The floor shook beneath Algeron's feet, his descent hastened by the rusted elevator. Flashes of light revealed the contents of the rubble around him, carrying fragments of bygone days he barely remembered. Each home, buried beneath the last, was merely a forsaken relic.
All that mattered was She who resided at the bottom.
"Mark VIII was a success." Algernon boomed, his voice carrying through the tunneled walls the moment his descent came to a stop. "We continue without Ivy."
Far in the distance, surrounded by flickering lamps and carved-out ice, stood his wife, waiting patiently for his arrival. Her smile was just as dead as before, conveying silent approval. Yet her eyes told a different tale.
"This doesn't work without her."
Algernon sighed; his robotic voice carried through his blank visor. "We've had plenty of success before her."
The Endoskeleton shook its head. "She is our daughter. She lives as our daughter."
"Every day she lives out there, she risks discovering her true identity."
"So be it. She will still be our pinnacle."
"The Menhir will be the judge of that." Algeron waved her off, walking past the Mimic with a long stride.
The path ahead quaked under his feet, disheveled and old yet still calculated in its presentation. Much of his facilities, even those kept secret for the sake of creating the Mimic, were pristine, sporting polished steel floors and endless arrays of complex terminals. Yet the oldest of their kind, where the Menhir was kept, remained intentionally aged.
She liked it that way.
"Have you lost the ability to think for yourself?" Iris argued, a tinge of femininity escaping her unmoving teeth. "Algernon."
He turned to face her, maddening determination exuding from his mechanical face.
"Every decision I make is calculated. I thought you understood that."
"Yet still you are no closer to Her."
Algernon recoiled, acknowledging her argument. He only ever did such a thing for his wives. Nothing else in the universe could contend with his vision.
Aside from Her.
"What can you feel?" Algernon inquired, taking a step closer to his wife, away from the path that led to the Menhir.
"She recognizes independence as much as she values desperation." The Mimic spoke plainly.
"So be it." Algernon nodded. "I shall ask with favor for Ivy."
His long stride made for a quick journey, as soon the icey tunnel turned into a large cavern, where in-lay the relic of his obsessions. It appeared in the form of a small black door, levitating in the air as if gravity itself were absent in its presence. The markings on its surface, as well as the angular nob that lay unopened, were each inscribed with the language of the Harrow.
Algernon stared at the door longingly, observing its alien structure as if witnessing it for the first time. He barely even remembered when his company first found the Menhir beneath the ice of Castillo, back when his human body could not survive its emanating aura. Countless workers died surveying the mining equipment that unveiled it, each one of their names covered in black ink.
Not that he recalled any of them.
His memory used to be perfect, in days past.
But in the presence of the Menhir, Algernon was blissfully foggy.
"Every civilization of note has come to this moment." He pointed at the relic with pride. "Either they unlocked the face of the universe, or they faded into obscurity."
"Even now the Consortium scrapes at your doorstep, praying they can receive your love." He continued. "But I alone am worthy. For I know what you really are."
"Tell me. What is my daughter?"