“The theory and system behind the form and function of purely organic humanoids is a curious topic.” The world around me is a haze of silvery white light and small, cool droplets of water. They are raining down, gently, almost in slow motion from the artificial clouds that are hanging above the various clusters of flowers surrounding me in this large, glass room.

There is a fragrant smell in the air, perhaps activated by the cold moisture merging with the pungent smell of soil and flowers. Whatever it was, it tickled my sensors and began to make my body and mind feel weightless, almost like I was floating on a cloud.

I turn to the source of the voice. I do not believe I know this person. But they seem familiar to me. They are standing before a large green bush, their body bent over top of it; attention divided between me and it. The bush is adorned with numerous small blue tri petaled flowers, that poked out meekly from even darker blue stems.

A slender green hand darts forward and begins stroking their index finger along side of one of the stems. A pause. Then poof. A small cloud of blue smoke expels itself from out of the center of the flower. Spores perhaps? The person hums in response, seemly un bothered by having a face full of whatever the cloud contained and repeated the action a few more times to different parts of the bush.

There is a floating pad besides them with a curiously fastidious pencil jotting down what I assume are their current observations on the equally curious green bush and it’s blue flowers.

“Yes, unlike inorganic beings,” They step back from the bush and turn towards me. I can hear no change in their voice. They began again.

“Their source code is embedded throughout their soft mass, freely available to anyone so long as you obtain a bit of their flesh. This code; their DNA, contains the blue print for their entire structure; first there is the skeletal system. It is this frame everything builds out from and that which creates their almost unique shape. Then inside that skeleton is housed these things called “organs” They work like little control centers, each in charge of the various important organic functions. We then move to blood. A substance that inflames their will; muscle to drive their actions, breath to carry their voice, and flesh to keep it all wrapped up inside.”

Their eyes are currently glowing a faint gold, but seems to be diminishing in intensity as the cloud around them fades back to wherever it is spores fade to. They are tall and slender, with deep green skin that reminds me of the color that fills your head when you get lost inside the canopy of a dense forest. There are designs on their skin that I do not recognize but, at the same time, feels very familiar to me. These lines and dots, which are arranged almost like sigils, are glowing faintly, changing from bright gold to dull yellow, ran up and down their arms and chest, though most of them are obscured by their heavy white and gold robes.

They incline their head towards me and extends their hand. Before I realize it I place my hand in theirs and am pulled off the ground.

Huh, I was sitting.

I turn my head.

No, I don’t.

Oh. I get it. This is not really happening.

I follow the being in front of me, who’s name I cannot seem to remember. Their writing implements still active, followed closely behind. They begin speaking again.

“The Organic body, shaped like a five pointed star, allows only a limited rage of experience and understanding. It is not a naturally powerful form like that of a wild cat’s or particularly nimble like a spider, but they manage to make the best of it. They have made this fragile body of theirs stretch up, earnestly towards the stars and descend, bravly down into the deep black seas. It is as curious and complex a structure as it is impractical.”

Pausing their speech for a moment they turn towards me.

I think they are waiting for my reply.

“I suppose it’s not very efficient? I guess?” The words are coming out unsure yet quickly, but I seem to have more control over them than I do my movements. “There is, I think a lot of room for error. Stemming from both emotions and flaws in their physicality.” The Bio-Mechnoid nods so I continue.

“I’ve seen a Promethean man choke from laughing and eating at the same time, a tenabrate bleed to near to death when she sliced her finger with a knife and an elf succumb to his emotions and nearly destroy the whole world.

They regard me closely, a quizzical look materializes on their otherwise stoic face and they appear as though they intend to raise a question, but instead let it go. Oh I don’t think some of those things have happened yet. Whoops.

“All good points.” We are walking again and I noticed they have ignored my blunder, allowing the scene to continue once more.

“Yet, even though they are aware of this, they and even this world of ours, seem very much in love with this form. So they model their universe after it, they modeled us after it. Why do you think that is?”

I think I am beginning to understand what’s happening now. I notice that we have stopped walking. We are at the entrance of the green house now. There is a door in front of us, it’s ever shifting light indicating that it is made from sungold. Oh. How could I not remember this place. I know where I am. What this place is. That must mean, that my friend is on the other side. If I answer these questions correctly, maybe I will be able to see him again. I take a deep, metaphorical breath and give my reply.

“I think, perhaps, it could be that it is all they know. I mean, I could think of several, far more efficient forms we could all inhabit. But then, I don’t think that’s point. The creator saw this form as perfect enough to bestow it on my friend, my own creator. Perhaps, this what the original creator favored... what they looked like. So they wanted to see themselves in them and in turn, they want to see themselves in us and us in them.”

The air in the room begins to swirl. I can feel the pull on my clothes. It is Gentle at first then gradually picks up it’s pace. I notice that my companion has opened their mouth and that it is acting as a vacuum, the wind flowing excitedly towards them. As the intensity picks up I notice that their eyes and sigils which have been glowing a soft gold, though out our walk, is beginning to change to light yellow and then a lime green. The wind begins to settle as is their coloring which is now a dark green, almost similar to their skin.

“The air is clear now.” Their voice sounded a bit different from earlier, higher and louder.

