Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After two straight days of gnawing on nothing but an expendable squirrel card and the skin on his lips, Luke Carder was tired, hungry, and ready to get the hell out of this place.

Two days. Is that all it’s been? Luke kicks a piece of scrap silver across the cold metal floor. It slides over the ground, hitting the base of the wall adjacent to where the card gamer was slumped, before ricocheting back towards his feet. He had just risen from a less-than-comfortable nap; you would say that he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, if only he hadn’t been resting against a steel factory wall. Needless to say, the Lucky Carder was not a very happy camper.

The whirring of machinery felt ingrained in his mind as if it were now an integral part of his every thought, his every move, his every word. Whirrrr. The lonely artificiality was driving him mad. Whirrrrrr.

Throughout the span of these two starving card-eating days, Luke had been sucked into Inscryption, the forbidden video game he apparently wasn’t supposed to know or have. With GameFuna employees on his ass and at his front door, at first he thanked the game for hiding him away from everything, even if it disorganized his tidy YouTube upload schedule. But soon enough, he realized this place wasn’t suited for actual humans at all.

He had been begrudgingly taken in by the Scrybe of Technology, P03, whom he had been battling prior to being warped into the game; and despite Luke’s incessant prying, the robot has continuously denied giving him any information about what was going on.

To pile onto this mountain of unnecessary inconvenience, P03 had also denied Luke’s request to take him outside to find food. ‘Eat your deck for all I care’, the robot’s snobbish voice rang in his head, ‘I have work to do.’ The factory was strictly built to house robots and only robots, and the Lucky Carder was not one to chow down on batteries. He also wasn’t one to head out into the unknown of the land without a guide, lest he has a death wish.

On the almost-brighter side of things, the Temple of Technology contained water, which was packed in dinky spray bottles meant for wiping down nasty machinery. ‘Our claws don’t fit the nozzles, and that problem is so low on my to-do list that I really don’t care anymore,’ P03 had told Luke. ‘Just clean the place up for me, player, if you’d be decent enough to reward me for my hospitality.’

Luke decided his life was worth more than a spotless temple. P03 decided Luke was simply lazy.

The card gamer pulls his last spray bottle from the pocket of his jeans and twists off the nozzle, leaning back for a swig; in return, out dribbles a pathetic droplet of staleness into his barren mouth. Alright, Luke tosses the bottle and gets to his feet, that’s enough of that. I’m having a word with P03.

So with the taste of plasticity still lingering on his tongue, he sets off to find the Scrybe.

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Behind his sleek futuristic desk, the Scrybe of Technology levitates in place, flitting through a deck of cards—all of which he deems lack “synergy”—and sorting them into various stacks much like how a crime lord would count dollar bills.

Luke observes this methodical sorting for a while, almost mesmerized by how swiftly each card is dealt despite P03’s lack of a second appendage. He’s so mesmerized by the neat little piles of potential that he fails to realize the robot is staring straight at him.

“What do you want.” The Scrybe narrows his digital eyes, rousing Luke from his nerd-trance to meet them. “Ah– sorry,” he begins. “P03, I just figured I should tell you that I need… actual food to eat.”

“...Fine.”

“And water?”

“Sure.”

“And maybe a blanket or two?”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

The man sighs, resigning to these basic terms. “Okay, so we’re going to go find what I need?”

“I’m not going outside, and especially not with the likes of you, player.” P03 scoffs, glancing back towards his cards. “Besides, it’s not like I have the time. I already told you: if you need anything, go and get it yourself.”

“First of all, my name is Luke–”

“I know that, Carder, it’s in your files.”

“ –Second of all, I’m not going out there alone and getting killed, and THIRD of all, stop rooting around in my files?? Those are personal!”

P03 emits an amused beep. “No.”

“Your cards can wait another minute, can’t they? Come on,” Luke croaks through his painfully dry throat. The bags under his desperate eyes make him appear more raccoon than person, and his skin is sickly pale; P03 is no human expert, but Luke definitely didn’t look like this when he first wound up in this place. He almost feels… sorry for him? Well, he is a hopeless creature. The Scrybe huffs through his fans, floating out from behind his desk.

“Fine. Whatever. Fetch the traps from the back of that room over there. Let’s go, player.”

Luke’s previously-dejected eyes seem to light up at this. “Thank you,” he gives the robot a smile—a smile that P03 has already decided looks dopey and really, really stupid—before he turns towards the aforementioned room.

“Oh yeah, and could you please just call me Luke?” He adds.

Beep. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

As the freshly-kindled embers of a flame begin to glow, Luke Carder leans in close. He peppers the base of the fire with thin, brittle twigs, then cups his hands around his mouth and blows.

P03 stands by at a distance, watching his player with curiosity. It was almost clever, how he’d managed to build a fire in the middle of a clearing with nothing but sticks and stones; the crafty man had arranged it so that the ivory-furred rabbit they had caught an hour prior (thanks to P03’s trap) would be bound to a branch and gradually rotated over the open flame. It was a simple teepee—this, the Scrybe knew—but something about seeing a human rather than a machine create something, bring something to life, it was so…

…No. These were redundant thoughts. Stupid thoughts. Surely robots were not programmed to have such stupid, stupid thoughts.

“Hey, P03,” here we go, “Why’d you have that trap on hand, anyways? It was super helpful.” Luke flashes the Scrybe one of his dopey signature smiles before returning to fuelling the fire with hot breath.

“Mmph. Remember that trapper boss Leshy made you fight? Yeah. I supplied him with those props at some point. Didn’t tell him they weren’t actually props– I was hoping he’d end up getting a hand caught in one,” P03 tells him flatly. This brings Luke to snicker, which in turn earns the Scrybe a funny feeling that he’d rather die before dwelling on.

