“You can’t always deny it / It’s time to wake up from your dream / (Even chasing after your dream / Became a waste of time) -- B.A.P.; Dystopia

His circuits sparked and fizzled, and his eyes opened slowly. There wasn’t enough battery left in his system to be able to move anything other than his head. Turning his head to the side, he saw that he was still in the same place as before. Arm bent at an unnatural angle, legs half covered in debris and trash. A rat skittered across his chest, and he turned his head back the other way. His other arm was detached and lying a few inches away from the socket, and he could barely make out the etchings along the upper arm.

Model 01203, Youngjae. Property of me <3

Youngjae closed his eyes, directing some of his battery power into his memory bank and pulling one of the videos she had recorded for him.

The video was fragmented and jittery, but he could still make out her face and her brilliant smile.

“Heya, is this thing on? Hi there! Youngjae, you’re my...adopted child, I guess? Can you believe they were just going to throw you out? But I’ve fixed you right up and you should be running like normal now! But…” Here she held a finger up to her lips. “We have to be really careful with you. I don’t need to be upsetting the wrong people.”

He hadn’t known that they would come for her. He hadn’t been prepared that day when they’d charged through the door and shut him down. The final thing his camera had recorded was her screaming, crying face as she reached out to him as they dragged her away. And it was all because of a tiny, tiny thing. That one locked folder on his CPU that, no matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t delete. He didn’t tell her about it, because it hadn’t seemed important at the time. But it ended up being the most important thing.

She had brought him back to life, restored him to functionality, and given him new purpose. He hadn’t been able to do anything for her but get her taken away from him.

Youngjae stopped the recording and opened his eyes again, staring up at the sky between the gritty brick buildings. Grey clouds were rolling over above him, and he could almost feel the humidity gathering. Rain was coming, one of his true weaknesses. As soon as the first few drops hit, his circuitry would be fried forevermore, possibly even irreplaceable. Eventually, over time, his parts would be stripped by the urchins that roamed the alleyways looking for anything valuable. He would be left as a pile of useless junk, rusting in the stinking refuse.  

He wanted to see her again. See her smile, listen to her talking endlessly about the food she’d eaten, the movies she’d watched, the research she’d conducted. Closing his eyes again, Youngjae brought up the remaining movies he still had on the undamaged parts of his memory bank, running through tape after tape of her talking. Despite the fact that he couldn’t feel emotion, there was a sense of emptiness inside that worried him. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to come back. To get him and take him home and tell him that everything was alright, that they were safe again. But it had been weeks, weeks without seeing another person, unknown or not. Youngjae had a foreboding sense that she wasn’t safe, but there was nothing he could do and nobody he could ask for help. What a useless hunk of metal he was.

The first drop of rain landed with a light “plip” against his chest, and Youngjae couldn’t do anything but stare helplessly at it as it slid slowly down his torso. Leaning his head back fully against the rubble, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ominous rumbling of thunder overhead.

Please be safe. Please be alive. Please...come back.