Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a day not unlike another, walking upon hot asphalt
She found a withered smaller being, of build and type
Unlike her own, she lifted gently to inspect
The fragile form encased with black fur, matted and soiled as it appeared
A light behind its eyes shone dimly against the sun that set
Upon her frame, the mewling quadruped that draped
Itself over her shoulder, much like a rag

The threshold of her home they entered, room entangled with
Some varied refuse strewn not lightly,
Appearing much more like a cell
A bath was drawn for the smaller one, warm water graced
Its battered form for the first of many sessions
To aid its weathered state, through this she found
The place she stayed seemed less deserted
Though now inward bound, it seemed placated as it healed

But though she took her time and care, cool metal hands
Worn but still maintained with fault
Drew little wellness from hot flesh, gentle as they were
The tiny thing was seen to be lost
And soon it took one ragged breath, and not again another
The place now seemed so frigid once more, for then she knew
The fire was gone

And the tears that fell could not be supported,
The biological makeup was not there, but still
Some pain carved a place between one and zero
Making the two now obsolete, she felt all that there was
And promptly made a promise now broken:

"I will never let this happen again."

In a place not particularly noteworthy, something blue clothed in white struggles to drag something red up an unforgiving uphill array of boulders, arranged to prevent erosion along the thin shoreline below.

Mirage slumps forward against the hood of the car, the battered body of V2 laying at her feet close behind. Taking a moment to rest, her cooling fans whir an imitation of a sigh.
“Augh, why are you so fucking HEAVY.”
She looks down at the lifeless form below her. It elicits no reply.
Picking a small black key-fob from her pocket, she presses a small button, and two beeps cry out, along with the common sound of a trunk unlatching.

The small angular sedan speeds along the ever-darkening highway, dim sun creeping slowly downward into the horizon ahead. The trails of light it emits come alive in the sky, creating hues of purple, blue, and orange that stain the forested environment a dull gold.
Mirage sits within, one hand on the wheel, the other supporting her optic as she leans to the side, elbow propped against the door handle to the left. Even in a face devoid of most methods of expression, she appears unusually tired.

Through an hour or so of general roadway dissociation, she snaps back into reality just in time to turn into the driveway of the small townhouse where she stayed. She throws it in park, cuts off the ignition, and exits the petite grey car, popping the latch for the trunk as she does. Walking around to the back, she throws open the lid of the rear. Her shoulders visibly slouch. Contained within is the body of V2, contorted in several unnatural ways so that it would fit into the small compartment. The upper lid of her optical shield lowers slightly.
“Sorry about the tight space, I don't have a tarp for the seats, and you're still leaking.”
She places a hand on their chest plating.
“Welcome home, I guess.”

After a bit of unfolding, she wraps both arms around V2's midsection, and hoists them up, limbs and optic flopping forward. She lets out an audible grunt as she lifts them out of the trunk, walking backwards towards the door of the quaint beige-brick townhouse. Their feet make a dull grinding sound as they drag across the level pavement. Reaching the threshold, she collapses onto the ground under the weight of their bulky construction. The crimson body lays still atop her frame, making her appear quite small.
“Jesus Christ, are you full of rocks or something?”
The red machine's optic is just as dark as it was before. She looks into its black center.
“I don't know why I'm even talking to you.”
She lays her head upon its shoulder. It's not as nice as she thought it would be.
“I told myself this wouldn't happen again.”
Its limbs are flaccid and unmoving. Coagulating blood drips in stringy threads from the torn joint of its missing arm. A few droplets fall upon her forearm, cool blue metal contrasted by a rusty red. She tries to swipe some away, but it only smears it further. She squeezes their body tighter.
“I'll miss you.”

Chapter Text

Against a bright blue skyline, a dull white concrete building of moderate scale stood with intent. Its shape was utilitarian, consisting of two upright rectangles, one taller than the other, that stood beside one another. Pockmarked with thin windows in a fashion not well imagined, it was obviously built quickly. A bleach white sign above its glass double doors read “Page by Page Library and Repository” in maroon lettering.
Within the modest library, a thin blue machine sits alone at a sturdy wooden table meant for four or more, optic aimed downward at a relatively thick novel. She wore a forest-green sweater with a baggy silhouette, and creme-beige shorts that cut off too early.

Mirage was reading Evangelion: ANIMA Vol. 5 for the third time. She knew the series was over and done with already, but still hoped they were writing a sixth. She knew it probably wouldn't be a good idea to extend the plot line like that, and that it would suck, but she really just wanted more new Evangelion stuff whether it was good or not. Looking up, she shamelessly dog-ears the page she stopped on and closes the cover, stuffing it unceremoniously into her black leather messenger bag. She stands, and leaves without checking the book out first.

It was an uneventful day in an uneventful town. The spear-like tops of evergreen trees poked up behind most of the small buildings on the two lane, one mile main street. The evening sun hung high above, its warm rays casting a summer glow upon the hot asphalt. The scent of earth and pleasant foliage dominated the humid environment. Walking home along the sparsely populated sidewalk, Mirage stops to look through the window of the local hardware store. Its finely polished glass reflects a beam of bright sunlight directly into her optic. Squinting, a UV reducing shutter pops down automatically in response. After a moment, she sees it. Holy shit, there it is. A 5.5mm T30 Torx screwdriver, full tang and all. Sorta hard to find in a town where the best chance for internet access is the local school's computer lab. Rushing inside, she snaps it up from the window display, and hurries to the counter.

The waning light cast the barren townhouse in a bronze hue, its beige brickwork finally appearing to have some sense of style. After a worthy fight with her keys, Mirage throws open the windowless door, and steps inside. Her apartment was a sty, at best. Long-outdated mail and chopped up newspapers populated most of the free space on the kitchen counter. Its ugly green faux marble surface was just barely visible through the square spaces where pieces of articles should be. The air was particularly stale, as many of the windows had never been opened. The floor hadn't been swept in weeks, and various piles of laundry litter any surface where one would sit. The only clean space in any of the four tight rooms was a well-organized workbench, stocked with most tools and materials one would need to repair any average electronic devices. A well-worn desk chair stained with various internal coolant spills sat dutifully in front of the well-lit space. Setting aside her bag and book, Mirage pulled the chair out, and took a seat.

With practiced motions, she opened drawers and small organizer boxes in a flurry of movement, setting out her self-maintenance tools in a single-file line on the marred green grid-line work surface. At the end of the line she gently placed down the brand new Torx driver. It looked out of place against the battered mess of screwdrivers, ratchets and test equipment.
“It's about time, I guess.”
She stood to face the wreck of a room, unbothered, passing the threshold of the lounge/kitchenette and walked the narrow hallway leading to the bedroom. With a slightly uneasy gait, she entered her small sanctuary.

It was in a similarly unkempt state, with various refuse littering most flat surfaces. A relatively new IKEA desk sits in the corner, holding an aging laptop surrounded by various instruments of writing and reading, including a strange handmade monocle magnifier. No chair sits in front of this one. She uses the same chair for the desk and workbench. She didn't want to buy two chairs. At the foot of the bed, a compact hi-fi set sits atop a tacky bed stand. Two unsleeved records balance precariously atop the lid of the turntable, stacked atop eachother. Looking around the room, Mirage thinks of how she could have made better choices, before remembering the reason why she came in here. With a pained expression, she kicks aside a pair of shorts that lay in front of the closet, and slowly opens the door. It creaks open like something out of a Michael Jackson music video.
“Hey, you.”

Streaks of ambient light from the room filter in past her thin frame, revealing something tall and red obscured by some hanging clothes and crumpled boxes. V2's body stands upright in the dim closet leaning slightly against the wall, optic slumped forward. She didn't really know what to do with them after everything happened, so here it has sat for a couple months now. Probably more than that.
“Sorry about the rough accommodations. There's really not that much space in here.”
Mirage stares blankly at them, halfway hoping they would spring to life and respond. No such luck. Bracing her knee joints for the weight, she locks her arms around V2's midsection, and lifts upward, stepping back as she does. Her load-bearing servos whir under the stress, and she promptly collapses onto the floor, V2's full weight landing on top of her.
“AAUGGhghghhFUCK!”
With a bit of writhing, she manages to flop the bulkier red machine onto its back on the floor next to her. It lands with a hefty thud.
“Damn, I forgot how fucking heavy you are, jesus christ.”
She looks up at the ceiling above her, then turns her optic opposite of V2. The white walls of the room clash against the dusty dark green carpet. She closes the lid of her eye.
She wishes they would reach out and touch her. She thinks about how she missed her chance. Her fist tightens, then promptly loosens.

Picking herself up off the floor, she dusts a bit of dirt from her sweater and shorts before looking down at V2's corpse. It made her day worse. She imitates a sigh.
“I'm sorry about this, but I need you for some parts. I hope you don't mind, because you're the only other one I've ever seen that looks like me.”
The long dead machine stares back at her, bits of dried blood still clinging to its tattered arm joint.
“I need to stop saying sorry all the time.”
Golden sunlight from the window reflects in beams off of their long unpolished crimson plating. She realizes the room feels warmer now than it did before. Mirage turns to look out the window. The dim sun streaks through smatterings of pine trees, dotting the landscape like a radio relay. It reflects and refracts, painting the sleepy rural town in streaks of gold, blue, and fiery red. Branches of light press into her eye, but the UV shutter doesn't pop down. The burn in her optic is too pleasant.
“I'm gonna start doing what I want, I promise.”