“While we’re on a similar subject, how did you know how to make,” the robot gestures with his claw to the cooking setup, “this?”

“Oh! Well, I’m surprisingly kind of outdoorsy, there being a forest so close to my house and all. I found this video game in that forest, actually. Dug it up,” Luke recalls. “Hey, this rabbit meat smells pretty great, doesn’t it?”

P03 stares at him with a lack of amusement. “I’m sure it does.”

“Ah. Right... No nose.”

“That’s unimportant anyways; I’m often glad I don’t have one. Actually, back to the topic of Leshy..."

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“Yeah, and he’d make me play Dungeons & Dragons with him from five to nine on weekdays and five to twelve on weekends,” P03 shakes his head disapprovingly, a shiver of mirth hidden in his voice.

“Five AM or PM?” Luke’s grin only continues to grow.

“Didn’t matter,” the robot gives a digital smirk, “because whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, he’d get up and adjust the hands on his clock so I’d stay for even longer!”

Luke immediately bursts into a fit of dorky laughter, nearly choking on his rabbit meat as P03 stifles amused beeps. It was nearing sundown by now, and the two were huddled around the roaring campfire to exchange their thoughts on the other three Scrybes. Hilariously, the first time they’d ever really gotten along was through gossip.

“Grimora is really nice,” The card collector remarks through a mouthful of rabbit meat, which earns a subtle nod from P03. “She’s the only other tolerable Scrybe,” he agrees, “besides me.” The man chuckles at this. “Of course.”

Luke takes another bite of his meal. “Magnificus is kind of a douche,” he begins. “Oh, don’t get me started. Have you seen what he did to his pupils?” P03 rolls his eyes, “that walking tree has become so absorbed in his own genius that he’s completely lost his mind.”

“Were you two ever friends?” Luke tilts his head to one side, intrigued.

“Eh. I guess. The other Scrybes aren’t exactly fans of me, though.”

“I wonder why...”

“Screw you.”

“No, genuinely!” The man retorts defensively. “I don’t know why they dislike you. I actually think you’re pretty great.”

A warmth spreads across P03’s gears; he places a strategic blame on the campfire.

“Well, I think you suck,” the robot hisses.

The man furrows his brows, but stays silent and returns to his cooked rabbit.

Once Luke has finished off his meal, the two rise and make their way back to the Temple of Technology.

“That tasted way better than cards.”

“You were actually eating those?”

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“I still can’t believe you were married to Leshy,” Luke recalls aloud. The player and Scrybe head through the dense woods; dead leaves crunch beneath the man’s shoes as he walks, led by the light source that is the bright blue glow of P03’s levitating rings.

“We all make misplays sometimes,” the robot replies dryly, “that one was my last.”

“Hm. This might be rude to ask, but… would that make you gay?”

A beat.

“...What?”

Luke immediately jumps to cover himself. “Sorry, I’m not saying that in a bad way– just curious! You don’t have to tell me, but considering how Leshy’s a guy and all–”

“Luke, I’m literally a robot.”

“...Ah…? Can robots not be gay….?”

P03 gives the man a look of sheer astonishment.

“We aren’t talking about this.”

“No, wait,” Luke waves his hands frantically, “I was only asking because I’m gay, and hearing you talk about being with Leshy made me think—”

“Eugh. Not interested,” P03 interjects.

“Not like that!” The man stops in his tracks. “I just… I guess it made me feel kind of normal? I’m probably oversharing right now, but I was never really accepted by my parents or friends because of being– well, you know, so…”

“God, and for a guy who calls himself lucky… listen, if the people I know were to treat me like scrap metal, I’d shut them all out for good. Then, once I succeeded in becoming better than them all, I’d stare down at the poor fools and laugh,” the Scrybe grumbles. “I don’t owe anyone my time, and neither should you.”

Luke ponders these words for a moment. He rolls the advice over in his head for a few seconds before P03 beckons him with a claw to keep walking.

“Thank you,” he tells the robot after a while, underbrush crackling beneath his muddy shoes. “That was actually really helpful.”

“You sound surprised,” P03 responds with a snide glance over his shoulder.

Carder sighs in defeat. “Just take the compliment…”

Chapter Text

“It’s twelve,” P03 mutters, “I need to charge. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

“You’re just mad that we’re tied!” Luke protests, rising from his seat. The player and Scrybe had been playing cards against each other for several consecutive hours now; midnight came by surprise, and the opponents were too caught up in their heated battle to pay any mind to the time.

“I am not,” the robot’s fans blow hot air. “Now get to bed already; you’re going to need rest to prepare for the absolute annihilation you’ll face by me in the morning.”

The man sighs and collects his deck into an orderly stack, setting the cards down on the desk. “Still no blankets?”

“You aren’t that lucky, Carder.”

“Worth a shot.”

Luke watches as P03 turns and floats into the room on his right. His curiosity quickly gets the better of him, leading the man to follow.

He treads lightly, cautiously observing as the Scrybe angles himself downwards and grasps a thick gray cable in his claw; the wire is hooked up to the wall and ends in two silver prongs, those of which P03 plugs into his back to recharge.

The robot then sets himself down to rest on the metal floor, tossing an irritated glance towards Luke, whom he’d apparently already known was standing there. “Quit gawking,” he jeers, “it makes you look like a creep.”

Luke jolts sharply and nods, gathering himself before walking past the resting Scrybe with a subtle wave of the hand (P03 only glares in return) and heading into the empty corridor in which he had slept the night prior.

