Clockwork Minds

Chapter 12: Childhood and Madness

Dr. Mendez tapped his pen against the clipboard, his cold, unreadable eyes waiting for my response to his offer. But my mind was elsewhere, pulled back to memories I'd buried deep, even from myself.

I'd always known I was different. While other children laughed and played games, making friends as naturally as breathing, I'd felt drawn to the quiet hum of machinery, to the intricate beauty of gears and motors. Machines didn't mock, didn't lie, didn't fail you. My grandfather had seen this, nurturing it and keeping me isolated from my parents. He was my whole world, making sure my focus was always on engineering, discipline, and control.

But he wanted me to do more than just build things. He wanted me to test them, to feel the mechanics in action, to push everything to its limit. Life, he said, was a battlefield, a game of power and precision, and only the strongest deserved to win. "Life's a battlefield, Mara. Either you control it, or it controls you." His words settled in my bones, becoming a mantra. He trained me like one of his machines, drilling order and purpose into every part of me. By the time I was a teenager, I could disassemble and reassemble nearly anything.

But humans—they were far messier, more challenging, less predictable. And it was that unpredictability that unsettled me. I was revolted by the weaknesses I saw in them—how easily they buckled and broke under pressure.

One memory stood out most. After yet another "incident" at the ward, where I'd struck out at a nurse, he came to visit. He wasn't angry, not even surprised. Instead, he looked at me with a gleam in his eye, something like pride. "Good girl," he'd said. "Never let anyone make you feel weak."

That was the last time I saw him. A few months later, he was gone, taken by an illness that no one saw coming—a battle he couldn't control or win. Afterward, they told me he'd left everything to me—his tools, his notes, his philosophies. And with his death, something shifted in me. Every year, on the anniversary of his death, I'd find myself quiet, and calm, as if honoring the only person who truly understood me. Those were the days when I didn't lash out, didn't test the boundaries, a strange kind of reverence calming the storm inside me.

Now, Dr. Mendez's offer hung in the air, like a challenge. He'd take my brain after I died and add it to his precious collection, a twisted trophy of our agreement. "So," he said, snapping me back to the present. "Do we have a deal?"

I looked him dead in the eye, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Let's just say you'll have something truly worth studying... eventually."

Dr. Mendez leaned back slightly, a curious expression crossing his face as he considered my words. "You know, I used to know a gifted child like you—a real prodigy. A narcissist who loathed the world so much that he believed he could rise above it all. He thought he was destined for greatness, just like you."

I narrowed my eyes, intrigued despite myself. "And what happened to him?"

"He fell into a spiral of his own making," he replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "In his quest for power, he lost touch with reality. He thought he could control everything around him, but he was just a child playing with fire. He burned himself in the end, consumed by his own hubris."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Sounds like he was weak. A shame, really."

Dr. Mendez's expression hardened. "But you're different, right? You understand your potential, don't you? You're intelligent enough to realize that power comes with responsibility—and consequences." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But tell me, Elmara, do you truly believe you're stronger than he was? That you won't make the same mistakes?"

I met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm not like him. I'm not bound by the limitations of humanity. I'm more than flesh and blood. Machines don't fail. They don't have emotions clouding their judgment."

"Yet here you are, talking about the world as if it were your personal laboratory," he shot back, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You think you can shape it, mold it to your will? Power doesn't just come from intelligence; it comes from understanding the messiness of life, too."

"Life? Messy? Spare me the lecture, Doctor." I leaned closer, an edge of menace in my voice. "I don't need to learn about chaos from you or anyone else. I've already seen it, tasted it. And I'm not afraid of it. I embrace it."

"Ah, but therein lies the danger," he countered, a smile creeping across his lips. "Embracing chaos without understanding it is like stepping into a storm without a plan. What will you do when your carefully laid plans unravel? What will you do when you realize that you are, in fact, just as human as the rest of them?"

I scoffed, brushing aside his words. "I'm not afraid of the storm. I am the storm. And when it strikes, I'll be the one standing amidst the wreckage, not cowering like some helpless victim."

"Confidence is a double-edged sword, Elmara," Dr. Mendez said, standing up straight, fixing his gaze on me. "But I admire your spirit. I see potential in you—a potential that might one day rival even my own understanding of the human mind."

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