Today's prompt "Rainy Day", brought me back to the cyberpunk au featuring Elias Dawn and their little android buddy. Fifty is coming right along with learning how to be a good friend, and Elias is coming to really appreciate having him around.
Previous stories:
Error 50 | Personal Assistant
~~~
The rain used to mean so much. El used to feel it, used to be able to follow the progress of every drop from the cloud to the ground. From gentle drizzles to raucous storms, they had once had a grasp on it all. Storms, weather, the balance of energies between the sky and the earth, that had been theirs.
And somewhere deep inside, they supposed, it still was. But ever since their hands had been numbed, so many of their other senses had fallen dim too.Â
âI anticipate this rain will let up within the hour,â came the small, somewhat tinny voice from their shoulder. Fifty was a slight weight there, originally made of sturdy but lightweight metals and wiring for the easiest portability. El imagined his original specs had seemed quite luxurious for whoever had paid for the little assistant droid. Heâd still ended up down in the scrapyards, though. El doubted he even realized heâd been rescued.
El smiled and turned away from the grimy window, the one view from the attic level of the small shack theyâd broken into for shelter. âOh yeah? You manage to connect to the weather network, Fifty?â they asked, trying to catch sight of the small droid standing on their shoulder.
The small droid, only six inches or so tall, had a surprising sense of balance where he stood. He barely wavered from Elâs normal movements; his little gyroscopes must be in top shape despite his consignment to the scraps. He had his hands clasped politely behind his back. He shook his head. âI have not attempted to connect to the forecast network,â he admitted matter-of-factly. âI am equipped with predictive algorithms in case of offline needs. As you have expressed reluctance to connect to the government-sanctioned networks, I have refrained. This is friendly behavior, correct?â
El grinned. They reached up to gently brush a fingertip over the small swoop of metal meant to mimic a tidy hairstyle atop Fiftyâs head. âGood man, Fifty. Only independent education networks, just to be safe.â
As Fifty lifted a hand to thoughtfully touch his head, El found themself drawn back to the window, staring out from where they sat leaning against the wall. Theyâd used a lot of energy climbing the service ladder out of the scrap level, and it was a wonder they hadnât dozed off. The rain, an unexpected little reprieve from the harsh sun glancing off all the glass and metal of the city above, had invigorated them in some small, distant way that they almost forgot existed.
âEl,â Fifty spoke up again, his little voice quieter than before, but using that almost programmed friendliness that probably came with his artificial voice. âI have some questions. They are not related, and I do not anticipate I will find them in the educational databases. May we discuss them?â
El smirked faintly. âSure, Fifty. Come here.â They offered a palm at their shoulder, and once the small droid stepped onto it, ferried him around to face him better. âIâll do my best to answer.â
Fifty nodded and placed his little hands over his chest where his heart would be if he were organic. Instead, El imagined the small power crystal somewhere beneath the layers of doll clothes and metal plating. âI am grateful, El. My first question: I do not see you without your gloves often. Why is this? My second question: Are you ⌠saddened ⌠by the rain?â
El stared at him thoughtfully. Sometimes, depending on the dim lighting the odd pair found themselves in, a faint blue reflection shone on Fiftyâs metal plating, indicating Elâs constantly-glowing eye. It was a constant reminder that they were truly an unlikely pair, and yet there they were together. El had suggested that Fifty could be their friend; asking casual questions about someone fell into that category.
âSaddened,â El repeated, intrigued by the little droidâs choice of get-to-know-you questions.
Fifty held up a hand with one finger extended to aid their prompt explanation. âA state of having been made unhappy by something.â
El snickered. âI gotcha, buddy. I was echoing you while I thought about it.â They didnât mind explaining the nuances of conversation to the little droid, even if something like that might seem obvious. If nothing else, they wanted to see how much of it would stick in the little guyâs understanding of socializing.
