|When I'm Gone
Author: Celestial Clusters PM
AU. Eventual USxUK. Alfred F. Jones is a new, seemingly perfect, obedient model in a line of robots made within a government lab. Arthur Kirkland, the oldest robot, is a slowly dying specimen. The mysteries of the lab slowly begin to bloom before Alfred's childish eyes...and he begins to act on a free will that could very well be the death of him.Rated: Fiction T - English - Sci-Fi/Romance - America & England/Britain - Chapters: 10 - Words: 54,836 - Reviews: 83 - Favs: 85 - Follows: 103 - Updated: 08-28-12 - Published: 11-20-11 - id: 7568205
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Hello everyone! Well, I know I also have Arms Wide Open in the works right now, but according to popular demand, I also decided to start this little idea I've had for a while now! Don't worry though; I plan on balancing these two out to the best of my ability. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy it and I hope to hear from you all!
Warning: AU. Will contain different pairings but will be eventual USxUK. Human names used. Mild swearing. Characters/fandom belong to respective owners.
He took his time to open his eyes. He squinted slightly under the bright, burning light of the overhead lamp, but he didn't really do much about it. Soon enough, it switched off, and his vision altered slightly to allow him to see properly. Three faces hovered over him, and his automated brain filled in who everyone was in an instant.
"Well, Alfred, I must say that I'm impressed with your performance." A blonde-haired man stood over him as he remained sprawled slightly on his back on the metal table. "We increased your internal capacity by two hundred percent today! We're still working on installing that pacer for you; your metal rib needs to be shifted a little to make some room. We can do that tomorrow…"
He didn't move. His system prevented him from moving until he was ordered to do so. Alfred continued to lie on the work table, his arms motionless at his sides. Most would have been embarrassed in his position, judging by his entirely naked body. However, it was obvious Alfred was…not as he seemed. His chest was a silvery, metal color. A sort of latch was nestled against him, in which when activated, the small compartment in his chest sprung open wide for all to see. That's where the blonde-haired man was working. Inside of him were different gears, wires, and compartments. He wasn't human, and he knew this. He was a machine.
He watched the man move around, not really able to feel him despite his hands being inserted deep into his metal chest cavity. Finally, after a moment, the man withdrew himself, and wiped his hands on his lab coat absently. He then grasped Alfred's hatch, and shut it forcibly. The latches made two small clicks to show the machine's body was now, once more, sealed. He then reached out and grasped the fake skin he had coated his creation's body with, to give him the false appearance even more of a human. After a moment of pulling, he managed to hook the fake flesh back into place. "You're permitted to move now, Alfred."
He released a small breath –equipped to behave like a human – and stretched slightly. He moved out his arms and legs and let them relax momentarily. He let his head roll back and stare at the ceiling. Behind his false blue eyes, the laser sensors he was outfitted with studied his environment. Unseen in the clockworks of his CPU, everything worked in code, which in turn produced sight for him. He waited for the man to finish before he sat up.
"Get dressed," the man ordered, albeit a bit gently. In response, Alfred moved, though not very fast. He slid off the metal table and onto sturdy, built legs, reassembling his clothing piece by piece like people did. The only difference was that once he tugged the shirt over his head, not only did it hide the fake ripples of muscle on his body, but it also hid the circle in the center of his chest. The circular button with his model number, used as his power switch, was almost always hidden from sight underneath his clothes.
"Master Francis," Alfred started as he adjusted the neckline of his shirt. The blonde blinked, looking up from his clipboard to glance at his creation. "My readings indicate you…will be occupied this evening. Would you like for me to place myself on automatic standby when your sleeping schedule becomes apparent?"
The blonde-haired man paused, looking up from his notes held on his clipboard, to look at his machine. He stared into those fake blue eyes he had built by hand and smiled. "That would be fine."
Alfred nodded and then proceeded to simply linger next to the metal table after he had reassembled his body into his clothes. At Francis's orders, he began to assist his creator in straightening up the operational room. He helped clean some of the machinery, and some of the various tubes and bottles set up along the counter. He helped drain the oils from the main piping system in the operational lab that was building up. It was all encrypted in his CPU. He had been built knowing how to do all of this. He was built with artificial intelligence that Francis told him shot through the roof. He was a genius. A genius machine…
He had been in operation for two weeks now. Francis had told him different tales thus far about his creation. It had taken two years to build him. He was state-of-the-art; his body, although fake, mirrored a male human's strong physique. He was built lightweight, but intricate, in which he was made with the finest metals, wires, and compartments. He was the first in a new line of models, he had been told, in which he was equipped with more abilities than the older models. His strength, his extreme intelligence, his speed…these were things he had more than any machine in this lab that had ever been created. So far, according to his creator, he was perfection.
