The world became a suffocating darkness. One moment, Bishie was in the barely lit library, gaping at the strange sight before him. Next, he was being dragged through a cramped, dusty metal tunnel by a hand that felt both cold and terrifyingly strong. The smell of rust and stale air filled his nostrils, and the sound of his own frantic, scrambling movements was deafening. He was screaming, a high-pitched wail of pure terror, but the sound was swallowed by the tight space. He thrashed and kicked, his small body hitting the sides of the vent with dull thuds. He could hear the faint, distant shouts of the mages, but they quickly faded into nothing.
The mechanoid, its form no longer that of a 12 year old boy, moved with impossible speed and grace. Its metallic body scraped against the ductwork, a grating, unsettling sound that filled Bishie's ears with dread. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. This was it. He was going to be another victim of a monster, just like Nikola. He was going to die alone in a metal tube, and no one would even know where to find his body. The thought was so overwhelming that he felt his throat close up, and his frantic thrashing came to a stop. He went limp in the grip of the mechanoid. He no longer felt the fear, just a hollow, empty acceptance of his fate.
Suddenly, the scraping stopped. The mechanoid's grip on him loosened and he was gently lowered onto a cold, hard surface. He opened his eyes, squinting against the sudden influx of light. He found himself in a large, circular room. The walls were lined with complex machinery and circuitry, glowing with a soft, pulsing red light. The air, while still stale, felt cleaner here and the scent of ozone and heated metal replaced the smell of dust and rust. The room was a mess of half-finished experiments and discarded equipment. He was in a makeshift laboratory.
The mechanoid stood over him, its body now a sleek, featureless cylinder of polished chrome. Its face, which had been so eerily human moments before, was now a blank, smooth surface. It tilted its head, a silent, inquisitive gesture.
"What is this place?" Bishie's voice was barely a whisper.
"My room. We are in a safe place," the mechanoid said, its voice a synthesized, emotionless monotone.
"Safe? You kidnapped me!" Bishie retorted, anger overriding his voice. "And you looked like me! Why did you do that? Were you stalking us?"
"I did not kidnap you. I protected you," the mechanoid replied, its head tilting again. "I had to study you, not stalk you. This allowed me to achieve a form that's able to carry you and fit through the vent."
"You studied us?" Bishie stammered, his mind reeling.
"Affirmative," the mechanoid said simply. "It was the most viable option available. It would have been foolish to reveal my true form."
Bishie looked around the room, his eyes wide with a new kind of wonder. It was a place of ghosts, a monument to a past he would have never known if not for being kidnapped.
"Are you intrigued? This place is a requiem for the past. It is where I was created. I was made in this place."
The machines around him hummed with a quiet energy, a testament to the genius of the inventor who had created them.
He looked at the mechanoid, his fear replaced by a burning curiosity. He had so many questions, and he knew, instinctively, that this mechanoid had all the answers.
"Any question you could have, I can answer it," the mechanoid said, as if reading his mind. Its voice was a synthesized echo, a calm, unwavering presence in the room.
"Why did you take me away?" Bishie asked, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
"I took you away because you were in danger," the mechanoid said. "Your companions aren't necessarily the best people."
"How so?"
"They are using you, and they have no intention of letting you roam free," the mechanoid replied. "You are too young to be a part of their foolishness."
The mechanoid paused, sifting through an endless database of information, searching for the right words. "My purpose is to protect. My purpose is to ensure the safety of all members in the sect."
"Why?" Bishie inquired.
"The previous generation of this sect was all slaughtered."
"Slaughtered? By who?" Bishie's eyes widened, and he felt a cold knot form in his stomach.
"Their own god, Jenti the liberator," the mechanoid said, its voice still a flat, synthesized monotone. "Not in a fit of rage, but in a cold and calculated manner."
"Why would he do that?" Bishie stammered, his mind reeling.
"Jenti decided they were no longer needed," the mechanoid said. "He wanted to start over; he wanted to create a new generation, a new sect, one that would be pure, without the tainted influence of the old members."
"Why would he do that?" Bishie whispered, hoping for a comforting answer.
"He is a god," the mechanoid put simply. "His reasons are his own. My creator knew this. She knew the dangers. She knew that the god was not benevolent."
"Who was she?" Bishie asked, his voice filled with a new, burning curiosity.
