Sometimes You Have To Do Something Not Because You Want To, But Because You Don't Want Others To Face It Alone

Raen's uncle is dead.

He was killed by the Northumbrian rebels.

Raen had barely ever met his uncle. Upon hearing the words "General Sako is dead," Raen had absolutely no idea who General Sako was. He barely even understood that General was a title, rather than a name - he'd never paid much interest in the military. Why would he? The military didn't pay him. They didn't even buy the products he produced; not that he sold the things he made, he was paid hourly, not per-product.

And, in truth, he didn't really know what he made.

Certainly, Raen knew what his job was to do - he welded a ridge onto a box - but he never knew what the end product was. The factory he worked at was simply called "The Blue Factory", due to the endless beam of blue neon lights burning out the nearby residents' retinas, and the company was simply "Marko's and Werner's".

He didn't even know who Marko nor Werner were. He'd never so much as seen their photographs, or a television presence - not so much as a voice on the wireless! Were they alive, or were they dead? Were they still flesh, or were only their brains left? Were even their brains replaced?

Raen didn't know very much about where he worked, who he worked for, or what he worked to produce, but he did know that General Sako was dead, and upon arriving home, he knew one more thing: General Sako was his uncle.

When a family member dies, unless one is estranged, you're usually quite upset. Usually, you've known this family member for quite some time, to say the least, and it takes time to understand a world where they simply... aren't.

As Raen held the mangled mess of torn wires and empty lights, glittered with rotting skin, he struggled to feel this upset. In fact, he felt quite relieved. A general sounded like a very high rank - at the very least, it's an officer title - meaning that these cybernetics were likely worth quite a bit. And, whilst he hadn't known uncle Sako and his General exploits enough to care that he'd died, he did know his friend Elara, and would absolutely be upset if she died.

Twitching, Raen's fingers gently scratched away the crusted blood from the dull steel, hoping to uncover a name; of a company or part he didn't care, he just needed to find out what it was. So he could find out how much it was worth; so he could keep Elara alive. Because Elara wasn't going to be alive much longer. And Elara was the only person in the world that he cared for.

His fingers stopped.

There. A name.

"Mk3 Biospine - Hammertaffer Industries, London 1846"

Shit. Hammertaffer.

Raen dropped the spaghetti onto the ground and himself backwards onto his bed, his red hair brushing against the flakes of paint on the wall, which collected onto the ancient pile neatly below. Small hands held a cold face, and frustration couldn't be bothered to meet them. This was hardly the first time Raen had faced disappointment in his quest, he'd reached an endless waste of whispering sands. Nothing else remained. The Biospine was a perfect model - Hammertaffer hadn't even existed since long before the barbarism of old, but every single relic of theirs was absolutely perfect in every single way. Not one had rusted, or rotted, or evensomuch as reduced in capability. Their arms could still push the strength of a thousand automatons - hell, their arms were about the only weapon that worked against them back then. An unlicensed Hammertaffer leg was worth its weight in lives.

Yet that was the problem: unlicensed. It's also the reason that any of their cybernetics were so damn expensive, especially-so these days: as soon as one was connected to you, you and only you could use it. Any and all forms of decryption were lost to time, and many a scavenger had tried (and failed) to find even one way to reuse them. Whoever discovers one, if one is to ever be found, will conquer the world. No wonder the military police hadn't kept it for themselves.

Still, until that fabled adventurer comes forth into this world, the biospine was totally useless on the market; couldn't even be scrapped for parts. Thus, there was nothing Raen could do. You can hardly buy a kidney with a pile of bloody scrap.

Raen walked out of his house, leaving the mess behind, and made his way through the narrow streets of broken lampposts and cracked windows towering the alleys, evading his eyes from meeting any of his neighbours'. The Southern district wasn't particularly a poor one, though it had seen better days. Nobody went outside anymore, so nobody cared to fund it. 'Whatever' was anyone's first thought, 'it's our choice to keep it like this.' Still, Raen felt a inkling of guilt upon seeing it. As if he'd made the wrong choice. What once were shops were empty, if the glass-fronts were still clean, and the signs still buzzing. The street itself was somewhat dirty, being swept only once a week, although the abundance of bins and trash-blenders dealt with any major litter problem. Honestly, at first glance it might not seem so bad. And, in truth, it wasn't. How could it be? It's not like anyone went to those shops anyway. That's why they closed, right? Who closes a successful business? Businesses still exist - who else buys whatever Marko and Werner manufactures? You can't buy direct from companies anymore. They say that's partly what led to the barbarism. Too much concentration.

Upon arriving at Elara's door, Raen pulled out a bronze key and opened the three locks. It was quite commonplace those days to lock thrice; any lock was easily pickable, and fingerprint scanners never worked, so it was always better to just be a bit more of a mountain for any prospective thieves. Keep your door on the street, keep it in light, and they'll spent so much time picking them all that any passer-by would notice and scare them off.

"Raen?" A relieving voice echoed across the hallways, piercing through the low hum of scattered lights. Gliding up to the living room door, Raen poked his head through the gap. Elara's friendly lips were failing to discreet a smile as she sat upright on a scarlet leather chair, held up by two chains attached to the ceiling. Across from her was a man in a similar position, bar the glee, with Raen's unnerved eyes drawn to the purple emblem adorned on the man's dusty yellow jacket: a jawed jackal encrusted with three glinting silver crowns. Sitting in that room was the one military personnel Raen could recognise.

"Oh," was all he could muster in his shock, before quickly composing himself, "Sorry, I didn't know you had a friend around." He knew he was lying to himself. Or, at least, he was being hopeful. Though, really, what's the difference?

The man turned around with a sharp laugh, and peered Raen in the eyes without a word.

Elara broke the silence.

"I was going to tell you." With that, Raen immediately understood. He understood why Elara was sitting upright, when she'd been bedridden for weeks. He understood why a royal lancer was in his best friend's living room.

He understood why Elara was sitting upright, when she'd been bedridden for weeks.

She'd had surgery.

Uncle Sako's death was for nothing, anyway.

At that moment, every single event Raen had ever experienced came crashing down upon his mind. He remembered the first time he'd met Elara; the first time they went to school together. Memories of the first time they'd shared secrets - some more embarrassing than others - and the first time they'd fought. Thousands of memories flooded Raen's mind, and time had stopped to accommodate this. Appreciating the universe's gesture towards his considerations, Raen chose not to return to the present for the entire nineteen years he'd lived thusfar. Why bother, when he had so many years to remember?

However, one can only remember for so long. They can only reminisce until there is nothing more to reminisce about, and it's time to create new memories to look back on in the future, and to love and despair equally upon them.

At the universe's nudge, Raen made a decision that he could only make at that very moment. If he'd waited a second before the idea would never have come to mind, and if he waited a second later it would have been far too late, and he would have suffered a life of cowardice and regret.

Luckily for his decision, the Man In The Room had more than one pen.