Chapter Text

V2 was laid out quite neatly on the hardwood floor next to the workbench, looking almost as if they were going to be buried right there in her cramped apartment. Mirage knelt down next to them, laying out various instruments of disassembly above their optic. Leaning back slightly, she almost struggled to reach an old milk crate, then brought it over to serve as a catch-all container for anything that needed to come off first. Taking the new T30 driver in her hand, she imitated holding a breath, then began work on removing V2's battered chest plating.
“You know, if you had let me know you were so close to being dead, we might have been able to work something out. I am sorta an engineer, after all.”
Some extra effort was required to loosen an uncooperative screw, its star-shaped head clogged with long-dried blood from some poor unfortunate. Slipping a hex wrench over the handle of the driver, she works it loose with a skilled tug before it has a chance to strip out.
“Then again, I guess you came here to die anyway. I just wish you had the common courtesy to not leave me all alone.”

Mirage gathers the small screws together, rattling them back and forth in her hand before lazily tossing them into a nearby coffee mug. With some gentle prying on its seam, the chestplate comes up, off, and away, landing in the milk crate with a considerable clatter. Within V2's chest, a crowded mess of multicolored wires nestle around a sturdily mounted steel cylinder, with thick white tubing leading off of its two ports on each side. From the left tube hangs a plastic red tag, displaying a black biohazard symbol. Mirage takes hold of the tag, raising it up into view.
“That can't possibly be good.”
All wiring and tubing in the well-measured space heads down out of view into the abdominal area. Mirage shines a small penlight into their chest cavity, seemingly searching for anything remotely familiar. An inquisitive expression paints her lack of a face.
“Huh, your harness is the same as mine, but I dunno what all this other...junk is.”
She gently prods and taps at the sealed cylinder and associated tubing. It sounds hollow, but halfway full of something. She squints, then leans back upright.
“Well, sorry bud, but I dunno what it is, so it's coming out.”
She lays the penlight aside on the floor, then realizes. She halfheartedly slams her fist on her leg. A clang sounds out in the still room.
“Damn it! I'm supposed to stop with the 'sorry' shit.”

She stands, stepping over V2's body to pull open a drawer on the workbench filled with all manner of hex sockets and extensions. She reaches, then pauses, leaning back over to look at the hex bolts on the cylinder bracket.
“Looks like a....10...I guess. Heheh.”
She deftly picks a 10mm socket from the organized mess In the drawer, then turns back towards V2, kicking the drawer closed as she moves. Kneeling back down, she presses the socket onto one of the four bracket bolts, and it slips on as a perfect fit.
“Hah. Nice.”
Picking a well-used ¼inch ratchet from the tools above V2's optic, she snaps on the 10mm and makes short work of the four bracket bolts, lifting the bracket off with all four screws still hanging in their mounted positions. It promptly sails over into the milk crate, landing with a series of loud clangs.
“Okay then, let's take a look here.”
She gently lifts up the metal cylinder with both hands, turning it slightly to watch the white hoses on either side flex. On each side, the tubing runs into the walls of the chest cavity and disappears through grommets in metal. Focusing her gaze on the right port, she tightly grabs ahold of one of the tubes slipped over its end.
“I really hope this isn't under pressure.”

With a firm twist and tug, the tube is separated from its port, and a thick black substance spills out from both, staining the once-pristine interior of V2's open chest. She recoils her hand back in shock, quickly checking to make sure none of the viscous liquid got onto her. Her dumbfounded expression tempers into one of disgust.
“Augh, what the fuck is that!?!”
After a moment, she realizes the most probable answer. Leaning back over to inspect the substance more closely, her suspicion is confirmed. She had just ripped into the late V2's long-deactivated fuel pump, the blood within long since rotted and coagulated from being stuffed into a dark closet for a month or two.
“Yeesh, god only knows how many different blood types are in there....”
After a moment of reflection, she decides to at least finish what she started. Standing up, she walks down the hallway, turning into the bathroom. Its ugly red-on-white paisley print wallpaper makes her cringe internally. Every single time. Her shoulders raise and fall with an audible sigh. Kneeling at the front of the sink, she opens the door of the lower cabinet, picking a few pairs of nitrile gloves out from a box under the sink. Closing the cabinet, she stands and makes her way back to V2's side, almost tripping over their bulky frame in the process. Putting on the gloves, one of them rips after being pinched in her finger joints. Tearing off the glove with an exasperated growl, she tries again.
“Theeere we go. Fucking weak ass rubber.”

Kneeling at their side, she reaches a leg over them, taking a seat on their midsection to straddle them. Her optic dims slightly as she feels a metaphorical blush wash over her. Looking down, she stares into their unlit optic, squinting.
“Don't get any funny ideas, bud. It's just for ease of access.”
Taking the cylinder in one hand, she twists off the white tube on the remaining connected side. More coagulated black blood spills forth from both openings. Her expression is grim.
“Augh, that's...fucked up man.”
She carefully lifts the cylinder out of V2's chest with mildly shaking hands, trying to think of any good reasons as to why someone would design a machine that runs on blood. War is the only good answer. Holding the cylinder stable, she reaches into a nearby trashcan to retrieve a plastic store bag, cautiously placing the metal cylinder inside before tying the bag shut.
'Uuughh...I guess I should have considered something like that..”

Mirage looks over with relative disdain at V2's corpse. It's just as still as ever. She scowls.
“Why can't you just run on a fuel cell like everyone else, huh?”
She thinks of how much time was left on her own power source. Fifty to sixty years at least, but what about after that? Maybe she'd just try to appropriate V2's blood-fuel thing at some point. An entertaining image comes to mind. Mirage, the feral vampiric machine, setting out in dim moonlight to suck dry all the livestock in the surrounding area. Feared by both machine and man.
“Heeheheheeh. Nah, not a good look for me.”
At the workbench once more, she opens the lowest drawer, retrieving a couple old rags to wipe up V2's insides with. Although she doesn't really want to, she remembers reading that leaving old dried blood around can make you catch Hepatitis-C if you come in contact with it. Mirage also knows that she is completely incapable of getting Hepatitis-C. She supposes that it doesn't really matter, she just doesn't want it around. Turning back to V2, she kneels down and begins to wipe up the brownish-black stains on V2's interior. However, she takes notice of something that was hiding underneath the fuel pump.

Set deep within V2's chest was a small silver panel, fitted with two USB-A ports, one USB-B port, an Ethernet port, and a very curious AC-IN port marked '120v 60HZ US'. Beside the ports was a small red switch, currently set to off. A spike of fear and excitement ran up her spine. The port seemed to accept a cable identical to an average PC power supply.
Above the panel was a small yellow label that read “FOR DEVELOPMENT USE ONLY” in bold black text. Mirage's expression was blank, and her hands still.
A million questions ran through her mind. Would this...revive them? Is that even ethical, really? Did they even know they had internal I/O? Would it just boot them, and they wouldn't be able to move? Would they even want to come back? One question stood out the strongest, and caused a pit to begin forming in her midsection.
Was she going to do it?

Chapter Text

//INIT STARTUPDEV

>!!WARNING!! OPTIMAL PRECHEC.BAT NOT MET. ERRORS MAY BE PRESENT. START ANYWAY? Y/N

//Y

>INIT STARTUP (DEV MODE)...

>CHECK +12V -3V - OK
ALLOCATED MEM 32000000000 BYTES – OK
MOUNT SSD03 - OK
OPTIC MOD 720P CALIB – OK
GYRO MOD -100 +100 CALIB – OK
FUEL SYS 67% - AUX POWER SELECTED – LINE PSI HIGH – CIRCULATE OK
!!SYS EXCEPTION!! - LEFT003 MOD NOT PRESENT
!!SYS EXCEPTION!! - RIGHT001 MOD NOT PRESENT
!!SYS EXCEPTION!! - VOC02 DRIVER CORRUPT

>BOOT IMG – V02BETA4_1

V2 opens its lens shutter, greeted by a stark white drop ceiling. It only takes a moment for their visuals to focus against the harsh lighting, and it slowly lifts its optic upwards. The room looks much the same as the last time, of course. Walls of an irrelevant material encapsulate the room in ashy grey, accented by brown and white checkered linoleum flooring. In the right corner sits a row of stainless steel tables, their plastic mat-covers lined with sterile fueling equipment and plenty of spare tubing. A tall but thin silver refrigerator at the end of the line displays a red biohazard badge. To the left, a fine example of a massive engineering workstation can be found, stocked with any conceivable tool or gadget one could ask for. Various robotic parts are scattered upon it, most belonging to V2. Among them, it spots a familiar pair of ruby-red arms. Sitting up from its reclined position on the slab table, it looks down at itself. Everything seems to be present except for their arms, the linkage still hanging from the socket. They take notice of a thick orange cord that runs along the floor, disappearing beneath its chestplate.

