Work Text:
As the Heir of Void, you were more than accustomed to this familiar numbness.
Nepeta called it “:33 < cat-atonic depurression”, but it was your classpect, so there was no way it was anything other; The answers were there. Troll Occams Razor, or something of that metaphorical ilk.
Lying on the floor, your spine pushed in an uncomfortable position, but you weren’t inclined to go to your recuperacoon or the comfort platform. You needed to finish this project — even if you took long breaks lying on the floor in the midst.
The air was tasted old in your throat as you breathed shallowly. You would ask Aurthour to open a window, but - if he could make the trip, so could you. But you won’t, so you didn’t.
Your sunglasses were still on as you lay, and it plastered everything in a neat grey overlay. It made it hard to make out details, but you were so used to it by now that taking them off overstimulated you to the point of wriggler tears.
Strong beams and light fixtures hung above you on the ceiling. You remember building this hive as a child with Aurthour; never resting even when he’d provided meals and a temporary recuperacoon. You wish you still had the vigour to build now as you did then.
Your mind wandered back to the project at hand.
The disassembled robot lay infront of you, body parts unattached to its torso, its head. Screws half screwed to keep them in place, not holding anything together. Thin, brightly coloured wires are the only things keeping it all ‘connected’; in a way, you felt you could relate to that.
It’s string wire-intestines snaked out of its open panel chest like roots, tickling your crossed legs in a way that made you want to burst into a furious rage; so you used up what priceless energy you may have left to sit up properly.
The heavy exhaustion that kept you from getting off of the floor weighed tonnes on your shoulders now, all along with your lightheadedness from moving after.. how long had it been this time?
You may be strong, but strength means nothing if you can’t fuel it on.
Strength just makes it harder to be beaten, even when you just sit there and take it.
Black, thick hair hid your deep eye bags and yellow belly. The lifeless, blue eye-bulbs that inhabited the severed robot head couldn’t see your weakness behind this curtain of grime. You were hidden.
Its hair was nothin like yours. A clean, metal sheet, rounded to fit smoothly around its globe of a cranium. Low maintenance, looks good, it’s the perfect design.
Unlike its, your hair clumped together due to days of unrestrained grease, helpfully supplying you with a cloak of solitude. The 20 minutes of work, washing yourself in the ablution trap, made you tired just thinking about it - but you didn’t sleep.
You never slept.
You simply sat, unmoving, nonexistent, lifeless; until you had to move - or woke up, exhausted, hours later with no memory of ever falling asleep.
You felt, sometimes, that you were like a robot. Lifeless and only doing things because it has to. Giving commands because its supposed to. Not doing unnecessary things like eating or sleeping unless it’s become necessary enough that you’d shut down without them.
Then again, you’re so completely different to the sleek beauty of a completed robot it would be nothing short of disrespectful to compare yourself to one. You’re sweaty and greasy, breakable and too lazy to fix yourself. The stark blue of mock nitrous oxide running through your veins is moot when it does nothing but determine your class.
You felt small in comparison to the shining beauties you created. You could spend an entire day buffering 3k square inches of stainless titanium to make it beam in the light, but changing into a fresh outfit was put off days, even weeks for yourself. You weren’t actually worthy of being a robot, you were completely contrasting to them.
The soldering iron pad beside you was smoking a dark grey smoke now, fogging up your thoughts, so you picked up the iron and forced yourself down to solder a few more wires to the motherboard. To prevent a fire, if anything.
The solder melted fairly simply, you knew what you were doing.
Occasionally you’d catch your fingertip on the scalding metal and drop it with a grimace, but you didn’t get angry. Lately, you didn’t seem to be capable of feeling angry anymore.
Relative to other tasks you’d done to build this model, it was easy to melt the solder, move to another wire and repeat. Small repetitive motions that you’d done a thousand times before; and before you had realised, you were finished.
It was basically complete - not pretty, but done.
So, you put the soldering iron back down and sat back. The internals were finished, all you needed to do now was attach the body parts to each other and supply a source of energy.
And it would be as alive as it could be.
You let yourself recline back on your hands, taking a break a few metres from the finish line like you were so prone to doing.
Actually, that’s a lie. This was the second project you’d finished in months. You barely ever got near the finish line.
Some projects were scattered around the place, half assembled and then orphaned; some never left the blueprints.
