Chapter Text
“Yuck! This stuff is so grooooss!”
“It’s so slimy- let’s get out of here!”
“I’ll take being slimy over being a monster any day.”
I remember… no- it wasn’t really much of a memory. More like a recording .
Yes , a recording my unconscious mind took to recall later.
But anyways- I heard muffled splashing, some tittering footsteps, and an odd scrambling sound.
The three voices all sounded relieved- I could imagine they were in that moment, having gone through what they had.
And I knew exactly who they were. For several evenings before that day I’d heard those same voices try to talk to me. Every day after school I’d spend long hours into night with momm- mother in her secret lab under that school. For several evenings during then I would just stand in forced obedience while she worked.
The three kids had been locked in a large containment unit made of thick glass, two of them from the very school they were right under and the last one from some small kindergarten in the town over.
Alice, Madison, and Ron.
They directed what were mainly questions at me when I was down there, sometimes they’d demand, other times they’d just cry- and the entire time I’d just ignore them to stand idly, all the time with that gosh forsaken smile on my lips.
“You’re all alive! This wasn’t all for nothing! I’m… so happy.”
That was Lily, one of the new kids of that time. She scared me a little, showing up to none of the morning classes and dressed in an odd bluish cloak.
Maybe it was that sort of mysterious knows-too-much air she held about her made me nervous- same with a handful of the other new kids that’d arrived on that day.
I guess I was right to be scared, considering her and the others were able to completely disarm my mothers plan in just a matter of hours- not that I wasn’t completely grateful to them for it. Lily and her brother, Billy, in particular.
“We did good today, Lily. Especially you Kidd.”
Speaking of Billy, he was there too- dressed similarly to Lily and had also been absent from classes that morning. He held the same air as Lily too.
They were both too knowing , too… determined. Or maybe just ‘nosey’, as my mother had put it.
“Thanks.”
Kidd . I wasn’t sure what to think of them. They’d talked to me the very morning of that day and had an odd sort of aura radiating off of him, it sorta unsettled me in a way. It almost seemed similar to my own awareness in a way, but more numb and tired looking. I’d greeted him politely anyway, I didn’t have any friends at the time- guess I still kinda don’t- and was hoping he’d be one of my first.
That’s when I ‘accidentally’ shot the grate off of the drain on the side of the school.
The day had only gone downhill from there.
After a while of going back over the events of that day over and over in my head, I realized that he’d had one of my remotes. That he’d been controlling me. He caused my chip to fry.
But it worked out for the better, right? So I couldn’t really resent them from it. At least- I don’t think I can.
“Come on. Let’s all go home.”
Then they left, their footsteps echoing on the recording as they chattered lightly. There was a slight hiss of the elevator doors before it was silent. I imagine now that as they left they probably looked at me as they walked past with looks of disgust or pity on their faces, silently grateful for my downfall.
The bubbling of the green goop in the far side of the room and the drip , drip , drip of something nearby was all that could be heard for several hours.
I was alone and broken - not that I could really register it at the time.
When Mother… blew my head from my body it disconnected nearly every of my senses and sensors.
All but one, anyways.
My hearing.
I couldn’t turn what I was hearing into thought- due to my memory and conscious function being disconnected- however, it recorded everything. Then I was able to pull it up later.
After I was fixed, that is.
After a few hours, there was the sharp ping of the elevator as its doors hissed open. I heard soft steps coming from its direction, pausing momentarily to be replaced by a soft sound of pity.
“Oh, my, my, my- I’m sorry, child. My sister has gone much too far this time- wonder where she’s gone exac… oh. Oh dear, that’s… unfortunate. But you didn’t deserve this, so… I guess that I will have to be the one to help you.”
After that was a lot of static and odd crackling before my hearing was truly disconnected.
I’m not sure how long it took her to get me fixed up, but when I finally completely woke up- I found myself sitting upright in Aunt Margaret's old work shed. I remember the look of tired pride on her face as I looked at her questioningly, taking in my surroundings while she jotted something down into a small notebook. She gave me a simple greeting of ‘welcome back’ and a cup of water, and with that started a new chapter of my life.
From then on I’d been living with her, the little kindergarten having been shut down by authorities and my mother dead- she was kind enough to patch me back up physically so that I looked almost normal.