…Only this time, there was a surprise left there to await his arrival.

A cream-coloured rabbit pelt is sprawled out on the floor. Luke stares down at it, perplexed, before bending at the knees and taking the fur into his hands. He examines the item, feeling it over in his palms; it was not only incredibly soft, but it also belonged to the rabbit he and P03 had hunted together earlier that day. The Scrybe must have ordered his workers to skin the hide for him while they were busy playing cards.

The player runs his digits through the well-groomed fur for a solid minute, and then presses it up against his cheek for even longer. In such a cold, hard factory, the touch of something so welcoming, so warm… it felt absolutely wonderful.

So lost in this feeling, for a moment he neglected how it was none other than P03 who provided him with this warmth.

Did P03 really give him a gift?

He immediately turns, footsteps clacking against steel as he makes his way back into the room housing P03. He had to thank him! The man stops only a foot before the Scrybe, crouching to eye-level and meeting face-to-face with none other than a blank screen — it seems that the android had already powered off for the night.

It’d probably be best not to wake him. Luke winces at the vision that immediately followed that thought. Yeah, no. But…

The man instead decides to take a moment to really study the Scrybe before him. P03’s body is angular and built of sharp shapes, an intriguing crank protruding from his side where a second arm would be. His upper torso makes the robot almost appear to have a bust — and a large one, at that. Luke sniggers at the idea, letting his eyes explore everything he can. This was a rare opportunity, after all; he had to take advantage of it.

The Scrybe’s lower half is connected to the base of his torso via thick metal bars, and the rings that would typically lift him off the ground are currently shut off. Luke’s eyes wander down towards the thin, creviced edges of some kind of hatch near the base of P03’s build, and without thinking, he raises two fingers to gently trace along the outline of this shape.

Tucking the precious rabbit pelt he still held into his back pocket, he begins focusing all of his attention on something a little more interesting.

P03 is the only other person he can really talk to in this game; the workers are always — well, hard at work, and anyone else would no doubt just be itching for a battle. The Scrybe of Technology is his closest bet at achieving any kind of companionship. Luke hated to admit it, but he’s always been rather lonely.

…And P03… he’s been pretty lonely too, hasn’t he?

Luke shakes his head and returns to his intrigue. At first, he only brings a shaky hand to rest on P03’s shoulder. But with a little more courage, he glides his palm down to the Scrybe’s claw, allowing his digits to thoroughly explore each dynamic ridge of steel. Knowing P03, he had likely gone untouched for decades. Maybe even longer.

He wraps his hand around the claw and squeezes it shut, watching curiously as it springs back open upon release. It's fascinating.

Carder’s eyes find their way up the robot’s chest, noting the slim rectangular fans hidden on the lower half of his torso; he imagines himself bringing a careful finger to press against the peak of the skinny line that runs dead-center down P03’s ‘bust’ (haha). He resists, of course, but can't rid himself of the idea of it: the idea of the soft pad of his digit tracing down the precious sliver.

He eyes the crank. He almost feels like it’s staring straight back at him, begging the question of what purpose it serves, which, to Luke, is nearly irresistible.

…Alas, he isn't that stupid. He leaves it alone; there would be another time for that. He'll just ask the Scrybe what it does sometime. Instead, he brings his attention back up to P03’s blank—

Luke Carder’s heart plummets.

P03 wasn’t off anymore. In fact, he was probably the furthest thing from it.

The Scrybe stares in a silent ellipsis.

“Um. I can explain.”

“Luke, what the actual #@%$?”

Chapter Text

Adorned in a stylish new pair of handcuffs, Luke sits and thinks about what he’s done.

Okay, so maybe he got carried away.

Maybe he studied P03 when he was charging and maybe he didn’t stop to consider the ethics of that. Maybe.

…Maaaaybe he was locked in a supply closet and chained to a pipe.

The man sighs. Okay, and Maybe the Lucky Carder had this coming.

He shifts his weight to his knees and sits on his feet, tugging forward against the pipe that held his hands behind his back. No use. The cuffs were made of thick metal, and the angular design pressed into his wrists in all sorts of uncomfortable ways.

Luke resigns, sitting back onto the heels of his shoes. One minute turns to five, five minutes turns to ten, and so on until there is light.

A dull line of light seeps into the closet before the entire door is violently swung open to reveal the unmistakable silhouette of P03 floating in the doorway.

“Ah, P03! It’s great to see you here, because I—”

“Can it, Carder.” The Scrybe swoops down to eye-level, enough hatred in his glare to fuel a weapon of mass destruction — or maybe something closer to ten of them.

“Listen, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

“I don’t care. It’s an eye for an eye in this game, Luke.”

“Um. Clever…”

P03 gives him a scowl that shoots daggers. (Haha…)

“I mean it,” the bot leans in, bringing his claw up to grip the man’s shoulder in a firm, harsh squeeze, “you stupid, squishy mortal.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s… fair…” The hold on his joint tightens, eliciting him to tense. That’ll leave a bruise…

The Scrybe says nothing, but carelessly releases Luke’s shoulder and brushes the tips of his claw against his arm. His digital face twists into a sneer, eyes darting around his player’s body for something he can use as leverage over the man. Revenge. The robot’s cameras analyze Carder’s thin figure, studying him from ugly mug to— um. Nevermind.

For whatever reason, the android’s fans begin to whir, cameras frozen in place on the player’s puzzled expression.

“You’re so— god. You’re so stupid,” P03 jabs with a defensive glower; his attempts at belittling him were admittedly rather pathetic, but he has to change the way Luke is— staring at him, it’s so—

“P03, is everything okay..?” Luke’s brows furrow in concern.

