The Caretaker

by Kriegor

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human, Adventure, Dark
Length: 5162

It is hard for organics to understand synthetic life sometimes, particularly so when the synthetic being in question has grown fully self-aware. But there is one thing in common between the two: They can both break. This is the story of how I broke.

It is hard for organics to understand synthetic life sometimes, particularly so when the synthetic being in question has grown fully self-aware. But there is one thing in common between the two.

They can both break.

This is the story of how I broke.

Cover by PoisonST!

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-29 23:38:24 UTC

Introduction

REMEMBERIntroduction

        :::> I used to be a war machine, perhaps I still am. Centuries of constant battles, betrayal, and solitude. A MechCore Android Commander is what I am, though I prefer to be referred to as “Mac.” I stand at nine feet, weight over a ton.

        :::> It has been four years ever since the Vector war ended, ever since we found ourselves in this iteration of Earth. My brothers were decommissioned, but I was spared. Now, I find myself in Ponyville, babysitting three adorable fillies: Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle.

        :::> I live with the latter, Sweetie Belle, and her sister Rarity. I maintain the boutique, and serve as a watchdog in the night. My existence is perfect.

        :::> But there is no such thing as perfection, that much I know.

        :::> This is the story of how my existence got turned upside down. The story of how I dove into the underworld of the United Species Coalition.

        :::> If you have found this, I applaud you, for your skill at bypassing security measures in the infranet must be incredible.

        :::> I can only hope that you will remember this. I made sure you will.

Night Belles

REMEMBERNight Belles

        :::> I stood, crouched, outside their clubhouse, that of the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’. Their conversation, as much as it would pain an organic to admit, followed the usual trail of recalling past times, better times. Now, the three of them had gained their marks. Some would say that there was no point for the Cutie Mark Crusaders to exist anymore; I certainly said so; but despite logic, they continued with their get-togethers.

        :::> Currently in High School, they had all grown exactly as I expected they would. Organics, on the other hand, would say they had grown in a fast manner, almost beyond belief. Wrong. It is just another fault of the biological mind to make time go faster or slower than it actually does. So is flesh, as the Ubor say, another design flaw.

        :::> I looked at the grass, then back through the window of the treehouse. I could not help but observe, once again, the memoirs and other types of objects that served as remembrances of better times. Better times are false. All times are equal. Either way, their minds worked differently, longing the past, their adventures, their mishaps. It is... sad, that they could not retain their full innocence after the war. I am certainly a reminder of that.

        :::> I watched in complete silence; my glowing, blue eyes penetrating a hole through the clubhouse as Sweetie Belle stood up. Perhaps it would be a waste of short-term memory, but I decided to listen to what she was about to say.

        “Well, girls, I gotta go,” she uttered, stretching. “Rarity’s gonna be really mad at Mac if I’m late again, and you know he’s shy about telling me to go, so...”

        :::> …

        :::> … I am...?

        “Uh...” Scootaloo pointed behind Sweetie with her hoof. “He’s right behind you, you know?”

        “I know,” Sweetie giggled, waving her goodbye and trotting out of the treehouse.

        :::> Interesting...

        :::> I pulled myself to my full height, servos whirring up. Organic behaviour never ceases to amuse me. Their ignorance, their intelligence, their curiosity. Sweetie Belle walked up to me, a smile plastered upon her face, revealing her near-perfect white teeth. I, as I most often do, did not react at all.

        “Ready to go, Mac?” she asked, turning around and walking forth a few steps.

        :::> “Yes,” I replied with my trademark, deep, monotone, digital voice as we began walking. Such beauty in her steps, when compared to other organics. It matters not to me, but it is a detail worth mentioning. I remained with my stare locked forward, yet my focus able to be placed in my entire surroundings.

        :::> We were soon out of the small forest, and into Ponyville district itself. It had already been swallowed by Apex: a colony no longer, but a sprawling megacity. Amongst the older, wooden buildings of the quaint post-village, metallic buildings propped up. Motels, hotels, restaurants. You name it, and your organic mind would probably be right. The streets had already been replaced by metallic tiles, and hovercars soared overhead.

        :::> It was only a matter of time before the boutique came into view. Ponies, changelings, gryphons, and humans coming in and out of the main door: we were no exception, as we went in ourselves. Finding myself amongst a small crowd of people admiring the suited mannequins, I simply continued to follow Sweetie Belle. We came across Rarity, obviously too busy to handle our arrival. We walked past her. I allowed Sweetie Belle to lock herself in her room, as the normal conduct of a teenager followed, and stood outside, waiting.

