Flames consumed my body, closing off every possible escape in an instant. I was shoved into a back corner of the living room, shut off from my parents who were banging on their bedroom door. My skin burned, my blood boiled, and all I could hear were the cries of my parents swirling endlessly in my mind.
The memory clung to my brain like a parasite, refusing to let go. The fire that engulfed us all was forged by my mistakes—the stove left on, gas filling the room, and a single cigarette sparking the chain reaction. Blame anything else and everyone wouldn't think twice, but the truth weighed on me like the heat itself.
Humanity rarely admits its own short-comings. Most people bury their guilt deep, pointing fingers anywhere but at themselves. I wasn't an exception. Even now, as ghostly tears formed, absolution took root, growing into a stimulant that I'd hope let me escape.
My body was shutting down, each muscle losing its will to move until I lay crumpled on the ground like a discarded puppet. My soul seemed to hover above, staring down at the lifeless, scarred corpse below. Around me, the world turned to deep obsidian ash, swirling like smoke in the air. A bright light pierced the darkness, and a hand extended toward me. Beyond it, shadowy outlines of my parents stood, their faces obscured yet unmistakably familiar. A wave of recognition washed over me, stirring something deep and aching within.
But there was no comfort. Only thoughts. Guilt churned in my mind, unrelenting.
'Do they know what I've done?'
'How could I face them?'
'Do I even deserve to reach them—to move beyond this place?'
Before I could find an answer, a violent force ripped through me, yanking me off my feet. Glass shards streaked past, glittering in the light, slicing through the air like fleeting stars. A metallic face loomed above, its cold gaze fixed on mine. My mouth opened to speak, to scream, but no words came. The world dimmed, and my mind unraveled into darkness.
***
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a familiar room. A fan spun lazily above me, its hum breaking the silence, the only anchor in the straining stillness. Turning over and looking up, my eyes meet with another pair of flat and lifeless eyes. The skeletal figure extended a cup toward me.
"Here, drink this," it said.
"You're not even gonna ask if I'm ok Creon," I snarled back. Grabbing the cup from his cold hands the smell of mint lingered in the air.
"It was a nightmare, or am I wrong," it bluntly stated.
"Yeah, but it isn't part of your programming—or did Ken finally break protocol for good?"
Creon's face could show emotion, but my sarcastic statement seemed to make his thoughts go ajar until he clearly replied, "I can't break protocol,"
"I was joking," I half-heartedly stated, "Don't you have a humor setting."
"Master—"
I interject, "Don't call me master Creon, we've been over this."
"Michihiro… I need to inform you, it's a quarter to eight—"
The words barely reached my ears before the sound of running water filled the room, drowning out the rest of Creon's statement. A rush of urgency propelling me toward the bathroom. Making myself presentable wasn't just a routine; it was a necessity. Talos Industries—my dream job—was within reach, and every detail counted.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The walls rattled, jolting me out of my daze. Creon moved across the room, laying a neatly pressed uniform on the bed as I scrambled to pull myself together. My eyes twitched toward Creon as I slipped in my contacts.
My mind wandered back to the pipes. "Hey, Creon, did Ken say anything about the construction deadline?" I turned back around and blinked. My dark pupils were now glowing an almost unnatural, vivid blue.
Creon's voice was as flat as ever. "Master mentioned it would be completed before the Christmas holiday."
I snorted, shaking my head. "At this rate, I'll need to dress as a plumber and fix it myself by Halloween."
No response. I glanced over and saw Creon standing with his back to me, seemingly captivated by a Begonia on the windowsill. Despite his protocols, Ken had definitely tampered with his code again. The result? A robot with quirks that danced on the edge of free will. I wished he'd programmed Creon to understand sarcasm though—it would make my jokes less of a one-man show.
As I pulled my work clothes together, my smirk faded. My mind dragged me back to my nightmare. They'd only started resurfacing since I took the internship. I thought I had made peace with my parents' deaths.
Or at least, that's what I told myself.
Stepping into the main room, I barely registered the TV murmuring in the background. Channel 12 was cycling through the morning news, but I paid it no mind. Instead, I reached for the smart oven and pulled out a piece of toast.
Creon then hobbled over. "Have a good day, Michihiro. Master asked me to remind you to meet him after work. It's about—"
"Yeah, I already know." I waved them off with the knife in my hand. "Those two love birds have been together for a year now." Pausing, I muttered under my breath, "Though 'love birds' might not be the right word."
Creon's head tilted slightly, their synthetic eyes narrowing. "Could you repeat that?" There was a faint edge to their tone, a clipped precision that Ken must've thought was funny when tweaking their code.
"Nah, you wouldn't get it." I smirked, turning back to the fridge. Creon lingered for a moment longer, but when I pulled out the jar of grape jam, they turned and shuffled off, muttering something under their breath. Even robots could hold grudges, apparently.
Spreading jam onto my toast, I glanced at the TV. Channel 12 was running the news, the Talos Industry logo—a gleaming bronze robot—rotating on the screen. The update was being delivered by an anchor produced by Talos Industries themselves, though most people wouldn't know that. I only learned the truth during one of the observation meetings I had to sit through.
An investor had complained that his company needed more AI models to handle customer service interactions, and the conversation revealed just how deep the company's reach truly was. Talos Industries didn't just dominate robotics—they controlled the very narrative the public consumed. And even with what I'd seen, I knew I'd barely scratched the surface.
Though the memory of the robot saving me flickered in my mind—a vivid reminder of why I chose to work at Talos above all else—it was cut short. Before I could delve deeper, the words 'BREAKING NEWS' flashed in bold across the screen, pulling me back to the present.
"Today, we've just received word that Talos Industry has finalized production on their latest robot model, set to release at the start of the New Year," the anchor announced, its tone brimming with blank enthusiasm.
I took a bite of my toast as images of assembly lines and sleek metallic figures filled the screen. A glance at the clock sent a wave of dread churning through my stomach—I was definitely going to be late.
Grabbing my lanyard, I muttered a goodbye to Creon, who was busy dusting a bookshelf, and headed for the door. Just as I stepped out, I caught a final snippet of the broadcast:
"Dr. Hiroshi's(Hero-She) brilliance has once again led the world to a bright fut—future."
The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the rest. I paused for a moment, the word "future" lingering in my mind. Funny how even an advanced AI could stumble over its lines. Maybe Dr. Hiroshi's so-called brilliance could use a few tweaks— maybe he needs someone like me.