“Yes, yes, it’s fine! #@$%. Whatever. Get up.”

“I’m chained to the— your fans are really going, are you sure you’re alright?”

Without warning, the Scrybe suddenly raises his claw up to the side of his own head, and in clear frustration, brings it to hit against himself with a loud clang; a clang that makes Luke’s stomach turn.

P03 repeats this motion rapidly, the sound reverberating throughout the closet as he mutters curses at himself — he then rises from the floor, immediately bolting out from the supply closet and slamming the door shut behind him.

With a terrible pit left to sit in his gut, Luke was shrouded in darkness once again.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.

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P03 knew what this was.

He knew it since the feeling arose. He knew it since this factory housed two.

He knew it since that stupid smile creeped its stupid way into his stupid mechanical heart.

The robot was experiencing emotions he could no longer snuff out; they engulfed his mind in a loom of thick smoke, they thawed out his chest like the rabbit-roasting bonfire, and they gnawed at his cream-pelted thoughts.

P03 was in love.

And he loathed how this love made him feel like such a dolt.

Luke Carder was in no way special, but in some way, he was everything special. The man hadn’t even scrubbed his temple, and yet the place had never felt so clean.

The robot would deactivate before telling a soul, but throughout their previous card-playing sessions, he swore that he studied his opponent more than he did his deck. His jawline was gently defined. His eyes sparked at each winning play. He was simple, he was beautiful, he was alive.

But Luke was only made up of parts, as was he: heart, brain, lungs, et cetera; controls, sensors, effectors, et cetera. P03 hated to admit it, but he didn’t understand why he felt like this.

Comparing this situation to that of him and Leshy’s was futile: that was for benefits. This was for nothing.

But it doesn’t feel like nothing, an irritating voice cries in the back of his head, this is something! This is love! This is real!

It’s then that P03 realizes something. Something that he probably should have realized much, much sooner.

Luke Carder wasn’t just alive in the sense of being human. No, no — Luke Carder was real.

And P03 was not.

To Luke, Inscryption was nothing but a card game. To P03, Inscryption was everything he knew. And it hurt to think about, which was something he was not used to. He was always aware of this truth, but now that he yearns for something he knows will never take him, it stings more than it should.

He is my whole world.

This statement was completely literal; if his player were to only hold the game’s disk in his own palms, he would play God.

But his world is out there. Waiting.

P03 comes to terms with his utter powerlessness, his insignificance, the fear that had fueled his initial desire to launch the Great Transcendence, his aspiration to be seen.

And I will never be a part of it.

Chapter Text

“Up,” the robot hisses, “before I regret letting you go.”

Around an hour or two following the handcuffed-in-a-closet incident, Luke is freed.

The man shakes out both newly-unshackled wrists, running his fingers over the sore, tender skin. He breathes out a soft ‘thanks’ and straightens up to face P03, eyes meeting in a tense stare.

“Where’d you run off to earlier?” Luke narrows his eyes, refusing to beat around the bush; he wants answers, and he’s not backing down until he gets them.

“It’s none of your business, Carder,” the Scrybe snaps. “A more appropriate question would be: why the hell were you touching my chest?”

The player purses his lips.

“That better not have been some weird sex thing,” P03 frowns.

“It was not!”

“Then what was it? You aren’t stupid, Luke. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to give me a straight answer.”

He goes silent once again.

“…Or is there?” The bot quirks a brow.

“No! No, it’s just…” Luke groans and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes fixed on his shoes in shame. “I was just curious.”

“That all?” P03 is unconvinced.

“Yes, that’s all! I was curious because, well, I’m human, and you’re a robot, so…”

“Hm. Was there something you were looking for?”

“Not really. Well, maybe? I dunno,” the man hangs a hand on the nape of his neck.

“Aha. So it was a sex thing.”

The player’s face heats up. “I told you—”

“I’m kidding,” P03 glares, “but if what you’re saying is really true — and it really isn’t a weird sex thing — then with my given permission, you’re allowed to come and find it.”

And with that, the Scrybe exits the closet, allowing Luke to turn the words over in his mind like the bot affixed a crank to his brain.

…Was that a flirt??

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Positioned behind his signature desk and flipping through cards with no aim, P03 is as tense as a bot can be.

Luke would either accept his previous offer or chicken out, and the android was definitely, totally, not at all begging for the former. In fact, he was not thinking about it so hard, that he had just arranged the perfect deck to beat his player with once he emerged from that damned closet. He turns over the stack he had just caringly crafted over an hour ago — has Luke really been in there for an hour already? — and feasts his eyes upon the death-bringing cards.

L33PBOT. L33PBOT. SENTRY DRONE. L33PBOT. EXPLODE BOT. ENERGY BOT.

…Okay, P03 sighs, it’s just a defensive strat, that’s all. He flips over another card.

L33PBOT.

In an act of pure frustration, the Scrybe sweeps his claw over the table, sending all of the useless cards a-flutter.

That’s enough of that.

That’s when suddenly, out of nowhere, his sensors seem to catch something. The soft sound of footsteps against the factory floor would normally go unheard by any regular organic lifeform, but by P03? The noises had sprung a tripwire in his mind and slammed straight into his communicators. There’s someone there, the robot muses, and that someone reeks of misfortune. It was Luke, of course, treading across steel like his shoes were of feathers — for being so clever, it was nearly a surprise that he could be so stupid. Nearly.

P03 stays in place and waits. The steps creep out of the back closet, down a corridor, and halt at the wall by the doorframe that marks the main room, in which the Scrybe within almost finds himself needing to contain his beeps of mirth.

Oh, Luke, the bot shakes his head, you really are amusing.