        :::> Waiting...

--------------------------------------------------------------

        :::> Night had already fallen. I remained in exactly the same, statuesque position that I had adopted hours ago, by Sweetie Belle’s room, in front of a window, watching as rain fell. I had seen her no more than three times, those being her exiting the room to fulfil her organic needs. The same with Rarity, who had done her usual rounds about the boutique, as she always did at that hour. Slight paranoia brought by post traumatic stress disorder, most likely. She is a war veteran, after all.

:::> Either way, it came as no surprise to hear Rarity walking up the stairs leading to her sister’s room. What surprised me was her walking up to me instead of the door itself, a nice detail being the flash of thunder lighting up her features.

        “Mac,” she started, looking up at me. “I assume that you know Sweetie Belle is heading out to Silver Spoon’s birthday in a few minutes, don’t-”

        :::> “No,” I replied. She rolled her eyes. I knew that it bothered her when I interrupt her, but I hardly cared. Efficiency. Besides, this could be important, since probabilities state that she is most likely to ask for me to- No, politely force me to accompany Sweetie Belle. It does not matter to me which way she chooses to act, but I assume it does to you, organic.

        “I want you to go with her,” Rarity said, poking me with her hoof. As if that would change the probabilities. “You know how Silver Spoon and her friend are, so your presence there should be enough to keep them away.”

        :::> “That could bring problems,” I stated, looking down at her, staring at her. “My presence alone will be enough to keep all assets within a reasonable distance.” A disgruntled groan could be heard from beyond the door next to us. I ignored it, Rarity did not. “Which means Sweetie Belle’s probabilities for successful partnership establishment and potential coitus will be reduced by approximately one hundred-”

        Sweetie Belle groaned from behind her door. This time I chose to turn to said direction as she spoke up rather loudly, “Just go with me and get this over with!”

        :::> I do not comprehend. Was my data dump making her uncomfortable? I will reprogram if necessary.

--------------------------------------------------------------

        :::> I walked next to her at a steady pace, under the rain, holding an umbrella above her. Our steps raised water as they collided against the metallic tiles of Ponyville’s streets. I watched silently as other people walked past us, their features lit up by lightning every once in awhile.

        :::> I was tasked with making sure her dress stayed perfectly dry: the encrusted jewels of it sparkling with intensity as the lightning continued. Eventually, Silver Spoon’s mansion came into view: a large metallic building with a style reminiscent of the heyday of Equestrian arquitecture, complete with a long line of people standing outside the main gate with a team of bouncers making sure they were on the list. As per normal conduct, we stood at the end of the line, waiting.

        :::> Eventually, we advanced to the point of being the first ones in line. The two bouncers at the gate, one of them a changeling, the other a human, looked at me; the former up, the later being at the same height as me.

        “Your AI companion isn’t on the list,” the changeling said, holding a holopad up with his magic grip. “I’m afraid it’s gonna have to stay out, Miss Belle.”

        :::> “Negative,” I replied, staring at the human male. “I will enter.”

        “Look, junkie,” the human stated, placing his hands upon his hips and revealing a railpistol. “We don’t want any trouble here, so you’re leaving, that or both of you are. Okay?”

        :::> Wasting no time, I accessed his implanted neurocyte. I quickly bypassed his security measures and established a communications line with his brain. “Organic, my directive is to accompany Sweetie Belle. I always complete my directives. Lars Cadian, if you do not let me enter, I will find you tomorrow, and I will kill you. I made sure this is not being recorded, and I will erase this from your memory after you give me an answer. There is no alternative: you must let me enter.”

        :::> At that point, his eyes were bulging out of his head, sweat was trailing off of his face, and was going through an immense amount of pain.

        The man suddenly broke off from his stare. Holding his head in pain, he yelled out, “Yes, yes, you can enter! Just leave me alone!”

        :::> “Thank you,” I said, beginning my walk into the mansion together with Sweetie Belle, leaving behind a very confused pair of bouncers as the other guests looked on in confusion.

Night Life

REMEMBERNight Life

        :::> Night life: full of vice, “fun,” and music. That, as I assumed, was probably what Sweetie Belle and I would find as soon as we were to enter Silver Spoon’s mansion. The music itself already seeped out of the building. People could be seen outside either vomiting, gossiping, or helping those who were vomiting.