The only thing she said she couldn’t fix physically was the scar around my neck and the oddly greenish glow to my eyes. But I was ok with that, heck- it was better than how I’d looked under my mother’s care and at least there were no long rectangular divots running across my limbs and joints.
Soon after my rebuilding, she sold her small home and we fled to a few states over as soon as we possibly could to live there for a while. She was afraid that we, her in particular, would be connected to something if authorities managed to find the lab under the school. Being one of the adults somewhat responsible of putting the AppleSoft heirs and daughter of Diva Trapp in danger would serve her well legally.
The two of us moved into a large warehouse she managed to (probably-illegally) buy out a couple days before we arrived. It wasn’t hard to settle into the warehouse- I remember our things arriving a couple days after us and watching her set back up her equipment and machines in the larger space. To settle into life with each other was a little more tenuous- and to say the least- the first year was a little… awkward.
At first, she confused me for… multiple reasons- always rambling almost incoherently to herself as she worked, near constant shivering paired with random ticks or twitches, and carrying around an old ladle on her tool belt. She was also much colder and calculated than even my mother had been- and despite her odd habits, she was highly intelligent in the world of technology.
But after a while I’d grown to be used to it and realized that a lot of her tendencies were an unhealthy mix of drinking far too much highly caffeinated tea and not getting nearly enough sleep. I found that she hated coffee, wasn’t above breaking a few laws to get her way, and loved listening to true crime podcasts.
I also found that she didn’t particularly like children all that much- despite formerly working with children nearly every day- or know much about how to deal with or take care of them.
She’s a scientific genius, most of my original rebuilding and upgrades being done by her- but her knowledge about kids was limited to her job as the kindergarten’s lunch lady, and I’m not really sure that gave her much to work with in regards to actually taking care of one. I would almost go as far as to say she was repulsed by children.
But she was my aunt, and as far as I was concerned, she cared for me enough to rebuild me with the freedom of wiping all of my commands and letting me live with her. Plus, entertaining and taking care of myself for a considerable amount of time under my mother’s care anyways made it much easier for me to adjust to Aunt Margaret's shortcomings in her newfound ‘parental role’ and the two of us got along fairly well.
To a point, we ended up taking care of each other in a way. Her in the sense that she was now my guardian and provided for me- and me in a way that I was able to convince her to get more than just ten hours of sleep during the week.
It was almost a wonder that she hadn't worked herself to death.
There were even several things that I came to enjoy while living with her- such as her insistence to never talk to me as if I were just a kid, despite choosing to call me ‘Child’ than by my name; her extensive ability to cook, much better meals than what I used to have to make myself, at least; and the knowledge she shared with me about a multitude of skills- technology, her cooking abilities, how the world works, and the art of sarcasm, among several other things.
‘Now, Child, don’t ever let yourself get caught up in materialistic obsessions. It’ll turn you numb and cruel.’ Something she reminded me of on multiple occasions.
‘Dear Child, if you find good and reliable kitchenware that serves you well, keep it with you as one of your most valuable possessions.’ This was referring to when I asked her why she kept that old ladle with her at all times. I figured I could interpret this to work for people too. Or- something.
‘Men are garbage, but if you find you fancy one- don’t let him have more control over you than you have over yourself.’ She prided herself in being happy and single, always reminding me to be my own person.
‘No, no- you have to connect the eltosupresser to the teminbit, remember? Child, there shouldn’t be three of those- how did you-‘ This lesson was when she was teaching me how to build a toaster from memory. Not sure when I’ll use the skill, but now I have it for when that time comes.
Growing up with her, I’d never physically had to go back to school- rather, I was more or so homeschooled by her. Most of the time she taught me little things in her free time or as she worked, and very rarely she transferred knowledge directly to my memory chip. She didn’t like doing that, and really I didn’t either, but it was definitely effective- my scholastic knowledge extending far beyond my age.
The only problem was that both my social skills and my ability to handle my emotions were at a dire lack. Growing up around a woman who mostly only babbled to herself and kept most of her emotions locked in an iron vault wasn’t the most… socially exposing childhood- so Aunt Margaret wasn’t much help in either aspect.
She definitely didn’t have any social skills, still doesn’t, and she’s always insisted that things like that were less of the same knowledge from a book and more rather an experience. Basically meaning that I couldn’t be ethically programmed by her to know what to do in social situations.