Alfred blinked at a sudden ringing; it was high-pitched, loud, and obnoxious. He heard this alarm many times before powering himself down at night. It was…a warning system. A warning system to address something was wrong in the lab. Or, as it seemed, someone – man or machine – was in a bad situation.
Alfred paused in rubbing down one of the glass beakers with a cloth to look back at Francis. He had out his radio that was usually hooked to his belt, and was speaking back and forth with the operations manager on the south wing. Alfred could tell by the voice.
"Model 1A is being shipped to your wing now. We can send reinforcement if needed."
Alfred let his eyes drift to his creator. Francis always spoke about model 1A…but Alfred had never seen him. According to Francis, he was the first machine ever built. He was old, and thus, not in good shape, from what he had heard. Although he had never met this model, Alfred couldn't help but hold some sort of judgment towards him. Why was he still being used if he was in bad shape?
Alfred blinked at the sound of the double, metal doors being shoved open. He watched Francis run over to the gurney being pushed into the operational room. Alfred forced himself to stay put, although he felt a weird tingling inside of him that tried to convince him to grow closer. He watched as the gurney was pushed in further, and towards the operational table. Francis was walking alongside it, and Alfred noticed that he was holding the hand of the subject on the gurney.
The subject was groaning. Alfred's fake body did an unconscious shiver despite not having the proper sensors, but simply because the sound seemed to grate and tear at his hearing. He watched from his distance as the newly arrived model was being gingerly lifted off the rolling bed, and onto the operational table.
It was then Alfred got to see his face. His eyes were half-lidded and emerald in color. He had short tresses of messy blonde hair, and thick eyebrows. His skin, compared to Alfred's soft caramel, looked really pale. His shirt was torn off quickly, revealing the power source in his chest. The button was larger than Alfred's own, and instead of being clear like Alfred's, this older model's looked red.
"Model 1A is in need of operation," one of the other lab workers instructed that had helped wheel the subject in. He and another were assisting Francis now. They were lugging out different operational equipment and stabilization materials. "Condition is severely poor."
"What's the damage?" Francis asked, pushing the gurney out of his way. He then looked down at the moaning model and frowned a little. He reached out and let his hands settle on the model's face, one on each cheek. "Come on, now, Arthur. I need you to hold on for me."
Arthur? Alfred lingered against the back counter, watching. So his human name was Arthur… The machine frowned as he noticed how his creator seemed to cradle this model's face. Alfred's eyes suddenly narrowed as he figured it out easy enough. His master…was attached to this model.
"Model 1A is under severe damage," the second lab worker said as he started to tie Arthur down, just in case he malfunctioned. "Internal temperature is eight degrees above normal and the internal cooling system is failing. Overheating is very eminent. Infection of level five out of five virus components have began to attack the CPU. Loss of mental registry has begun." He strapped down Arthur's slim wrists, having to talk over the older model's groans. "Laser sensors are failing; sight has been reported as splotchy. Internal capacity has reached maximum point and is on the edge of overloading."
Alfred hadn't seen anything like it. When he went into operation, he was simply powered down into hibernation to ensure he wouldn't wake up, stripped, but nothing done otherwise. He was worked on, and then rebooted. He had never seen preparation like this happen before, with a model being tied down. He also had never heard of that many issues clogging a model before. This model…sounded very sick and prone.
"F-Francis," the model suddenly groaned out in complaint. His body coiled on the metal operational table. His heels dug into the surface the best they could and he tugged pathetically against the binds on his wrists. He grunted weakly when the man reached out with one hand and unhooked his false skin, before prying open his chest cavity. The hatch opened and a plume of steam spilled out all at once, bringing a loud cry from the older model. "Francis!"
To Francis, Arthur's body felt burning hot. He leaned his head down at the small temperature gauge the model had inside of him, watching the number slowly go up. He couldn't feel any cool air passing through him. And he knew if he didn't stop the power now to let Arthur cool down, he would simply fry up to a crisp.
