Artificial Willpower

Rose Colored

Since this chapter is something a bit special, I sent it to the glorious _sleepy.moth_ ahead of time. So this amazing art was made for this chapter, instead of the previous one as usual. If you don't follow _sleepy.moth_ on Instagram, please do, her art is beyond amazing.

Illinois shuffled through the blueprints, looking through Doctor Pitches' notes which were scribbled out in red pen. Circling what wouldn't work and writing out what needed to be changed.

Just a few weeks ago, Illinois would have fixed everything with unmatched enthusiasm. Just a few weeks ago he was still convinced that they were doing undeniable good. But some of the pretty illusions were starting to degrade, and Illinois didn't like what he was starting to see under them.

The limbs were no longer just prosthetics. There was no good reason for them to be this strong. To have weapons in them. To be bulletproof. He had told Doctor Pitch these additions would only make these more expensive and less accessible to the people Illinois wanted to help.

The Doctor told him to just fix the problems he had marked on the blueprints and to stop arguing.

Whenever he tried to ask about how they would find volunteers, Pitch would wave him off and say they had that covered.

It made Illinois uneasy. He sighed and set down the blueprints before heading to the breakroom to grab some coffee and clear his head. One of the newest members of the staff, a young doctor named Benjamin Weller, was sitting at one of the tables, eating lunch.

Illinois made himself a cup and came over "Mind if I sit here?"

The young doctor looked at Illinois "g-go ahead"

Illinois took a seat and glanced at the man "You seem kinda tense. I don't bite" Illinois teased lightly.

Benjamin laughed a bit, but there was a tense tired tone to it. "Sorry, It's just this place..."

"Isn't what you expected?" Illinois asked, his tone a bit softer. He understood. When he first came to work there, he felt there was something deeply cold about it. His enthusiasm just overshadowed whatever disappointment or fear there was.

"Yeah, I guess. I was told I'd be working on big projects that'd change the world for the better... and I feel like all I've really gotten to do is run errands for Dr. Pitch" the young doctor mumbled as he poked at his food.

"We're finishing up the blueprints right now, actually. In a few weeks, hopefully, things will really pick up. There's still good to do. It's just... slower than expected" Illinois said, taking a sip of his coffee. Usually, he would put a bit of sugar in it, but he felt like the bite of drinking it black helped him clear his head.

"Yeah. That's what I keep telling myself" Ben said, in a tone Illinois had become far too familiar with in the past week or so. A tone that's used when someone has become afraid to hope. Afraid to think things could go good, because all the evidence seems to say otherwise.

"Keep telling yourself that, Benjamin" Illinois said softly "Sometimes the hope of doing good is all we got"

-

Over the next few weeks, the situation had only grown worse. Pitch kept pushing for the limbs to become more and more weaponized. Stronger. He kept pushing Illinois' questions aside.

Finally one day, during a meeting, Pitch explained the volunteer process. Except it wasn't volunteers at all. He explained that the facility would pick out convicted murderers, both ones on death row and ones with a life sentence.