You’d made a habit of it, and finishing something seemed like it was so out of field for you at this point you almost didn’t bother trying. Almost; you pushed back off of your hands and forced yourself to fidget with a screw.
How easy it would be just to push the limbs into their slots and tighten the bolts. You wouldn’t even have to use a spanner on them, you’re strong enough with your fingers.
But you still didn’t put any effort in.
You stared into the empty hollows of the reinforced torso, at the polycarbonate sacs and tubes holding your blood stagnant, dead.
There wasn’t really a need for blood in the body of a soulless robot; but it would only be like that for a short while. Another relatable aspect you could share, in the long run, of being useless before you hit the mark.
Acquiring the blood was easy enough, too. For another project you had been working on, you simply injected a butterfly needle and let it run its course every few hours - collecting what you could give and stopping if your blood pressure got too low.
It was nice having a reason to lay there and do nothing. You didn’t feel especially so useless knowing it was required.
You lay on the comfort platform for two straight days, occasionally sitting up to eat the hot meals and drink the fluids Aurthour brought for you. “To keep blood production up,” he’d said, and you understood so you ate and you drank.
For this project you bled yourself from the wrists like an oinkbeast and salvaged everything from a drip pan before it could congeal. It made things feel personal; Aurthour always helped you with the stitches and you figured that he only appeared dismayed because he kept having to stitch you back up instead of warm towels and canter around the lawnring.
If only he understood this project. The first, he was content with because of how easy it was on you. Needle for blood, hammer for body, it was grubs play.
This project was not like the other, though.
The Aradiabot was flimsy, skirt pieces that scraped together and a big hollow drum, beat and buffered into the general shape of hair. It wasn’t for living in, it was for residing in until she got her body back, as your Neigh8our had said. Despite it all you made the internals to be perfect.
This robot was for living in. For a ghost to inhabit, or maybe a soul. You weren’t quite sure yet.
You had planned it out pretty perfectly. You’d soon have the robot done, and it was built to open up a cavity where a soul - or maybe a ghost - could reside and pull the metaphorical strings. Live as a robot, with blood and organs and reinforced metal flesh.
You’d use a thin metal wire-string to hang yourself above the robot. You had already implemented a chip with a neurological link of your brains best features into the ‘brain’ of the robot, so if hanging yourself by the throat deprived the robot of brain functions there was nothing to worry about.
Your body would die above the open cavity, where, inside the cavity, a sort of absorbent kernel was attached to ingest antimatter. The kernel would internalise your immaterial remnants, sensors would initiate the cavity locking, and if you’d done it correctly (which of course you had) you would be transferred to a robot; rid of your useless, cumbersome troll body.
Small price to pay to be the best you possible.
Going through the motions has energised you. You’d be able to... so soon. It was coming so soon. You were almost half way finished with screwing the robot together.
Using one gloved hand - gloves to protect whatever you touched from the clamminess of your palms - you pushed the translucent organ sacs into the gaping torso from which they’d fallen out of as you slotted the waist into the abdomen.
You screwed the bolts on the hips. In the groin. Down the legs; and then there was nothing more to do.
It was finished.
This felt similar to reaching the edge of a canyon while scuba diving; you were out in the open now - nothing but you and a drop, miles deep.
For the first time in a long time, you uncrossed your legs and got up. You felt what blood you had left rush up into your brain and you lost your vision for a second, wrists thrumming and ears rumbling.
Before you let your vision completely circle back in, you reached down and stood the robot up. It was heavy, but not too much strain on you.
Walking was painful, your muscles felt weak from not being used for some time, but you were so used to the pain you just let it fade into the background noise.
The robot stood at exactly your height when you set it into the port.
It was nothing fancy, just a curved panel for balance, a small platform and a dangling metal wire-string.
It was complete and it was ready. You finished it and now you get to reap the rewards.
You walked around the the platform base, running a cold fingertip over it.
Unfortunately, you couldn’t go yet.
You promised Nepeta you’d join in and play their game with them all, for her. It shouldn’t take long, and it’ll be the perfect opportunity to leave her with a happy moment before you transfer.
Becoming a robot would substantially decrease your emotional capacity, so it’s only fair that you give her a last experience moirail that can care about her.
It won’t take long, you’ll be back and ready to transfer when you get out.
You’re just glad you won’t have to deal with this troll body for much longer.