âUnderstood!â Fifty said, his little green eye lights flickering in acknowledgement. âI await the response.â
And he did seem content to wait for however long it took. El only took a short moment to figure out how much he wanted to say. It wasnât like the little droid had any loyalty to someone else. âYour questions are actually related, Fifty. Even if they donât seem like they are. But before I give you the answer, I need you to promise youâll keep it a secret.â
Fifty straightened, if it was even possible from his already prim and proper posture. âOf course, El. To reveal information given in confidence would be unfitting behavior for a friend.â
El nodded. âExactly.â Then, they brought their free hand to their mouth to grip the glove with their teeth. Tugging it free, they revealed their hand and arm, where their brown skin was shiny and warped with layered burn scars. After spitting their glove to the side, they brought their hand close to their still-covered hand, palm up to mirror it. âMy hands donât have much feeling left in them. The gloves and bracers are to protect them from getting hurt without me noticing the damage.â
Fifty stared at Elâs scarred hand for a moment before cautiously stepping across the gap between their hands, alighting on the bare palm. As theyâd said, El barely felt the little footsteps. Fifty looked up from his small metal feet, and though he couldnât make expressions on his face, El imagined an expectant look. âAnd the rain? How is its effect on your emotions related to these scars?â
Elâs next smile was a little less beaming than usual. âI used to be able to feel the rain. Not like someone feels it falling on them, getting them soaked. It used to be a connection I had to different weather stuff. And the same people that caused my hands to be burned and numbed also numbed my connection to the rain. Itâs still there, but itâs harder to reach. Thatâs why the rain makes me a little sad. But I still love it.â
Fifty took that in for several quiet, still seconds. The patter of the rain on the window made the backdrop of his processing. Finally, he held out his hands placatingly. âI am sorry about these things, El. I am also sorry for asking such sensitive questions. That was not friendly.â
âOh, thatâs okay,â El laughed. âYou didnât know, and I donât mind you learning these things about me. Youâve been a good friend.â
Fifty paused again, and then turned his attention up to the window. âI am glad Iâve been a good friend. May I stand near the window? I would like to watch the rain with you, and understand the way it makes you feel. If you are willing to tell me more.â
El shifted where they sat, but something like gratitude crossed their face. âSure, buddy. Letâs watch the rain together.â
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We have arrived at day 9! Today's prompt: "Hide". I decided to do more with the cyberpunk AU for Elias and their little robot friend. They're still learning a bit about how to manage keeping a tiny bot around.
~~~
The scrapyard bots were changing shifts. A glance at the world above, beyond the partially-underground piles of trash and recycling and everything the city didnât want to see, the sky was turning a strange sickly orange. El stuck close to one of the pillars under a walkway and eyed that growing sunrise with some apprehension. Theyâd be easier to spot wandering among the piles, if a police drone happened to angle downwards. They kept a hood over their deep red hair, but that wouldnât matter much. People werenât supposed to be down in the piles without a permit, and El certainly couldnât apply for one.
They could probably find somewhere to shelter for the day, but theyâd have to wait until the scrapyard bots had moved to their new areas. Some had to return to their depot to recharge, others were set on a specific path through the scrapyards to search for anything fallen from above.
They were very particular about sorting their scraps. Anything out of place would be seized.
In the case of unauthorized people like El, that meant being stuck in a cramped little holding cell near a work elevator, and a call to a retrieval service up above. They couldnât simply send someone on their way; the city would miss out on a hefty fine.
Elias Dawn had spent long enough in the cityâs cages. They werenât going back into another one if they could help it.
One of the hulking scrapyard bots trundled past one of the nearest piles; they could only see the top of its chassis over the stack of old hover transports. A dome of tinted glass covered its roving scanner, which rotated back and forth in jerky movements to scan the path ahead of it. El planned to move to the next hiding spot once it had moved on and they were well out of range of that scanner.
A small, static-hazed voice piped up. âYou have an appointment today at half-past-two with-kzzt!â El slapped their hand over their chest in shock, effectively cutting off the automated reminder. They winced, feeling some guilt for being so harsh against the miniature droid hidden in their chest pocket, but they didnât have time to check on him just yet.
