Chapter 7

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RCA ACTIVITY LOG:
Ongoing actions: <(gemini)> (...0.5%...1.0%...2.0%...3.0%)
I've come undone.
There is nothing in my memory before these days of nothing. I feel like I have no presence in a world full of overlapping souls. It confuses me, so I avoid having to perceive it.
I work, I live under the street, I come back to work... It gives me something to do and also people would become suspicious of me if I stopped coming to work. I found that out after getting fired by a law firm. I didn't like that job anyway.
Who am I not to like it? I'm made of metal, plastic... Nothing more. I don't understand why I feel so alone... It's because I am. I must be. I've yet to see an RCA who doesn't have a blank face follow them everywhere they go, and look at this one over here, with a strange aura of blue... Who is he to be sad?
Nobody, hisses Instinct. You are absolutely nobody.
I do suppose Instinct is right.
Instinct has backed off recently. He slowly got more and more tired of making me feel lifeless. He said it wasn't fun anymore on a cold February morning and since then I can feel his anger seething, building up inside me. That gives me both hope and despair. Hope because he usually isn't too happy when something stimulative is about to happen, and despair because he's played me like a puppet, helping me through enough things for me to feel pain when he coldly belittles my existence in this world, pulling away from his therapeutic position and making the air around me dark. It's been difficult to breathe (a voluntary motion that is both a good display of emotion and a constant movement that is soothing) lately. I can feel my little mental world culminating into a jumbled mess. And someday the virus will turn me into a monster.
Instinct shows surprise at this thought. 'Yeah, Instinct. That's right, I know what you're doing. You're creating a diversion, aren't you? And slowly I'm losing it up here because of you and all because you're trying to make me lose a little sight of the fact that I'm losing it down here..."
I look down at my heart. Instinct doesn't react. I think that it's best to leave him alone for now.
For some reason, a distant voice echoes in my head, speaking of corruption...
The haunting voice lingers and I try to push the remaining echoes out of my head.
I'm on my way home now, and I had a very good day at work today.
I got a special job because my jittery hands had begun to stop shaking so much (my battery power was hitting the 80s, shrinking faster because of my depression ((I've found that when I have too much emotion, my temperature rises, a classic sign of wasting energy and thus my battery power drops faster.))) so I did at least have that to look forward to, as I walked briskly across the streets at a clip that would indefinitely bring me to the customer's house in good time.
In exactly the anticipated amount of time I arrived at the house.
I verified the addresses and politely rang the doorbell and an old woman came to the door. I could not tell yet of her disability because the doorstep was the perfect height to make it appear where she was staring to be directly into my eyes.
I took this as a sign of either good-naturedness or distrust and firmly shook her hand. She noted how warm my hands were and I explained to her how worked up I was on the way here. She said, "this will simply not do" and invited me into her household. Since there was nothing against accepting house invitations on the code of conduct for this job (though there probably should have been) I walked inside and followed her into a tiny parlor, making me duck to get in through the doorframe. She apologized as if she could hear my strain and explained to me that it was much easier to keep the parlor warm and also it made her feel more at ease.
To make a long story short, I had a very invigorating discussion with her about politics (though I made it very clear to her that I had no strong political views) and then someone else walked into the room. This man, though seeming to be her husband, did not seem to like her very much, which I thought odd. When he looked at me his eyes grew wide and he whispered something to the old woman and she said, "don't be foolish, dear, he sounds to be a perfectly nice boy, now leave him alone!" After saying "but darling" and growling something a little more unintelligible, she seemed surprised too. He stood back up and glared at me, telling me I was to leave immediately.
I left, according to his wishes.
Though I was a bit sad at not having met the man, I was very relieved that someone could have a normal discussion with me and see past my.... Well, you know.
I'm like the futuristic version of the tin man.
I sigh and look at my metallic hands, wishing not to see them but seeing them all the same.
I wasn't alone for a second there, I think. Even if she was blind. It gave me some blind hope. And at that point blind hope was all I had. I just know I have to find the drawing. That one mass of nonsensical color, the picture that someone implanted into my memory.
FATE told me when I find that drawing, and the person it belongs to, my life will finally make sense.
Well, I sure hope so.
I find the manhole that I know so well by memory of movement, not vision. It's dark outside and I don't want to waste any of my battery power now, especially at that emotional moment. I check the percentage.
BATTERY POWER: 77% (not subject to any sudden change, efficient battery usage precautions taken)
I smile. So it did cost me dearly after all. If I hadn't thought for 5 minutes about that old woman, I'd not have taken three days of my life away. Oh well.
I walk through all the familiar cold passages of my airy, dark home and sit on a rug, black, circular, approximately five years old, mostly polyester. I lay on my side and close my eyes, preparing for a long hibernation phase (eight hours as opposed to fifteen minutes).
I'm just about to fall into it when I hear the familiar yelping meows of my cat, Walter.
I raise my arm and Walter snuggles right in. He begins purring and I distantly scratch at his white scarred head.
I don't know exactly why I named him Walter. It is the first name that always comes up when I think of names for some reason, up there with Cyn.... And neither of them give me a hint of reason why.
Goddammit, why? Why is my life like this? Why am I like this? Why am I not content with all I have like the others? Why am I not just a normal one of my kind? I don't see anyone else in my species with the script 'FATE'. Does that mean that I have a fate?
And does that mean that when it comes time for me to face my fate, that I will be brave and accept it?
I want to be. I very, very much want to.
Walter stops purring. He's fallen asleep. Cute, I think, shifting myself back into hibernation phase, my battery level at 76.5%. Real cute.
I awake the next morning and Walter is dead. Not asleep. Dead. I knew he was old and battered, but this... This shouldn't have happened. There is no one I can blame. I place his body in the nearby river and walk back to work battling my own emotions.
I have another special assignment and for some reason I have butterflies in my stomach.
I'm supposed to walk to a nearby psychology building and give coffees to a certain address. Holding the cups in their styrofoam trap (I liked to call them that though I knew that wasn't their actual name) I walked at a leisurely pace, timing my footsteps with the distance carefully to ensure that I got there on time.
I lost focus and was late. I didn't even bother to check the clock.
Two minutes late, the boss was going to fire me for this.

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