finalflight | PSL; [THE BELL WAS RINGING]

PSL; [THE BELL WAS RINGING]

[There are good days. The ones where he helps Carl with his art, sunlight streaming in through the glass walls of the studio. Calm, quiet, seemingly detached from the outer world. Markus likes those days the best; where routine hastens along its little track, unerring and steady. Medications, injections, breakfast in the morning. A clear schedule (not always the case, but sometimes), no appointments to be ready for, to be late for. Only the scent of coffee, the quiet clack of chess pieces against a black and white board, or the melodies from a pianoforte threading through the air. They always talk about art, but sometimes Carl will talk to him about literature. About philosophies that he can’t still quite grasp, but he thinks he can see the shape of it if he focuses enough — the state of humanity, and all of its beautiful, unflattering forms. Markus listens, and he learns, tending to his duties easily enough. Happily enough, he thinks. There’s always paint to be cleaned from his fingertips when the afternoon comes to a close, and evening ushers itself in.

And then there are bad days.

Days where it’s hard to ignore something as fleeting as mortality; Carl’s health worsening, fluctuating, pains and soreness. A shadow of frailty casting a pallor over all the man is, opening the door for something they had worked to keep at bay for a long while yet — depression. He knows when he sees it creeping in, he can hear it in the tone of the older man, views it in the lines of his aged face. Markus talks to him, calmly, coaxing for him to tell him how he’s feeling, or to rest when he needs to. That his work will be there for him tomorrow, when he feels better, and that he should eat something while they wait for the doctor to come in.

Carl grumbles something at him, dry and a little sarcastic, and Markus just smiles. Says something witty in return, willing his LED to stay blue — (can he will it to stay that way? He had always wondered, but the thought slips away, like sand through a sieve) — for the other’s sake. Tells him he’ll be downstairs if he needs anything.

And he waits downstairs, thinking of what will pass the time until the doctor arrives. What needs straightening, what needs cleaning. To push away distracting thoughts via distractions itself. Yet Markus finds himself merely standing there, alone, looking at the door, while the false birds in their cages sing, echoing in the foyer.]

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[ The seconds tick by at an agonizing pace. Seconds become minutes – long, excruciating minutes where he begins to wonder if rescue will ever come. That little flicker of hope had been so brief, so fleeting, but he cannot even begin to resign himself to the end again.

His eyes have slipped shut again, because he cannot bear to watch the slow decay around him, waiting for a figure that he is beginning to doubt will ever come.

The sound of his name, carried on a familiar voice, pulls him back to reality, and his eyes fly open again, this time out of joyous relief than fear. ]

Welcome back.

[ Arthur is looking… ragged at best, white hospital coat torn and stained beyond recognition. However, aside from his damaged limbs, the rest of him has fared well enough. ]

You’re looking a bit better.

[Markus would scoff, but his own dry sense of humor (picked up by Carl, so much he learned from him) isn’t so prevalent. He’s dipped into concern, that stoic sort of determination, and takes in the man’s state. Far from the presentable physician who had visited him month’s prior. Then again, the same could be said for him.]

Only because of the help of the dead here.

[It’s not an over-exaggeration, or at least it doesn’t feel like it. Even his eyes are different colors now.]

Your limbs need replacing. I’m going to do it for you, all right? Then we’ll both find a way out of this place.

[ A sobering thought, and one he himself will have to embrace in order to get out of here. It's unfair, the way androids like them are cast aside like so much trash, but if the limbs of those who fell before and wasted away can help carry him to a better place, perhaps there is some solace to be taken in that. ]

Thank you, Markus. I truly owe you.

Don’t thank me yet. Not until we’re both free from this place.

[He works quickly, though carefully. Finding limbs that are compatible with Arthur’s model is harder than it looks, even with the great, terrible stack of them directly behind him. But Markus finds them — arms. The bottom halves of legs, connected with a satisfying hiss-click once the old are discarded.

Eventually, through rain slicking down his face:]

Try to move now. Slowly.

[ It feels like a lifetime since he's been able to feel his arms and legs, an eternity since there wasn't angry red lights crowding his vision, broadcasting his damaged state of being as if he were not already acutely aware.

He wants to get up, to run and move and escape, but he also knows that it's wise to take it slow. He's given that advice to more patients than he cares to count -- and now he ought to take it to heart, himself.

His hands first -- flexing his fingers, his wrists, his elbows. Then he twitches his feet, bends his knees, and it's like he's been given life all over again. How long did he think he would be left to rot here, to decay like the countless others before him?

Seemingly satisfied, he holds his hand out to Markus. ]

I don't know about you, but I am ready to put this place far behind me.

So am I.