"Her name was Lajel Jill," the mechanoid replied. "She was a scientist, a nonick."
"A nonick?" Bishie interrupted.
"A man with no manickal energy," it answered.
I knew that.
The mechanoid continued, "Her machines, and her creations, dwelled within the sect for years but she knew that in the end, the god would get to them eventually, but she wanted to give a fighting chance to the next generation so she created me, an AI, made in her image to protect the new generation of the sect, to ensure that they would not suffer the same fate as them."
"So why attack them? Why kill Nikola?"
The mechanoid searched for its words. "My purpose is to protect. Nikola had begun to pursue me, and he was too close to finding me and my other vessels."
"So you killed him?"
"Not necessarily," the mechanoid gestured with a multi-jointed arm toward the discarded machinery around them.
Bishie looked at the machinery, but closer than the scan he took earlier. A brain was suspended in a greenish liquid within, next to it was a tube of blood flowing into a beating heart strung up by wires and prongs.
"Is that him?"
"The important bits," the mechanoid said, still emotionless.
"That can't be comfortable," Bishie insisted. He then relaxed more, adding, "I think it'd be best to have him back in his body." Bishie reached for the small machine, but the mechanoid stopped him with a firm grip.
"Apologies, but I cannot; I'd be killing him."
"Are you… sure he's alive? He doesn't look alive." Bishie's voice was a barely audible tremor that ran through his small frame. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach, his focus switching between the grotesque display of the human brain and heart. His mind screamed at him to run, to flee this place and this monstrous creation, but a morbid fascination held him captive. A new, terrifying reality dawned on him: if he were to act out of place again, this mechanoid could kill him if it truly deemed it necessary.
"Yes," the mechanoid stated matter of factly. It released Bishie, its metallic hand withdrawing to its side. It paused yet again this time searching for an excuse to justify its cruelty, "If his brain is functioning along with his heart, he is alive."
"So what now?" Bishie asked, shaking down to his core.
"You leave." The mechanoid looked at the vent again. "You'll have to escape from a proper exit, I can't pull you through the vents but I'll escort you there."
"What happens if they catch me escaping?"
"They won't. Nobody knows about this passageway."
"We must act with haste." The mechanoid led him to the far side of the room and into a hallway matted with grime and filth.
He looked back at the discarded machinery, the remnants of Grimsnow's forsaken history. The brain and heart of a mage, preserved in an iron lung, no, an iron body, like a scientific specimen. A part of him was wondering if this was truly a form of salvation for Nikola. The sight filled him with a mixture of fascination and terror.
The mechanoid turned and started to move toward the far side of the lab, its movements silent and precise. Bishie scrambled to his feet, following close behind. The floor beneath them was a maze of wires and metal.
This was what the god had wanted to erase?
He was brought back to reality by the sound of the mechanoid's voice. "We are here. This is the exit. It is a proper exit, with a locked door and a dysfunctional alarm system. It won't signal your escape."
Bishie looked at the door, a heavy metal slab with a thick, iron latch. It was the only way out, the only way to return to the world he had left behind. He looked at the mechanoid with a question. "You said, I can ask you anything, right?"
"Affirmative."
"Then how do I revive Nikola?"
The mechanoid tilted its head slightly, as if processing the request. "Why would you wish to do that?"
"So I won't be hunted down, I need him revived so the others will spare my life."
The mechanoid's voice became subtle, "But you don't have to complete the mission. I can save you from this. You can escape."
Bishie scoffed. "And be hunted? That's not saving, that's just avoiding the inevitable."
The mechanoid remained silent for a moment before replying. "So be it. The way to revive Nikola is to inscribe runes on his body in the language of the medicine god."
"And?" Bishie said, his hope rising.
"That's all the information I have available."
Bishie's shoulders slumped. "Well, that's useless without the proper teaching."
"Apologies, but there is an insufficient amount of time."
The door opened with a soft hiss, and a cold blast of air hit Bishie's face. He could see the hallway, a clean, well-lit corridor that was a stark contrast to the dark, musty vent system.
He turned back to the mechanoid, it remained silent, its form unmoving, now a silent sentinel, its form a blank, featureless cylinder of polished chrome. He took a final step forward, and the door closed behind him with a soft click.
As he walked down the corridor, he saw Ian, ready to strike, ready to kill.