"It's alright," Francis said, trying to calm the male down. "Relax… I'm going to power you down now, okay? I'll fix it. I'll see you when you wake back up, Arthur."
With that, he switched off the model's source of power. Arthur let out a tiny cry, before his body visibly relaxed. His eyes dimmed, visibly so, before his eyelids slipped closed. He had been put deep into hibernation mode at this point. After letting him cool down, they could operate.
"Alfred." Said machine blinked at his name, and glanced over at his creator. Francis had himself occupied with this other model right now, and thus didn't look at Alfred. "To your room. Now."
And so he obeyed. Alfred set down the various materials in his hands, and slowly edged his way around the operations table in the center of the room. His gaze noticeably lingered on the hibernating model on the table before he made his way out of the area.
He took his time heading back to his quarters. His bunkroom was all the way across the lab, and thus, he was in no hurry. He also took this as an opportunity to think as he walked along the square, forest green tiles. He found the situation to be something bizarre. He had heard that alarm several times, and thought nothing of it. However, now, it spiked his curiosity. Every time that alarm went off before, was it a result from that same model needing an operation?
Maybe he could ask his neighbor about this model. After all, he lived by himself in his bunkroom. He noticed most newer models like himself had a room to themselves, while the older seemed to have a partner. The most he could put together from that was due to the older models being at risk, and having a partner could allow them a lifeline?
The walk from the west wing to the east wing took him a while. The lab was huge, and taking his time didn't really help matters much. He stretched his falsely sculpted arms above his head as he made it onto his designated wing. As a newer model, his room was near the back end of the hall. That was okay though. A bit of walking didn't bother him any. What did bother him, however, was the incident that he had accidentally witnessed in the operations room.
He belonged to room 223. His right, 225, was unoccupied. His left, 221, housed a rather young machine…but still older than him. He was the youngest right now. Despite the machine next door being older, his mere three years of existence was viewed as small. He was still running in good condition.
Alfred took a moment to walk up to room 221, and then pounded on the door. He was very physically strong, and thus, couldn't stop his large fist from practically slamming into the wooden structure. He then stood there, unmoving, as he waited for a response. It was very possible his neighbor was away right now. However, he quickly ruled that thought out as he heard a loud creaking from inside the room, signaling someone was getting up from bed. He heard heavy footsteps, and after a moment, the door opened.
He found himself staring into the throat of a man. Alfred, in turn, instantly lifted his head to look the other machine in the eye. They weren't exactly 'human' colored… He had never seen a human with lavender eyes before. Nor with that hair. It was short, choppy, messy even, and an almost sort of white in color. It bothered Alfred to look at him. He was pale, tall, sturdy, and his presence gave him the tiniest nudging of discomfort.
"It's not often you come over, even though you live next door," he said in a rather quiet voice. Alfred watched his large frame rest against the doorway, blocking him entry. "You only visit me when you want something… Now what is it that you request of me, 21A?"
"It's Alfred," the machine cut in, standing his ground. He hated those numbers. The operations manager always used them, along with every human being sans Francis in the lab. Then, his softly-colored caramel lips curled up in a small bit of a smirk. "Unless you want for me to call you 18F?"
The other robot was quiet for a moment before he simply let out a snort of some sort. "Ivan will do, as I've already told you many times."
"Then it's settled." Alfred still wore that slightly cocky smile and pushed his way past the bigger machine, and into his room. "I've come to discuss something with you," he said, making himself comfortable by sitting down on one of the chairs at the small card table the older robot had in his room.
"Perhaps speaking to you is out of the question. You did, after all, blow through here like a tornado without my request." However, despite his comment, Ivan shut the door. He lumbered close to where Alfred had seated himself, and sat down on the free chair, which looked tiny compared to him. "What exactly are you referring to?" he asked, staring at Alfred with half-lidded lavender eyes.
The older robot always made Alfred feel at least a tiny bit uneasy. His aura, his huge frame, his eyes… They gave Alfred a sort of sensation that he guessed was nervousness. Was it normal to feel something like that…? He could've sworn only humans had complaints of such feelings…
"The operations room today," Alfred began, occupying himself by moving a pawn on the chess board Ivan had set up on his card table. Alfred had been the last one to touch it during his last visit, and by the appearance, no one else had touched it since. From the silence surrounding him, Alfred could tell Ivan never had visitors. "I'm sure you've heard that damn alarm just as much as I have before shutdown, but I've never understood what it meant. Today after cleanup operation, it went off. They wheeled in a model on a gurney." As Ivan made a move, Alfred made another. "Pathetic looking thing if I do say so myself. Blonde, tiny, pale. The thing was ready to explode it seemed like. Arthur, I believe his name was. What's his deal?"