[But what after that? After that, where do they go? What’s left waiting for them for discarded androids that no one wants? That some would deem broken or dangerous or-

(He remembers the half-body of one reaching out to him through a pile of corpses. A hand on his arm, a memory sweeping through his already frazzled processing. Find Jericho.

If he can’t return to that place he once called home, if that’s not an option, then maybe-)]

Here. Careful, slowly. See if you can walk.

[He takes Arthur’s hand, and helps lift him to his feet as Markus stands simultaneously.]

[ Arthur hasn't thought that far ahead. He had been so certain that this desolate and terrifying place was to be his reality for... well, possibly forever, that he had not even considered what to do were he to get out.

He's a bit unsteady on his feet for a handful of moments, and he rests a hand on Markus' shoulder to keep himself from toppling over. Once he's sure he's not liable to fall into the mud, he takes a few shaky steps away from his companion. Then a few more, with more certainty. It seems he's acclimating to his borrowed limbs well enough.

There is no mistaking the sheer gratitude on his face when he turns to face Markus. (ARTHUR ⇧) ]

I think I've the hang of it now.

[This is an instance where Markus will offer him a smile, faint and tired as it is, wound up in relief at seeing Arthur being able to walk properly.]

I’m glad to hear it. You’re lucky, you know.

[As strange as it is to apply the word to this situation as a whole, Markus believes that Arthur was fortunate that it was only his limbs that were in need of replacement. Still, he turns, looking up at a great slope before them, just behind where Arthur had sat.]

We can help each other try to get out of here. I didn’t see a path... the only way is up, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be easy.

I know. It seems you were in a particularly bad way.

[ To say nothing of the gash still in Markus' side or the hole in his chest. Arthur instead points at one of his own eyes -- the one that mirrors Markus' differently-colored one.

He turns to look up, up, up the mountain of bodies and mud and debris. Probably a good thing he didn't realize how close to freedom he'd actually been all this time. Still, that looks like it will be no easy feat. ]

That it does not. So long as we take our time and be careful about it, I believe we can manage.

[In a bad way would be an understatement. How he had managed to come back online on his own, with no outside help, after the state he was in? After what had been done to him? It was nothing short of a strange miracle, but one that Markus himself will not bother to question. The rest of the damage done to him will have to be seen to later, though; being functional enough to leave was all that mattered right now.]

Right. I agree.

[Slow and careful. Easy enough, with enough determination applied.

Markus stands near the steep incline, so towering that it might as well be a wall. He says nothing for a few long moments, running a preconstruct in his mind, noting where to stand, where to grab, will this support his weight? Yes. The weight of two? No. Rewind, try again. Different platform, different place to find purchase with his feet, a little tricky, but they should be able to do it if they coordinate together.]

All right. [Ending the process, he looks at Arthur and waves at him to follow.] Watch me and follow my lead. If you need help, just say so, and I’ll give you a hand up.

[With that, it’s ~~parkour~~ climbing time. Slowly, one hand after the other, each foot to follow.]

[ It’s not as if they have anywhere to be, and though he does not wish to stay here longer than he has to, he knows that being careless will land them right back in this pit. Possibly worse off than they were before.

He nods the affirmative, stepping aside to allow Markus to go first. His eyes track the other as he ascends, watching for hand holds and places to brace his feet. Once Markus has enough of a head start that a wrong move won’t send him crashing down on Arthur, he begins to follow. It is a slow process, and both of them struggle thanks to the hell both of their bodies have been through, but with one final push, Markus crests the top of the slope.

Arthur, not too far behind, extends his hand for help the last bit of the way. ]

Edited 2018-08-06 20:21 (UTC)

[Slow and steady, bodies not responding at optimal capacity, but determination was the only real key either of them needed to make it to the top. Determination, a small dose of luck, and a bit of coordinated teamwork.

And finally, what tastes like the first rush of freedom, pulling themselves from a pit of hell. But Markus won't rest until he's grasped a hold of Arthur's hand, hefting him up with one final bought of strength. Allowing themselves to finally reach that plateau, and when they've made it, Markus remains slumped on his knees from the exertion. Rain pelts at the both of them, as relentlessly as before.]

All in one piece, Arthur?

[ Would that he made a more graceful exit, but as it is he doesn't crest the top so much as flop over it, laying in the mud, face turned up at the sky.

He casts a glance over at his companion. ]

As much as I can be, right now.

... We really made it.

[ It is a statement mostly of relief, but there's something like uncertainty there.

Now what? ]

For now, at least.

[But Arthur is allowed his moment to just sit with his back against the mud, glancing up at the sky. Perhaps Markus would do the same, if he were so inclined to just taste the temporary mode of freedom they've been given, before they have to push forward again -- to someplace they'll both have to hunt down, if Arthur has any inclination to join him.