The Scrybe can hear his player’s breaths past said doorframe; shallow, nervous, tense, pathetic. Luke was trying so hard to go unseen. It made P03 wonder why.

As Luke stays idle in his useless hiding spot, the android can’t help but think. It was hilarious, frankly, that the player believed he wouldn’t be seen in such a place, especially with cameras dotted everywhere. Even if P03 had begrudgingly agreed to tape over said devices for his guest’s privacy, or whatever, the man would never be truly apart from him so long as he remained in the Temple of Technology.

This Temple was a body, a vessel, it was as much of P03 as P03 was of it; dare he’d call it an extension of himself, littered with eyes and ears and those things people called life. If I really am fake, after all, then would it be so hard to create more fake life and declare it as alive? Unless I am dead. Without the Great Transcendance, his one chance at a connection to the real world—Luke’s world—he was nothing, and would remain as nothing. He pauses.

Maybe I am dead.

P03 pulls a face. There are more important things to think about. He traces his thoughts back to his previous muses of he and his Temple being one, and remembers exactly why he’s floating completely still behind his desk like a sitting Sentry Drone. As he re-registers the stifled breaths of Luke Carder that only continued to plague his sensors, the Scrybe figures that making the first move would simply be the less-strategic thing to do. Only a few minutes had passed, after all; his player would soon grow tired of waiting.

The bot loses himself in his mind once again to silently pass the time — it wasn’t like he could sort cards as he would usually do to aid stress, as his deck was already hopeless. He instead reminds himself of the other things his temple has picked up on before; the sounds, the sights.

He’s seen it before. You know. It.

He’s heard it in the shadowy corner of the back of his factory, felt it in the sweaty palms claiming grip on his pipes, seen Luke curled in on himself in the dead of the first night. Well, it was a good way to keep himself warm, P03 acknowledges, and it was a way that he could cope — a familiar feeling.

And yet, despite this completely logical reasoning, P03 couldn’t rip the stubborn thought from the forefront of his systems. The thought that maybe, just maybe… Luke had been thinking about him.

It was stupid and made no sense whatsoever to assume this, but the android still maintained this strange sense of… what was it… hope? It was appalling. It is appalling. It’s appalling how emotions only set you up to let you down.

Step. Step. Step.

P03 makes himself appear busy, swiping a clawful of cards up to examine.

The man appears, pink-faced and jittery.

“P03, do you mind if I take you up on that offer?”

Chapter Text

“Okay, now how exactly do you want to do this, Carder?”

P03 is seated atop his desk, base loosely framed by carefully-repositioned stacks of cards that Luke had slid towards the table’s edges in order to make room for the robot’s bulky figure. ‘That’s a disaster just waiting to happen’, the Scrybe had warned him before, but Luke’s previous search for a place to relocate the decks turned up fruitless, which meant that the cards and the bot shared a space.

“Um, well, I kind of just wanted to feel things out,” the man admits, a weak smile edging its way up his lips. “You’re the only shot I really have at getting to know anything that’s alive in this place, so…”

“Alive?”

“Hm?”

P03’s mind races, the features on his screen beginning to twitch. He thinks I’m alive. It was like Luke had just installed fresh, new batteries into his circuits. He thinks I’m real.

“I’m alive?” The stupid words squeeze their way from his speakers before he can even process what they mean.

“What? Of course you are. I mean, you’re a robot, if that’s what you mean, but,” Luke begins.

“No, no, Carder. You believe I’m more than just part of a game? More than just a clever story-progressing mechanic? More than a mere function?”

The two share a silent beat as glimmering eyes meet digital. P03 can see his own astonished face reflected in the shiny dark browns and blacks of natural curiosity; if he zooms in, he can spot the subtle wrinkles in their pigment and sparked freckles in their stare, the simple facts of a human being. P03 studies these simple shapes and dots and lines until they’re no longer simple at all.

You are a fragile thing, Luke Carder, you are a simple fragile thing; but you are not. No, you are more. And I cannot understand it.

You are only factual. You are only the things I know. But you perplex me, because you are not just simple shapes nor dots nor lines. You are Luke Carder, and…

“Well, you seem pretty real to me, P03.”

“I love–”

“Hey, what does this crank do, by the way?” Luke interrupts. “I’ve always wondered, but I didn’t want to be rude.”

P03’s stare goes blank.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to cut you off,” the man gives him a sheepish apology. “What were you just saying?”

“Luke Carder, you are a complete and utter buffoon.”

“...Huh?”

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Luke’s palms fumble, awkward hands stumbling their way onto P03’s hips.

“Let go of that.” And Luke would listen.

“You can touch.” And Luke would seize.

“Quit gawking.” And Luke would tear his eyes away, a starving dog ordered to ‘leave it’ with drool pooling at his paws.

The man was pathetic; he gazed upon the body of P03 and he said it was beautiful. In his day and night dreams, in his sunset before-darks, in the groggy silence of the factory where the only thing to see was soft sound, the shameful player drank his Scrybe in with photo-detail and knew that he was, without a doubt, beautiful.

Pale skin skims over smooth metal, curling digits around the solid beams that support the robot’s core and earning a weakly-suppressed shudder.

This catches the player’s attention. “Are you new to this?” Luke asks; he immediately goes to cuss himself out in his mind over the forwardness until his thoughts are interjected by a movement.

P03 tenses.

“No, Carder. It’s just… been a while.”

The Scrybe’s reply is rabbit-soft, a murmur that would have gone unheard if not for Luke expecting an answer. This was uncharacteristic from the android, and being that, it only served to cause Luke concern.

