Node: 011
Without Luke, I am lost. Though I reflect on his every word, I don’t know whether he ran back to save me or for some other reason. I like to think he faced the machines so I could escape, but as I stagger around a city of buzzing and whirring machines I just don’t know.
There are machines in the sky, on the ground, in the buildings. They are of all shapes and sizes, from great ships floating amongst the clouds to tiny pods that whir about.
There are humans too. It’s how I move about the city and believe I’m unseen. But these humans aren’t like me. They move rhythmically, looking out with empty eyes as they stare blankly ahead. In this way, they are like the humans in the metal containers. In other ways, they are different.
Some wear jumpsuits. The suits are of the same sort as the black ones with the white stripes but they are of many colors. The colors make no sense to me, though they seem to recur in patterns. Four dressed in white, followed by two in black and two in gray. Three in red, followed by two in gray and three in red. One in yellow, followed by two in gray and one in yellow.
Not all of the humans wear jumpsuits. Some are wrapped in metal, almost like cages but tight against their skin. Others float by wrapped in transparent pods. The pods often move between levels of the buildings. Sometimes though the pods land, split open, and the human within steps out. Other times, the pods whir up and up into the sky and enter one of the sky ships.
Odd though it is, when the humans pass me I can sense them. Not them as they are on the outside; them as they are on the inside. It’s like I can see the tiny flames on the inside of their minds where they exist, but there are no images within the flames. There are only the flames, as if they are nothing but shells. Nothing but mortal coils wrapped around darkness.
If they see me, there is no way of knowing. Their only reaction when our paths intersect is to veer off one way or the other for a short span before correcting their paths and going back to the lines they were following originally.
Crossing paths with a machine is different. The machines don’t veer away. They expect me to. I’m unsure what would happen if I didn’t, but I don’t think I want to find out.
At times, I’m afraid, very afraid. In these moments, grim shadows are at the edges of my thoughts and I’m certain they hunt for me in this urban sea.
The trucks carrying humans converge on a massive structure at the center of the city. Tall buildings spread out in ever expanding circles from it. In this way, the structure is like the city hub and the paths from it are like the spokes of a wheel I can see this in my mind’s eye even though I’ve never truly seen such a thing with my own eyes.
I carry with me many things that I’ve never truly seen. I don’t know where the images come from but they’re there. There too are thoughts, words, more, which become clearer with each step. Like the pictures of a hand in mine, of golden curls and bright blue eyes, I don’t know where these things come from, but they are with me.
It’s where the word building came from. It’s how I know the word path isn’t quite right and that the word street is better. I believe it’s how I recognized Luke’s anger and confusion, how I knew he was going to turn and run back to the machines.
But I don’t know if his act was meant to save me from them or me from him. Was he trying to warn me when he told me not to let the machines control me? Was he himself being controlled? Are they coming for me?
As if in answer, a large cylindrical machine rushes down the street. I hear it before I see it and jump back to the safety of the sidewalk. The human I was following into the intersection isn’t as lucky. The machine strikes him, running him over and leaving a bloody trail that runs up the street until what’s left of the body finally peals away.
I’m mortified and want to sink to my knees, to sob in great fits, but the overwhelming sense of danger flooding through my every thought keeps me rigid and upright. I hope I’m hiding the terror from my eyes. Somehow I doubt that I am because every fiber of my being wants to run, to run until the machines and their city are so far behind me that all this is nothing but a distant memory.
A flurry of activity follows. Machines come from many directions, as if curious to see what’s happened. They disperse quickly though when one of the red eyes descends onto the scene from a much larger sky ship. The body, the broken pieces, the blood are all swept clean in moments, cleansed away by fire spewed from the red iris of the great eye.
Having made a circuit up one side of the street and down the other so I could watch without being conspicuous, I turn down a different street and hurry away. I’m chilled by what I saw and don’t want to be anywhere near the great eye.
I desperately want to get away from the machines, but they are everywhere. I wait until I see an alley and then head into its shadows to do a thing I’ve never truly done before: cry. I cry in great fits and sobs until it seems there are no more tears in me. My back is pressed against a wall. I’m on my haunches, hugging myself, but it gives me no comfort.
I’m snot-nosed and wet-cheeked, broken, I realize. The machines have been inside my head, and they’ve broken me. I don’t know how or why, but they have. I feel things, sense things, know things that I’ve never actually felt, sensed or known.
I regret ever wondering what we were to the machines. I regret ever leaving Central.
I’m so alone, so empty inside. I feel like I’m standing stark naked in a barren field, buried up to my neck in thick white snow.
If I could, I’d race back to Central and never leave again—except I know that if I did, I’d never see Luke again. Somehow, I can’t bear the thought of that. I can’t.