I turn again to face the door made of Sungold. I hear a click as the knob began to turn. I was going to see him again. My friend. I took a step forward as the door swung open and then woke up.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck

This is why I don’t do successive stand by modes. I sit up, taking care not to jostle the person besides me. The bed creaks softly. So softly, that I don’t even think he would hear it were he awake, much less it in his current state. I let out a soundless sigh.

I close my eyes for a moment, and try to recall the dream, its wispy atmosphere slowly running away from me. I know it was one I’ve had before. A green room, with a mechnoid. I think they were my teacher or a research bot? I know that their function was to study the plants for some reason. Oh yes. Of course. The plants were poisonous and could make an organic deathly ill if they inhaled any of their spores. So of course they would place that unit in there to take notes. But why was I there? And why could I never see his face. The face of my friend.

I exhale. An action, that I was annoyingly aware, served no purpose to me other than to convey my emotion. Which was silly considering I was the only one awake. I turn my head to the left. My husband is sleeping besides me. Our sheets, thin and light, are draped haplessly on top of him. He tends to over heat during these humid nights but somehow insists that he can not sleep without them. The sea witches have been having a particularly drawn out disagreement with each other, throwing the usually Dusky sky into a deep grey, rainy haze with their over excitable weather magic. And now the heat generated from these tense weather patterns was making it harder for him to sleep.

Well at least I can see his face. I smile to myself and lean towards him. I notice that he has moved onto his stomach, the usual position he engages after he has survived a particularly long day. His body is turned away from me, a shame really. His quiet face is so fascinating. The worry and the stresses of the day always seem to pool around his lips, manifesting as lines around his mouth and quick, shallow breaths that move rapidly, in and out of him. I suppose it’s his body’s way of processing the stress of day behind and the days ahead.

I reach over to the back of his head. My fingers twirl around the stormy, silvery strands of his hair. His black, furred ears stirred faintly at my touch, pensive, like a candle's flame, but he is otherwise still, save for his breath of course.

It’s interesting how much people change. If you could compare him to the person I knew a few years ago, you'd think he were a different Rai Neko. In those first nights together, he would wake very easily, at first annoyed and alert, braced for some cataclysm or another. But he soon fell into clumsily half awaking into that in between state, one half of his consciousness trying to grasp onto the waking world while the other still clung to the haze of dreaming, letting it press into his eyes and throat, muffling any coherence as he'd try to fumble out some sort of communicable sounds. His words instead melting into dreamy whispers as soon as they’d leave his lips and he would ease into sleep once more.

He wasn't used to sleeping in the same room with others he'd explain in the mornings after. "I guess I'm just used to being on edge when I wake up." His brow would be furrowed, eyes focused straight ahead of him and his back pressed against the Kitchen wall with a cigarette or coffee cup between his fingers. He'd never say much after that.

It’s childish, but I do have to admit, that it's not as satisfying when he does not completely wake. I mean, it’s also a bit lonely too. Awake alone, with nothing but hazy memories to keep me company.

Perhaps, if it were any other night I would prod him further, but not tonight. His breath is escaping and reeling in faster than usual and I can see the tension manifesting in his body, his back tight and muscles knitted into tense knots. I hum a bit, and watch him for a few more moments. I suppose I'll let him rest, at least this once. I slide back down next to him. My fingers still tangled in this hair and turn myself to sleep.

The Sun machine is broken.

In the past, a long, long time ago, it would make it’s way around our world, providing illumination for thousand of concurrent scenes. Bearing witness to the kabuki actors on it’s vast stage. Kings, thieves, elves, goblins. It’s light would flood their lives in the mornings and retreat again at night.

But now the Sun is broken. One half shattered and scattered in the dark lands the other hanging tentatively as a captive in the sky over West, belonging now to an ageless, isolated King. Poised to resume its journey again if the Emperor bids it, though that has not happened in a thousand years.

Instead our world, once united by the Sun was dived because of it. Two sides. The places with the sun and the places without. Okay, that’s not true. There are actually three parts. The places with the sun, the places without the Sun and the places in between. We live in that in between. A place that is straddled by the oppressive darkness of the Wistful Dark and the Searing Light of the Blazing garden. The Twilight Meridian.

There are many islands littered through out the Land of Twilight with various stages of illumination. There are places, like the Galvanus Archipelago, whose proximity to the lands that covet the sun, allows it to be bathed in the pink and orange hues of Dusk. There, there is enough soft light to mimic what used to be known as early morning, something only a few of the outer world’s residence remember.

But the majority of the Islands, are always locked in a state of eventide. The Sun always setting, but never set, the light always threatening to leave but never gone. It is this place that I have made my home. On an Island called Stahfeld. But I think it will not be my home for much longer.

You see, a friend of mine, and I used that term loosely, did at one time, bring to us a island that floats in the sky. Honest to Regulus. It was one of two things, that she brought that day, that would change our world. The Island was of course massive. It would take several days to make your way across it and it had enough hills, forests, caves, lakes and rivers to make the trek a journey to be avoided by those faint of heart (well, assuming you had one).

The island is not uninhabited though. There are, there are several most curious sentient species. A friend of mine from the Other world, said they resemble sheep and rabbits mixed with little people. Sort of chib sized. They are kind and docile and are more than happy to wander around their villages and even appear un-bothered by presence of the third species, an ape like people, who suddenly decided to done faux sheep horns and rabbit ears to blend in. We... didn’t question it much.