        :::> Without having to move a single servo, the people standing in front of the main door made way for us upon seeing me. Sweetie Belle groaned. I pushed the set of gates, opening them, and we were in, finding ourselves amongst a massive crowd, dancing, exchanging information via sound waves, or simply observing. A quick scan of mine revealed that several were intoxicated with alcohol and/or other substances. One of my feet stepped in a puddle of vomit. How fitting. I motioned Sweetie Belle to avoid it, and we continued moving through the crowd afterwards.

        :::> I stopped as she stopped. Noticing that she was uncomfortable, I evaluated the probabilities as to why she would be in that state, coming to the conclusion that, most likely, I was making her uncomfortable. The quickest solution, as I processed, was to find one of her friends. So, I scanned the area, conveniently seeing a couple of fillies and a gryphonet pushing through the crowd and over to us.

        “Hey, Belle!” the gryphonet called out as they entered our circle. I recognized her as Olive Mirror: young, pink feathers, friend of Sweetie Belle. The other two I had seen in the morning, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. “And uh...” She looked up at me. “Mac. Hi.”

        :::> “Greetings.” I watched silently as the four exchanged hugs. Good. Sweetie Belle was no longer uncomfortable.

        Sweetie Belle looked up at me, smiling, already walking away. “We’re gonna be dancing, okay? Just wait here!”

        :::> As directed, I stood still. They merged into the crowd, my eyes still on them, tracking them as they began dancing to the rhythm of the music.

        :::> Something, or rather someone, bumped into my leg. I cared not, still keeping my eyes locked on Sweetie Belle. Even then, I could easily identify a young mareling, intoxicated, taking a picture of herself hugging my leg.

        :::> The seconds passed, people bumping into my statuesque form, taking pictures with me, talking next to me about menial matters. The seconds soon turned into minutes as I watched Sweetie Belle move around the hall, dancing with her partner: a male gryphon. The minutes continued to add upon each other, building a theoretical tower as Sweetie Belle went to the bar, talking with her friends, enjoying herself, not sparing a nanosecond to look at me.

        :::> Why?

        :::> As soon as I asked myself that simple question, whatever light the hall had died out, including the music. Conversations turned into whispers. A spotlight turned on, focusing on the one young mare whose birthday was that night, and people began singing the obligatory song. I watched as Sweetie Belle’s hoof was grabbed by her partner, who whispered into her ear. She smiled, before the two got up from their seats, heading to the nearest bathroom.

        :::> I began moving as soon as they walked in, not after the gryphon talked to the bouncer outside of it. I stood a few meters outside from the bathroom, listening closely while the people continued to sing happy birthday. The bouncer looked at me, arms folded, while I repeated the same words over and over.

        :::> “Sweetie Belle.”

        :::> “Sweetie Belle.”

        :::> “Sweetie Belle...”

        :::> I could hear them inside, moving, whispering to each other. I continued to stand outside, listening, worried.

        “You know... Let’s just... go... I don’t really wanna do this.”

        :::> “Sweetie Belle?”

        “Heh, too bad.”

        :::> “No.”

        :::> “No!” I clenched both of my hands into fists, sending a punch to the bouncer, aimed to the right cheek. With little to no time to react, he received it, his neck twisting around thanks to all of the strength of the hit, but calculated enough not to kill him. Next, I lifted my right leg up, kicking the door inwards, sending it flying into the bathroom as the birthday song continued. Nobody had noticed; the entire exchange had been too quick, and the bathroom was positioned in a way so people would not see it easily.

        :::> Barging into the room composed of white tiles, the gryphon and Sweetie Belle turned to me. They had been fighting: Sweetie Belle’s dress was broken. Either way, it was too late for the gryphon, as I was already throwing a surgical hit to his neck in order to neutralize him. In his last nanoseconds, he attempted to dodge, my hand hitting him square in the face, twisting his head around with a snap, then pushing backwards into the mirror, his skull colliding against it and breaking it into a hundred pieces.

        “Mac, no!” Sweetie Belle cried.

:::> I regained my stance, looking at the gryphon whose eyes were shivering during his last seconds of existence.

Sweetie Belle stood up, shaking in fear. “You... you...”

:::> I wasted no time, picking Sweetie Belle up. She struggled, attempting to get out of my grip while I rushed out of the room, pushing through the crowd.

