Automata

Chapter 9

"...Oliver?"

Oliver did not move. He did not care who it was. His mind was somewhere else.

"What happened?"
That voice again. Didn't it understand? Didn't it see what had been lost?

"Oliver what did you do?"

Finally, Oliver's mouth opened an almost imperceptible amount. "I killed her," he croaked out.

"Who? Let me see you." A hand touched Oliver's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Through his half-open eyes, he could see the figure standing over him.

"...Sam?"

"Well who were you expecting, the Queen?"

"I-" Oliver let out a hacking cough and doubled over, clutching his torso.

Sam stooped down to get a better look at Oliver's state. "Oh God, what've you done to yourself?"

Oliver's skin was exceedingly pale, almost see through, and looked as if it could easily be punctured by the jab of a quill. His eyes had deep bags under them, giving him the appearance of some banshee forewarning death. He had barely-healed scars in various places on his body, and the deep, anguished lines on his face showed the pain that those scars brought. And of course, one's eyes were immediately drawn to his chest. Tendrils of black sprouted out of the center of his chest, and the skin just around the winding key seemed to be almost liquified. It was revolting.

Sam quickly brought his eyes to the ceiling, momentarily looking away from the state that Oliver was in. He took a few breaths, then brought his gaze back to Oliver's sorry state.

"How many operations did you do?"

Oliver looked down. "Just one."

"One?! Who could you have convinced to do that?"

Oliver pointed weakly towards the row of lifeless automatons standing solemnly near the wall. Sam looked confused, but then his face grew to grim understanding.

"You're really mad, you know that?" Sam moved to help Oliver stand. "Alright, you need to get out of this workshop."

Oliver refused Sam's support, his face anguished. "But I cannot leave her!"

"Who?"

Oliver gestured to where Camille was standing, dissected and lifeless. "I've killed her, Sam."

"Oliver." Sam locked eyes with him. "That is a machine. You'll build another."

"But I can't!" Oliver held up his hands. They were shaking too much to be of much use for anything.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. He helped Oliver get up, and put Oliver's arm over his shoulders for support.

"Come on, let's get you somewhere where you can heal properly."

Oliver tried to struggle at first, but eventually yielded, as he did not have enough strength to do much. As he was led out of the shop, Oliver was quiet for a minute, then his voice came out, barely a whisper. "Sam, why did you come back?"

Sam paused.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you alone with your machines. I guess I was too late, though." Sam chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

Sam put a thick shirt on Oliver to keep him warm and to cover his rotting chest. Oliver's face was still downcast, extremely guilty for leaving Camille behind.