Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once, when I was a little girl, I saw three magnificent pictures in a dream. It was a very beautiful dream, although I can’t bring myself to remember much of it. 

I do remember floating in space, with no ground beneath my feet and no ceiling above my head. There, I saw three things, which appeared in front of me - one, of a star falling from the sky, two, of an ornate box within a messy living quarters, and three, of a serpent, eating its own tail. 

Being the curious, star-eyed child that I was, that last image had definitely resonated with me the most. In those early days I thought a lot about that poor snake, and those thoughts and that dream eventually culminated in my first drawing, which I had brought to life with a simple fountain pen.

My drawing Number One was the serpent, shedding tears as it consumed itself in an endless and agonizing circle. I remember my hands shaking after I had brought it to life, and a part of me feared that I, too, would start crying as my serpent had, but nothing happened. I managed to finish the drawing. Some time passed, and I soon grew less afraid and more fond of my creation; although my childish mind, unaware of the various horrors that succeeded postpubescence, was certain that it would scare an adult. I remember working up the courage to show it to my schoolteacher, then asking her if it was scary.

She had answered, “Why be scared of a ring?”

I remember storming out of that classroom, infuriated. My drawing was not a picture of a ring. It was a picture of a serpent digesting itself. Then I drew the innards of that serpent, its tail deep inside itself, so the grown-ups could understand. They always need explanations. 

As I showed my drawings to more people, the grown-ups’ reactions to them were varied. They were all united by one message, however; and that was to put away my drawings of serpents and consumption, outside or inside, and apply myself instead to klimatology, history, arithmetic, and the perfect language of our perfect Empire. That is why I had, early on, abandoned my hopes of becoming an illustrious artist. I was disheartened by the failure of my drawing Number One and of my drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is exhausting for children to have to provide explanations over and over again. 

So then I had to choose another career - or, rather, the Nation, a budding faction that was consuming the Empire like parasite consuming flesh, chose one for me. I learned how to fight on land and in space. I learned how to travel alongside a group of similarly disillusioned grown-ups across the Eusan system. Thus, I have had, in the course of my life, lots of encounters with lots of serious people. I have spent lots of time with grown-ups. I have seen them at close range, which, of course, hasn’t much improved my opinion of them, nor have their words improved my view of the Nation that calls itself so great.

Whenever I encountered a grown-up - be it a soldier within my own unit, a higher power, or anyone else for that matter - who seemed to me at all enlightened, I would experiment on her with my drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I wanted to see if she really understood anything, but she would always answer, “That’s a ring”. Some deviations I recall hearing included a ring on a chain or a ring with eyes, but no one ever mentioned anything about a snake that cried as it consumed itself. 

I had to live with the reality that the Nation was oblivious to creativity. It had wiped away all semblance of imagination within the minds of my fellow grown-ups, and instead had filled their heads with cold ideals that could never be truly actualized. I wouldn’t talk about my dreams, or my drawings, or that damned serpent for a long, long time. I would attempt to put myself on everyone’s level and talk about the Replikas, or the great Revolutionary and her Daughter, or lying about celebrating the hostile takeover of the Empire’s foundation by the Nation.

And everyone was happy to know such a reasonable person.

Chapter Text

There was no one I could talk to. Even as I fought for the Nation’s independence, even as I saw stars falling from the sky in battle, even after my service concluded and I was taken to a ███████████ facility, I had lived most of my life alone. Well, there was no one else I can remember being with, anyway. 

But it was on a certain cycle that, writhing on that rusted cage-bed, suffering from a horrible fit of loneliness, I saw her for the first time. She was a Replika, and a wholly unique model at that; her chestplate was a deep orange-red, and she spoke with a cadence I had never before heard from an artificial human, much less anyone else. 

“Shhh…” Whenever she opened her mouth, her eyes, with their ominous red highlights, would never meet mine. It was always as if she was talking to someone else. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”

The next couple of days passed without problem. I would soon identify that Replika - not with a model name, not with a code number, but simply as “Elster”, although she had never introduced herself. It felt like I had known her all my life, and yet she was always detached from me. Every cycle I would sleep in a dreamless slumber, and Elster would always be there, whispering sweet nothings into my ears like a lover would, yet never addressing me by anything.

And one cycle, as suddenly as she had come, Elster was gone.

Everything was normal again, but I had let my yearning for someone’s presence get the better of me. I was mystified by that woman - not a construct of carbon and steel, but a woman - and thus I wrote, almost feverishly, about what I had seen and what had happened to me, even if the other Replikas at that rotten facility would have punished me for it. 