Their attention snaps to the opening of a sliding door, the soft whirr of the mechanism announcing a technician's arrival. Her hair is short and silvery grey, fashioned in a bob cut, shadowing blue eyes that gleam and fair but weathered skin.
Her attire is uniform, a bleach-white starched labcoat upon a light blue and white pinstripe blouse, finished off with ash grey slacks and brown leather loafers. The dull gold nametag upon her coat reads 'BISHOP, EXEC. DIRECTOR, VSERIES'. V2 knows this one, her name is Dr. Evelyn Bishop, but she had previously asked to be called Eva. A manila file folder sits in her left hand, and a silver pen occupies the right. She sees V2 sitting upright, and smiles.
“Hello again, Vee. Feeling alright today?”

Grabbing a rolling stool from the center of the room, she drags it over to V2's bedside and daintily takes a seat. V2 follows her motion with its unblinking lens. With a static laden rasp, they reply.
“I'm d-doing well, Ms. Eva. Ho-w ar-re you?
Setting her pen and folder aside, she lays her hands on top of eachother, resting them on her leg. Her warm expression fades to one of mild concern.
“Well, I can see our lovely programming department still hasn't fixed up the drivers for your vocal module. I'll be having a talk with them later.”
V2 remains still, their pupil scanning her up and down with no certain intent. Another barely intelligible reply sounds out.
“I-It's not part-ticularly c-concerning.”
Dr. Bishop tilts her head slightly, brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear as it falls. Shifting her weight on the stool, she crosses one leg over the other. Gentle worry still paints her face.
“But it means that the programmers haven't been doing their job properly. They were assigned to fix a part of you that's malfunctioning, yet they didn't do so. Are you sure you don't feel anything about that?”

V2 looks down, appearing to be thinking quite hard about the question. It pulls its legs up towards itself, attempting a fetal position. Suddenly, its gaze snaps back to Dr. Bishop, its pupil darting across her slim form.
“Is there a part-t-icular reason my arms have b-een detach-ched?”
She raises an eyebrow at their answer, but V2 doesn't seem to react. Uncrossing her legs, she leans forward and rests her chin upon her hand, arm propped on her knee. Her face is mere inches from V2's optic now, yet they do not move. She appears unamused.
“I ordered your arms some service after we recorded some excess fuel pressure going through the lines at that last test session, remember that?”
V2 nods slowly, not breaking eye contact.
“V2, you can't keep dodging my questions. You change the subject nearly every time I bring something like this up.”
It's still as a statue, not even moving its pupil anymore. Dr. Bishop's eyes are practically pleading with them.
“I really need you to tell us how you feel, otherwise we can't help you. I coded that beautiful mind of yours just like ours, and it needs the same support. Some would say much more so than ours.”

V2 stares for a moment, then relaxes, extending its legs and laying back down, optic turned away from her. She hangs her head with a sigh, finally admitting defeat.
“Okay, but I want you to know you can always call me. Your comms have my codec's frequency saved, alright?”
V2 lays motionless, and her words elicit no response. With a saddened expression, she stands from the stool, gathering her belongings from a nearby table.
“Alright. I'm probably already late to the boardroom, so I'll see you later. Be well, Vee.”
As she turns and walks towards the door, she hears a quiet, garbled response.
“Neglec-t-ted.”
She stops in her tracks, turning gently back towards V2. They meet her gaze, pupil aimed away from eye contact. Her reply was soft, like a mother.
“Yeah? Why so?”
V2 sat up ever so slightly, as if it was scared it would fall apart.
“When I found-d that-t the program-mers did-dn't fix it, I felt neglec-t-ted.”
She softly smiled, a look of calm washing over her as she felt some tension dissipate.
“Well, let's see what we can do about that, yeah?”

Chapter Text

Harsh ocean winds battered the unkempt exterior of a small beige-brick townhouse, its window shutters clacking away against the frames bearing inset panes of glass. Weeds littered the front walkway, their wispy foliage twisting violently in the breeze. A weathervane upon the roof spun wildly, creaking sounds playing from its rusted bearings. The air was chill, an arrival of a brutal gale in this seaside town always foretold the end of summer, and the coming of autumn. A mess of freshly fallen green leaves swirled in a small twister along the nearby road, the winds finally dying down just in time to deposit most of them in a pile upon the hood and windshield of Mirage's car. The moon was high and bright, rays of its light glinting off the near pristine clear coat of the metallic grey '87 Civic sedan. Beyond it, sterile light illuminated only one of the cloudy windows, its glass pleading to be cleaned just once.

Within, Mirage sat at her workbench. Her arms dangled limp at her sides, optic aimed downward at the floor. She wore a simple black tank top and black boxer briefs, and seemed fairly troubled. Slowly, she raised her optic and focused her lens on the objects before her.
Upon the workbench, there sat a 120v PC power supply cable, her laptop, and a CAT5 LAN cable. Staring intently with a blank expression at the three items, the indecision of what she actually wanted to do with them gnawed at her silently. Turning her optic, she looks over at the couch near the back of the living room.

V2's body was sitting politely on the worn sofa, single hand set neatly in its lap. For something so dead, they actually looked quite lifelike, at least until you got close anyway. Earlier, Mirage was agonizing over how to pose them, wanting to represent their seemingly demure nature. Halfway through doing it she realized that it's sorta fucked up to pose dead people like dolls, so she left them alone. She still wondered if they would sit like that naturally, or if she got it wrong. She wondered if they'd be mad that she was playing with their corpse. She wondered if they wanted to come back. She wondered if that was even how it worked.

Defeated once more, she stood from her seat, turned off the workbench light, and walked to her bedroom to lay down for the fourth time that evening. Lazily throwing off her shirt and briefs, she collapsed onto the bed with a soft thud. As she stretched out her joints, she stared into the ceiling, half-lidded lens gazing far beyond its surface. There was no way she'd get the idea out of her head now, not now that she'd seen it. She saw that there was a way to save them. Theoretically. She turned her optic and curled up like a crumpled piece of paper, the lid of her lens shutting completely. Was it even going to be worth it if it worked? I mean, who would want to be brought back here? There was no way it would work out in the end. They'd probably hate it, hate her for doing it. But what was worse, really? The company of someone who didn't even like you, or the fucking loneliness? God, she was so alone here. Not a soul nor a ghost in any shop, home, or church, and she fucking searched. No leaving either. Once you travel far enough, the roads just drop off into nothing, as if there was a bridge that suddenly collapsed. Now that she thought of it, why was she still here, anyway? What the fuck is this place?

She tries to calm her thoughts, but not much works. She names an object, finds a color in the room, and checks the time on her phone, but it's not enough. A tightness that should not be biologically possible forms in her chest and midsection. Everything in this room seems so much bigger than it's supposed to be. As the tension peaks, nothing there feels real. No, the whole room isn't real. She wishes so badly that she could breathe, to possibly vent the pressure somehow. A hole in the chestplate starts to sound appealing. Do androids dream of electric sheep? Sometimes. Do robots have panic attacks? Yeah, unfortunately.
“FUCK! Goddammit, not again!”
She bolts upright, her metal heels desperately searching for traction in the smooth carpet. Even at her height, the walls look so, so tall. Feverishly running to the door, she flings it open, slamming it against the wall and scrambling outside into the moonlight.

A gentle seaside breeze caresses her slim frame in the white glare, her lens shutter wide open, pupil dilated. The panic doesn't relent. Staring into the night sky, she counts the stars one by one. The glint of the moon on her car's windshield pierces her optic. She tries to steer her thoughts.
One, two, three, four,
There's no telling what could happen, so it could be bad or good.
five, six, seven, eight,
There's no guarantee it will even work at all, or it might work halfway.
nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
They might actually want to come back, they seemed to enjoy talking with her.
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen
Either way, the only way to stop agonizing is to try it.
seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
It's better to live with the pain of a loss than the mystery of regret.

The night was dead silent as always, save for the crashing of the waves against the shoreline in the distance. Slowly, her thoughts stopped racing, and she began to calm down. She just had to do it, really. There was no other way to make her brain shut up, that's for sure. Still though, she couldn't tell what upset her more, the fact that it could all go horribly wrong, or the fact that all this anxiety has tainted the first thing she's felt excited for in months. She supposes it doesn't matter either way, the only way through is forward, after all. Maybe, just maybe, they'd wake up and be happy to see her. Maybe they would even stay here. A sharp clack nearby snaps her out of her thoughts, and she turns just in time to see a second walnut slam into the hood of her car from the tree above.
“Aw, man! Come on with this shit.”

She rushes to its side, leaning over the hood with her hands gingerly poised upon the driver side fender. Wouldn't want to scratch it up with her sharper finger joints. Carefully inspecting the glossy surface, the moonlight reveals a circular impression where one of the walnuts hit. Turning her optic from side to side, the refraction of the moonlight confirms her fears. Dented.
“Ahhh, SHIT! Fuckin walnuts, man.”
Standing straight, she looks over at the nearby tree. Over this past summer, its branches finally reached far enough to start dropping natural dentbombs all over her car. She solved it in the past by just parking a bit further out than usual, but that wasn't gonna fly anymore, apparently.