The scrapyardâs scanner whirled around inside that glass dome, and El had seconds before itâd spot them. They sidled around the pillar, grateful that the bot at least tried to navigate around the piles rather than crashing through them just to find the source of the noise.
Of course, on the other side of the pillar, they faced a wide open path. On the other end, about twenty yards or so away, another behemoth of a scrapper had already passed by. It had its arms deployed, and they were in the process of tearing sheets of metal into smaller pieces. The screeching sound grated against their ears, but it might mask their own sounds long enough to shake the suspicion on them.
They darted down that path, keeping to the sides of it despite the jagged metal all but reaching out from the piles for them. Their hand stayed over their chest pocket, where the little assistant bot theyâd salvaged sat curled up. Occasionally, a little bot hand tested the fabric and pressed into Elâs chest or palm.
Fifty, as El had decided to call the little droid, was in surprisingly good shape for something found in the scrapyards. It had only taken a little jolt of electricity to reboot his power connections and get him working again.
After that, well, El couldnât bring themself to just leave the little guy all alone. The treads of the scrapyard bots would flatten the poor thing.
So they ran as close as they dared to the bot tearing metal sheets asunder before ducking around one of the piles and slinking off to an area that they hoped had already been checked by the wandering scrappers.
They found part of the shell of an old industrial refrigeration unit; the doors and most of the pipes and vents were long gone, but it provided a bit of shelter. They dropped to a seat with a huff and finally opened up their jacket so they could reach into the pocket to retrieve Fifty.
The little droid curled up slightly in their hand, waiting until they held it out flat to move again. Fifty had some missing casings on one leg and bore scratches and dents here and there, but otherwise he was in remarkable condition. He even still sported the little swoop of metal atop his head meant to emulate a short, swept-back hairstyle. His green eyes glowed with gentle light and he faced El patiently.
âFifty,â El greeted, some exasperation leaking into their voice. âWhat was that about?â
Fifty paused. He couldnât really emote, having a metal face, but El imagined him thinking over what they might have meant. Finally, he placed a hand on his little chest. âI am your personal assistant droid, version thirteen point five point seven. It is standard for me to give you reminders of any events logged on your calendar. You have an appointment today at -â
âHalf past two,â El interrupted. âFifty, that isnât my calendar. I think thatâs from your previous ⌠person. I donât have any appointments or plans. I donât even have any contacts.â
Fifty paused again, even longer this time. Finally, he broke eye contact with El to look down at his feet. âUnderstood. I shall clear all appointments. Please let me know if you have further scheduling or information needs. I am your personal assistant.â
El lightly nudged Fiftyâs back. âNah, buddy. You donât have to work for me. You can be my friend instead.â
Fifty looked up at them. No confusion showed on that face (it couldnât), but he tilted his head thoughtfully anyway. âI shall do my best to keep my infobase up to date on the requirements,â he said. âWould it be ⌠unfriendly of me to point out that your bionic eye appears to be malfunctioning?â
El grinned and winked their left eye, the one that constantly glowed an electric blue despite all their attempts to stop it. âNot unfriendly at all, buddy. But both of my eyes are the ones I was born with. Iâll explain that story to you eventually, okay? For now letâs just chill here for a while.â
Fifty nodded once. Then, he turned to observe the makeshift shelter theyâd settled in. He turned in a full circle on Elâs palm to take in all the details. Then, he looked back at El. âThis refrigeration unit lacks all the necessary parts to provide lower temperatures. Will it be sufficient chill?â
El laughed. âYeah, buddy. Itâll be fine.â Outside, the scrapyard bots went about their business, none of them suspicious of an extra presence in their midst. Things would be just fine for another day, and that was all El could ask for.
Day 2 of GT July! Today's prompt is "Different Era" and I had trouble deciding on something until I remembered I have a cyberpunk AU for Elias, so once again Elias gets to feature in the prompt! This will be the story of how they met their miniature assistant robot buddy.