The floating island, though much smaller than Stahfeld, is still quite large and a tad bit menacing when hovering overhead. And to the residences of our sedentary land, it looked as though it would become a problem. Potato, acting as their intermediary was able to convey their anxieties to it’s pilots and have them float the island very, very slowly towards the seas to the west. It was moved close enough that it could still be seen from our home in Port Bevel but far enough to break gently into the stratosphere of the Twilight land’s early dawn.

I do have to admit that I much prefer it this way. I have spent the last few years considering how Mechanoids fit into this world. We are creatures from a bygone era when Empires ruled and warred and the Sun moved across every inch of our world.

But now we are nomads, awakening slowly from our forced slumber to a in a time and place where we have no definitive purpose or home. Slowly our numbers diminish from war or self imposed retiring. We are functionally ageless but like all things we can be destroyed. What do you do when the world gives you the verdict of extinction and exile? What does anyone do? You change the Verdict and you create a resolution. And the resolution was the Silicon Dawn.

But I getting a head of my self, back to the great matter at hand. Back to the sun. So I have to admit the lack of a moving Sun did shock me at first. Though not for the usual reasons. Actually the usual reasons were included in my initial shock, but there were several new and exciting concerns that made themselves present once that initial shock wore off.

One of those new reasons was a previous assumption that most organic beings need a Sun to set and rise in order to inform their decisions. Sleeping, eating, working and sometimes even fucking used to be arranged by the location of the bright, glowing machine in the sky.

But I suppose the soul of the world is stubborn and perhaps craving order, mana has some how found a way to synchronize the internal rhythm of it’s varied residence. So despite not having a celestial machine to inform them that is it time to leave their bed, they somehow manage to do it anyway.

Well most of them.

Unless you are a Rai Neko named Potato.

“Hmmmm.”A low rumbling response to my question. He, despite still being on his stomach has managed to wrap himself again in a loose cocoon of sheets; face pressed directly into the soft white pillow he was currently clutching to for dear life.

“I said, you do this every time, you really should go to sleep earlier.” I was standing over him now, swirling a cup of dark liquid above him, hoping he’d take my taunt.

He grumbled something into the pillow again.

“Yes, I brought you coffee.” Silence for a moment. A cute furred cat ear pivots towards me. Shifting his head slightly off the pillow so that one eye was visible he began to reach his now free arm towards the cup. Haha, of course he would.

I step back. One step, Two steps, Three steps. I laugh, he can’t resist the smell of hot bean water, the fool. He is sitting up now, well technically. His head is resting in his palms; sheets still wrapped around him and a low steady groan is coming from his throat. He tilts his head up by an inch, silver hair sticking up several ways and looks at me between crooked fingers and barely opened lids.

“Pleeeease.” He groaned through his fingers.

I don’t try to hid my smile as I step backwards and disappear out through our bedroom door, very much aware of the quiet string of curses leaving his pretty mouth.

The kitchen is warmed by an active stove being tended to by a small old man with very large, very round glasses. He is leaning forward over a bubbling pot, stirring occasionally and muttering a lot.

I place the coffee cup down on a small brown table and plop down in the chair.

“How much longer Specs?” His head pops up so quickly his glasses bounces slightly on his nose.

“Ow.” He rubs his bridge a bit.

“We just need Alexandra is bringing some thyme and parsley from the garden, out back. Though, it’s still good without it I actually think we could just add those in later, if you think about it. Sometimes these soups benefit from adding your own spices to suit your own personal taste. Though I sure am glad that we have our own garden now. That was really kind of those adventurers to donate all those seeds, you know. Heh heh, now we have a little garden for us to tend to. We got tomatoes, thyme, garlic, parsley, clove, beets, onions, bok choy, anise, kale, cabbages and some of that exotic stuff from the wistful dark.”

I try my to let out a sigh and give him a stiff smile. I hear something bang and a faint clatter from the direction of our room. I guess he’s up.

“You know parsley wasn’t actually native to this region, but back during the great wars of the 3rd Aeon it’s said that one of our founding settlers really liked to have some parsley in her gin and tonic. Huhuh.” He was chuckling to himself and no doubt getting ready to continue as the door slammed open and Potato stumbled into the room.

“Specs, shut up, it’s too early.” Well I guess his vocal cords are functioning again. Slumping into the chair besides me, I watch him drag the hot mug towards himself, then pause before bringing it to his lips.

“Fuck, sorry Specs, please continue if you want.” The older gentleman, unfazed by the original comments gave him a nod and smile. “Ha, don’t you worry yourself about it Potato, we all know you aren’t your best in the morning.”

Picking up the three bowls of soup, he had poured just moments before. He placed them on the table. One in front of Potato who smiled sheepishly at him, one in front of himself and one for Alex, who perhaps summoned by the smell of mussels and miso stumbled in through the door.

“Ha, I got it... oh you’re already done.” She sat down besides Specs and laid the sprigs of spices on the table. She looked a bit breathless. Which being her default look didn’t surprise me. Her eyes were a wide deep yellow and her tightly coiled purple hair was piled on top her head in a very loose bun.