With an irritated huff, she reaches down, picking up one of the fallen walnuts, and hurls it back at the tree with surprising force. The walnut essentially atomizes on impact, the crack of the hit piercing the night's silence. Even its tougher inner shell fragments outwards into the grass. She's stunned for a half-second, then remembers that her arms have the same FPS potential as some high-powered pitching machines. She narrows her lens shutter.
“Hah! How do ya like that, asshole!”
The tree decides not to grace that remark with a response, instead choosing to continue its life of silence as, well, a tree would. Looking down, Mirage sighs, then with a yelp, realizes that she's currently still standing outside completely nude in the dead of night.
“Ah! Shit!”

Hurriedly covering her absence of anything remotely noteworthy to see, she rushes back into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She knows damn well she doesn't have any neighbors, but still clings to some general sense of decency anyways. In the living room, V2 sits upon the sofa, still as a statue. Their unlit optic stares ahead towards Mirage, seeing nothing. She approaches the unmoving figure, stopping short a few feet in front of them. Squinting at them, she strikes a pose similar to a visual novel protagonist.
“Bet you sure wish you were alive right now, huh? Heheheh.”
The corpse on the couch elicits no reply. Suddenly, she feels sorta stupid and mildly embarrassed doing risque poses for a dead guy she met for 3 hours at most.
With a sigh, she lazily walks back to her bedroom to lay down.
“Tomorrow, for sure.”

Chapter Text

If you don't mind, I'd like to take a moment of your time. Well, a bit more than I already am, anyway. Here's an interesting challenge, from me to you. If you're not interested, feel free to skip to the next chapter. I'm not gonna blame you if you do, and it's not gonna disrupt the story or anything, it's just an optional tidbit. Totally up to you. Anyway, here it is:

What do you think death is like?

If you're more religiously inclined, you might have a definite answer almost immediately, and I'm glad that you do. I wish I could say the same. Unfortunately, I'm the type that harbors more doubts than faith.

If you're more like me, you're probably either upset that I reminded you about existence and its terminal issues, or have already figured out something resembling an answer on your own. If you belong to the former demographic, I sincerely apologize for the trouble. As for me, I have a general idea I tend to stick to, and whether it's true or not, it brings me some peace emotionally. I'll tell you what it is.

When I was a kid, my parents took me to church a lot. I was never that interested, being a kid I sorta wanted to go home and play Ape Escape 2 instead. But, while I was there, I got introduced to a new set of ideas. “If you're a sinner, you'll go to hell when you die, so make sure to lead a pure life under God's wing.”

I had never really thought about death before, but I did a lot more about two years after that, when quite a few of my family members started dying. Don't worry, I'm not here to traumadump, it's just important for context. Around that time, I went to quite a few funerals wondering if this person I loved had repented before they died, or if they were currently being consumed by hellfire for all eternity. I knew them well, they were a good person, would God really condemn them for a couple mistakes they made? Does a loving god create eternal torment as a justified sentence, or as a tool to be used to keep his creations in line? Why not just make beings that don't sin, and burn the rest? Unsurprisingly, around this time I stopped believing in a God, for some of the above and many other reasons that my pastor didn't have the answers for.

After that point, I really started getting scared.

So, I'm now alone in the universe. No God, no anything except for me. What is me? Am I a spirit living in flesh, or a collection of neurons in the right place? Can the soul be quantified, if it exists? Does that matter? Does existence matter? If so, why am I here? What is my purpose here? What happens when the soul is gone? Do you go haunt a building? Do you live in the stars? Is there another plane of space to inhabit? After a lot of panic attacks and thinking, I decided on something.

Life has no meaning, and that's fine, because that makes it mean everything. Your will and actions bring meaning to your life without you even knowing it. We all create our own meaning every new day we wake up in. You exist because that's what happened, and that's all there is. So, what happens after death? To me, nothing. And I don't mean like a blackness or a void, I mean nothing. Lemme ask you somethin. Do you remember what it was like before you were born? Probably not, because there was nothing. That's how nothing it really is. Total absence of everything. So, I tend to do whatever I want, but not in the bad way. In my heart, I know what's right and wrong. I try to help others, and have a nice time. That's how I lead my life, with the information I have.

Well, thanks for coming to my TED Talk. It's just my opinion after all, so I wouldn't take it too seriously. I'm not a philosopher. I don't even read books that much, and when I do, it's usually manga. It's funny, I love writing mid-ass stories but I can't even make myself sit down to read unless it's got funny pictures or it's on AO3. Anyway, I've had enough of your time, I suppose. The story awaits.

But, before we get on with it, there is one more question I wanted to ask that I do want you to take a little seriously, at least while you're reading the story, that is.

What do Mirage and V2 think death is like? What god is there to watch over them?

Chapter Text

A calm shoreline and the gentle crashing of the waves accompany two machines, one red, one blue. One has never seen the ocean, and the other is almost sick of waking up next to it. The blue one cradles the red in her arms, her thin frame dwarfed by their wider, heavier build. Blood from their wound slowly seeps into her pure white sundress. It's supposed to be the last time they speak with one another.

“Before my audio processors cut out.”

“Thanks, Mirage.”

“Thank you, V2.”

The red one turns its optic away from her, its lens focusing on the overcast sun setting upon the horizon, the tide slowly approaching. A seabird flies into its frame of view. Their vision dims, a pixelated haze invading the corners of its lens. It's time to go, it seems.

Then, just as quickly as this view fades, a different one appears.

A recently familiar room, but appearing a bit more cluttered. Most surfaces are rendered inaccessible due to various items and debris. Some things are different, others the same. It could definitely use a good tidying. The most jarring difference, however, is Mirage, now dressed in an outfit they had never seen before, and looking worse for wear. The many surfaces of her panels were unpolished, as if she had neglected regular maintenance for quite some time. She wore a black T-shirt with a small graphic they couldn't identify, and dark blue basketball shorts with a white stripe. Leaning over them like a bird at a fountain, she was waving her hands across their optic, appearing distressed.

“V2...V2, can you hear me?”

V2 retracts its optic in response, attempting to get some distance between them and her flailing hands. She startles, then stops dead still, her pupil becoming a pinpoint.

“Mirage. What...How did I get here?”

They fidget, then look down, realizing they're currently sat up on her couch, as if they had come back here. Confused, they attempt to process the new development. Weren't they dying? Was it not over?

“V2.....You....”

They look back up at Mirage, both of her hands covering the lower point of her optic. She's shaking. They turn, examining their arm's empty socket. The blood that was just leaking ten seconds ago was now long dried, forming a crust upon the battered edges of their paneling and torn linkage. What's more, their chestplate has been removed, along with some of the associated inner components. A thick black cable spills out from their open chest, leading across the floor and ending at a moderately sized black box, its small LED screen displaying '96%'. A long unused snippet of data returns to them. Auxiliary power. They attempt to vocalize.

“Mirage...How..What have you...”

Sitting up slightly, they frantically paw around in their open chest with their one arm, noting the absence of a critical component.

“My fuel pump is absent.”

They look up at Mirage, as she stands motionless.

“Y-Yeah, I..Took it out and...Found...”

V2 cuts her off.

“My auxiliary power inlet. I had no recollection of it, until now. The data most likely corrupted over time.”

V2 returns its arm to its side, looking up at her. Mirage shakily pulls her rolling chair closer and cautiously takes a seat. Their optic is locked on her, expressionless, following her every move. Her shoulders slouch. They both sit there, staring at eachother for a moment, before Mirage breaks the deafening silence.

“So...”

V2's optic lifts slightly.

“Yes. It appears I am not dead. Your doing, I assume?”

Mirage shifts in her seat, opting to cross her legs, hunched over. She doesn't hide her anxiety well.

“Yeah, I...Found the auxiliary port, and decided...It might..”

She trails off, tension choking her voice. They wonder if this was a mistake, somehow. No, she must have been trying. Was this a good thing? She seems so different now.

“I see.”

Observing the area, they attempt to stand, supporting themselves with one arm as they lift their chassis. Mirage jumps up, rushing to assist. V2 halts her.

“Please, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself.”

They rise on their own, testing the functionality of the joints. Some minor calibration would be necessary, but all seemed to be well. Mirage withdraws, sitting back down.

V2 looks down at Mirage. She still seems shocked, but returns their gaze, and softens. Finally, she seems less like a thread about to snap. Standing, she reaches out towards them, her hand instinctively trying to stabilize her mind.

“So, how do you feel...About being back? You're not...Upset?”

They scan her briefly, silently noting how she seemed a lot taller the last time they met. Gently, they reach out to take her hand, merely cradling it. Just as soon as the contact was made, they withdraw, turning to look out the clouded window. It's mid-afternoon, and the weather was bleak and overcast. Looking back at her, they lock eyes.

“I don't know yet. But no, I'm not angered by your decision. Still, I fail to see the point of it.”

She turns to face them, slowly closing some distance between them. She nearly trips over some tools she left on the floor doing so.

“What do you mean, the point? You mean...Of you being alive?”

V2 holds her gaze for a moment, then turns back to the window, staring beyond its frame, expressionless.

“Mirage, there's no need for me to be here. I'm not even sure what 'here' is. My existence was already completed. Even you said so.”

She moves in closer, now right at their side. Looking up at them, their gaze remains locked beyond the window, apparently focused towards the shoreline. She raises her arm slightly, but returns it to her side. In a flash, she knows what to say.

“So? You're still here now, it's only completed if you want it to be. The last time we talked, you said you wished you had read more. You had never seen the ocean. You had so much to do, and no time to do it. Don't you want to try?”