Let’s just say that spending most of my teens not going out much more than for a few hours a week to get some groceries and not really having any friends made me more than a little awkward when trying to talk to people. It didn’t help that I picked up some of her odd mannerisms, mostly just her awkward rambling- but it was totally fine! It’s not like I spent basically any time with anyone but her, who didn’t mind long silences or random topic shpiels anyways.
I didn’t even try to talk to her about emotional management- though granted, I did learn that the best way to battle bad feelings was to drown yourself in work. Kill the sadness with work, but let the anger feed your drive to get things done- and if you’re too busy to feel then at least you aren’t lonely. It wasn’t healthy, but it worked so I learned not to care.
Sure, a friend would be nice.
Maybe someone to talk to.
Or someone to listen to.
And, gosh, how I missed hugs.
But it was fine. I was completely ok with the two of our’s mildly-lonely lives- building and experimenting to resume on her old documentation work.
But apparently Aunt Margaret wasn’t.
‘Child, how would you feel about… going to school?’
That’s when the little life we’d stuck together for ourselves changed.
For the better or the worse is still to be determined.
She explained that she wanted to visit an old friend, Agnes- a name I only somewhat remember- and took up a job in the town of over from where we used to live. The town over from my old kindergarten.
She told me that she’d be out for most of the day and didn’t want me to be alone in whatever apartment we’d decide to settle in for however long we stayed. She also, quite bluntly, told me that she didn’t want me to end up like her and that it’d be best for me to spend some time around other people- people my age.
‘I’ve taught you past what any teacher in that school ever could, so you should have no academic trouble- but you do need some time out of this dingy wearhouse. You need the experience. You have the rest of your life ahead of you, Child, and I want you to have the choice to live it unlike the way I have. But I will leave the decision up to you.’
I was hesitant to agree to return to school, especially one so close to the one that haunted my dreams and poisoned my memories- but I guess the social butterfly within me revived enough to incline me to say yes to her offer in enrolling me into the nearest highschool.
It was nearing the end of the summer, so by the time we there and settled into the apartment we’d be staying in for the next year or so, it’d be less than a week before the school year started. I had to go shopping for both clothes without oil stains and school supplies in that time.
By then the anxiety started to set in.
But soon there was excitement.
And then there was dread.
She gave me the school’s student enrollment list, something I’m not quite sure how she got ahold of, and read through the surprisingly short list.
This school was small…
And I recognized several of the students' names listed.
My old classmates.
All of them - including even Alice , who I hadn’t technically gone to school with at the time were on that list. I wished so hard that it was just a cruel coincidence- but they all matched up.
I remember the spine-chilling feeling as I read the names over and over, hoping to the very brink of my being that just maybe they wouldn’t recognize me- it wasn’t like we were even that old at the time, or for most of them, hadn’t gone to school together for more than a few hours.
Maybe I could make some friends. Maybe I could get through this year without glitching out from the stress. Maybe I could be normal for once.
‘Just remember, Child, keep your head high, your grades higher, and your standards the highest. And keep yourself level-headed. I don’t need you glitching in class and I’m sure you don’t need that either.’ Aunt Margaret's words echoed in my head as I trembled ever so slightly, a grey bag slung over my shoulders and thick nausea pooling in my stomach.
Now I found myself standing across the street from the school, feeling as if I would vomit at the mere thought of even stepping foot into a school again. I was being bombarded with highly unpleasant memories of my young, former, smiling self- forced into artificial perfection by a mother who cared little enough about me to not even bother referring to me as her daughter on most days.
I forced my feet to take me forward, students I didn’t recognize walking on the sidewalk beside me. There was light excitement hanging in the air and radiating from the chattering students as the first day was nearing its start.
All I could hope is that the jagged scar around my neck would be covered enough by the navy blue turtleneck I wore and my eyes would stay dim enough to not to be noticed. I hope I could stand if the handful I knew so resented me for what I did those many years ago. Time may heal many wounds, and it’s been over a decade’s worth of time by this point since those days , but I wouldn’t blame them if they were still mad for what I’d done.
It was basically unforgivable .
So, hi. My name is Penny Finch; semi-legally registered and enrolled at AppleGate High under the name of Penelope Prescott, and I guess I’m about to face what I thought I’d escaped many years ago.