The old man let out a chipper laugh while picking up the herbs from the table. He was saying something else to Alex, who was nodding intently. But I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Potato was pressing the cups to his lips finally taking a sip of his the dark black coffee. His eyes closed, silver lashes fanning out lazily against his brown skin. He exhaled, body relaxing into his chair as the liquid slid down his throat. He looked beautiful.

The rest of the morning went by much more quickly and fortunately a lot smoother. Our bags were packed with the usual things required of adventurers. Potato was very good at figuring out things that we needed. It helped that I was also there to direct him a bit.

Various outfits, armor, guns, staffs, a sealed stone containing a Deva, a Book on the “Instruction and Care In Regards to Making Love to Mechanoids”, NOT my super fucking cool magic hat that transported me to an interdimentional fuck house because that’s gone now, thanks assholes, and an array of magical items that will certainly never be used and will weigh my bag down the entire time.

Our home, the Helical Archive was fortunately in Port Bevel, the closest place in Stahfeld to the floating island of our destination. It was a fascinating building, throughout it’s life, us and those who came before us have collected relics and books from far and wide, making it a a must see for adventures and researchers who happen to be in the Twilight meridian. We even managed to acquire a car. Something that Potato seemed a little dissapointed to leave behind, though Specs and Alex were more than happy to look after it for him.

We are outside the sky clear and open, the first time in a few days that we were not saturated with rain. This was Potato’s third trip to the boat. Finally tossing the last few things in the Archive’s Airship he then leans against the hull and began to study a little blue book he kept with him.

“I think I left them with all the instructions they needed.” his brows furrowed as his eyes moved over his notes.

“Potato, I think they’ll be fine without you. I’m pretty sure Specs has been here since the dawn of the 4th Aeon and Alex doesn’t enjoy anything more than dusting books or.” I squint “What ever it is she does.”

Potato gives me a sour look.

“She’s the Librarian, how do you not know that by now.” I shrug and began to hoist myself onto the airship until.

I know that Aura anywhere.

It could only belong to one person.

Just one.

Okay so there are several different types of Mechanoids. But they all pretty much fall into three categories. Industrial droids who were created to perform menial tasks like perimeter patrol or delivery. Cute fun Bio-Mechanoids, like me, who were created as a social and functional balm for society intended to function as friends, politicians, partners, guides, and well whatever you could think of. And then there are War Mechanoids. Their purpose was well, war. They are strong, fast, dangerous and a little... I guess a little odd.

CN-09 was no exception.

Looking up from his notebook, Potato’s browns began to furrow even more.

“You’re here? I thought you were on the island?” The book snapped shut, his eyes, scanning the very empty section besides CN-09. “Where is Ocean? Wasn’t she with you on the island.”

The War Mechanoid turned her head to look at him. Despite her primary purpose being dismemberment and carnage, she has the most human of appearances. She was given the most fair skin with long icy hair to rival it’s color and prefer to wear loose black clothing and shoes. She was also very, very tall. Yet despite towering above most organics she could almost easily blend in to a crowd. Almost.

Almost.

Turning her head towards him she blinked for a moment.

“I came here in case you both were in need of assistance.” She is facing me now. “Plum always seems to become useless when there is any sort of menial task needing to be performed.”

I glare at her.

“Ocean is with the Salvage Lord and your shifting raccoon. He was interested in your proposal and came to hear it out.” she had moved past me and was now hoisting herself onto the Airship.

“You two should be more timely. Alex and her boy are already on the Island.” There are two Alexs. Not clone Alexes, separate. One is from the other world and whatever that’s not important.

I follow behind her.

“You left Ocean on an island with two mentally unstable creatures?”

CN-09 didn’t answer, I couldn’t figure if she was ignoring me, didn’t hear (which I know she did) or just didn’t think the question warranted answering. She instead decided to park herself in the back with the cargo, settling in between a bag of clothing and a long, copper shot gun and gaze out of the window.

The ship wasn’t very big, not like the ones from before. The ones that ruled the sky in the days of Empires. Large hulking machines that glided effortlessly through out the sky. They were equal parts feats of engineering and a total mastery and control of the mana, the energy system that surrounds us.

Instead , we now have something slightly larger than a fishing boat with a spell engine attached. To the credit of whom ever came up with this modern marvel, they were at least easy to pilot and provided a relatively smooth ride assuming that the weather was consistent.

Potato, finally on board, sat besides me nodded.

“Hm. It’s fortunate that the weather’s cleared up. I suppose that means the Sea Witches have finally given it a rest.”

“Oh” Cn-09 leaned forward from the back of the ship. “It’s because I punched a hole through them.”

Flying up the the island is a thankfully simple trip. The waters and air space between there and Stahfeld has enough local activity that it deters most overtly villainous characters from acting without thought.

Potato, deciding to sit back with Cn-09, was speaking with her with excited inflection. His fondness of missile weaponry meant he would never let up a chance to discuss ancient machinery, especially if that ancient machinery were two arms that turned into giant mana cannons.

She, to her credit, humored him (though I don’t think she knows what humor is). Spending the duration of the flight conversing in sometimes halted tones. The flow of their conversation kept along steadily until we reached our destination.