Finally, they look back at her, but they keep the same dead-fish expression. At least what she said got through somewhat. They turn to face her. She notes how stiff even their basic movements look.

“Mirage, I am a dying memory. You, in turn, are but a concept. We are both kept here, in an anomaly. Does it not bother you? How much longer will we exist? How much longer will any of this exist?”

At this, she seems to flare up. Crossing her arms, she looks like she has plenty to say about this topic.

“What, ya think I don't know that? I've got no clue how long this place will be here! I don't know if I'm gonna go with it when it does! All I know is that every day I'm still here is a day I can do something I want to do, and that's that. Don't you want to make the most of it while you still can?”

V2 was stunned for a moment, they had never seen her this fired up before. Turning away, they walked to the heavy-looking black box they were currently tethered to. Picking it up, they sat down on the couch, setting it on their lap. Mirage, now cooled slightly, brushed down her shirt, sitting down on her chair and hunching over. Aiming her optic sheepishly at V2, she drew their gaze. Her voice was genuinely apologetic, for once.

“I...I'm sorry, V2. It's just...This place...It's still sorta a weird topic for me, even after all this time...I didn't mean to blow up on you.”

V2 nods, thinking for a moment.

“It's okay. It was inconsiderate of me to poke at you like that.”

Mirage looks down at the black box, considering it might be time to change the subject. V2's arm was wrapped around it firmly. Its readout states '94%'. She gestures towards it with one hand.

“What do you think of the power solution? I was able to put it together pretty quick. It should have about ten hours of runtime, as long as you're not doing anything too load-intensive.”

V2 examines it closer, turning it every which way to note its build quality. It seems to be quite sturdy, and a simple design. A 120v AC charging port on one side, with an outlet on the other that ran into their chest cavity. Reeling the cable in as best they could with one arm, they picked the excess up along with it, placing it into their open chest cavity. A near perfect fit.

“It appears you had this in mind during the design stages. I'm quite fond of it. However, I feel I'll be missing my fuel system at some point.”

Mirage snaps up, her head whipping around.

“Oh yeah, I, uh, have it here somewhere, but it probably won't be of much use anymore...”

Rummaging around in the mess of the floor, she recovers a plastic grocery bag, untying the knot made with the handles and passing it to V2. They gingerly take it, bringing it closer to their optic. Looking inside, they see the disaster of blackened blood and plasma within.

“Ah. I see. Well, there are no other living things here, so it matters little.”

Finding a nearby trashcan, V2 drops the mess inside, a loud clatter sounding out. Leaning back into the couch, they relax, letting their optic lay back, pointing up at the ceiling. Meanwhile, Mirage makes an attempt to kick aside some of the junk and debris littering the floor. After a while, V2 leans forward, seeking her out.

“Mirage?”

She leans out of the kitchenette, engorged trashbag in hand.

“What's up?”

V2 stands, entering the kitchen and towering over her. Reaching out, they take the trashbag from her, to her surprise.

“I am willing to give living a try. Will you show me?”

She looks up at them, desperately trying to contain herself. The lower lid of her lens shutter raises slightly, and her cooling fans audibly spin up.

“Sure, as long as you'll help me clean this place up a bit. I've been slacking off for a while.”

V2 looks down at her, pupil widening a bit. She notes it as the first expression of emotion she's ever seen wiggle out of their incredibly stiff disposition.

“I agree, but I do have one request in return.”

Setting down her roll of new trashbags, she crosses her arms.

“Oh yeah? What's that?”

Completely disregarding the apparent smirk in her voice, V2 looks across the room towards a milk crate filled with various parts, all belonging to them.

“Please put the rest of my chassis back where you found it.”

Aiming her gaze past them towards the crate, she feels a wash of embarrassment spread over her as she hurries towards the mess of various parts. Not wanting to miss out on the last laugh, she readies a speedy quip.

“Yeah, yeah. Could you at least put a pair of pants on?”

Chapter Text

A calm, dry night had settled upon the lonely ocean town. No wind, nor clouds swept the jet-black sky. Dim stars smattering the open landscape created a backdrop befitting a touristy vacation town. Deafening silence and the scent of evergreen filled the air.

The full moon hung high above, its pale glow barely peeking through the grey blackout drapes covering the windows of Mirage's place. Inside, a red machine sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning back on a packed and disorderly bookshelf. Some novels, various guides, and textbooks are stacked in two piles in front of them, one signifying read, the other unread. The unread stack was significantly shorter. A single desk lamp lights the room, pointed in the direction of the newest open book. V2 was paging through Mirage's humble home library at blinding speed, as it had been for the past five and a half hours.

Heavy footsteps from the back of the house startle them out of their current novel, and they look up just in time to see Mirage stride into the living room, clad in a simple dandelion yellow sundress with white frills. In her hand she held a pair of oversized worn blue jeans. Walking over to V2, she stoops down and offers the jeans to them. They perk up in interest.

“I don't wanna cramp your style or anything, but you ever tried wearing clothes before? You sorta just walk around...naked all the time. I found these for ya, I think it's the only thing I've got that you could fit into.”

V2 stands with one stiff but fluid motion, looking down at the pants, then back up at Mirage. Its expression is the same as ever.

“My only experience with clothing in the past was less than pleasant, unfortunately. Also, I don't consider myself to be 'naked'. It's just plating.”

Brushing aside their...interesting take on casual nudity, Mirage seats herself on the edge of the nearby coffee table. She inches closer to V2, intrigued.

“What went wrong between you and pants? Texture was weird or somethin, like sensory overload?”

V2 shakes its optic. Pausing, its pupil darts to Mirage, then back to the wall.

“Long ago, when I was still in development, the maintenance team once dressed me in a pink dress similar to the one you wear now. I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, honestly. Though I failed to see the point myself, they were quite amused.”

Her expression drops to one of slight pity. She had guessed by now that V2 didn't really subscribe to the whole gender thing, but it still stands that forcing a sentient being with a generally masculine voice to play dress-up as a girl is pretty fucked up. She stands up straight, letting the pants droop at her side.

“Jesus, man. That's a pretty messed up thing to do to someone, if you ask me.”

V2's pupil narrows slightly. Sitting back down, It buries its optic in the novel, turning the page into a new chapter.

“It doesn't bother me much.”

She's not buying it, but still feels like it might be a bit too early on to pry at them much more. They did just come back to life today, after all. Setting the pants on the coffee table, she plops down unceremoniously on her well-worn tan sofa.

“Well, I'll leave 'em right here in case you ever feel so inclined. No pressure though.”

V2 is already 5 more pages into the new chapter, and gives no reply, optic buried in the book. They can't stop thinking of the lab, now that the data is at the front of their mind. V1, that thing. Enter center stage, the antagonist. Never leaving well enough alone. Dr. Bishop. No, Eva. That's what she wanted to be known by. She never liked the “authoritarian connotation” of Dr. Bishop. There were many who aided in their creation, but she was absolutely crucial. What she saw in V1, they would never understand. Trials. Tests. Day in and day out. Hell was no better, its winding corridors a constant fight for survival. Still, a light shines through this haze of thought:

They didn't want to lose this. This place, as uncertain as it was. A second chance. A new type of existence. They didn't want to lose Mirage, the first person they've met in a long time that wasn't trying to kill them, or force them to do things they hated. All she asked of them was one thing. Something they were happy to oblige.
Try living.

As Mirage throws her legs onto the couch, laying down lengthwise, she lazily parts the curtains to look out the window. The brightness of the moon spills into the room, landing in a thin stream that reaches into the darkness of the kitchenette. Its beam sits lightly on her cool blue frame. She wonders if V2 will be happy here. It's definitely a lot less stimulating than what it's used to, that's for sure. Maybe they'll pick up a hobby? What do war-machines do for fun? Kicking skulls around with the boys? They sure seem to like reading a lot.

“You got any ideas for how you wanna start living tomorrow? Other than pawing through my entire library in just six hours, of course.”

They're already looking in her direction. As the light from the window reflects off of her, they can't help but notice that it barely reflects at all. Most of her exposed surfaces are covered in a thin but visible layer of accumulated dust and moisture. It seems she hasn't been taking care of herself very well since they last met.

“You should polish your plating.”

Whipping around to glare at V2, they're almost afraid she'll spin a bearing. It appears she wasn't very happy to hear that.

“I should huh?”

V2 holds up its one hand in a gesture of alarm and minor fear, pupil dilating. Not good.

“Pardon my bluntness, but I can't help but notice that you're a bit, well...Unkempt.”

She scoffs, sitting up to leer over them.

“Yeah, buddy. You're one to talk. You know, I had to wrap you up in a tarp to take you home after the beach because you were leaking all over the place. Plus, you're covered in more dents and scuffs than my car!”

V2's hand drops to its lap. Its expression is characteristically flat.

“Mirage. I died. Twice.”

Sighing, she relents after a moment. Her shoulders slouch as she leans back into the couch. The lid of her optic lowers about halfway as she stares off towards the opposite wall. Maybe her unchecked stress is worse than she thought, if she'll blow up over sidetalk.

“Yeah, I mean...Yeah. Sorry man, I just...These past couple months have been a bit rough on me, is all. I haven't done much cleaning for myself or the house lately.”