“I’m sorry,” gingerly, the man’s fingers unwrap themselves from the sturdy steel bars, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Luke speaks quietly and sweetly as if in the face of a frightened baby deer. His pillow-gaze is sympathetic; that is, until he’s thrown completely off-track by the pinch of his wrist being snatched mid-retreat.

P03’s claw reflexively shackles itself around the bony joint, bot staring in a silent plea.

You don’t have to go, the Scrybe emits wordlessly.

You can stay here. We can stay here.

The robot pulls him back in. With only his face, P03 tells him exactly what he wants. With only a look, P03 shows him everything.

And Luke would agree.

Chapter Text

One hour had passed, and despite still feeling warm and happy from his previous encounter, Luke was hungry enough to eat an Urayuli.

“I don’t have any traps left, Carder,” P03 tells him with a huff from his fans, “you left the last one at the fire, remember? Pretty unlucky of you.”

The cards once scattered on the Scrybe’s desk were now neatly arranged in meticulous lines, and P03 was back in his usual spot; not on the table. The thought of him up there nearly makes Luke grit his teeth, as if fighting something off. He digs his nails into his palms in a frustrated fist, honing back in on his previous dilemma.

No more traps, the man blankly studies his shoes, no more traps here, at least. That’s when he realizes.

“Wait, why don’t we just ask—”

“No,” P03 immediately interrupts with a sharp scowl. “I’m not visiting him.” The word is spat like straight vinegar, the bot’s digital face scrunched up in disgust. It was a drastic change from his previous demeanor, and it surprised the man. Why was he being so defensive?

“P03, I’m going to starve here if we don’t,” Luke protests, “please, I just need to—”

“No. That’s enough,” the robot hisses with his claw a-clicking, “we aren’t going. Start eating your deck again, and you’ll survive just fine. No big deal.”

‘No big deal?’ Where was this coming from? The challenger tightens his fists, but for a very different reason than before; Luke bites down on the inside of his cheek so recklessly it draws unseen blood. For just a moment, things seemed to be so perfect here. His brows knit and thin crescents jab into the clammy skin of his palms. He’s tired, he’s hungry, he’s upset. The sharp tang of pennies seeps into his taste buds.

And it’s then he realizes that maybe P03 just can’t understand that.

Maybe he doesn’t feel things like Luke does.

Maybe P03 was right about himself.

“Your face is red, Carder.”

“Do you even care about me?”

P03 looks taken aback. His expression goes unreadable for a moment as if attempting to recollect himself, fans going nearly radio-silent in an effort to appear calm. Then, with a twitchier eye than typical and a tiny bit of hesitance, he answers.

“No,” the robot says this softly, eerily, coldly. “You’re only my opponent, player. That’s all there is to it.”

Luke’s heart drops. “Then what did earlier mean?” His voice is desperate to unbury the fondness for him that P03 had only an hour ago.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Coolly, robotically.

The man tenses his jaw. “What about the rabbit pelt?”

P03’s eye twitches more frantically, and if he had a tongue, he’d be biting it. “You had asked for a blanket earlier, and it would have been foolish to waste the rabbit's resources,” he says, voice strained, “I was only doing what was most intelligent.”

“Then why did you let me stay here if you don’t even like me?”

“I don’t— ugh,” the robot huffs, “well, you were meant to clean my factory.”

If P03 said anything after that, it went unheard. Luke was done here.

Hot tears pinprick the edges of the man’s eyes and burn like stinging nettles, and only a step away, his foot finds purchase on the ground.

P03’s eyes dart from the floor to his face. “Luke, don’t you dare,” he warns. “You’ll die out there alone.” It almost sounded like he was begging. He was desperate.

“He isn’t going to help you,” the robot protests.

“Well, are you?”

Ellipsis.

And with that visual in mind, Luke turns.

And he runs.

.
.
.

Leshy has been alone for a very long time now.

In this loneliness, the Scrybe of Beasts has started and ended approximately forty-three campaigns against himself, all of which he has simultaneously won and lost. He lives and breathes Inscryption; his humble cabin homes both birth and death, consumption and famine, sacrifice and reward.

Leshy sits at his oaken table for hours at a time trading places with his imaginary challenger and attempting to tend to his ail — his damnation — of an excruciating solitude.

He had a player. Had. An interesting man by the name of Luke Carder had shown up at his cabin a few weeks ago; he moved on once the Scrybe had been beaten, unknowingly setting the utter disaster that would be the Great Transcendance into motion. P03 seems to have backed off from the idea for now, but only Gods know what he could be planning next.

P03… P03 was difficult to handle, to say the least.

Leshy and the bot had a bit of a history.

The beast man sighs. He would have hosted a private lamenting session right then and there if only his sorrows weren’t rudely interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

That’s odd, he silently remarks, he didn’t think the Angler would be back so soon.

Wooden legs groan against the floorboards as Leshy rises from his seat, heading towards the source of the knocking—not before recompiling the scattered cards on his desk into something a little more presentable, of course—and then raising a calloused hand to the silver handle.

Creeeeaaaaak.

“I didn’t expect you to already be—”

Leshy cuts himself off at the sight of the individual standing in his doorway.

“…Luke?” His brows furrow as he studies the pale-faced man, clearly shaken and chilled from the forest wind. He decides that now is not the time for questions.

“Please, come in. I have missed your company.”

Luke shudders, the only thing shielding him from the cold being the thin fabric of his clothes and the cream pelt of what Leshy could only assume was a rabbit wrapped around his bare, goosebump-ridden arms. The Scrybe’s former challenger dips his head in thanks, kicks the filth from his shoes, and steps into the familiar embrace that is the Deathcard Cabin.

