Broken and Corrupted

Memory.log.2/Return to Normalcy

Accessing File "Memory.log.2".

Please wait.

...

Success.

WARNING! This file appears to be corrupted. Run anyway?

You selected "Yes". Are you sure?

Attempting to open File "Memory.log.2".

...

Success. Opening File "Memory.log.2."

Opening "M-0100.mp4".

- - -

My memory files tell me I have started a new bank. Maybe this one will be a lot more helpful to me than the last. I may delete those files. They are filled with unpleasant information. Better to corrupt them, actually. Unplayable to those outside of me. Perfect.

The doctor is dead as of my internal clock striking 09:50:42, April 16th. It will be documented in my calendar. For now, though, I will head back to my charging station.

The room is mostly empty, with the exception of my hydrangea. Its bright blue still contrasts the rest of the room, but it is still wilting, now more than ever. Perhaps it really was tied back to the doctor, blooming and wilting with each rise and fall of their health. How fascinating nature is, to mirror other living beings around it.

The only thing out of place within the room is upon the nightstand the doctor made me themselves. They were nice enough to make it out of an old mahogany for me, so I use it regularly. Upon the nightstand is a letter, a small box, and a silver key.

My dearest Unit 4, the small letter started.

To you I give the keys to the outside walls. You were a wonderful specimen, a perfectly obedient subject. But you deserve your freedom. I cannot keep you here forever, after all.

With this letter, I also have a repair kit for you, in case you need to repair yourself. You mustn't go to any other doctor, they will not treat you.

Godspeed, my only child.

That is odd. Why refer to me as their only child, when they have an offspring, X? X... right, them. I still have not seen them in these past few weeks. Maybe they are out running errands that no longer matter.

It does not really matter now, anyways. I take the key and repair kit, leaving the note there in case X wonders where I went. Opening the repair kit, I find it empty. But there are labels on where everything should go. Perhaps they did not have enough time to fill it before their passing. I have been to the lab far too many times to count, though, so I remember where everything is. Even if I did not, I can always backtrack in my memory to find it.

The lab is the only room that seems to still have its lights on, bright and ready to serve the eye. My eyes follow a path from the door to the last thing I need, going in order from nearest to farthest away.

Screwdriver. A second heart, in case this one fails. Extra wires. An extra rechargeable battery. Bolts and screws to keep me together. Scrap metal to rebuild my skeleton. And finally, patches of my silicone skin. Or at least, what is left from making my model.

Even as I fill in all the spots, there is still one left after I grab the necessities. The tape in the gap reads "Companion."

I know what that means, because I forgot one vital thing. The flower. The doctor made a special spot for its pot, they knew I would never leave without it, but I knew I would not be able to carry all of this. Good thing they knew as well.