Even as we approached the Island, one that we had all been to several times before, I can’t help but marvel at the size and bio diversity of just one place. Vavel, the Floating Island of Lore and home to the mysterious blue Tower, whose silhouette is always obscured in patches by curious wispy clouds, stood at welcome as our ship broke over it’s shore.

Flying in from the south west means travel over top the wooly village, one of the two towns currently built on the island. It is populated by the small “sheep” people, who call themselves Sheps and the Gogorillas, the large ape like creatures who seemed to have, somehow, integrated relatively smoothly with the Sheps and Hopalongs who lived in the village to the north.

Luckily for us, travel from Stahfeld is the shortest distance from any edge of the island to the Blue tower. A fact confirmed by the appearance of a woman’s silhouette, standing at the base of the tower waving towards us.

I lower the ship onto the stones of the court yard. It hovers above ground for a few moments, then touches the ground with a low thump.

The woman heads quickly towards us, her stark white hair trailing softly behind her. She smiles, her, jet black cheeks wide with excitement. Her hands, which are now griping the sides of the boat share a similar coloring to her face. She is an Akenian modeled bio Mechanoid, body perfected to handle the flow of Mana, there are electrical blue sigils etched into her skin, they are glowing softly and rhythmically.

Potato jumps down from the boat and pulls her into his arms. A bit of relief radiating from him.

“Heh, Ocean, I’m glad you look well. You are well... right?” he pulls back and surveys her face, brows knitted tightly.

She grinned and grabs her left arm. “The salvage Lord is fine Dad, I think he has been more concerned with defense drones and hasn’t caused any trouble. Espaco was showing him around for a bit, but I think he’s already inside now.” Potato’s eyes dart towards CN-09 who was somehow caring all of our luggage, strides past him and towards the tower.

Ocean flashes another bright smile at us then turns to follow the War Mechanoid up the azure blue steps and into the tall silver door.

I jump down behind Potato and off of the ship. He is staring after them. I wrap my arms around him, fingers moving across his stomach as I slide my hands under his shirt.

“Ah, see we were worried about nothing, I think the Salvage Lord will be more help that we thought.”

I lean into his back and feel his body tense and settle into me all at once, his skin delightfully warm and soft, breath increasing as my fingers move lower down his stomach. For a moment I can feel him giving in but at the last second as he quickly regains himself and gentle pulls free of my grasp, following the other two towards the great Cobalt Tower in the distance.

“At least wait until after the meeting.”

Alex number two has made herself comfortable in one of the many libraries that appear through out the tower. Though, I suppose this could be considered “the” library as the size of the room is much larger than the others and a number of important looking books and relics have also made themselves comfortable here. It was a lucky pick, though I suppose she would know the layout of this place better than others. Since she was the one that brought it to us.

She is sitting, well more slumped than sitting, in a large burgundy, claw footed chair in front of a blackstone fire place. Her blue hair, in long braided pigtails resting along side her. There is an occasional, pop, crackle and fizzle as the spell run fire attempts to mimic the authenticity of a real one. There is even an occasional plunk as an imaginary log breaks and disintegrates into ash. The fire was a welcome heat. While the majority of the twilight meridian is usually comfortably warm, Vavel is much cooler and requires it’s organic residence to fend for themselves in order to regulate their temperature.

She is not alone, as Cn-09 mentioned there is a Promethean boy besides her, sitting, in a much more civil manner in a identical green chair. He couldn’t be more than 15, but even sitting one could tell, that he already towered over most everyone in the room. His skin was a slate gray and had a sort of shimmer to it that was more apparent as the light of the fire bounced off of him. His face, unlike Alex’s neutral expression, seemed serious and thoughtful.

As for the rest of the room. The Salvage Lord, an amalgamation of bits and pieces of scrap metal and broken war drones, stood, form very close to human, besides CN-09 and Ocean whose face was reacting in real time to whatever they were discussing.

Potato, reaching the room only a few seconds before me is now hailing Alex.

“Thank you both for coming” He is standing in front the fire now, to better address our two guests. Alex smiles up lazily at him but otherwise doesn’t move. The Promethean boy stands and bows.

“The Emperor of the Great Sol and Alliance and true ruler of the Outer world.” I could see Alex’s eye roll beside him. “Has heard your request and sent us on his behalf to negotiate.”

Ah what a cutie. His voice, though clear and resolute was betrayed by a slight tremble when he spoke. His stance was that of a warrior. The armor of the Sol Alliance giving him even more of a regal air as he addressed the room. I suppose this is one of his first official outings, poor thing it had to be with Alex of all people.

Alex began to stir out of her slump. She looked a bit different than the last time I saw her. Maybe... less intense? There was still a bit of uncertainty to her. Like a snake laying still in the sun. The potential danger that lurked during the stillness never went away, even when it wasn’t baring it’s fangs.

“Honestly though, I don’t understand why you didn’t just message him directly. He’s not really that bad or scary or whatever” She was bending over now, still seated in her chair, she reached for one of the three bags they brought with them.

There is a round black leather bag pack nearest to her. She grabs it and brings it to her lap. Placing her cell phone, a device that most other worlders like her seemed to posses, on a small table next to her. She fishes out a very, very large tome, Dizah Gren’s Grimoire, and drops it, It makes a very certain “thud”, besides her device.

