Tales of Paper & Pen

Hope is only born in the darkest of wombs

The distinct sound of nimble fingers dashing across a keyboard was accompanied by the sound of machines humming and purring. These sounds echoed and bounced off the walls of a very cold and dark room, a room barely illuminated by the light generated from the computer’s screen.

Day 267 – 

It seems the biochemical fluids are unable to mix with the radioactive core that powers my creation. I will have to either find an alternative base component for the artificial blood or a protective layer that can defend against the harmful radiation that is periodically expelled from the artificial heart.

The war has finally reached the West Coast. The amount of land unaffected by their bioweapons has drastically decreased. My land will soon be infected. I must finish this project before the plague reaches me …

The creaking of an old wooden chair broke the mechanical symphony born from the hums and purrs of the various machines inside the room. The sound of footsteps echoed across the room, halting their advance once they reached the boarded window. A pair of violet eyes devoid of any sign of emotion peered through the bolted boards, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

Beyond the boards that isolated the machine-filled room was a garden of lush and vibrant plants. Yet the garden was nothing but an oasis stranded in the middle of a desert of blackened earth. Beyond the garden, the violet eyes could see the damage caused by the war. There was no green nor any other vibrant colors to be seen. Only black and gray as death made its advance with a slow and sly prowl. The violet eyes soon retreated from the window, locking their sights upon the computer once again.

The sounds of typing resumed as the machines in the room came to life. Mechanical arms moved around the room, handling chemicals, biological mass, and industrial equipment in accordance with the computer’s orders. Several days passed with the typing never stopping.

Day 273 –

I have found a solution to the dissonance between the biochemical fluids and radioactive core. It seems the problem lies in the radiation’s effects on the artificial cell reproduction in the biochemical fluids. To ensure the survival of the planet, I have tasked it with the sole purpose of restoring life to this desolate, infected world. I shall begin the preparations for its awakening immediately …

Several more days passed as death grew closer to that small room and garden. Meanwhile, the machines and typing continued, now with a sense of urgency in their movements. And on day 277, the machines and typing stopped. An old and hoarse voice spoke as if it hadn’t said a word in years.

“Goodbye, Mother Earth. I leave the mission of restoration to you, my creation. I name you Hope.”

A dull thud echoed inside the room as death fell upon the fragile and decrepit old man. Then, the sound of heavy, metallic footsteps filled that same room as they made their way to the exit. A hand made from human flesh and metal parts reached for the door knob and slowly turned it, opening it with a loud creak.

Stepping out into the light of the sun was a humanoid figure made from flesh and machines. Its long, golden hair whipped around in the harsh winds. Its two eyes, one gold and the other green, wandered the desolate landscape laid out before it.

“What a broken world,” the figure said in a voice that sounded both robotic and feminine at the same time. “And I will fix it.”

The figure, whose name was Hope, took its first step into that world once ravaged by war, ready to do whatever it took to restore it.