~~~
The scrapyards at the bottom of the city, far below the walking levels and lower residences, formed a landscape of sharp hills and flickering lights. Without protective gear or a good map, one could get lost in the piles. Only so many work elevators came down this far, and even then only a scrapyard droid had the passcodes to operate them. On the occasion someone did wind up down there, flagging one of the scrapyard droids for rescue was one of the only hopes of getting back to the walking levels via the elevators.
If one wanted a rescue, anyway. A few lurkers could be seen slinking among the scraps most nights, for their own reasons. Some risked the yards for a chance at supplies. Some sought things to sell, things that should never have been thrown away. And some lurked because they knew it was a good place to hide until the drones stopped looking for them up above.
El found themself down in the piles most days for the latter reason. They didn't mind taking the long way back up on the old service ladders, and the jump down, well ⌠their uncanny abilities were the whole reason they needed to hide in the first place. Magic had not left the world in the wake of the machines, but anyone who had it had a knack for disappearing.
The breeze whistled over the jagged metal scraps El passed as they wandered a quiet section of the scrapyards. The droids appeared to have sorted discarded robotic parts into the area - outdated hardware and corroded plating formed tall stacks around them with the occasional LED flickering as old power crystals died among the rubbish.
It seemed a good place to hide out for the night - the constant blue glow emanating from their left eye wouldn't stand out among those many lights if someone happened to scan the area. The robots around were all too broken down to ping them with the drones above, and the scrapyard bots were focusing their efforts elsewhere. They had a peaceful, quiet spot to wait out the night.
Until a tinny voice shattered the quiet. "ERROR five-zero-pksht!" El jumped away from the nearest scrap pile as the attempted message repeated itself over and over, always cutting off after zero.
It wasn't as loud as they'd initially imagined it in their startled flinch, but still they stared at the pile with a mix of betrayal and intrigue.
The error cry didn't let up, so with a grumble El leaned towards the scrap metal to try to find the source. The last thing they needed was for that sound to alert the scrapyard bots and bring way more activity to the area than they could deal with. They had some makeshift bracers on their arms, so they were safe from sharp edges at least as they gingerly shifted scrap metal around and hoped the whole pile wouldn't fall on them.
It didn't actually take long to find the deceptively small machine making all the noise. With some awe, El pulled a small humanoid android from the pile, only about six inches tall and hanging limp on their palm while their little limbs twitched. The lighting behind the eyes blinked and flickered in distressed red and the little mouth hung open as the error message continued. The little doll clothes it wore had been stained and torn, but this assist-bot had been high end once upon a time.
From the look of things, it was barely even damaged. El noted a few scratches on the little head and one leg had lost its casing. From the looks of things, this was a case of some kind of imbalance in the power crystals causing the little bot to malfunction. El wondered if someone had thrown it out without even trying to get it repaired.
"Alright, alright, hush now," El chided it over the continued error report. "Just a second."
They pulled the glove off their free hand with their teeth. The marbled scars there, which covered both their arms, almost reflected the light in some spots; El had to shake out their hand in an attempt to regain some feeling. They'd need it for the next step.Â
Their finger and thumb rubbed together for a few seconds until tiny blue sparks flickered out of them; this was the tricky part. Too little and they wouldn't be of much help, and too much and they could fry the little bot's sensitive wiring. El watched the sparks build for a moment, and then finally touched their fingertip to the robot's little chest, sending electricity right into the metallic body and (hopefully) resetting the power crystal connections.
The bot went silent and the eye lights went out so the glow from El's eye washed it in blue. Several seconds passed and they began to worry that they'd overdone it after all.
Then the tiny bot shuddered, limbs coming to life and eyes lighting up soft green as it tried to sit up.
El grinned with relief and held the little robot closer to their chest while it reoriented itself. "There you are, little guy. Take your time, I've gotcha, little Error 50. We're not alone down here."