She looks up at Potato and smiles.

The Promethean boy bristles at her comment.“Thank you for following procedure and not contacting Emperor Regulus directly. He is always busy with matters relating to the Kingdom and should not be addressed lightly.” Alex lets out a snort which causes him to give her a sharp look. She pretends not to notice.

“Since Alex has failed to make any introductions, my name is Flik I am here with her to discuss the Emperor’s proposition. We are aware that you intend to create a haven for those of you kind and would like the information pertaining to the creation of mechaniods of various makes and models. We will be more than happy to hand that over to you all. But he has one stipulation.”

The room, though quiet before becomes even more so now. There is a tension in the air, and I see the Salvage Lord and CN-09 shift out of the corner of my eye.

“When the time comes. He would like you to create a Mechanoid of his specification.”

The pause continues for a moment and then Potato let’s out whats sounds like a very relieved laugh. “I think... that’s doable.” Ocean steps forward, her hands clasped together before her.

“Yes, we will be creating many mechanoids already, so I think one for the Emperor would be a simple task by then.” She is grinning.

I am not.

“So. What you’re saying is, he wants me to make him a weapon.” The bristling around the room slows to a stop once more. Alex who had turned her attention to the screen in front of her, slides her steely green eyes towards me.

The snake begins to unfurl. “He never specified, no. But I’m sure you will be making plenty of weapons and war machines yourself. Or were you planning on fending off your enemies with you tongue?”

Most Mechnoids feel a complex range of emotions, similar to that of organic beings. But unlike them, who’s emotional reactions are often a side effect of biological responses, face reddening and heating up due to increased heart rate, voices raised in response to quicker intake of breathe, body tense thanks to a fight or flight response. Ours are intentional, we don’t breath, but out speech does heighten, our bodies gives off heat and our limbs can tense, often as a way to signal to organics around us that we were feeling beings too, that they should show empathy towards us. That we are worthy of consideration. And I was showing all of those signs.

“Alexandria, thank you for your concern over the governing of our community and your very enlightened view of my species. But no, I won’t be creating “war machines”. Just like organics aren’t weapons neither are we. You can take your book and your instructions with you and go.”

She was still looking at me, face unreadable. I was used to her being more volatile, I suppose time with the Emperor has changed even her.

Flik, looking a bit uneasy, stepped towards me. “I understand your reservations, but perhaps you will be able to empathize with Emperor Regulus once you too start to run your nation.” I don’t think I could glare any harder at him.

“Emperor Regulus trusts you and only wants you to do this small thing in return. He could keep this information locked away forever and what then? Your race.” He gestures to the four Mechs in the room. “Would become fairytales, just like the ones that created them.”

There is shock in the air. Even Alex looked stunned at his words. Then it begins at once. The Salvage lord is gesturing, his voice, halting and angry. Potato is speaking rapidly to Alex, he sounds incredulous and even her voice, usually uninterested and distant is quick and biting. Ocean is interjecting occasionally, her words aimed at Flik, who finding himself in unfamiliar territory, sounds sheepish and a bit panicked.

I am not sure what I feel. Confusion, anger, betrayal. The whole world was in this mess because of that man, and now he wants to play us like puppets? How dare he? I can still hear them in the background, sounds of attack and accusations. Then.

“We’ll do it.” A calm and resolute voice cuts through the room. During the chaos she had somehow managed to appear next to Alex and now had her hand on the book, which was still on the table next to Alex, but her fingers were pressed down on it’s brown leather cover.

“No.” I can feel my head shaking. I’m so hot I almost feel dizzy, like... like this was some dream.

“I don’t want to contribute to more wars, I am not creating life to have it be destroyed. Just like always.”

Her fingers still on the tome begins rapping softly. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You have always been deluded.” The light from the fire danced behind her, casting a strange glow onto her person. She looked even less human now, more like a God crafted from the most biting frost.

“What did you think you were going to do? Make more Bio-Mechanoids like you ones with fickle hearts and wandering eyes. If this all fails, if your dreams turn sour, will you even be able to see it through or do what’s necessary ” Her voice is even as usual. No emotional cues detected. But there didn’t need to be.

“Tell me what do you think of me? Should I be like you as well.” The tapping stopped. But her gaze found mine. I close my eyes, the chair squealing as I push it out from under me, standing now to face her.

“I never said that, but for Nephel’s Sake, you have to understand that I don’t want to create new sentient beings who will be sent onto some battlefield to die or to kill each other. Don’t you think that’s mad? Why can’t any of you understand that?”

I was moving now, rushing towards her the, impenetrable tank of a Mechanoid I call my friend.

“Do you want that to be what we introduce into the world? More death and more chaos?” I stood before her my head tilting upwards.

“That’s all I am then, someone who brings death and chaos?” Her voice was quiet now. Quieter than I’ve ever heard it before.

But before we another word could leave either of our mouths Ocean is standing besides us.

“I think we have a lot to discuss.” She places a hand on to both of our arms. She is smiling, it reminds of the images of Aken, her face soft and benevolent.

She turns towards Alex and Flik, the former’s face was back to being unreadable while the latter looked wholly out of his depth.

