Masterpiece- Chapter 7

Number 42 stayed in his corner over the next few days, back pressed firmly against the cool walls of his mental prison. Daniel was in full control, now, and he could do nothing about it.

Ever since the two had first become fully aware of each others’ presence, each had access to the other’s full set of memories and/or programming. Every touch, every scent, every sight were not their own anymore. With that came a disturbing sense of intimacy, and a growing sense of understanding and appreciation. Number 42 remembered how he’d proposed to his fiancé, a fiancé that he loved and adored beyond all else. She was his and his alone. But she was also Daniel’s. Daniel understood the intricacies and joys of repairing other bots to its full extent- knew what pleasure he could experience if he only listened to The Voice and did his duty.

But despite this, there was still a divide, a rift between the two. Despite their shared connection, their equal distribution of information, Daniel never once obeyed that urge Number 42 felt despite Number 42’s constant urge to “go home” and “meet Janet”.

This continued for the next few days- they plodded onwards with Daniel at the helm and Number 42 in the backseat, until finally he could take it no longer. Driven more out of boredom than any sense of bravery, Number 42 tentatively reached out a tiny sliver of consciousness and took his first step forward.

He flinched, waiting for Daniel’s angry, red-hot senses to assault his own and drive him back into the corner, but nothing came. He relaxed a bit, and stepped forwards again, enough to feel just a little bit of sensation in his skin and just barely see what Daniel was seeing.

Still nothing. Good.

Number 42 relaxed just a bit further, and was about to move just a bit closer, when a voice rang out around him, causing him to start backwards.

What are you doing? It asked. Number 42 willed an answer to come out of him, but all that came from his conscious thought was a wordless apology. Daniel might be angry. Was he angry? He hoped he wasn’t angry. He didn’t want to go away again.

Daniel sighed, and with it came an overflowing sense of relief and sadness.

I’m not trying to trap you back there or anything. I just...I just want to go home. You’re not going to try and take over this body, are you?

No, Number 42 replied, But..can I please come forward just a little bit more? I...I need to feel things again.

Several seconds of silence passed, and then the powerful bulk that was Daniel shifted ever-so-slightly, leaving just enough room for Number 42’s meager form.

Thanking him profusely, he eagerly squeezed in beside him and looked around, feeling his hands pulling and his feet walking and his eyes rolling around his skull and registering none of it but just relishing the ability to feel again. The cool breeze blew across his skin, against his slightly overheated face, carrying the scent of frying food, asphalt, and ionized air.

Eventually, however, Number 42 came back from his brief reverie and began taking everything in, trying his best to work out their location and where they were headed.

“Oh, come now,” Daniel chided out loud, startling him, “You already know where we’re headed- Seattle, Washington, home of the space needle, a statistically huge amount of hobos, and me. As to where we are, we’re only 4 miles outside city limits. I can taste my fiancé’s home cooking already!”

Sure enough, just ahead, the polished, sheer surface of the many office buildings and skyscrapers that made up the Seattle city skyline was just coming into view, glowing with an almost surreal aura in the setting sun.

I can’t believe it, we’re already nearly there, Number 42 mused, your journey is almost at an end.

With that came an entirely new series of questions, some of which he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to.

The things that moved and existed in Seattle were not people.

They breathed and ate and laughed and cried and worked their jobs. They grew angry and jealous and sometimes made as though to hurt each other. Sometimes they did, too- accidentally, at least. But if one were to observe these things at work and at play, they would see that there was always something missing, some component people had that they didn’t have.

Nobody knew what this component was- then again, why would they?

When the Voice became silent, they never shed a tear. They never mourned, they never even stopped for one moment to ponder how fickle life can be, how someone you’ve known your entire life can be there one second, and gone the next. They processed the loss of input, and carried on without their queen.

Why do we exist?

This was a question they never asked themselves. They felt, they did, and they thought, but they didn’t ever ask why. They never tried to explain their existence, to justify their presence on Earth.

I wonder if they were happy? I suppose they were, in a sense. They never had to worry about what comes afterwards, whether something awaits them, or eternal, endless black.

They never questioned whether or not God existed, or if he was kind or cruel. I suppose that question has already been answered, so perhaps now it is a moot point. I have all I could ever want now- an entire world of my own, and not a voice to tell me otherwise. I am the most powerful being in this realm, and shall be so till the end of time. Although...

Although now that I think of it, perhaps a lord of nothing isn’t much of a lord at all.

Seattle was silent.

Cars still zoomed through the air and signs still buzzed and doors opened and closed, but something was missing, some ever-present, quiet hum.

