Obedience

Simplicity

    The morning is still. Birds sing on the branches of a tree without a care in the world. Sprinklers sputter back and forth on the lawns of various houses in the neighborhood. And a boy sleeps peacefully in his bed. If not, a little too comfortably. He's sprawled out, with half his blanket on, half off; and his mouth hanging wide open. The sun is just peering through the window, casting a warm glow into the room.
    His home is small, as he lives in a refurbished garage. Fit with a bed, workspace and a kitchen in three of the four corners. In the fourth corner, there are two doors, one leading into the house this garage belongs to, and the other to the backyard. The whole room is almost like a makeshift apartment.
    Calling it a "kitchen" may be a little generous, though. There's certainly a sink and a counter, with a couple cupboards and drawers to match, but real utilities and food are sparse. Only a microwave, snacks and instant meals to be seen here.
    As for the workspace, it's very tidy, with no problems to be had. On one side, the table holds a circuit board, and neatly lined tools. Wires and screws in their small, respective containers also occupy this side. On the other side, there's an open notebook with a list scribbled down, a laptop that's also opened, and at the foot of the laptop, is a pair of glasses. The laptop is in sleep mode, the screensaver slowly bouncing a logo around each of the four sides of the screen.
    Alongside the table is what's taking up the most space in this corner, a recharge station. The paint had been scratched off and chipped, but painted over with an ever so slightly different shade of red. It's a little beaten up, but definitely gets the job done. It seems well taken care of, given its circumstances, and has been shown a lot of TLC.
    The metaphorically flashy lights on the outside are still as vibrant as ever. On the inside, however. A figure is cast in shadow. There are no lights turned on in there at the moment, and the figure stays motionless. Lastly, about the bed... Well, there's someone occupying it.
    A young adult with messy brown hair and bandages littering his body. Most notably, the fingers, arms, legs, and a single one across his right cheek. Near the bandage, lays his forearm, it bears a long purplish scar. Almost as if it had been recently bruised. Although, the scar and any injuries regarding it, have been healed for many years. This boy's name is Gregory.
    Next to the bed, is a nightstand with an orange watch shaped like a bear, positioned with utmost care; Alongside a lamp and an empty water bottle. Suddenly, the watch starts playing a loud tune, as the interface flashes "Alarm, 9:00 AM".
    Gregory jolts awake, startled by the sheer volume of the alarm. An arm reaches over to tap the watch's screen, and turns it off. He sits up on the side of the bed, and takes a big stretch. Grabbing the watch off of the nightstand, he straps it to his left wrist, then stands and drags himself over to the workspace.
    He gives the side of the recharge station a couple pats and the lights inside illuminate. Inside, stands a seven foot tall, orange animatronic bear. Sporting a blue design around the eyes, piercing on the left ear, studded wristbands and a small top hat. The bear opens its eyes and they look towards Gregory.
    "Good morning, Freddy." Gregory yawns. "Let's try to finish those repairs today, okay?"
    He sits down in front of the open laptop and slides on his glasses. The laptop wakes, and he immediately opens a few applications. The door to the recharge station hisses open and out steps the animatronic.
    "Good morning, Gregory. You are up earlier than usual today."
    "I wanted to have time to fix you up before work."
    "Of course, I am ready whenever you are." The bear takes it upon himself to take a long wire connected to the computer, and plug it into a port, hidden in his neck. "Oh! Do not forget that your rent is due to Missus Martinez, one week from now." He advises.
    Freddy seats himself in another rolling chair facing away from the table, next to Gregory. Not that he needs to rest, but to be on the same level as his trusty handyman. Unlike the other chair, this one has arm rests, and seems to be in better shape. Instead of resting his shiny, almost toy-like arms face down, they're pointed towards the ceiling.
    "Yeah, yeah. I know..." Gregory leans his head into his hand. "I'll get it to her soon." He says, waving his hand dismissively.
    Bandaged fingers tap away at the laptop's keys, as Gregory tries to find the place they left off. Lines upon lines of code stretch down the application's window, as if it were never ending. At one point, Gregory barely knew what any of it meant, only foggy memories of a more sinister time; but now, through many years of self-teaching, he understands every bit of it clearly. Code, such as this, is very delicate. Even the smallest of typos could ruin the entire execution. For times like that, he keeps multiple backups on the desktop, to restore the AI if needed.
    Though, it's not necessarily the AI that needs fixing, it's mostly physical. The animatronic's parts are getting worn down and weak. However, these parts are hard to come across, consider them an exclusivity to that place. There's only so much stalling by messing with the programming Gregory can do without these parts. Who knows what will happen, when the one's already installed, give out.
    Gregory abruptly spins his chair to face Freddy, and gives a gentle press and release to a panel on the bear's forearm. The contrast of the two actions in succession, would give the average person on the receiving end, emotional whiplash. However, Freddy is unphased. The shell covering his forearm opens, like a set of double doors.
    The inside of the arm is surprisingly simple. A handful of color-coded wires, with a small box hidden behind them. Underneath the box, houses the endoskeleton, ever so slightly peering through. Though, It seems the real magic is within the programming.
    Gregory lightly pulls the wires apart, like curtains, revealing the box beneath. They catch themselves on the sides of the box, so that the box can stay uncovered. Without looking at the table, Gregory hastily reaches to snatch a screwdriver, so he can unscrew the bolts on the box.
    Instead of the screwdriver he expected, he grips the blade of an open pocket knife, and the surprise makes him swipe back his hand; resulting in him slicing his palm. Gregory lets out an exclamatory "Ah!" in shock, and quickly inspects the laceration. Luckily, it's neither big, nor deep.
The bandages he wears are a clear testament that things like this happen to him often. Not to mention, some bruising here and there as well. Gregory isn't particularly reckless, so much as he's more clumsy. He learned to be prepared for moments like this.
    Reaching under the desk, he pulls out a first aid kit that was waiting on the floor. The kit is filled with bandages, gauze, a hand towel and a single, travel-sized bottle of antiseptic spray. Spraying the antiseptic on his hand, Gregory grits his teeth and tenses his hand in pain as it starts to sting and froth up.
    Freddy turns to look at him, shifting his face to a concerned expression. "I know minuscule injuries are a common occurrence for you, but perhaps you should start being more careful. Becoming aware of your surroundings is a great place to start!" He proposed, enthusiastically.
   Gregory sits in silence, focusing on dabbling his hand dry. He's hunched over and legs crisscrossed up on the chair, like how a kid would sit. Truthfully, he doesn't know how to respond. Oftentimes, he becomes caught up in the moment, letting his emotions take charge of the intensity behind his actions. Most of the time, this leads to him stumbling, wounding, botching, or just outright failing. To him, it always felt more like bad luck, rather than anything that's in his control.
    Tossing these feelings aside, he really does appreciate when Freddy tries giving him advice. It never gives the impression of him attempting to scold or lecture, but rather like a caring friend giving guidance.
    Gregory picks up the screwdriver and leans over to unscrew the box. "Thanks for the advice." He assents; with an empty, yet somehow genuine tone.