“Alex. Flik. I know you both are just the messengers, but this is a decision that cannot be taken lightly. That being said. I think a compromise can be made. There will be no mindless drones or Mechanoids without will. Everything created here will be able to chose it’s own purpose, that includes what ever being the Emperor wants us to create. At the end, he will have to convince it to follow him. Just like everything else.”

Do you remember when I mentioned that there were two things that was brought to me that day, that would change my world? One of them this ridiculous island hovering above the Galvanus seas. Well the other one, that second thing, was Ocean.

Flik looks as though he is about to say something, but Alex cuts him off instead. “That’s good enough for me. Here you go folks.” she reaches for another bag on the floor in front her. This one is also black, but much smaller than the other. She unzips it and pulls out a marble notebook and tosses it to Ocean, who barely catches it.

“Everything Dizah Gren wrote on the creation and what not of mechanoids has been gleaned from her Grimoire and transferred here by my darling Darius, so you know it’s correct.”

She gave a quick, vague smile and motioned towards the now sheepish Promethean. He bent over, stifly and picked up the rest of the bags. “We’re gonna go now.”

Ocean looked up from the book in her hand to the one on the desk and back at Alex. “Oh, you uh forgot your book.” She waved her hand a bit. “Oh, there’s noting in there it’s a decoy you idiots. You really think we’d give you an entire Grimorie filled with priceless information for free?” She was at the door now one foot out, but hesitated for a moment.

“Plum. I’m sorry for what I said. If it’s means anything to you. I think you’ll do a great job here.”

With that both her and the Promethean was gone. And we are left with only each other and the seeds to start a new world.

The fact that she was not born her father would continue to be the greatest crime committed against her mother of all time. 

The inter-dimensional wanderer placed her soapy head against the warm, tiled walls of the bath house and closed her eyes as water pulled the soap from out of her hair, down to her face and into the drains below.

The room was empty of course. One of the Emperor’s myriad of bath houses that she, by declaring her favorite, caused the other residents of the palace to suddenly no longer find it a suitable place to go, lest they upset his new volatile pet.

The bath was large and porcelain, there were marble fixtures resembling Heroes of old and a very high ceiling with depictions of epic battles that occurred Aeons ago, playing out above her head. The bath water it’s self poured out of small mana made pools that hovered in neat never ending circles that swirled above her head. The heat came from somewhere in the wall and floors, steam rising so frequently off the tiles that it was difficult to see in front of you. Fortunately she didn’t need sight so much as she needed to relax, clear her head and fill it with something other than the constant barge of thoughts banging around her skull.

But fuck, it wasn’t working. She pressed her head harder against the tile, maybe if she forced something else in, it would push away the clamor. She could feel her arms slowly rising towards her head then her fingers lace themselves through her now soap free hair, her nails scraping against her scalp, her fists balling up around her strands and pulling.

Pull.

Shit

Pull.

Fuck.

Pull.

Rip.

Her hair, no longer clean, was now in little bloody clumps in her hands. She looked down at the strands, silvery blue hair, now purple with blood. She was shaking, unsure what to do next. Her head hurt now, but at least the throbbing was better than the urge to put a knife through that woman.

Fuck. Fuck, she shouldn’t have thought about her again. What was she going to do?

She turned around sluggishly and placed her back against the wall, slumping down slowly, her eyes staring unfocused at the mist around her, water washing red, red, red, down the drain.

What to do, what should she do?

That woman, should not have looked at him like that. She always looks at him. Her lips always quivers when she says his name. Her voice raises higher and sweeter when they are talking like she’s trying to lure him away. Why would she act like that? Right in front of her? When everything was going good. When everything was happy and stable and good.

Her body was horizontal now, face pressed into the floor tile, eyes still unfocused, hair splayed out around her. The searing heat from the tiles and the water pouring over her felt nice, almost grounding. She closed her eyes and laid there for a moment.

What if Darius found out? Would he be angry with her, would he leave her, would he be happy and understand that she was just trying to protect them? He would understand that right? Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t anyone understand that? She just wanted things to be good, God dammit.

Her mother. Her mother would understand.

Her mother.

Despite their undefinable relationship. She had understood at once. That day that she dragged a bag filled with the boy through the windy streets, empty alleys, down through the park, up the stairs and into the house.

She remembered her mother’s eyes. It was the first time they ever looked at her. Her. Not the ghost of her father or the disappointment, or the stupid girl, or the slow child, or the idiot daughter, or the link to her past, or the chain that tied her to that house, or the fucked up gift her father left, or, or whatever else her mother decided she was. That day she saw Alexander. Alex. Her daughter.

She had asked Alex if she wanted to be rid of the body or keep it. Alex had looked at her for a moment, mouth slightly agape and face streaked with blood, his blood and some one or three or five elses. Her mother asked again. Keep it. She didn’t remember if she said the actual words or if her mother just knew. But she ordered her to take the boy and herself down, down, down to the basement. She had never been down there before. In all her years, her mother never let her.

She plodded down the stairs. They seemed endless. Endlessly winding and twirling and going in circles, but when she reached she understood. This place was a shrine. There were pictures, endless pictures of her father. She had never seen his face before. But she could see it now. His face was also her face. Skin brown and eyes gray like hers. The original Alexander. Here he was looking back at her from endless angles, she could smell him too, his clothes, books, shoes, papers, towels, bags, cups, phone, keys, there were so many things here. Things that could have only belonged to him.

