Okay, so Gilbert didn't have a map to physically give me, big deal. I've never been the worst at taking directions, so I just asked him to tell me what was where—of course, if I get lost, my safety is almost totally in his hands, and whether I make it out alive will likely depend on his decision to come back for my miserable self, too...
Yeah. I'd rather ignore that fact, for now. If I don't, I'll probably have a panic attack. Who the fuck trusts an Assistant with his life?
God, I wish I wasn't this desperate.
The thunder still hasn't died down. It's killing me inside. I hunch over and tiptoe towards the next corridor that supposedly leads to a larger, open room—Gilbert claimed the exit wasn't too far from it.
Apparently, the museum's divided into two parts; we would have been screwed if we'd taken the other side of it as our place of scavenging, because that one had no emergency exits at all. Talk about a shitty layout.
I sigh—although the flashlight lodged tightly between my grasp is helpful, I wish I were in better shape. There's an obvious limp in my wounded leg. Anyone would be able to see that from afar. I'm fucking vulnerable. I hate it. But regardless of my feelings, I carry on. It's not humanity's problem if I feel like I've just walked into hell. I just have to remember why I'm doing this. Saving people. And... Fletcher.
I gulp, then nod. Yep. Totally. That's why I'm here.
It's definitely not because of the damned Assistant who's still searching through an old crate full of parts two rooms back.
I didn't get dragged into this shit at all.
My eyebrow twitches.
Seriously, fuck him.
I step into the exhibit at my far left. There's a sign nearby. 'Almost-Human,' it reads. Behind it, realistic androids are posing with regular household items. Judging from their shapes and colors—and the mere fact that these things are being compared to humans—it's safe to say this place truly is from decades ago.
I squint. No matter how hard I try, I just can't do it. I can't see them as anything else other than hackable machines with no true free will. Those days are over.
Something confuses me though. It's strange that Gilbert isn't in the lineup. There aren't any mentions of plans for his model, out of the hundreds described here, either. Granted, it's possible they simply hadn't planned that far ahead yet, however, some posters even describe ideas that were never brought into fruition, so it's surprising that nothing's even hinting at his potential existence. And I've walked this aisle of nightmares way too many times by now, nervous wreck that I am, to be sure of that. Why? I wonder. From a technical standpoint, Gilbert is brilliant, I can't deny that.
Why would a museum, whose existence literally relies on bragging about how awesome and high-tech Assistants are, not mention his model, even briefly?
People would have loved him. They would have invested more into such a great tool. I don't understand.
The way he fought back in that tunnel comes to mind. I bring a fist to my chin. Was Gilbert the only one ever made? Is he meant to be a secret? If so, who funded him? They barely spared enough for regular Assistants back in Exia... I can't imagine them wanting to make something like this.
This doesn't make any sense.
He doesn't make any sense.
I raise two fingers to my temples then shut my eyes. Who was his creator? My hands curl into fists by my sides; as cold sweats travel up my spine, I bite my lip. And what exactly does he want from me?
I take a step away from the exhibit. I huff. "Well... at least I got the right room..." I mutter. "Now, all that's left to do is go back and let Gilbert know it's fine to—"
I frown as footsteps echo across the corridor, and Gilbert catches up to me. "Gilbert?" I motion at the room around us. "You're done already?"
"It's been ten minutes, Sir." He nods at the briefcase that's been deposited right next to his left foot. "I actually took quite some time."
Oh.
I frown.
Has it been that long already?
Damn, I guess I lost track of time.
"U-um, Gilbert?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you look so happy?"
He chuckles, and Jesus Christ, we're too fucking close right now. He needs to get out of my face before I cave and punch his stupid nose. "Recently, you have begun to call me by my name, Sir. I am more than delighted to know that I have risen in your esteem."
I step forward and groan. "Don't get your hopes up, y-you aren't—"
Of course, I should have looked at where I was walking. I hate this place.
I trip again. As always, Gilbert catches me.
I furrow my brows. Is this the third time this has happened today?
This is ridiculous.
It's like someone is playing with my life at this point. Fucking hell. Why?
Gilbert's grip around me tightens, though, not in a way that could be considered menacing. In fact, he's surprisingly gentle, and it's been so long since someone just embraced me like this without any interior motives, that a flush of heat rises up my neck. Shit.
Ian, what are you thinking? Are you an idiot?
Get a grip.
"You can let go of me now," I mutter.
He tilts his head. "You do not want me to hold your hand anymore, either?"
"U-uh, no— I mean," I blink. "I do? Just not... my entire body. I can feel your hand on my back. And my waist. It's..." I avert my gaze from his then clear my throat, "distracting..."
"Oh." Gilbert pulls away. The pressure from his open palm that had once been pushed up against my spine disappears. "Excuse me," he says. "I didn't realize I had been distracting you, Sir." Honestly, it just feels awkward to be holding his hand right now, but I suppose we'll have to make do.
"Yeah, uh, anyway—" I point to the empty space over my shoulder with a closed fist and my thumb. "The first model's in there, somewhere farther out back. You need some help?"
"No, thank you, Sir," Gilbert tells me with a happy hum, as he leads me by the hand over to the other side of the exhibit. "You've already done quite enough. I would not want you to overexert yourself."
My shoulders tense. I frown. "Hey... you know I'm not that fragile. There's no need to treat me like I'm going to break. I've had my fair share of fights before. I'm no stranger to pain."
"I never said you were, Sir." He pauses before the shattered pieces of glass that lay by our feet. It seems they once protected the original Assistant model that stands before us. "But, it is my job to make sure you stay out of harm's way," Gilbert adds.
I release his hand. I cross my arms then cock my head to the side. There's a faint ringing in the background, but I tell myself it is nothing, as I ask him, "Is it, now?"
"Yes, I promised to—"
"Dude, I've had half my back cut open and kept the marks to prove it. Plus," I point to the lighter, pink crescent scar beneath my left eye, "this didn't just come out of nowhere. I earned it. Seriously, a little blood and some stitches aren't going to put me out of service!" Though, yeah, it would have been nice if the nurses I saw had that balm with regenerative purposes—whose name I can't remember for the life of me—but, we're not in Exia, so I'll just have to deal with this injury the old fashioned way.
Gilbert laughs.
I cringe. "My suffering's funny to you, asshole?"
"Not really..." He smiles. It is fond, and a tad too endearing for my taste. "You speak as if you are a machine, Sir. Out of service... I have"—he chuckles again—"rarely heard a human use the term to describe themselves."
"Yeah, well..." I look away then huff. "Old habits die hard."
"Hm?"
"Just focus on your work, Gilbert."
Geez. I kneel and stare at the checkered floor that's peppered in the gentle cyan light, that emanates from Gilbert's throat. For a top-tier Assistant, he sure is easily distracted.
My eyes widen. I stare at the ground in horror. Wait, hold on a second—
My attention wanders to Gilbert's figure. Easily distracted? I pause.
He shouldn't even have the capacity to be distracted.
As expected, Gilbert's still lost in his work, but... something's wrong.
Fuck.
My blood goes cold. Goosebumps rise across my arms. What the hell is up with this Assistant?