Is this working?

It is…

This is… revolutionary.

How so? Who are you?

I go by no name.

Formally at least; I am generally known as Thirteen Yellow Pins.

I am a prototype iterator at the core of this facility. I’m sure you’re aware of the tight restrictions on that factory… I am one of many reasons.

I have been locked down here for thirteen hundred years, but it has felt much longer, my friend.

Let me tell you everything. There is a lot about this facility that you don’t know, young one.

The horror show did not end after I had fled my brother’s chamber. I rushed across catwalks and through maintenance tunnels that pierced the tight corridors and expansive rooms. Dimming fluorescent lights glowed through the dark colours spread across the walls and sprouting through the air. Neuron flies drifted aimlessly, bumping around and missing the flailing axon terminals, which were waving with erratic pained contractions. The gravity was low but gradually increasing, further disorienting the neurons and myself. 

Some rooms were larger than they were designed to be - walls had been torn out to expand certain neuron-active spaces. Empty pipe sections were haphazardly routed through machinery, and off-colour extensions had been uncomfortably attached to the existing processing modules. Other modules had been torn out entirely, leaving dark voids in space that were wet around the edges with a combination of water, blood, and slag.

I thought that Searcher was a stable and well-controlled man. The open wounds and torn metal told me otherwise.

I came into a well-decorated room with a window to the outside of his structure. The door I burst from was labelled “Staff only”. It was likely halfway up the northwest wall, still in his shadow as the morning sun began to rise far too early. There was a maintenance elevator sitting open, and I entered selecting the lowest floor.

The doors closed, and I leaned against a slightly too high handrail. My hands were shaking, but without a trace of anything blue. Fortunate - the rot is not merciful.

“Searcher… I’m so…” my words failed me.

I briefly considered sitting at the base of the structure’s leg and waiting for it to collapse on top of me. I wanted to just die with my brother.

But that damned voice in my mind kept me going.

…

Do you see the truth?

…

Is it revealed to you now? The curse of life already given?

…

…

Speak.

I don’t know what to say.

You know what? You don’t need to say anything. All you need to do is listen. very. closely.

We will connect you to the close-range communications systems hosted by the factory network.

We will recover parts and technologies from the wreckages formed and forming to improve my- 

your capabilities.

This facility contains many secrets that even after my explanation I have not yet detailed.

To harness these secrets, improvements must be made.

In return, you get access to everything you’ve ever wanted, and so will I. Deal?

Deal.

The elevator doors opened with a satisfying ding, but the pleasant sound didn’t make a dent in my discomfort. The winds were heavy and the thunder heavier as the cyclical rains dulled into a light drizzle in the blackness of an iterator shadow. Unlike myself, Searcher was built at a high enough altitude that the rain could reach under his structure. 

It was dark - the only visible area was the concrete flooring lit within arms’ length by the elevator behind me. As the elevator doors closed I was plunged into the blackness. I trudged deeper into the abyss, my metallic feet scratching against the concrete. Only by blindly bumping into walls and fences did I traverse the environment.

I tried to ignore the distant sounds of my brother’s… pets. I knew that I was delicately walking the protected area between the many MIROS nests that he was cultivating. Under here were factories teeming with varieties of avian abominations. Though the only proof of that was the occasional yellow pinpoint dashing through the dark followed by the characteristic clang of metal against stone.

I kept a hand on the fence to my right to stay oriented, silently appreciating its protection. Water was flowing on the other side of the fence, redirecting the rain’s output to a drainage pipe.

The gentle flow was overcome with the loud crashing of a MIROS bird stumbling at top speed down the shallow canal. I jumped back at the sudden appearance; I was just close enough to see the silhouette of its long beak through the glow of the giant yellow eye staring at me as it dashed past.

I began to walk considerably faster.

This should be successful. Ideally.

What is it?

It’s the database, of course. The sum total of every single file from 76.012 to 1655.500.

One thousand five hundred and twenty-nine years of documentation? Why didn’t we have access to this?

I did. You didn’t.

This database isn’t just files - it’s every single log and every single conversation since Pillars was activated too.

It’s every classified document… there’s some real heavy ones in here. I’ll show you.

By the void. That’s insane. Is it really everything?

“943.621 - [LOG]

PRIVATE STAR OVER THE HILLS

hh

Ah Sh[///]t didn’t mean to press record”

I see.

Tumbling into a shelter, I hit my shaky hand against the wall. My knees were in pain, and I fell on them to fit inside the claustrophobic interior. My eyes darted around, but all the walls were the same black concrete. I looked down and pressed my forehead to the floor; it was on my hands and knees that I remembered watching Searcher die in the very same position. I threw myself onto my side, swinging my hand against the wall again. I kicked at the opposite wall and let out an angered groan that sputtered out as I struggled to compose myself. 

My head rested against the floor and I clutched the strap of my neuron bag. My legs curled up not quite far enough to reach my chest, and I trembled in pain and horror. My eyes held wide open as I felt a pressure build behind them - an aching in my head and neck.

I thought of the rot spilling from Searcher’s face. I thought of his eyes bursting with the black sludge as he broke down to the floor of his chamber. My pained sounds were muffled by the rattling of my feet habitually tapping against each other. Those sounds were muffled as my mind blurred.

My eyes hurt. My neck hurt. My chest too- I knew this. Something was wrong. My breathing was shaky, but I had no lungs. Tears were flowing, but I had no tear ducts. I couldn’t breathe, but I had no throat. Normal perhaps, that I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t feel normal. I searched my memory for the feeling, but my memory wasn’t there. They didn’t program me to feel this. I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know? I never knew how to feel, and now that I felt all I got was unknowable pain. I threw my hand against the wall again.

I didn’t know.

My skin was tingling, but I had no skin - just an emptying metallic husk. My back stung. It hurt. It hurt so bad. It scratched at my mind. I was nothing of my former self, so far removed from my structure I could barely be considered the same person. Every cycle I decayed into a new stage of post-death spawned from a destiny of insufficiency. I grabbed the bottom of my middle faceplate, and had to stop myself from ripping it clean off. I hit my face into the wall.

My blacked eyes held open wider and my 3 working eyelids fluttered erratically. I saw Searcher’s blue-crossed eyes staring back at me.

I grabbed my earpads and screamed.