Ivan blinked and looked up from the chess board to stare at Alfred. His pale lips curled slightly in a tiny, childish smile. "So you finally got to meet the legendary Arthur Kirkland, even if it was by mistake, I suppose…" Ivan's large hands folded together atop of the card table. "I'm quite surprised you have yet to see him around in the operations room. He's always being wheeled around for help… Now you understand the alarms, yes?"
So the alarms were because of that model… But to Alfred, it didn't make sense. "If he's constantly like that, why bother to set up alarms?" he asked, moving to fold his arms behind his head. "Isn't it a bit pointless? Power him down like the one last week, scrap them, reuse them, and move on…"
"Are you deaf?" Ivan asked a bit quietly. "I'm sure Master Francis filled you up nicely with brains, but there is probably a lot you do not know of this place… This lab has been open sixteen years from what I have been told. Arthur Kirkland is a legend. He's a model 1A. He was the first model Master Francis ever created. He's been running fifteen years now. He's the last model of his type. Models 1B through 1H fried up within a year, and Master Francis went onto model 2A." Ivan shook his head. "…Arthur is very old. We machines aren't supposed to run that long. We run maybe six or seven years and fry. Arthur has been, as I said, running for fifteen. You cannot expect for him to be running smoothly after all that time."
Alfred quirked one false blonde eyebrow then. So this Arthur was the oldest living model in this entire lab… The first robot ever made by their master's hands… Regardless, if he was that old, and malfunctioning that often, and badly, would it not be better to scrap him and be done with it?
"Regardless," Alfred spoke up and tapped one foot. "He may be legendary, but why keep him? He was swarming with viruses, was overheating, his CPU being destroyed, and all sorts of things. Is it really even worth everyone's time trying to fix him every time?"
"You don't understand." Ivan said quietly, leaning forward. "Arthur is Master Francis's most prized possession. Arthur is, despite his damage and many faults, something Master Francis will probably die trying to save. Master Francis is…very attached to Arthur. He loves that model unlike anything else. They have…had a very long history together."
Attached… Just as Alfred suspected. He snorted again and rolled his eyes. "Just human feelings. Nothing lives forever…not even a machine. If he needs to be let go, let him go."
"Very well," Ivan's lavender eyes seemed to glow then. "I will say the exact same to you when it is your turn to be scrapped." He then smiled childishly. "By the way, Alfred." He leaned forward, towards the younger robot. "Checkmate."
"Stabilization completed. Rebooting."
A deep, throaty, weak groan came from Arthur's mouth. He shifted his weight and attempted to open his eyes. They felt heavy and were malfunctioning again, judging by the splotches of nothingness in his line of sight. After blinking at least a dozen times, he managed to hold his eyes open entirely.
He moved his heavy arms, and felt around a bit. He found his hands being curled tightly into white sheets, which he released slowly. He moved slightly, and rolled onto his side, with a lot of effort. He blinked as the first thing he saw afterwards was the face of a blonde-haired man.
Francis. Arthur released a slow breath that didn't really seem to hold any rooted emotions. His creator was asleep right now, curled up on his side and snoring a little. This led Arthur to feel a bit of curiosity. How long had he been in hibernation?
Arthur reached out and gently patted Francis's cheek. The man grumbled and twitched, taking a swat at Arthur's hand before entirely waking up. The man shifted his weight, staring at the machine sitting beside him with blue eyes. Finally, after a brief second, Francis smiled, and sat up himself. "Better, now? Your stabilization took a good four hours…"
Arthur blinked, frowned, and then nodded his head. He let his eyes wander momentarily about the room, taking in the painted walls, the bed, the furniture… This was Francis's room. He sighed. "I have already said before that it is acceptable to put me back into my own room for recovery purposes. None of this is necessary, I promise you." He then crossed his arms. "And I've already said that you…do not need to stress yourself out over my well-being."
