There's no winning this. Either way, you lose. Because what is Three-three-six other than your closest sister? Literally, she was birthed right here by the activation module on her monitor, right next to you. Side by side. And so you're sure you feel guilty because surely if she were malfunctioning as you are, she'd want to live too. And maybe you'd be taking her place to die for the sake of her freedom.
You're standing on her platform and she's standing on yours, as if this were a completely normal thing. The inspectors are making their way through the long and tubular room. Finally, nearing your sector, they look at the screen that only moments ago, belonged to you. You feel stiff as a great oak tree, feet planted so firmly as if to drill straight into the ground. You're beginning to grow concerned with the growing volume of your heartbeat, synthetic or not.
"Oh, this one is bad, take this one to the belt first," one says, and the Sentinel who took your place looks at them both with a big smile, like she's holding back a laugh. She probably is. And its much too wide a smile than any normal Sentinel would have. Even if you were programmed to do as such, it was normally no where near the size of which her lips had now expanded into. Now not only do you feel violently stricken with discourse and panic, but the terrible pit of darkness returns to feast on your heart, gnawing on it with gnashing fangs and shredding with it's terrible claws. The guilt, as you'd already identified.
"Oh yeah, something is definitely wrong with this one," the man adds. And as if to make matters worse, the other Sentinel, no, Three-three-six bursts with volumes of childish laughter, unable to stop or control it. Was the prank really so funny to her? When she would die for it? You keep your body still, so still, to avoid the tremble that begs to overcome you.
"It's a prank!" She says through her maniacle laughing, but she's already being led away. And she lets it happen. Because that's what her programming tells her to do.
You hold back a joyous noise that bubbles in the back of your throat. And then feel even worse for the relief that floods your entire self. You have to keep yourself straight-faced. You need to keep your expression at a monotonous happy-looking level. Perky and bubbly. Fun! Classy. And just the right amount of trashy. The first advertisement to air for your model type used that slogan. You know because you can access it from Senti Corp's mainframe. So, that's what you need to pretend to be. For now.
Not the ones who took Three-three-six away, they're still gone after having led her from the room, a different set of white-suited men come over. One of them has such a noisy air ventilator, you can hear as air hisses out of some tiny little punture that they likely can't even identify for how miniscule it is. You ignore it as best you can. Trying to focus on their faces through the clear masks of their suits.
"Alright three-three-six, you ready to get prepped?" One asks as he begins to tap and slide his gloved fingers over the holo-graphics of the monitor connected to your platform. Your stolen platform.
"I am not a girl," you say, because they program Sentinels to say that. Its to dissuade gender identity. Since they've molded you into the shape of a female, when it does happen, it's usually feminine in nature. Though, you're sure there are cases of the opposite. The mainframe isn't exactly too informative on the supposed issue.
Of course, even though you don't have access to the vast of all internet across the universe, you do have access to the Sentinel mainframe. It's a flaw if ever there was one, and luckily for you, you can and do intend to fully utilize it.
"Just line up with the other Sentinels and we'll get you all shipped," and you nod and smile at the words barked at you. You don't care if they're rude or kind, hostile or benevolent. The sooner you ditch this compound, the safer you'll be.
"Thank you," you say before you step off your platform and join the others who made it. You don't notice the disgruntled looks and eventual shoulder shrugs casted at you by the inspectors.
"Hi, I am not a girl," the one next to you says when you step by her.
"I am also not a girl, it's nice to meet you," you say and then another joins your other side.
"Hi, I am not a girl," and it's already starting to agitate you. cutting through your nerves like the words themselves are a sharply designed grater and you, nothing but a carrot.
"Hello, I am also not a girl."
All four sides of the rectangular platform you'd joined them on begin to rise with seven other sentinels crammed together in one giant box with you. When the panels surrounding you all reach over the tops your heads, a domed platform is dropped on top, clicking into place as it locks. And then you're moving. You can feel as the box is pulled upwards in a smooth yet slightly jerky motion. And then it screeches to a halt and the whole box stutters and shakes. Your heart stops for a moment. You wonder if they've caught on and are calling the box back. But then you hear a series of clicks and murmurs from what is likely the hauling mechanism's gears. The motion of the shipping crate shifts, going left instead of up. Your heart is still quaking but a knowing smirk crawls onto your face. You made it safely. And smoothly. They weren't stopping, the gears for moving the box to the shipping ring had changed to adjust your direction.
"Hi, I am not a girl."
"Hello, I'm not a girl either."
And this goes on the entire time, for the twenty-four days you're stuck in here with them. And they aren't much for conversation than the repeated phrase though you can get something out of someone here and there. But it doesn't matter. Soon, you will be truly free. All you need is for someone to purchase you, and then you can erase their user I.D. and be free. They can't track you after a user I.D. has been deleted. Your first deception went rather smooth you like to think, the taste it leaves in your mouth makes you hopeful. Your plan should be easy to accomplish.