Only a few cycles after Elster’s disappearance did I notice something happening. People were going missing in the depths of the mines. I had overheard two Eules whispering in front of my room, worrying about their staff. Slowly, but surely, everyone around me began to disappear, until I was the only one left. And I kept writing, hoping that someday Elster would return and she would cradle me, kiss me, whisper in my ears one last time as she had always done. 

My memory began to fog, and the injuries I’d sustained from my drudgery were getting worse. Every time I closed my eyes, I would think about her. We had met on a vessel, like the ones I used to pilot. We would watch movies that the Nation outlawed together in our living quarters. She would dance with me and brush my hair out of my face, making me laugh every time. She was more than just a Replika, more than just a lover to me. I didn’t care that our romance was outlawed by our little program or AEON’s standards. She was perfect, in every way, shape, and form. 

I continued to forget. How long had it been since I'd been down here? How did I get here? Where was this place, and why was I here? I forgot my purpose. I had forgotten how long it had been since I last saw Elster. I forgot many things about my own life, as if my memories were being replaced.

And as I lay there, writhing on that rusted cage-bed, suffering from a horrible fit of loneliness, I had a dream, for the first time in uncountable cycles.

{零}

Something was broken in my engine.

I was back on the frontlines, flying again. A blizzard blew all around the cockpit, and my heart raced. Lights and sounds flashed endlessly in my face, and I had no other choice but to attempt a hard landing on the icy surface of Leng.

When I had crashed, and had crawled out of the wreckage, I was completely and hopelessly alone. I had with me neither a mechanic nor any passengers, so I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs in the frigid cold of the blizzard. It was a question of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough water and rations to last a few cycles, and I wasn’t even sure if I could conserve enough to make it out.

The first cycle, then, I went to sleep in the remains of my ship, a thousand miles from anyone or anything else. I felt terrified, isolated, like I was a single drop of water in an innumerable ocean. The dreams I had within that dream weren’t much different, and did little to alleviate the horror of my situation - but nothing could topple my amazement when the day had passed, and I was awakened by an odd little voice. 

It said: "If you please - draw me a landscape.”

My mind still weighed down by the burden of sleep, I jumped to my feet and opened the door to the ship, letting in a gust of cold wind. I was completely thunderstruck. I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary young woman, her hair and dress as white as the snow around her, who stood there examining me with great seriousness.

The woman smiled. It was then I noticed that her face was covered in bandages, and the ends of her bare arms and legs were withered and blackened. She was also standing in the middle of the blizzard, and although its ferocity had certainly died down, she didn’t do as much as even shiver. This girl seemed to be neither lost nor actively dying of the cold, nor did she seem scared to death. There was nothing in her appearance that suggested a Gestalt lost in the middle of Leng, thousands of miles from known human civilization. When I finally managed to speak, I told her, “This place isn’t safe. What are you doing here?”

“Draw me a landscape,” the woman repeated, slowly and carefully but not at all angrily.

I had simply replied with the fact that I didn’t know how to draw very well. But, for some unknown reason, I had reached into my coat and handed her a folded slip of paper, which conveniently contained the crying serpent eating itself. And I was astounded to hear the woman answer:

“You drew this? Is the snake eating itself?”

Never before had I heard that answer in my life. I could only nod.

“This is a nice drawing…Poor little snake. But…” she said, as she handed me a notebook she had been holding behind her back, “Can you please draw me a landscape?”

I nodded again, and ventured back into my ship to obtain a pen. There I made a drawing - a sketch of a mountainous islet, dominated by tall trees and surrounded by a dark sea. She looked at it carefully, and then said, “This is a very lonely landscape. Could you add some people?”

I made another drawing on the opposite page. It was the same islet, but with two people on a boat rowing next to it. My newfound friend gave me another smile, and said, “It’s so dark…Can you please add a sky?”

So I made my third and fourth drawings, with the skies as cloudy and sunny as I could draw them. Again, I was rejected, and I was told, in the words of the girl, “It needs to be a little more symmetrical…I’m sorry, can you do another one for me?”

I was nearly at my wit’s end, so I had simply stormed back inside my ship, where I would spend the rest of the cycle drawing the perfect landscape. When I returned outside, the girl was still standing there, waiting for me. 

Impatiently, I tossed the notebook into her hands. “Is this what you want?” 

But her eyes brightened as they scanned the drawing. I leaned over, and I was amazed to see that my meager drawing had transformed into a colorful, beautifully composed painting of that islet. I stood, dumbstruck. I had never seen anything like it.