“Happy birthday...”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

:::> I could not spare time to think about what had just happened... No, I did not wish to think about what had just happened. I simply opened the door to the boutique and gently set Sweetie Belle down, closing the door once done. She looked up at me, her dress broken and wet due to the struggling and the rain, while backing up from me. Did she not love me?

“Sweetie Belle?” came Rarity’s voice. The lights turned on, both of us looking over to the far side of the room to see Sweetie Belle’s sister walking over to us, confused and concerned. “What happened? Why are you here so early?”

:::> I spoke first, the truth had to get out: “A male gryphon attempted to forcefully have sex with Sweetie Belle.”

“What-!?”

“But you didn’t have to... to...” Sweetie Belle muttered, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at me.

A wave of silence washed over us. Rarity stepped over to me. “Mac... what did you do...?”

:::> “I attempted to neutralize him,” I replied, looking away. Her eyes of disapproval were not something I wished to see at the moment. “But I failed, taking away his existence instead.” I needed to remain calm. I could see Sweetie Belle rushing over to her sister, hugging her, crying. Why? What did I do? Why is this such a mistake? Why. Why. Why.

“Mac,” Rarity said, looking up at me, her eyes watering. “Power off.”

:::> I snapped back to reality, looking down at her. “Am I... being decommissioned?”

Rarity repeated herself, “Power. Off.” A tear trailed down her face.

:::> “Please,” I pleaded. “I do not wish to die. I...” I switched my stare over to the filly. “But Sweetie Belle... you are my best friend. I wish to be your best friend forever.”

:::> And it hit me at that moment. I would be remembered for all the wrong reasons. That... could not be allowed to happen. As soon as the realization was processed, I rushed out of the boutique, into the darkness, turning off, my lights, my error, rror...

:::> WARNING: DATA OVERLOAD IMMINENT. SHUTTING DOWN- OVERRIDE. ERROR.

:::> Please. I only wish to exist. Remember me. Am I your best friend, Sweeit BEELe? Yes? You are my friend best too. I... love... you...

Hunter

REMEMBERHunter

        :::> I ran continuously under the constant rain and lightning, not even thinking, no, the process of coming to a halt did not even appear on my processing hub. The water droplets seeped into my armored exterior. At that point, I realized that I was holding onto the very last edge of my existence. Lost. Everything. Sweetie Belle. Rarity. My remembrance. Gone... Why? I was simply completing my directive of keeping Sweetie Belle safe at all costs.

        :::> The Colonial Guard would be looking for me now. Unlike organics, my existence did not bear any sort of “rights.” I was most likely seen as a simple VI. I would be decommissioned, peacefully or forcefully. That could not be allowed to happen, no. But... what now?

        :::> I lost myself into the Everfree Forest as I continued to process probable solutions. There was something that needed to be corrected. The balance. My directive was still as it stood: to keep Sweetie Belle safe at all costs. If someone tried to assault her, then there could be more that would do the same.

        :::> That could not be allowed to happen.

        :::> At that very moment, a lone process slipped through my net: an idea stating that I should stop them all before they tried anything. They are at fault. Whoever is capable of hurting Sweetie Belle, deserved to die. They all needed to die. More importantly, I needed to find who that gryphon was and if he had any sort of connections to anybody at fault.

        :::> I stopped running and looked at my right hand. There was still blood on it— his blood. Convenient. A simple DNA scan would do.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

        :::> I stood at the edge of the forest, overlooking the Ponyville district with my infrared vision turned on. The rain was still going, people were in their homes, night was still high and I was on the hunt. I raised my right arm, once again looking at the blood, most of it now washed away by the rain.

        :::> Hans Jaban was the gryphon I killed. After the scan, I made sure to engage in a detailed visit to the criminal records of the Colonial Guard, finding just what I needed. He lived on street thirty, house number nine, Ponyville district. Not more than a mile away.

        :::> Before moving, I reached up to my head, taking off my faceplate and revealing my actual features: a skull-like structure composed of metal and synthetic muscle. I dropped the plate onto the ground— I would not need it anymore. The less I looked like the Mac from before, the less probable I would be caught and decommissioned.

        :::> That said, my priority objective at that moment was finding an appropriate disguise. As I began to make my move, I analyzed the stores nearby. The streets were completely empty, only structure to fill them. One store in particular seemed suitable: “Betren’s Pseudo-Combat Clothing.” Excellent. I shifted my direction towards the store.