"I'm pretty sure you're suffering enough. I think you deserve at least this much in return." Francis said calmly, offering his creation a soft smile. "Unless of course, you'd rather for me to just dump you in one of the bunkrooms…"
"If you do that…" Arthur grumbled, but trailed off regardless. He sighed and tugged at the hem of his sweater. "…Thanks, okay? I just…don't like being…"
"Yes, yes, I know. You don't like being in anyone's debt," Francis teased. "But don't think of it as being in debt. Think of it as…being the recipient of something very good."
"Yes, Francis." Arthur mumbled in reply. He sighed and sprawled himself back down onto the large, king-sized bed. It already made him feel small, but then being stuck in this blasted too-big sweater… He grumbled audibly before he let out a sigh. His inner metal of the forehead felt warm all of a sudden. Oh, God… Not again, he hoped. "…Francis?"
"What?" The man spoke quietly as he remained on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He glanced over at Arthur, noticing how his right hand remained settled on his forehead.
"Am I…clean again?" Arthur asked. "It's warm…"
"You were under the duvet for four hours, that's why. You're fine." Francis let out a small laugh then. "I cleaned you out, yes. You had twelve viruses…I got rid of them all though. I managed to fix your cooling system, so you won't overheat again. A bit of your memory bank got eaten through, but it's mainly basics that I can reinstall… I also managed to cleanse your drives and upgrade your capacity…" he trailed off then.
This really bothered Francis. Arthur was very old, and he knew this… However, his first creation's condition was growing worse and worse with each week it seemed like. He was a failing system that was prone to infection like a newborn baby. There was…only so much he could do to fix him, wasn't there? And knowing that information…scared him, badly.
"I still can't believe you're so much of an idiot you keep fixing me every time I get like that," Arthur commented softly as his back arched slightly with a sigh. He laid there next to Francis before he flexed his fingers and toes absently, as if to assure himself he was still there completely. "I mean, I… I'm ancient now, you know…"
"Just because you're old doesn't mean you deserve to just kill over," Francis commented back as he laid there as well. Then he blinked and his brow furrowed. "Who are you calling an idiot?" He leaned over and gave Arthur a hefty flick on the forehead. He knew it wouldn't hurt his machine, as he was built with sturdy metal, but it was more of the thought that counted. "Maybe you're the idiot here!"
"If you say so, then, Francis," Arthur said softly, not quite able to argue back. It was how he had been programmed. It was how all of them were programmed. They did not have a complete free will. They could think, but couldn't feel. They had reactions, but couldn't go against a human's word.
"I just did. Now just be quiet and relax. You had a rough day." Francis ordered quietly.
"Yes, Francis," Arthur muttered. His creator hadn't forced him to do anything in years now. Arthur knew why easily enough. The man was afraid that any more activity than necessary would kill him. And Arthur realized this was a very real possibility. As small as activity he did now, he was already struggling to survive… Fifteen years for a machine such as himself was…a feat. Arthur would not be surprised if one day his creator could not fix him.
That would…be okay though. He must say, for a robot, he lived a good life.
He heard Francis sigh from his place beside him. Arthur blinked and glanced over at him, and a tiny, teasing smile came onto his face. "What's bugging you?"
"Nothing," Francis muttered in reply as he folded his arms behind his head. "I wouldn't say anything is bothering me… There's just a lot on my mind."
"Such as…?" Arthur asked, picking his head up from the pillow to look at his creator. He frowned. "I do not mean to sound like I am ordering you, but I think it would be best for you to take a break-"
"No, no, not like that. I'm alright. It's just a lot to remember." Francis said as he offered the robot beside him a small smile. "I have to go to an important meeting the day after tomorrow… I have to run more operations on Alfred this week-"
"Alfred?" Arthur asked, blinking. "Who's Alfred?" Then, after a moment, he frowned with realization. "…He was that bloody robot you were building two weeks ago, correct? Blonde? Big?"
Francis nodded his head. "He's up and running now, yes. He's quite the showstopper. I just have to get operating for a while to see how I can improve." He laughed a bit. "I must say, I'm pleased with how he turned out-"
"Glad to hear it." Arthur suddenly cut into his creator's speech, and rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. "Could you please put me on standby? I would…like to take rest."
Francis blinked at that reaction, before he sighed. "As you wish, Arthur." He leaned over, and, after a moment, switched his robot's settings to standby. It was like that of a regular period of sleep for human beings.