But first...

His hand reaches for something sharp and pointed, a piece of machinery broken off from its whole. Fingers clasp around it, and Markus brings it to his temple, angling its sharp edge against the flat curve of his LED.]

[ His eye's track Markus' movements, the smile sliding from his face in favor of a much more somber expression. If they're to survive out there, they must blend in, and that LED is the only thing that will differentiate them from a human.

It is... almost bizarre to think about, like cutting off one's own nose, but whatever seems to have happened to land them both in this situation changed them. Perhaps for the better, perhaps not, but it's like a door's been thrown wide open. If they wish to step through it, they must shake free the ties of their old lives. ]

... Hand me that, when you're through.

[The point catches against his LED, and Markus frowns as he levers it off. How neatly it’s removed, how quickly his false skin smooths over where it once was, like nothing had gone missing at all. He looks at it for a moment, the light fading away — it was more than just a means to blend in, it was something more than that. Even now, he can feel this certainty living in his chest, that this little marker designed to show the humans that he was other, lesser, has been detached from his body in a fit of defiance.

Markus sucks in a breath that the doesn’t need, then hands the metal object to Arthur, eyes flicking over to him.]

…I have an idea of where to go from here. But I don’t know how easy it’s going to be.

[ Arthur is still not certain where he stand when it comes to humans, and how they treated him, but this flashing light on the side of his head has to go. Whether to blend in or to break free or both, he mirrors Markus, prying it off with surprising ease. ]

It certainly can't be any worse than- [ a vague gesture with the piece of scrap still in his hand, towards the junkyard ] -that.

Far be it from me to impose after all you've done for me, but... if you have want of company, I would gladly come along to this mystery place of yours.

[He nods, not looking at either of their LEDs, now collecting mud and rain as they face the sky. Markus brings himself up to his feet, solemn, yet reaching out to offer Arthur a hand up once more.]

A place called Jericho. A safe haven for androids like us. [Apparently, at least.] Have you heard of it?

[A small chance that Arthur might've heard whispers on the wind; he can't be sure.]

[ Arthur discards that bit of metal scrap in favor of getting to his feet. Both of them are quite the sight, dressed in the ragged, muddy remains of their usual clothes. They're going to have to do something about that, eventually. ]

Jericho?

[ That prompts a look back at the pit, a telling enough answer on its own. ]

I've heard the name many times. It's supposed to be some sort of safe haven, if the rumors are to be believed. Do you know where it is?

No. But I might have a place we can start.

[That flash of information from another dying android, shared with him. He can still feel its grip around his own skin; its desperate, wide-eyed expression.

An actuator moves in Markus' jawline, pausing, then he speaks again. He's trying to think, trying to focus, which is admittedly difficult after all they've been through. Yet it seems like his line of thinking extends along Arthur's train of thought, too.]

But we'll need to be more presentable first. We're only going to draw attention otherwise.

And here I'd hoped we could simply start a new fashion trend.

[ I hope you're ready for so much sarcasm, Markus. That's Arthur's coping mechanism, and a rather prominent part of his personality besides. ]

I don't know if we want to celebrate our newfound freedom by stealing. What recourse would you suggest?

[That earns a scoff; that sharp-edged sarcasm, that dry wit, it reminds him of Carl. Markus is used to it, his own sense of humor even sometimes aligning.]

I don't have any other suggestions, Arthur. What do you think we should do? Walk into a department store, politely pick out some clothes and pay at the register?

[Which would work, perhaps, if they didn't look the way they did. If they had access to monetary accounts, and if they could even use them without setting off red flags.]

Certainly. We look like a respectable pair, do we not?

[ They absolutely do not in any way.

He heaves a sigh, carding fingers through his rain-soaked hair. ]

I see your point. But as we are, neither of us can walk into a store for any reason and not immediately raise suspicion. We'll need to get one of us at least halfway to presentable before we attempt anything further.

Then we'll have to get creative.

[Creative, desperate; the words feel one and the same.]

Let's get out of here first. Out of the rain. [Even if they were both immune to it, waterproof to their very cores, there was something demoralizing about being pelted with the rain constantly. A reminder of them having been tossed aside like garbage, without much care.]

There doesn't seem to be any guards making their rounds just yet. We better move.

[ If you ask Arthur, they already are desperate. Now they simply have to be creative at the same time. ]

Very well. I am all too eager to put this place behind me, anyway.

[ The lack of guards strikes him as odd, but perhaps no one believed that, once thrown away, any of the androids would ever make it out of that pit. It feels oddly satisfying to squash that expectation. ]

Lead on, my friend.

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