Reboot

Teddy 2.0

Author's Note

Many things inspired this story; some specific, some vague, indescribable feelings.

I got some inspiration from the idea of a "nanny cam," some from the relationship between Winnie-the-Pooh and Christopher Robin, and some from a quote by Maeve in Westworld regarding losing her daughter.

At its core, this story is about choice, loss, unconditional love, and what really separates a man from a machine. I hope you enjoy.

~ Mar

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"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart - I'll stay there forever."

-- Winnie the Pooh

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The train hums along through the growing darkness, nearly silent.

Trains once made a great deal of racket and vibration, so I was told. Crude boxes of steel and dirty glass, bumping and screeching along at thirty to sixty miles per hour, depending on location. Hard to imagine. Nothing like the sleek, sterile serpents comprised of titanium and fiberglass that exist now. These trains zip through the city on a whisper's breath, their elevated tracks allowing for picturesque views on all sides. If one is tall enough to see out the windows. Which I'm not.

I miss my little boy.

It can't be more than an hour since we were separated, but I miss him so much that my insides are hurting.

And I know he must miss me too. He's only three years old. Three years, two months, nine days. Far too young to be without me.

I lay my furry arm across the metal armrest, and prop my disproportionately large head on my paw. The armrest is a bit too high, and I can't get comfortable. It's made for humans. The whole train is made for humans. Everything is too big for me. Even standing up straight with my very best posture, I'm only twenty inches tall. That's the standard size for Teddy 2.0. According to market research, twenty inches in length is the ideal size plush toy for a child between the ages of two and four to cuddle. I'm a cuddle-snuggle-huggle expert. It says so on my packaging, sure, but I like to think I'm above average.

My boy says I'm the best hugger in the world.

I sigh into my paw. I miss my boy. His name is Bradley. But he has trouble pronouncing Rs, so he calls himself "Bad-ly." I love little Badly. I know we'll be best friends forever. I just have to find him.

He's not lost. He's safe and sound with his parents. It's me who is lost.

How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

I access my digital video record from the past sixty minutes. I review the feed in my left eye as my right eye remains focused on my present surroundings.

Badly had been sleeping, so I, snuggled in his arms, had gone into stasis. That's what I'm programmed to do. That way, while my child is sleeping, I'm a comfort, not a stimulant. I'm also programmed to come out of stasis as my child begins to wake. I'm a highly intuitive invention.

So, imagine my shock when I was jolted out of stasis as I hit the train's floor. My boy, fast asleep, had dropped me as his parents got up from their seats and carried him off the train. We had reached our stop. But I was left behind. Still lying on my tummy on the floor, I called out, "Wait! Come back!" But amidst the noise of the mass exodus, my tiny voice went unheard.