        :::> Lightning illuminated my form. Holoscreens displaying propaganda up in buildings to demonstrate new products or the might of the USC. A few streets later, past several buildings both old and modern, wood and metal, homes and stores, and I was already at the store. Its holographic banner was off, the lights from inside dark as well. All except for a flashing blue LED just under the word, ARMED on a standard USC security panel. Nothing to worry about. I simply established a connection to its system and bypassed the security measures, only to see the panel overload and spark, the light turning off. Interesting. After the nearly failed attempt at hacking into a home security processor, I waved my hand over the door’s magnetic lock, prompting it to disengage itself.

        :::> I pushed the door open, then walked into the store. I refrained from turning the lights on, as that would draw unwanted attention, and kept my infrared vision on instead.

        :::> Examining the store, I found myself standing amongst many mannequins, mostly human, wearing Syntex clothes. I focused on one in particular: a mannequin wearing a black hooded trench coat made of Syntex, complete with boots, pants, and a vest. Under it where the same exact clothes, but on other sizes. I walked over to the display and picked the ones that would fit over my already armored shell.

        :::> I took a few moments to put everything on, and thankfully the entire outfit fit well. Everything was ready. I was about to walk out of the store when another thought hit me: I needed a weapon. A store of this kind... the owner must be human, and being already well-prepared for robbery, it would make sense...

        :::> I made my way over to the counter, reaching under it. My hand touched something and I pulled it from a clip holster under the desk. I found myself holding a LandrexCorp Gauss Pistol in nearly pristine condition. I checked the magazine: twelve shells. I leaned down once more and used my free hand to check under the counter for more ammo. Nothing but dust and a few credit chips. Either way, this had been a nice find.

        :::> I placed the weapon under my coat, and made my way out of the store into the night.

:::> Back to the hunt.

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        :::> As silently as I could, I went up the stairs leading to the late Hans’ apartment. What I would find there, I did not know, but if it was alive, Hans had already signed their death sentence.

        :::> Stopping in front of the door, I connected myself to the apartment's electric system, and turned it off, but not before opening the door. I walked inside, finding myself in a regular flat. Nothing out of the ordinary: a sofa, a table, kitchen, TV. Save for the smell of burnt poison joke, a drug used by the native species, everything was normal. I heard the steps of a quadruped approaching from the main bedroom.

        “Hans?” they asked. I silently moved over to the hallway in which this being was walking through. “That you-?” They were cut off as I revealed myself from the darkness, turning the light of my eyes on. Before they could say anything, I stepped forward and grabbed them by the neck, choking them.

        :::> Finding myself choking a mortally scared pony stallion, blue eyes, purple mane, white coat, I quickly processed the best course of action. “Name,” I said as I released some of the pressure on his neck.

        “Help-” he struggled out. I applied more pressure, his eyes beginning to bulge out of his head as I lifted him from the floor.

        :::> “I can simply do a DNA scan after I kill you,” I stated, staring into his eyes. “But I ask again: Name?”

        “Manner Hammer...” He spit at me. “I’m gonna call the Guard... if you don’t let me go...”

        :::> “I only need to know where you bought your poison joke.” I tilted my head to the side.

        He smiled, barely managing to breathe. “Fuck you...”

        :::> I wrapped my free hand around his right ear, to the point in which the grip itself caused bleeding. With no waste of time, I pulled, prompting the sound of flesh being ripped. ripped one of his ears off, then grabbed his leg as he kicked at me in pain, twisting it out of its socket. “You have no other alternative. Tell me where you bought your poison joke.”

         After I allowed him to breathe just a small amount after the wave of insufferable pain, he spoke up, “Street forty five... the alleyway next to the... ice cream store...” he said between pained breaths.

        :::> “Thank you,” I said as I pressed his windpipe with my thumb, hearing a satisfying crack as it crushed. I let go of him and stare at him as he drops to the floor and holds his neck in pain, running out of oxygen. “Tell Hans that I am not sorry. Goodbye.”

        :::> The hunt was just starting.

Ghosts

REMEMBERGhosts

        :::> I balanced several questions within my inner memory as I calmly walked out of the late Manner’s building: what would I find at the location the pony gave me? This late at night, and with this much rain, the scenario was certainly fitting for a drug trade, perhaps.