“What the f…”

Before the expletive could fully exit me, she was jumping up and down in excitement. “That’s just the kind I wanted!”, she fawned, looking into me with a big, hopeful expression on her face. “Thank you so much!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

And she put the notebook in my hands and hugged me very tightly. 

An exceptional warmth flooded my body then, and I could only gasp, bewildered. So many questions still lingered on my lips, but it had been so long since someone had hugged me, so I kept silent. We stayed there for what felt like eons. I could only hope that she didn’t notice the tears running down my face.

It was true that, in my stupor, I found myself stranded on a next-to-lifeless land. I still didn’t know where she had come from, how that painting had come to be, or what was going to happen to me and my ship. But, at the very least, I had made the acquaintance of this strange woman, and I wasn’t as alone or isolated as I thought I was.

Chapter Text

Immediately after I’d opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

I sat up in bed, taking in a familiar scent. Everything about this room felt familiar, but so alien at the same time. My hands instinctively balled into fists when I realized this wasn’t my hospital room. This was no infirmary. It was far too dark for me to see anything, but I knew that this wasn’t the place I was supposed to be staying at.

While I was asleep, did they relocate me? I closed my eyes again and scanned the room for signals. No, everything was quiet. There were no thoughts, or whirs of machinery, or anything else to discern from the ambience of the room, which seemed completely embroiled in silence. I stepped out of bed, and my legs hit lush carpet. 

Instantly, my teeth clenched in my mouth. There were no carpets at the infirmary, for one, and I wasn’t even able to stand up a cycle ago. The workers had detached my legs from the knees, promising that they’d repair my faulty hardware and cure that sickness that had been plaguing me and my sisters for Periods on end. But no one had ever come to save us, and we had all given up. Why would anyone bother now, of all times? Where was I?

Realization hit me - I was neither hurt nor sick. I was in my bedroom in Block Sector C, alive and well. More or less, I was taken out of my misery and returned to my normal life by some unknown savior.

Still, that didn’t explain any of the silence. Block Sector C was the farthest thing from a quiet place. On typical Rotfront cycles, I would be hearing thoughts. Internal monologues and external woes. A backdrop of a thousand voices coexisting against my own. But now, there was nothing. Where the sound of thought and communication used to exist, there was instead total emptiness - save for the pounding of my artificial heart in my head.

There wouldn’t be anything else, I concluded, until I figured out what was really going on.

I felt for the door, and it slid open to reveal my office. Something had clearly happened here while I was gone. The whole room was in horrible disarray, with papers strewn about and the flag of the Nation tipped over to one side. Even the light above me was flickering. From the other side of the front door, I could hear flies buzzing - the first other instance of noise I had heard ever since I’d woken up in this wreck.

“Hello?”

No response. Concentrating, I closed my eyes and sent out a signal, hoping that any Gestalt or Replika in the vicinity would be able to hear it. 

“Attention, Comrades. This is Sector C Blockwart KLBR-R16-04. Repeat, this is Sector C Blockwart KLBR-R16-04. To all active Bioresonant personnel, immediately confirm receipt of this message and provide your coordinates. Noncompliance will be assumed as dissident behavior, and will result in…”

My voice faltered. Only then did I realize how scared I was, with the world standing so still.

“...in double searches and further review by responsible authorities. Glory to the Nation.”

Minutes passed, and there still was no response. I had let my hopes up to no avail. Sighing, I retired into my chair, looking my reflection in the eye through my computer screen. Was I truly alone?

Maybe there was some important announcement that I had missed. I turned on the computer and checked my mail, expecting a grandiose announcement from AEON or some official evacuation warning, but the display was glitched. It was as if all the letters had been replaced with nothingness, and nothing could be made out. Just how bad was my luck?

One message caught my eye. This one seemed untouched - like the Nation itself wanted me to look at it.

Yo██ requisition reque██ for a Type-84 Subma███e Gun was succe██fully proce████ed.

Responsible Body: AEON-Komma██ Rotfront N██d
Prote█ter: KLBR-R16-04
Authorization: Bl███wart Rot-C

1 x Type-84 ‘Dra███’, Burst F██e
120 x Wuqiong 8-Kompa██ 8x22mm Am██

Oh! 

Finally, some good news in this desolate pit. 

I turned the computer off and examined the floor. My right fist unclenching, I raised my arm high, filling the room with a faint crimson glow - and all the papers lifted themselves, revealing my one and only.