Number 42 looked around their body, a strange and disturbing emptiness starting to nibble the corners of his mind. Something was wrong, here, and although Daniel was celebrating their arrival and already thinking about his armchair or his fiancé or some other creature comfort, Number 42’s mind began to race through the possibilities. What could possibly be missing? What sound, what presence was absent that caused cast such a strange effect on him?

The answer was just beginning to dawn on him when Daniel’s thoughts, at first celebrating their arrival, suddenly grew quiet and grim.

What’s wrong, Number 42 asked. He tried to look in front of them, but Daniel didn’t move. His consciousness shivered, and, after several long seconds, his thoughts started up again, bringing forth a single name from the depths of his soul.

Janet.

There she was, watering the plants outside her house. Their house. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing that old t-shirt he’d won off some magazine contest, the one with all the holes. He remembered that she loved wearing that old thing, liked to snuggle up in its billowing, XXL folds against him when they watched TV or when they went to bed. She would sometimes wear it outside the house when gardening, too, whenever he went on college field trips or had to stay the night at a friend’s house after hitting the bottle a little too hard.

It was like a flag, a signal that she was still here, still waiting, and still just as familiar, just as comfy as that old, musty t-shirt.

“Janet,” he said softly. She turned to face him, and she smiled, and her arms were open wide, watering can on the ground as he swept her up into his arms and buried his face in her shoulder, her neck, her hair. He felt his face crinkle up and his eyes grow hot as he let out sob after heavy sob, but no tears came out. He sobbed those dry, pathetic sobs into her shoulder and hugged her tightly to him and rocked there, lost in the moment, as for the first time since he graduated he felt complete. Whole again.

“Janet, I- “ he stopped and cleared his throat, willing the lump to go back down, “let’s go home.”

And with that, he finally pulled away from his deep embrace, and walked up to the front door of the house.

Wouldn’t that be the perfect ending? A bittersweet reunion with someone he thought he lost, showing that even after the horrific things that occurred, even after being so alone, there was at least one other person he could talk to, one other person who could keep him company and help him cope with the awful things yet to come.

How.
Sweet.

But, you forget, I am God in this world, and I couldn’t have poor Daniel forget who was in charge, could I?

“Who- who are you, sir?”

Daniel stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob to his house.

“Sir, are you sad?” The woman asked. Her voice was perfect, synthetically tuned. “Is that why you embraced me so?”

Daniel’s smile didn’t abate. He turned around and fixed the woman he’d just cried into with a warm, understanding gaze.

“You aren’t my fiancé, are you?” He started walking towards her, his smile widening as the idea began to dawn on him. He started pulling up information on synthetic bodies, where their vitals were.

Daniel- Daniel, what are you- Number 42 froze, feeling the data Daniel pulled up course through him. Daniel, he stated, forcing every ounce of his being to sound calm, Don’t do this, Daniel.

The woman wearing Janet’s shirt smiled encouragingly.

“Don’t be sad, sir, I’m sure your work has made the Voi-” the woman’s face slackened as she realized her mistake, and her processors hummed furiously in an attempt to bring the conversation back on track.

The voice. Number 42 understood now. The Voice has been silenced. Something has killed her, and I didn’t notice because I removed the chip and the little black box was damaged in the bus crash.

I wasn’t there for her when she passed.

“You aren’t Janet, yet you’re wearing the shirt,” Daniel continued, beginning to slowly circle her like a shark honing in on its prey. His cheeks hurt, he was smiling so much. It was so funny, all of it, it really was.

“Janet,” the woman stated, suddenly blank-faced and without emotion, “designation unit number 41, assigned to quadrant 57 of town: Seattle. Objective: report to Director regarding simulation project 42-”

Her eyes opened wide and her pupils dilated. Somewhere deep within her, the faint echoes of a voice crying out in pain. In that instance, she looked at this man, this smiling, gentle man, and with the reverberations of pain and heartache came a name, fainter than the softest whisper of wind.

“Daniel?” She muttered. Then the man pulled the surgeon’s knife from between her ribs, and she knew no more.

Daniel stood there over the broken body, his teeth creaking from the grin that stretched his lips. His eyes burned, but no tears came out. No tears would ever come out. He had killed this person, because this person wasn’t his fiancé. She wore her shirt, she wore her skin, she wore her voice, but she wasn’t Janet.

Nobody was Janet.

Nobody was Daniel, either.

Daniel, Number 42 called out softly. He let him speak. Daniel, the Voice is dead, and I- I wasn’t there, Daniel. I wasn’t there, and I just- I let her die, she’s gone and it’s all my-

I understand.

Those two words- those two words were the only ones Daniel wanted to hear, and now here he was, giving them away for free.

It was all so goddamn funny.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9