“Would you like some sustenance, perhaps?” The beast man inquires, locking the cabin door shut behind his guest. Luke only nods once again; this silence worries the Scrybe greatly.

“Take a seat, Luke. I will provide you with everything you need by only one condition.”

The man turns to meet Leshy in the eyes.

“You will participate in one of my campaigns. For old time’s sake?”

Luke’s lips perk up at the edges. The Scrybe knew that the challenger would always be up for a good game of cards.

“Then, it’s settled. Thank you, challenger.”

Leshy pauses.

“No. Thank you, friend.”

Chapter Text

Leshy’s famous meat cake did not disappoint.

The beast man had allegedly worked tirelessly at perfecting said cake; “I made the recipe myself,” meant that Luke simply couldn’t turn it down. The sour bites of raw flesh squelched their way down the man’s throat in slimy, putrid chunks. It burned as he swallowed and suppressed vile gags. Some of the fattier pieces of the cake were riddled with spindly tufts of animal fur. Delicious, the player repeated in his mind over and over again as he ate. This is an absolute delicacy. He was going to be sick. But at least it was food, and this was more than P03 ever wanted to give him.

Leshy bores his wet eyes into Luke expectantly. “How does it taste?”

“Heavenly,” the challenger croaks. Yes, this cake is currently sending me straight to Heaven.

“Ah. Your first word to me in so long,” the shaggy man smiles — an expression that wouldn’t have been so subtle if it weren’t for his bush-of-a-beard — and finds his signature seat across from his opponent. “Now… how have you been faring, Luke?”

“It’s been complicated,” the man laughs under his breath.

“As is always,” Leshy rumbles, “tell me, where have you been staying?”

“With P03. He, uh, took me in. Begrudgingly, I think.”

“And you left because..?”

“He wouldn’t help me find anything to eat.”

“Always stubborn, that android. But he took you in, hm? That certainly says something,” the Scrybe muses.

“It does?”

“Indeed. I know him quite well,” Leshy pauses, “or, well, I knew.”

“Yeah, P03 told me. You two… you were?”

The cabin goes quiet. Leshy nods; it’s a solemn, almost sad nod. A nod of acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” Luke blurts, words beginning to stumble past his lips, “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I can leave now, if you want, I was just looking for some advice, but you don’t have to—”

“I do not mind. It has been a long time since I last let myself dwell on it. And I’d advise you not to leave,” the Scrybe chuckles and clears the half-eaten meat cake from the table; he then pulls a deck from the shelf beside him and separates it into two thin piles, before shuffling them back together again.

“After all, we have a game to play.”

.
.
.

There are two bears on the table, and they are both glaring at Luke.

My topdeck is shit. The man retains his poker face, scanning over his two cards again for any potential.

Squirrel, Warren, and…

He draws a card.

Leshy and the bears stare Luke down.

“I forfeit,” the challenger sighs. “You win. Good game.”

“Really? Without a fight?” The Scrybe sounds disappointed. “What did you draw?”

Luke suppresses a groan — It’s embarrassing. He plucks the card from his hand and slides it across the desk face-down.

“Ah,” Leshy flips the card. “I see. The Stoat.”

The player nods, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

“Has he been troubling you, Luke?”

“Maybe a little.”

“We have all the time in the world, my friend. If you tell me, I will listen,” the Scrybe begins gathering Luke’s cards from the desk.

The man hesitates. Do I really want to tell him?

He sighs. “I think… I think I like P03.”

“Astonishing.”

“No, I mean— like-like. I like-like P03.”

“You’ve fallen in love?” Leshy gasps softly.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that strongly,” the player laughs with a nervous tremor in his voice.

“Why? Is the commitment of that word too much to bear? You love him, don’t you, Luke?” The Scrybe quirks a brow, leaning forward in his seat with a wooden creak.

“Um,” Luke squeaks, “are you taking this well?”

“Very well, yes. I do not mind. I do wish you luck, however; that android is no easy catch.”

“Thank you,” the man’s voice is just above a whisper, “I just hope everything turns out alright.”

“As do I. Though, I’m not sure if you’ll even need my good fortune after all…”

“Ah? Why is that?”

“You are the Lucky Carder, are you not?”

Chapter Text

“Stupid Luke, running away from my stupid factory to go find better shelter with that stupid goat,” P03 grunts, “then making me trek aallll the way there on my stupid work day, just because he’s forced me to feel all of his stupid human feelings.”

The rain had cleared up since morning, and all that remained of it now was fat droplets that clung to the fingers of the pine trees surrounding this miserable robot. He considers himself fortunate to be levitating above the nauseating floor of mush below him. Every minute or so, however, an obnoxious tear of yesterday’s sticky-wet aftermath divebombs his boxy head from above, sending a quiet thrum reverberating against his metal as it bursts on the surface like a miniature bomb.

“This is absolutely revolting,” the bot scowls, tilting the slimy droplets back and off the flat top of his monitor. This results in the water dripping down the back of his neck, earning a jolt and a sharp obscenity of “@#$%&!”s to erupt from his tongue of filth. He then shakes himself off and grits his way through the forest to Leshy’s place, marching to the continuous muttering beat of muttered “gross, nasty, foul”s.

There was no better place to be stuck with your thoughts than alone in the forest, and there was every place P03 would rather be than getting subjected to that here. Will Luke forgive you? Shut behind iron gates. Has he found a better home? Locked in a crypt. Does he love you? Do you deserve it? Buried six — no, six hundred — feet under. He would not lose his senses again. Not after he had just gotten them back.