    As the morning turns to noon, the sun has risen straight above the neighborhood. Another alarm goes off on Gregory's watch, this time a lot quieter and less obnoxious. The watch's interface reads "Work, 12:00 PM". Gregory taps the screen. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, trying his best to hide his frustration.
    An animatronic hand rests on his shoulder. "It is alright, Gregory. We can try again another time. It is time for you to go to work, you do not want to be late."
    "There has to be something I'm missing... There has to be some way to fix you without Pizzaplex branded parts." He says, with the look of frustration turning to disappointment.
    "I am sorry, Gregory, but there is not much we can do without the correct parts."
    Gregory slowly hangs his head and frowns, then turns to walk away.

    "I'll see you later, Freddy!" Gregory steps into the house, already dressed in a uniform. A solid purple polo with a company logo embroidered on the left of his chest, and the tan color of his slacks balancing the vibrant color of purple. "Mrs. Martinez?" He calls out as he makes his way to the bathroom. The house stays quiet, save for the wood floors settling under his feet as he walks. She's probably out running errands. He thought.
Mrs. Martinez was an older woman, not much taller than Gregory himself. Only the two of them occupy the house, it's not very big house, just one floor; but that's all the both of them need. She gladly took him in when they met each other, and even gave him his own space in the garage.
Everything inside the house is kept clean and tidy, with not a spec of dust to be seen. Mrs Martinez loves decor with cheesy sayings like Live, Laugh, Love or Bless This Nest. They can be found anywhere you look. On the walls, picture frames, pillows, hand towels, mugs, you name it. Gregory finds it tacky, but charming for a little old lady like her.
    Arriving at the bathroom, Gregory immediately turns his attention to the mirror. He attempts to fix and flatten the cowlicks in his hair... To no avail. Exhaling irritably, he stands there for a moment. He raises his right arm to look at the gnarly scar that it holds.
Traumatic memories flood his mind, this scar is a constant reminder of a time that's been long gone for many years. Though traumatic, his face wears a stoic expression. As if he was listening to someone else share their concerning experiences, rather than remembering his own. The area begins to develop a tingling sensation... Gregory shakes the thought and rushes out the front door and off to work.