Her mother appeared near her in the moment and urged her forward. Making sure Alex removed her shoes first and that the bag, the heavy, heavy dufflebag, was not dripping anymore. They hurried into a hidden room behind the shrine. Once inside she noticed that it glittered with silver scalpels and medical tools. There where white sheets and gauze, saws and bottles with odd mixtures. It looked like an operating room. Or a morgue.

Her mother, was not a Doctor, as far as she knew. But she looked at home here. She began to set up the area and asked Alex if she wanted to stay. Alex told her she did. So Alex watched as her mother drained the boy of his blood, removed his organs and made him into Alexander’s and Alexander’s alone.

After that was done her mother hid her in that strange room, while the police searched her house. The back room was very carefully hidden away. But she could still hear them as they wandered around in her father’s shrine, to their credit they left it, for the most part alone. No doubt cowed by her mother’s steely glare. They left after a few hours, satisfied that the grieving mother was not in fact harboring her insane child.

The time Alex spent in that room with the boy’s body was conflicting. She could not sort out her emotions. She loved him, he was hers now and forever. He had to have been tricked by that woman. That spirit he that he would cavort with. That’s why they were kissing, because she had to have been the one that turned him against her... right? Right. right... right?

Was she wrong?

Her mother moved her back to her room up stairs after a few days. Her mother told her that despite the formaldehyde the body will start to decay soon. So she gave her options. Taxidermy, cremation, they could melt the flesh off and keep his skeleton.

She was... not kind but she also not like she usually was.

Before this, before she brought the boy. Her mother’s actions towards her would run between possessiveness and disdain. There were weeks where she would not even look at Alex, in those times Alex would lock herself in her room or stay out of the house until the very last possible moment. Crossing her mother’s path while she was in that mood would be perilous.

She could remember one time in particular when she was 9, their home was filled with guests. Her mother had “won” herself a seat on the city counsel, there was a beautiful spread on the table cheeses, wine, pork, poultry, steak, fruits, vegetables all surrounded by her mother’s giggling and brown nosing friends.

The scene was perfect except for her. Alex had dropped a plate, the instant it fell she could feel her mother’s icy gaze turn towards her. Alex’s heart caught in her chest. Her mother smiled at the guests and bid them to resume their celebration, they did even as her mother quietly guided her and the broken pieces in to the kitchen, even as she pressed the shattered plate into her ribs, even as her mother crushed her palm against her mouth to keep her quiet.

But she wasn’t always like that. Sometimes she wouldn’t let Alex out of her sight. She would cry and scream and beg Alexander to stay, stay, please stay don’t leave and go to school. You won’t come back, I know you won’t. It’s not like anyone wants you anyway. You have to stay here. They’ll abandon you and throw you away. Please stay Alexander. Don’t leave me. Not again. Please. please. She would wrap her daughter in her arms and dig her nails into her skin and sob into her hair and clothes and eyes and dig, dig, dig her fingers into her daughter’s flesh so she wouldn’t be able to move.

But that was a long time ago. Now Alex is lying on the floor of a bathhouse belonging to a Demi god, in a land far, far away from her mother. Yet despite their relationship, she wished she were here. Maybe she would be able to tell her what to do. But whatever, her mother was not here and she needed to deal with her mess herself. So Alex pushed herself off the floor. Slowly at first, the pain in her head, though diminishing was still there but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. She moved towards the door, her steps heavy and sluggish but steady.

She was in the dressing room, all rinsed off now, the missing chunks of hair barley noticeable as her refection stared, dead eyed, back at her. She wrapped a towel around her body and piled her hair into a lose bun on top her head, still facing the large mirror that stretched across the wall. Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Well she must be awake now.

There was a woman lying on her side in the corner of the room. Eyes wide, with arms legs and mouth bounded. She was breathing frantically through her bindings, her body shaking with every intake of air. Alex walked towards her, the woman’s eyes became wider as she tried to shimmy herself back, farther away from the mad woman as possible, despite there being no where to go.

Alex stooped down in front of her and pulled the binding from out and around her mouth, the woman gagged as the cloth left her throat and began coughing and sobbing all at once. She was saying something. That she was sorry, that she didn’t realize that she was flirting with him, that she didn’t want to die, she was so, so sorry, she didnt want to die, please, please, please she didn’t want to die.

Alex wanted to grind her face against the walls. Watch her blood smear against the white tiles, hear her throat gurgling as the blood pooled in her mouth. But instead she just watched her cry. What she wanted to do and what she was doing were two different things.

She may not have been born her father, but you could argue that she bore her mother’s traits well.

She rocked back on her heels, wrath blade materializing in her hands. The woman grew silent, perhaps making peace with her inevitable, she closed her eyes. Still shaking.

Alexander swung the blade.

The woman’s bindings fell.

She opened her eyes and looked at Alex. The latter was staring off into space again.

Pat.

Pat.

Pat.

She could hear the woman’s rapid foot steps recede as she ran frantically out of the room. She listened until there was no sound anymore. Until the silence was all there was. Then she crumpled onto the floor and began to cry.