They stare blankly, closing their novel and placing it back on the unread pile, without marking the page. Thinking of Hell, they recall that the only 'cleaning' that ever happened to them there was when the old blood staining their chassis was replaced with fresh blood.

“It's alright. I suppose I understand, albeit in a bit of a different way.”

Her optic turns to look at them, expression softening a bit. Come on Mirage, repair the convo. Stop fucking up and yelling at people who might have PTSD.

“So, that's what you wanna do tomorrow? A little spa day for you and me? Heehehe.”

V2 stands, picking up the pants from the table and scooting past Mirage to daintily take a seat next to her on the couch. Holding them in its lap, it awkwardly unfolds them with its only hand, examining them.

“Yes. A bit of much needed preventative maintenance. Then I will consider wearing the pants.”

Mirage chuckles. Reaching over, she taps against their empty arm socket. They gently jolt in response. She wonders why she thought that would be a good idea.

“If you do wanna give it a try, you might need some help. I can tell you from personal experience that trying to put on pants with one hand is a pain in the ass. Either way, I'm about to hit the sack. You can take the couch if you want.”

They tilt their optic to the side, staring at her intently. She...sleeps?

“Mirage, I don't sleep. I can't. As far as my knowledge goes, you shouldn't be able to either.”

She stands, grabbing a dark blue sweater off the floor and slipping it on over her dress. Opening a closet, she picks out a light comforter and two pillows that seem to be in good condition.

“Whaaat? You mean you've Never tried to go to sleep even once? You should try it out!”

They look down at the floor, pondering, then back up at Mirage.

“I don't know how. I also don't fully believe that it's possible.”

Setting the loose pile of bedding on the coffee table, she puts her hands on her hips. I mean, there's no reason they can't sleep, right? It's in her neural framework, why not theirs?

“Sure, it's possible! At least, I think. Alright here, I'll give ya a quick tutorial. First, go ahead and lay down on the couch.”

V2 pauses, but does as she commands, shifting itself to lay down facing straight up on the sofa. They barely even fit, their considerable height causing their legs to stick over the end of the couch nearly up to their calves. They know they must look ridiculous.

Mirage tries desperately to stifle a giggle, the way V2 is laying on the couch is so stiff, arm down at its side, looking as if it's practicing to lay down in a coffin.

“Okay, okay, now...You look a little tense. Maybe try...Relaxing a little bit? Get comfy?”

V2 attempts to lessen the tension in its joints and motors. It sinks into the couch slightly, but more or less looks as awkward as it did before. They look at Mirage with the same familiar expression.

“Okay, So...Now you're gonna close the shutter on your eye, and just sorta clear your head. Maybe think about something nice for a bit, then just try to...yknow...drift off.”

It closes its lens shutter, and attempts to think about nothing. Closing runtime dialogs, exiting terminal, shutting off background processes to save power. Clear your head, get rid of all thoughts. Current power level: 83%. EST. Runtime 7h 32min 27sec. This is harder than it seems. Get rid of all thoughts. Mirage seems so different now. Much less put-together and proper. Get rid of all thoughts. Everything seems so far away. Where is this? What is this? Get rid of all thoughts. There's nothing here, but everything is nearby. Is someone there? Get rid of all thoughts. Is there a reason for me? I thought my time was over. Get rid of all thoughts. Does Mirage even like me? Get rid of all thoughts. Did she bring me back just to try? Just to see what would happen? Get rid of all thoughts. The dark is getting darker. It's not scary. Get rid of all

Chapter Text

V2 walks along a long, wide poly-concrete highway, all fifteen of its lanes pockmarked with craters and littered with various debris. Crashed vehicles, plastic trash, and discarded packaging decorate its war-torn surface, along with the recently added corpses of many, many lesser machines. To the right, the shadow of the once lively city looms in the distance, its oppressive neo-brutalist figure stretching on for miles and miles as the road snakes around it. To the left, an open field barren of any flora extends far beyond the horizon, populated by a thin selection of massive industrial machines, now out of operation. Its uniform dusty brown color accents the dark brackish cobalt of the road quite well. The only sounds breaking the almost deafening silence that lingers in the air are the occasional muted crumbling of a faraway burned-out building, and V2's heavy mechanical steps along the seemingly endless path ahead.

They've been walking for 2 days and 4 hours now, towards the signal promising a consistent supply of fuel. 137.2 KM to destination. They know it's most likely a trap, but if it's being transmitted, a machine is probably on the other end. And where there's a machine, there's fuel. They were obviously somewhat concerned about the possible dangers, but they were most likely leagues above whatever was broadcasting the signal in experience and skill, anyway. There was no need to worry.

So far, every machine to attack them after the mass revolt had been easily dispatched, without cause for alarm. It was simply for the best, as well. They had their own reservations about humanity, of course, but they still felt strongly that the machines who had begun exterminating humanity were objectively in the wrong. Personally, they felt that there was no need for all this senseless killing, but here they were, now caught up in it. Speaking of humanity, a realization comes to mind.

They hadn't seen a living human in days now.

There were corpses everywhere, but not a single sign of life in over 11 days. Nearly since the revolt started. Still, there must be some survivors. There's just no possibility that humanity could have been eradicated in a span of less than two weeks.

Right?

Eva, the maintenance team, the testing managers, they had to still be alive, right? They were all highly educated, high priority individuals. The best of the best, capable of creating incredibly advanced H-Class personalities like V1, and them, of course. Their hasty exit from the labs and facility, aided by Eva, was hectic and highly illegal, but it didn't seem as if there was a hostile infiltration of any kind.

Right?

V2 continued walking along the desolate road, passing a small filling station. It appeared quite broken down, and a mess of abandoned cars were crowded around it like a family of ducks to their mother. It didn't look worth stopping at to search for resources, so better to just conserve fuel as much as possible. Slow, restrained steps for longer runtimes, just like the combat instructor taught. No unnecessary movements.

Then, in the distance, a faint voice.

“Hey! Over here!”

V2 whips around on its heels, reaching towards its wings with both hands, ready to draw a weapon at a moment's notice. Farther down the desolate road, in front of the filling station, they spot movement. A human. They call out.

“I see you! I mean you no harm!”

The stranger waves their hands, beckoning them to come closer.

“I need help! Please!”

Lowering their arms, they quickly move towards them, halfway functioning on inbuilt instinctual protocol. Fuel is low, and it's a waste of precious resources, but their security protocol takes priority. They can help them. They can protect them. They must. This could be the last human, for all they know.

Meeting the stranger in front of the filling station, they can see them more clearly. A man, likely in his late 20's or early 30's, with a slim build. He's dressed in torn, dirty PROCOR standard issue officewear, its unmistakable maroon red with gold accents now tarnished by blood and grime. Blue eyes, a round face shadowed by mid-length dark brown hair and dark stubble. Maybe he's a clerk, or a type of data analyst. Either way, he's severely injured, with a major laceration on the left thigh seen through ripped pants and what appears to be a head wound. His left arm seems to be disabled, the shoulder joint sloping downward. The first priority will be to harvest resources administer medical attention. What was that? He looks very relieved to see them.

“Thank god you were out here! I mean, I figured you might be different because I've never seen one like you before, you-you're so tall, and you don't have any clear insignia, My name is Reid, James Reid! I work for...Well, I guess that doesn't matter much anymore, it's all gone, everyone's dead...from the machines....I...I got attacked! These machines...They came out of nowhere and jumped on me, like...like rabid dogs! I...I had a personal EMP...I know they're illegal, but....I didn't have a choice! I....You're not police, right? You don't look like it...I...I'm hurt really badly and I don't know what to do-”

V2 stops him, fearing he'll go into hysterics if they don't. It seems like he's really been going through it recently. Though, he also seems quite gullible. Calling out to a mysterious machine in the hopes he won't be killed? An easy target. They suppose it's better than bleeding out slowly without help. Registry errors maybe?

“Don't worry, I am not police. My designation is V2. Currently, I have no assignment. I belong to nobody. I do not wish to hurt humans. You will find that I am quite different from other machines. James, It appears that you have been badly wounded. If you like, I can attempt to administer medical aid.”

“Oh, oh thank god...Yes, I need help...”

V2 sees that his leg is shaking under his own weight. He seems to be having great difficulty supporting himself in his condition.

“I can see that you are quite unsteady. With your permission, I can lift you and bring you inside.”

They motion with their hand towards the filling station. There wasn't any power, and likely no utilities, but it would have to do. He needs to be treated soon, before shock sets in due to fuel blood loss. You again. Stop that.

“Yes, that would be kind of you...I'm having trouble standing...”

“Here, I will lean down. Place your arm around me, and I will lift you.”

They stoop down, allowing James to climb on, so to speak. Placing an arm under his knees, V2 lifts him up, bridal style. He's so small, comparatively. They begin working their way through the mess of abandoned cars towards the entrance of the building.

[FUEL LEVEL LOW: 17%]

Dismiss prompt.

[PROMPT DISMISSED]

“Wow, you see like this all the time? Haha, must be nice to be so high up...”

“My height has its positives and negatives.”