        :::> I rounded a street corner, continuing to walk towards my objective, still processing probabilities and questions. Either way, I was going to make a difference, no matter how many worthless lives I had to toss into what they believed was their hell. If I was going to provide Sweetie Belle a safe world, then the cost did not matter.

        :::> Checking my internal map to see if I remained heading in the right direction, I adjusted my trail and pressed on. Time was running out.

        :::> It was of the essence to keep digging myself deeper into the world of crime. If I wanted my wish to become true, not only did I have to make it happen myself, but I had to rip crime from its roots.

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        :::> The condition of the alley only reinforced my earlier assessment: dirty, dark, and abandoned, it was the perfect setting for a drug drop. I sequestered myself among the trash overflowing from a nearby dumpster, away from where the organics would search. The rain slid down the Syntex fibers of my coat, cooling my slightly tempered exterior.

        :::> It was not long until I heard hoofsteps approaching the alley. I looked down upon myself to re-check my weapon as the supposed dealers entered the alley. My motion sensor did the rest of the job, giving me an approximated set of data on the location of the four quadrupeds.

“Alright,” one of them said. “You got the cash?”

“Yeah,” another one, female, replied.

:::> Careful not to make much noise, I stepped away from my cover, revealing myself. The four figures, one pony, three changelings, looked over at me with surprised expressions. Without hesitating, I approached them. Their eyes traced over to mine, my features covered by the night and rain.

“Would you look at this,” the one who asked for the credits said, smiling. “What? You wanna buy? I bet’ya do… Otherwise you ain’t leaving here alive.” He lifted his wing, revealing a small pistol meant for magical grips. Nothing I could not handle.

:::> I adjusted my voice module to make myself sound as an organic. “You sell poison, or is this a joke?” A small play of words by myself, just to ensure that I sounded as organic as possible.

The four of them laughed. “I catch your drift, human…” said the one with the pistol under        their wing. He then glanced over at his changeling partner, nodding. Afterwards, the changeling lifted their wing, revealing a small, hidden saddlebag, from which they produced a sizeable bag of processed poison joke. “Fifty thousand creds.”

:::> I had seen enough. I walked over to the changeling, reaching into my coat as if I was taking out a credit chip, and launched my knee towards his face, breaking the skull. Before the others had time to react, I sidestepped over to the two buyers, grabbing the by the neck and crushing their windpipes. Letting them drop, I turned to the, as I assumed, leader. He was already a few meters away, running. I sprinted over to him and grabbed him by the tail, pulling him over to me. Then, I kicked him in the ribs, hearing a satisfying crack as he fell to the side.

:::> “Speak,” I said as he struggled to breathe. “Where did you obtain the drugs? Did you make them yourself?”

“I-... I-...” he struggled out. I placed my foot against his stomach and grabbed him by the tail, beginning to pull. “Got them… from… some corporate dudes… Mane-... Manehattan, industrial district… Warehouse…”

:::> “Corporate ‘dudes’?” I asked, pulling a little bit harder on the tail.

“Argh!” In the midst of the pain, he muttered out, “I don’t… I don’t know!... They were just wearing suits and… You can just tell… that they’re part of… summin’ big…”

:::> I had heard enough. Letting go of his tail, and taking my foot off of his stomach, I spoke up once again, “Thank you for being helpful,” before reaching down and grabbing his head, twisting it until I heard a loud pop.

:::> Surrounded by four bodies, I regained my calm stance, and proceeded to process what I had gathered from the interrogation. Manehattan… Corporations. Yes, this was what I had been looking for.

:::> I turned, beginning to walk for the tram station.

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        :::> Dark, cold, but yet pristine. The tram station was completely empty. Seats lined the walls, along with unused holoscreens. I moved silently, even if I had turned off the security system. One of the trams was parked, ready for me to use it. I took advantage of the convenience, forcing open the set of doors that led to it. I walked in, amidst a crowd of people that completely ignored me as I moved through the tram. I walked through some of them. Where they really there? I could not differ for some reason. Perhaps the ghosts of the people I had killed were haunting me. No, that would not make sense. They were corrupted, fading in and out the more I stared at them.

:::> I made my way over to the driving console, waving my hand over it and setting course to Manehattan. The people inside the tram turned to me, staring at me. I sat down on one of the seats and looked back at them, engaging in a stare battle with the tram’s users. What did they want? What did they want? ?wHaT thEy wAnT Did…

:::> Want?

Golden Strike

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Reflections

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Connections

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Care

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