Bug-eyed with a smile

He ran until his legs felt numb and sore, until the lights grew dim and he could barely see his own shadow before him. Only when he was sure he had left the creature far behind did he finally slow to a stop. He leaned heavily against a damp wall as he fought to catch his breath.

While glancing around, Clint realized he was somewhere new. He had no idea how far he’d come or where he was, but he found himself in a wide and echoing chamber. It was unlike the other cramped tunnels he’d been winding through. The ceiling here stretched far overhead, lost in shadow. The open space had an eerie, desolate feel to it. He could see something that looked like platforms sprawling out into the darkness. It was lined with metal poles and benches bejewelled by the rust. Along the walls ran massive advertisements that had faded with time. Their images obscured but faintly recognizable. People holding out toys that seemed to have gleamed in colors dulled by grime.

As Clint looked around he was struck by a sharp sensation of nostalgia. This space was different from the still monotony of New City. It was familiar in a way that brought memories rushing back. Like it was images of his old life he had seen, his life before the authorities had snuffed it out.

He’d once run a small and modest repair shop in a quiet corner of the city. It was a little place where children and parents alike had brought him their old and broken toys, asking, begging him to breathe life back into them. There had been toy trains, little mechanical animals, and dolls that sang songs and spoke when you pressed their hands. He remembered the satisfying click of the discreet machinery, the hum of motors as he happily put the toys back together, piece by piece. Clint’s fingers had always been drawn to fixing things, and he’d taken pride in watching the children’s faces light up so brightly when they saw their toys moving again.

But that was the time before the government’s crackdown on his generation’s “distractions,” as they’d like to call them. They claimed toys like those encouraged waste and brought disorder to an otherwise “optimized” world. His shop had suddenly been shut down without warning, with its windows darkened and its doors locked. The same authorities who now patrolled the city had stood there impassive, as they boxed up the little wonders he’d spent his entire life restoring. And with the closing of his shop, Clint’s life had fallen into the pale drudgery he’d endured ever since.

But now, in this strange and forgotten place, he felt that old urge return. The urge he had lost, a drive to repair, to create and bring something broken back to life.

He looked down at the music device in his hand, curiously examining the damage. The crack was deep and the screen faintly flickering black and pink with each gentle press of his thumb. A faint hum rose up from the damaged casing, a sound that might have been the device’s last breath.

“Oh no, you’re not giving up on me that easy,” Clint somewhat excitedly murmured, his fingers itching with the need to fix it. He carefully opened his tool bag and began working on it. His movements are slow and deliberate. But he soon learned that it wasn’t like any toy he’d ever worked on before. He had no clue how to put it back together, nor how to make it sing again.

He glanced around the room, searching for anything he could use to improvise a fix. That’s when he noticed a small and worn object nestled under a pile of dirt and debris near one of the platforms. It was shaped like a strange fish, with six thin legs poking out from its body. Round eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Clint gently brushed the dust off it, revealing a goofy yet comforting smile across its face, giving it a strangely endearing quality. It was a child’s old robot, clearly outdated and well-worn. He could see it had a built-in voicebox and a tiny motor, it was just what he needed to amplify the music device’s damaged speaker.

With careful and steady hands, he pried open the toy’s casing. He fit the device’s damaged parts inside and arranged the wiring to work around its weak circuits. He patched them together with some makeshift strips of metal, soldering loose ends with a steady hand. Then finally, he clicked the toy back into place and held it up to examined his work. It looked somewhat strange, the sleek music device encased in the quirky fish toy, but it felt just right somehow.

“There we go,” Clint muttered, admiring the strange bug-eyed contraption. “You’re all finished my friend.” He paused, then gave a half-smile. “Finn,” he decided with a nod, “that’s what we’ll call you.”

With a now hopeful breath, he pressed a button along Finn’s side. For a moment nothing happened. Then with a low whirring, Finn’s legs jerked, one after the other. As though waking up after a long sleep, its eyes blinked on, round and curious, with its head tilting up toward Clint.

Clint held his breath as he watched, his fingers crossed as he felt like a hopeful child. Then, with a burst of music crackled from Finn’s speaker a cheery jazz tune filled the empty platform. Finn seemed to take a wobbly step forward, and its body rocking back and forth in time with the beat. Clint’s heart soared as he joined in, his feet tapping along, his hands moving in rhythm. He couldn’t hide his grinning.

For two days and nights, Clint and Finn journeyed together through the forgotten underground. Winding through tunnels, navigating dark passages, and discovering small stashes of forgotten food cans or old supplies left by the past’s scavengers. They slept when they could, resting under rusted stairwells, near dimly glowing bulbs, to keep warm they curled up under scraps of cloth they found along the way.

By the third day, Clint found himself climbing a steep and cracked staircase that led toward a faint glimmer of light. He looked up, shielding his eyes as they stepped out into a bright and open space, and gasped at the sight before him. Towering over the remnants of Nola City, stretching what felt like miles above the empty buildings, was the sleek skyline of New City. The buildings stood tall and seamless, each one identical to the other. Their metal frames glinting in the sunlight. It was cold and austere, it was a place where everything was orderly and lifeless.

But here in the ruins of Nola City, Clint felt a strange sense of freedom. The streets were all lined with broken lampposts and crumbling walls, the remnants of a world long gone. Plants, they grew wild, sprouting between the cracks in the pavement and vines crawling up abandoned buildings. As he looked down, he saw Finn scurrying along beside him, its six legs clicking against the stones as it hummed with life.

“Look at that, Finn,” Clint said with excitement in his eyes. “This is where it all began.”

Finn tilted its head up toward him, its eyes shining, as though sharing his wonder. Then, with a small whir it began to shuffle forward with its little legs carrying it eagerly down the broken street.

Together, they set off. Clint and Finn side by side, two unlikely explorers in a forgotten world. Clint had no idea what lay ahead, nor did Finn, and that's alright.