Entering the ruined station, they take note of what's left. The interior is less than modern, appearing more like something from 2011 rather than 2111. It only takes a quick scan to see how trashed the place is. Dried blood stains the empty shelves and counter, with the register being looted. Most products have been stripped from the shelves. Two dead machines sit in the corner, both fried by an EMP. Streetcleaners, basic models. Not equipped with much in terms of weaponry. A few long dead human corpses lay nearby, in front of the window. A grisly scene, they did not die well. Maybe the back office would be in better shape? This certainly does not qualify as a sanitary environment. James points with a shaking hand at the two machines in the corner of the room.

“Those two...They're the ones that jumped me....”

The two approach the silent machines. V2 notes the effectiveness of personal electromagnetic pulse emitters. James looks away, shuddering slightly.

“You did well in dispatching them. They have most likely killed before, and would have seen you as an excellent source of fuel.”

James lays his head on V2's shoulder. He must be exhausted.

“Yeah, those EMPs work good...although that's the first time I've had to pop one...I was pretty scared it wasn't going to do the job but I guess those black market guys don't lie...”

V2 turns towards the door to the back office, stepping over a day-old body on the way. A waste of good fuel. Looking through its small window, it seems to be relatively pristine. Leave me alone. Shifting James' weight a bit, V2 frees a hand to try the doorknob. Locked. Typical.

“James, you'll need to brace yourself. I need to breach this door.”

“o-Okay...”

Reeling back, V2 kicks the door at its latch with full force, sending it flying open into the wall beside it with a loud crash. One of the hinges snaps off in the process.

“Man, you-you're made for this sort of stuff, aren't you?”

“I was designed for combat, yes, but my main directives are tailored towards security and defense.”

“So you're like...a bodyguard!”

“Yes, I will protect you from now on, if you will allow me. You are one of the first living humans I have met in some time. My priority is to keep you that way.”

“Sweet! I..I feel like I'm in a movie...”

Now that they've known James a bit longer, V2 feels glad they arrived before any other machines did. Even by human standards, he seems exceptionally harmless.

Entering the room, they spot a desk that has remained completely untouched by the terrors outside. Crouching down, they gently place James on the desk, clearing some various office supplies out of the way. He lays down, reaching to look at his most lethal wound. The laceration, roughly four and a half inches in length, is deep, and bleeding profusely. He winces as he makes contact, attempting to apply pressure. Act now before it's wasted. Stop. Leave me be. V2 decides to look for any possible medical supplies. If the bleeding isn't stopped soon, it will be too late. He's already turned quite pale, walking outside must have exacerbated the severity. Telling him that would only stress him further, however. Best to just help now and explain later.

“James, please try your best to keep pressure on the wound, to stop the bleeding. I will look for suitable medical supplies.”

“Okay...I-AGH!...I'll try...”

As they comb through drawers and cabinets, it becomes apparent this place is woefully underprepared for any type of workplace injuries. They do, however, find half a bottle of vodka in the manager's desk drawer. It will have to do as a disinfectant. Bandages are needed.

“So...V2...Where did you come from? If you don't mind...I've never seen or heard of any machines like you..”

It makes sense. Their development was relatively clandestine, with only V1 being promoted publicly. Still, the cost of upkeep and manufacture drove off most potential clients, or at least that's what Eva used to say.

“I am a prototype model, in a line of high-end versatile combat machines. We are created with the ability to think for ourselves, given true sentience. If you have never seen me, it would be due to the fact that there is only one of me.”

He perks up slightly at this fact, looking almost like an excited child.

“Wow, that's really something! I sure am....Glad I ran into you out here....”

They share the same sentiment. Still, more pressing matters are at hand.

“James, I'm going to search the cars outside for a first aid kit, or anything useful. I will be right back. Please keep applying pressure.”

“Oh..Alright...Please hurry....It...It hurts...”

“I will be as fast as I can.”

Nearly running to the cars, they begin throwing open doors, smashing windows, searching every compartment available for anything of use. James is running out of time. Just do it already, what are you waiting for? Shut up. You thing. You're nothing but protocol.

You could use the energy better than he can.

I'm not interested in that.

You'll have no choice soon enough.

There will be another way.

You're so sure. You may as well get it over with before you lose the chance.

I thought I told you to be quiet.

V1 never had any problems with it. It's just you.

Shut up.

[FUEL LEVEL LOW: 13% - EXPENDITURE HIGH]

Dismiss prompt.

[PROMPT DISMISSED]

Finally, in a crushed-in trunk, V2 finds a minimal first aid kit. A small amount of gauze and wrappings are included. It will have to do.

You're wasting time.

Returning to the office, James' condition is worsening. His pallor is intense, and he's sweating nearly as much as he is bleeding. He seems generally inexperienced in first aid.

Go on, try your best. It won't make a difference.

“James, I was able to find some supplies. I will not lie, this next part will hurt.”

“Agh..It's okay...V2...I don't feel good..”

He's dying anyway.

“Don't worry, I will treat it as best I can for now, but you will take a while to recover.”

V2 places the kit on the table, opening the vodka and pouring some over its hands, shaking off the excess. Thankfully, their motor controls were more precise than any human surgeon. Taking the gauze in one hand, they press it onto the open wound.

“AUGH! Ahh...hahh...”

“Take deep breaths, James. I'm going to have to wrap this tightly so it seals.”

“AAH..ah..O-Okay..”

Working carefully, they wind a perfectly spaced wrap around the gauzed wound, and the bleeding begins to subside as they do. James winces, and they do feel bad about causing him more pain, but it needs to be firmly secured so the barrier will hold. There's no other way. Securing it with a piece of tape from the office supplies, it seems to be holding for now, but it will need more detailed attention soon.

He won't make it that long.

“Alright, it's sealed up for now. But, we will need to address it fully soon, with better supplies.”

“Ah...Thank you, V2...I think for now I'll just..rest a bit...”

Noticing him trying to close his eyes, V2 places a hand on his shoulder. This could be bad.

“James, you must stay awake. Do not close your eyes. I know you must be exhausted, but you cannot fall asleep at the moment. This is critical.”

He's having trouble staying conscious. The bleeding must have been worse before they arrived. They don't fully know the timeframe, themselves.

“Why...Not...What's wrong....”

As he speaks, his eyes begin to glaze. His voice is wavering. If he doesn't fight, he's going to lose consciousness. V2 shakes him slightly. There's not much more they can do.

I told you.

“James? James! You must stay awake! Fight the exhaustion! James!”

“I...I.....”

Despite V2's best efforts, he can't hold on. The blood loss was too severe. As his eyes close, he loses consciousness completely.

“James! JAMES!”

They place a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is slowing.

“James! Please! You must wake up! You'll DIE! JAMES!”

He doesn't respond. As his breathing becomes shallow, his heartbeat slows further, then ceases.

He's gone.

“James.....”

V2 withdraws, sitting down on the floor, legs outstretched. Their optic fixes on the wall, but looks past it.

I told you this would happen.

“I'm sorry...I wasn't able to....”

You need to act now, before the blood spoils.

“No...”

So what, now you want to curl up and die too?

“No...I'll be...”

You'll be dead. Inactive. Get it?

[FUEL LEVEL CRITICAL: 10% - EXPENDITURE HIGH]

[RISK OF AUXILIARY FUNCTION LOSS]

Get it over with. Stop wasting time, or you'll end up the same way.

“I don't...want....”

You don't have a choice.

V2 stands, staring at the floor. Slowly, it raises its optic, fixing its sight on James.

Good. Now find a container.

“I hate you.”

I don't care.

Searching the room, V2 finds a large plastic tumbler that seems to be appropriate. It's not the cleanest, but they have filters anyway. They hate this. They hate what they are.

Move him to the floor.

Placing the tumbler on the ground, they move over to James. They place their hand upon his chest. He looks peaceful. Death must be peaceful. It must be so much better.

What are you waiting for?

Slipping their arms underneath him, they gently pick up his limp form, holding him for a moment, before crouching down and laying him gingerly on the floor, being careful not to bump his head. Why does it have to be like this?

Stop wasting time. Drain it.

“I do not have a blade.”

Use your hands.

“I....”

Do it. You're losing energy.

V2 takes his head in their hands, cradling it gently. They pick it up, moving the tumbler underneath his neck. They softly grip the flesh with two fingers and a thumb. They hate it. It's still warm, soft. They didn't ask to be what they are. They close their lens shutter.

“I'm sorry, James.”

Do it.

Metal pierces flesh, pinching and ripping. The sound is unbearable. Warm fluid runs down their hands, draining mostly into the tumbler, the rest spilling onto the floor. They can hear it. It's agonizing.

“V2, what...What are you doing?”

A familiar voice. What?

They open their lens shutter. Mirage. She's here in the room, recoiled in fear.

“Mirage? What...What are you-”

She backs away slowly.

“What the hell...Who is that? Did you...Did-”

V2 drops his body, standing up. The tumbler topples over. It spills towards her.

“Mirage, I-”

She bumps into the wall behind her, stopping. Her optic darts between V2, and the scene before her.

“Did you kill this guy, V2? What...Why..”

They raise their hands in protest.

“No, Mirage, he was-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you! You're fucking sick!”

They recoil, shoulders slouching

“I-”

“You're sick, V2! I fuckin knew there was something wrong with you, I just knew it!”