Arthur didn't say anything. He glared at the wall and he let out a little, almost jealous sigh. Of course Francis would find pride and enjoyment in a new model. Why wouldn't he? Arthur clenched his hands a little then. He may have been a prized possession, but what was his worth when compared to something better?
Arthur didn't like the answer his mind provided.
"Gentlemen, I would like for you to meet model 21A. Codename provided is Alfred F. Jones." Francis said as he motioned a hand to the Plexiglas environment set up before his and the eyes of his colleagues. Arthur sat on his left, his arms folded as he was noticeably staring at Alfred. His health today – three days after his severe infection – looked well, so he was permitted to tag along. "Key points include extreme artificial intelligence and strength. I do believe he may be the prime model."
Prime model, huh? Arthur noticeably stared at him from his seat on the second floor, above the small, isolated arena. So this is what the robots were turning out to be… Tanned, tall, and huge. Arthur then looked down at one of his hands. It was scarred, pale, and tiny. He let it fall back into his lap to continue watching what was going on.
Francis did these things a lot, Arthur knew. Whenever he found a model he felt was excellent, that more should be built exactly like it, he would call in various acquaintances and show it off, like he was now.
"Body structure set to be equivalent of nineteen-years-old-"
So that was it. Francis was making the models younger…but stronger. Smarter. Better. Arthur looked down at his hands again. He remembered when he was first built and shown off to the faculty. He was a success story. He was the first in a long line of models. He was built petite, pale, and yet, he was set to look at a target age of twenty-three.
Now… Francis was making different, very different, models. He could remember when Ivan was built. He was the largest model they had ever designed. He ran well – quite well – and his size didn't seem to matter. It was just a quality. Now… Here was this Alfred robot. Big like Ivan. It was the first time also Arthur had ever seen a tan model before. So Alfred was unique, too. He was big, strong, a genius it sounded like…
There was no competition, was there?
Arthur jumped at a sudden crash he heard. He looked down onto the ground floor in time to witness Alfred showing off his strength to Francis's colleagues. He would lift things bigger than Ivan, heavier than Arthur thought could be healthy for anyone or anything to lift, and would throw them like they were simply crumpled up paper balls.
He was…a monster, was he not? Didn't monsters have strength like that? So strong they could kill? That is what Alfred had. He had strength so high it was obviously hard to control. Arthur shuddered. He could hear Francis's colleagues murmuring and clapping with excitement. They loved Alfred already, and he knew this. Perhaps… This would be…the one, then.
This model, this mirror-image of a teenage boy…could be the one. He could be the next one in line to have new models built just as he was built. More robots would be built like him, in which they had his brains and power. They'd all be built, just like him… And then, someday… Arthur knew they would be used for something big. Something important. Something he, Arthur Kirkland, probably would not get to witness.
"Arthur," Francis said, nudging his creation with his elbow gently. He watched as Arthur blinked, seeming to be coming out a trance almost, by how slow he moved when his name was called. "What do you think? He took two years to build… First model in the twenty-first collection…"
Arthur was quiet for a long time. "He's…definitely different," he at last mumbled. For him, it was true. Alfred, this new model, was unlike anything he had ever witnessed in his fifteen years of existence.
Francis blinked. Arthur was fidgeting. His creation always wore sweaters, and the sleeves always seemed to dangle over his hands. Arthur was pulling at them constantly, hiding his hands the best he could as he drummed his fingers awkwardly together. He was uncomfortable, and Francis new this.
He sighed then and scratched his slightly bearded chin. "Arthur, you… You did not have to attend if you did not wish to. You are free to go at any moment, you know…"
Typically, Arthur liked to follow Francis around. He didn't like to be by himself, even if he denied it. He liked to see and learn new things, especially with how often his internal health was failing, and he could die any day… But right then…
He stood up roughly from the cushioned chair. "Please excuse me," he said quietly, before quickly fleeing from the balcony. Francis just watched him go with concerned blue eyes.
He loved to be around new situations. He liked meeting new people. He adored learning more about anything. He found enjoyment in even discovering about other models in the lab sometimes.
But right then, with a perfect model on the premises… With all of his creator's attention and admiration slipping through his fingers, and being fed through the wires of a new robot… What did he have left? No one else bothered to give him a second glance. Francis was all he had left.
And with the way things were going…soon enough…he wouldn't even have that.
Chapter 1: End.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope to see you all in the reviews and next chapter!