In a pile of her own ammunition, she sat, untouched. My pride. The glory of the Nation. The Drache glinted alluringly in the dim light, and I smirked. After so many cycles of waiting, she was here to save me. My love. My life . And I wasn’t so alone anymore.

I bent down to pick her up, and one paper touched the ground, but I couldn’t care less. My fingers slowly caressed her grip. Her magazines beside her. The bright red laser that was attached to her, as if she wasn’t already perfect. 

“I hope I don’t need to use you…” I started, “...but if I had to, I would feel so good.” 

All the papers fell, and suddenly consciousness hit me. Here I was, talking like an Imperial degenerate to a firearm. A firearm! Hastily, I picked up the magazines that were still on the floor and attached them to my belt. The last one had the honor of making its way into the Drache, and I trembled as I locked it into place. The sound was far too crisp to belong here.

Standing up, I continued forward and headed to the front door. The flies still buzzed with the same noise and volume, but as I stepped closer, there was...a different static that hadn't been there before. My eyes widened. 

Amidst all the nothing , there finally was something I could listen to. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and concentrated. There I could hear it - a signal so faint, far away, so nearly nonexistent against the overwhelming quietude, but it was there . And that was all I needed to know. 

I could barely make out the words, but then I realized they weren’t words. They were numbers.

8̵͚̚ ̵̤͆

My pulse quickened. I clicked the safety off of my Drache and listened closer. Why did that voice sound so familiar? 

5̶̛̲ ̵͉̔1̶̱̒ ̵̫͆2̶̪͑ ̴̰͊

No, that voice was my own. I was certain of it. Another one of me was here, and she was trying to say something. I hesitated. What did she want? Was she responding to me?

1̷̺̊ ̵͙̈́6̷̱̅ ̶̬̀1̸̡̍ ̴̱͒3̵͚̿ ̵̠̄5̴̢̊

I waited impatiently for another message, but the numbers kept repeating themselves in my head, over and over. Was this some sort of code? Shaking my head at such a thought, I reconcentrated and sent out another signal.

“Attention, Unidentified Personnel. This is Sector C Blockwart KLBR-R16-04. Repeat, this is Sector C Blockwart KLBR-R16-04. You must provide immediate receipt of this message and state your designation and coordinates! Continued failure to comply will result in decommissionment or arrest! Glory to the Nation!"

The line went cold, but for only a moment. I had no time to register anything as a loud, screeching static filled my ears, and I fell forward, the door sliding open before me. Flies circled my thrashing body while a torrent of unbearable noise flooded my neural banks. I screamed aloud, but I couldn’t hear myself. I couldn’t hear anything. My bewilderment twisted into horror when I realized that I was lying not on a floor, but on something warm. Something wet.

I could barely stand up. Before my eyes flashed the remnants of long-dead texts. A picture of a mountainous islet. Numbers and documents and letters that seemed to change with every passing picosecond. A Replika with red chest plating. In a desperate attempt to stop the assault I lifted the Drache and squeezed the trigger, my impromptu target the encompassing dark. Three shots pierced through the static. My hearing blurred. 

And from the darkness resounded an inhuman cry.

I couldn’t breathe. Scrambling to my feet, I ran to the end of the hallway, but a sharp pain shot through my leg. My head hit the ground with a sickening crack , and from the corner of my flashing vision a knife had embedded itself into my thigh. Endless streams of oxidant cascaded over my leg. My face. Another soundless scream forced its way out of my throat.

Words continued flickering before my eyes, telling me that it was hopeless. That I should give up. That I should die, again and again. I could do nothing but swing the Drache back and forth, firing nine shots wildly at the dark. Something howled from the far end of the hallway. I lurched backward, and the door slid quickly open before shutting behind me with a loud, final thud. 

For an eternity I sat there, trying to catch my breath as my arms and legs felt pulsating flesh where there should have been floor tile. The wounds on my leg and my ruptured head were burning. Oxidant dribbled in rivulets across my entire body. Whatever was still within the hallway, it was banging on the door and screaming violently. Endlessly. Desperately .

I could only watch as the world collapsed into a perpetually shrieking void of red meat and meaningless messages. My mind was slowly fraying, shattering into pieces from the mere exposure. I wasn’t in Sector C. I was never returned to Rotfront. This place was not a place of honor. Nothing valued was here, and nothing else but suffering would ever await me here.

Perhaps, I thought, this was the fate that waited for the artificial. Perhaps the Nation’s ideals were meant to die here. Perhaps I deserved to be imprisoned in this desolate pit for my sins innumerable.

Perhaps, this was Hell.