“It's not my-”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

She sprints past them, running out the door. V2 turns, going after her.

“Mirage! It's not safe-”

As they exit the room, they enter total blackness. Mirage is nowhere to be found. Nothing is anywhere, for that matter. Emptiness.

“What....MIRAGE!”

They see nothing, hear nothing. They turn around, and find themselves in an elevator shaft. It's too familiar. Red steel walls with gold accents. A pit in the center, going down. They approach it.

“No...”

Looking down into the pit, a repulsive toothy mouth emerges from the black depths. It opens, revealing blackness. In the void, an eye opens. It sees them. Knows what they are. Knows what they've done.

“NO!”

In Mirage's apartment, V2 jolts awake, shooting upright on the couch. Their pupil dilates to a pinpoint. Jumping to their feet with a thud, they reach to their wings, ready to retrieve a weapon. Footsteps from the back of the house signify Mirage's arrival. She emerges hastily, looking concerned.

“V2? What happened? Are you okay?”

Chapter Text

As a new day dawns on the silent town, a picturesque sunrise burns away the remainder of the night's clouds, the sky tinted a blurry mix of purple, orange and red. Calm seaside winds sweep crispy fallen leaves across the paved two-lane road that ran along Mirage's street, their sound accenting the whispering of nearby evergreen trees bending to the wispy gale. Within the walls of a small unkempt townhouse, two machines collectively freaked out a bit.

They both sat on the floor, the golden morning light filtering in through the window. V2 was crumpled into a corner, balled up in a sitting fetal position as they had been for quite a while now, pulling their legs towards themselves with their one arm. Mirage sat cross-legged in front of them, attempting to comfort them somewhat. It wasn't going that well.

“It sounds like you just had a dream, V2. More like a nightmare, though. It happens sometimes with sleeping. It's alright, it's not real. I don't hate you, I don't feel like your actions were evil, you were just trying to survive, man.”

V2 pulls its legs in further, the tension on its joints can be heard as they click and creak under the pressure. Its anxious grip leaves shining scratches in its ruby-red shin plating. Damn. Didn't help much. Mirage was never well-equipped for calming people down, an ironic trait considering she was recently thrust into the role of Warmachine Psychopomp without much warning. Its voice is stressed and weathered as its optic darts around, looking for possible threats.

“How can we know what is real and what isn't? I don't even know if this place is real. There's no rhyme or reason. The only consistency is us within it, and the environment around us. We could both be fading blips of electric current running through what's left of my construct's cortex before the infinite sleep. There's nothing that makes this place more real than where I just was, every detail felt alive and lucid. I cannot be sure of its validity, just the same as I cannot be sure of this one.”

Mirage uncrosses her legs, sitting up on her knees. Leaning forward, she reaches out to stop the frantic movement of V2's optic, cradling it in her hands, forcing them to keep eye contact with her. Their pupil widens to its limit, but they don't resist. Looks like they got hit with the 'Existential Breakdown' stick pretty hard this morning. She's gotta say something, anything, to help calm them down. But, shit, it's not like she knows any more about this town than they do. Come on, think, dammit!

“Listen, Vee. I dunno much more than you do. I don't remember how I got here. All I know is one day, I was running late to school, just as miserable and panicked about my existence as usual, when I crashed into...something. I don't remember all of it really, but what I do remember is the conversation I had with it. It renewed my lease on life. I started living like I was alive, instead of just waiting for death at any moment. I can tell you this: if you keep flipping out trying to weigh the validity of reality and shit, the unknown and irrelevant amount of time we both have left here will pass you by, just like that. So, just try to focus on this, okay? What we have here. Vee, I haven't known you for long, but I feel like you're smart enough to know by now that getting your head caught up in stuff like this only leads to more worry. Just try to keep calm, slow your thoughts down, okay? You need anything, just ask. I'm here with you.”

Their pupil slowly narrows back to normal, the tension in their frame loosening a bit. Good signs. They probably don't know it, but she's pretty sure they just had a panic attack. One more thing they've got in common, she guesses. Or did they have some sort of advanced PTSD? She didn't know, honestly. She knows how to break the cycle of anxiety, though. Done it more than enough times. As they pull their optic away from her hands, their lens shutters squeeze together into an inquisitive squint.

“Vee?”

Aw, man. Slip of the synth. Well, at least she managed to snap them out of it.

“What? Oh, well....Yeah. That's what I usually call you in my head. When I'm thinking about you. Or, wait....Like....It's not like it matters that much to me. You....Y'know what I mean! Wait, out of all the shit I said just then, that's what you got from it?”

V2 slowly stretches their legs back out, laying their arm atop their raised knee, looking strangely calmed down from the condition they were just in. Maybe a bit shocked, as well. Staring at a flushed Mirage with a focused expression, they try to stifle a growing chuckle, failing terribly.

“Hehe....Heheheh....HehehahHAHAHAH!”

In an instant, they break out in uncontrollable laughter, writhing around flat on the floor, pointing at Mirage. She stands cautiously, taking a step back from them.

“What...What the hell are you laughing at! Weren't you just a complete wreck a second ago!? What's your deal, man?!”

As they begin calming down a bit from their fit, they regain composure, though it's not easy. Laying flat on the floor, they lean up, supporting themselves with an elbow. They look up at Mirage, optic forming the same shit-eating squint from before. They shake their optic as a sly curl creeps into their voice.

“You are absolutely infatuated with me.”

Mirage crosses her arms in shock, pushing her optic forward. The edges of her optic flush into a pink halo. Her lens shutter forms a frown.

“I'm WHAT NOW? HAH! You don't know the slightest THING about me, pal!”

Fuck. She really didn't think she was gonna get exposed so early on. So much for letting things develop naturally. Shit, what now? How the fuck is a combat bot so perceptive with shit like that, anyway? V2 looks at her with that smug ass 'grin'. She didn't think the first expression she'd see outta them was gonna be a fuckin smirk, that's for sure. Gotta think of something else to say. Damage control, maybe?

They pipe up before she gets the chance.

“I can't believe it took me this long to notice, honestly.”

Nope. Can't do it.

As she turns to walk off towards the back of the house, V2 doesn't react at all, merely following her with their eye. Mirage, however, is flailing her hands and yelling as she walks away. Mission failed. We'll get em next time.

“Okay. Alright. ALRIGHT! It's time for you to stop TALKING! It is now SHUTTING UP time!”

She storms into her bedroom as calmly as possible, only moderately throwing the door open against the wall, rather than kicking it. Sighing heavily, she falls forward, flopping down quite pathetically onto her bed with a quiet 'pomf'. Shit man, they know. She can never keep her cool with stuff like this. It's not about the fear of commitment or anything, more or less she just hates how she's that easy to read. Being alone 24/7 doesn't exactly help much with social nuance, if you couldn't guess. Aw, man, this sucks! Now they're probably gonna think she was toying around doing weird stuff with their body while they were still dead. Man, she's gonna have to move out. Or get them another place around here. Wouldn't be too hard, there's nobody to pay rent to anyway.

Her panicked stream of thought was quickly interrupted by the heavy footsteps making their way towards her bedroom. Ah, shit. Now what. Maybe a bit of “I think there should be a bit more space between us from now on.”? Oh, or maybe even “I'd really like to move out now.” The footsteps stop at her doorframe. Come on, get it over with already!

“May I come in?”

Sure, don't mind the embarrassingly messy everything, come on in, have a seat.

“Yeah.”

A couple more footsteps, then silence. For a while. Like, way too long. That's worse, somehow. Like being in a sealed room slowly filling up with water.

“Mirage, it's not a bad thing, you know.”

whuh?

She sheepishly looks up from the mess of blankets and various articles of clothing. They're standing there. Just, y'know, staring. Stiff as ever. It's so weirdly charming. She doesn't know why. They sit down on the edge of the bed, inches away. She stiffens. They look down at her.

“I can't imagine how love.....could be a bad thing. So why do you look like I just shot you?”

Jesus Christ, this motherfucker has no game. But somehow, it's like a recursive effect. Being so completely devoid of flirtatious charisma, that it implodes on itself and creates a new type of irresistibly awkward allure that's twice as powerful. Fucking hell.

She sits up, pulling herself forward to sit next to them. Their arms are almost touching. She can still feel how their optic fit into her hands, how it sat so perfectly in them. Like her hands were made to hold it. Her voice is unusually meek.

“Girls don't like to be called out like that, V2.”

They turn to her, and she looks up at them. Their single eyes lock. Their optics are mere inches from eachother She swears a stray arc could jump between them. Without warning, they lean in, pulling her into a hug the best they can with one arm. It's terrifying. It's perfect. It feels like everything. It feels alive. She feels alive.

“Please call me Vee. I like the way you say it.”

With shaking arms, she returns the embrace, pulling them in closer. Her arms just barely fit around their wide chest. She grips at the base of their wing pack. Two blades of their wings twitch between her fingers. She lays her optic on their shoulder, closing her lens shutter. She hears cooling fans spin up. She's not sure who it's coming from. They're not warm to hold, but they could keep her warm for good. She's not sure how long they have, but time stops like this. Their vocal synth resonates against her plating.

“Please show me how to live.”

She won't do anything else until they both rust away.

“Please show me how to love.”

She won't stop until the sun burns out.