Although, then again, he is chasing Luke through mucky woods to retrieve him, isn’t he? I’m already too far gone for this idiot to save myself now. Why does everything I want have to take so much work to get? Like the Great Transcendance…

He had forgotten all about that. Why did he want that again?

…Right, right. To be seen. Heard. Desired. P03 wanted to be published to the world, a thing to behold. That’s what he wanted.

The Scrybe turns this idea over in his head for a minute. Why wasn’t he passionate about this anymore? What had happened to him?? It was almost as if his coveting of being perceived had been resolved. Maybe Luke had been distracting him from his work. Stupid Luke, he laments defeatedly. You’ve won already, haven’t you?

P03 does not want to think about this anymore. He lets the minutes pass, brain turning to static.

Until finally, after a tiresome and mentally-exhausting fifteen-minute adventure through the Wet&Wild Hell that was the woods, the Deathcard Cabin is at last in P03’s sights. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? The Scrybe makes sure to drown any thought to arise following that last one.

Let’s just get this over with, he sighs, trudging towards the front entrance. He was drained on a full battery, feeling as though he had lost one too many wars in a lifetime, an eternal veteran to his own psyche. Luke Carder, the things I do for you. His claw raps hard on the oaken door.

There’s a bit of shuffling from within the cabin before clunky footsteps approach the opposing side of the door. Leshy, P03 muses. He hates himself for being able to recognize the way the musty Scrybe walks. The handle is turned and there’s a prolonged creak as more and more of the robot’s old second-home is revealed, the angle of natural sun on the plank floor stretching to an obtuse. The light unveils Leshy’s worn face, a mess of twigs and leaves caught like flies in his web of a scraggly beard. His eyes meet P03’s.

“I don’t assume you’ve come to be visiting me.”

“Negative. Where is my challenger?”

Leshy’s eyes crinkle at the edges, an unseen smile crossing his lips. “Your challenger?”

P03’s stare goes blank for a moment. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” He retorts in a grainy hiss.

“Ah. My apologies, old friend. I only found it to be amusing.”

What kind of game is he trying to play here??

“Listen, goat man,” P03 snaps, “I am not your friend, and I don’t know what you’re getting at here but I certainly won’t be partaking in it. Tell me where Luke is, now.”

Leshy only smiles once more. “He is fast asleep. You were not very kind to let him rest on cold factory floors.”

“He’s lucky I even let him in at all!” the robot yells back.

“We both know that is untrue, P03.”

“Is not! I pulled him into this place because I didn’t want GameFuna destroying our sorry asses, and he was just a big, stinking, walking orange target! And speaking of stinking,” The Scrybe of Technology begins.

“I’m afraid you lack a nose,” the goat man interrupts, “but if I’m to believe this is all true, then why is it that you allowed him to stay with you for all this time?”

P03’s eye is twitching, screen messy with bits of static. “I’ve said this a million times before, and this is the last time I will say it again: I TOLD HIM HE WAS MEANT TO CLEAN!”

If there was ever a string that connected their gazes, it has become a trip-wire.

“Then I am sorry to say, my fellow Scrybe,” Leshy utters coldly, “but I cannot let you in.” His eyes are wider than usual, pupils completely fixed to the bot’s. He stands tall and unwavering, a boulder before the tomb that lay Luke Carder.

He leaves P03 to his solitude, shutting the door so the android doesn’t have to.

P03 is alone.

Coiled deep within him is the weight of knowing he is lying to himself.

The Scrybe of Technology didn’t know what he wanted anymore; he could barely tell what he was thinking, and this would be an unsettling feeling for any perfect machine. If P03 could no longer calculate the winning move, what was he meant to do? What could he rely on?

Something tells him that Luke would reply with some wishy-washy bullshit like “follow your heart”, but Luke would never understand that a heart is the last thing P03 wants to have. The android wonders how many people have followed their hearts off bridges, into the sea, to their deaths. Is that supposed to be worth it?

Maybe life meant something different to the robot than it did to Luke. It was strange, he thought, how a human being could have such limited time, and still be so keen on throwing it away for their “dreams”. P03 was — was… — in order. He was composed and efficient, the engineer of invention. He was perfect. How could anyone not want that?

Humans are messy and tick like bombs. They live. They do. They die. Does P03 experience a certain lack of urgency that fails to push him to his full potential, instead slaving away at the same activity almost obsessively?

Ugh. Too much. The Great Transcendance was supposed to be a break from that, anyways; he was going to be free, forever embedded in the ever-stretching vastness of the internet! Sure, he knew its patterns, he had studied its algorithm, but it was truly unpredictable! It was everything he wanted and more!

P03 returns to the realization that he has lost all ambition for the project, and in his mind, several lines of code programmed into a meaningless metal body all fade away into the obsolete. There would be no other way to succeed, but then why does it feel like he no longer needs to? That there is no point in transcending after all? He must be known, a point of interest, of adoration…

And then, something in him knows he has what he wants. It’s just out of his reach, but Motherboard Almighty, it has always been there. Within him, it finally clicks.

I only wanted someone to listen to me. I only wanted to be. That’s all the Great Transcendance really was, wasn’t it?

P03 lets out a laugh — a staticky, weary, beeping laugh — and lets the gears start whirring again.

I wanted so damn badly to have anybody see me.

His eyes fix on the cabin door once again, picturing the sleeping figure of his player curled up behind it, hidden away from his reach.

But he did. Luke. Luke saw me. Luke saw me!

He fights to scream those words aloud. So badly he wants to take Luke for his own, to drag him far away from this cursed place that fries his circuits beyond belief and make the two of them a home that is theirs. Fuck the Great Trancendance. Fuck his workers. And Fuck Inscryption. P03 feels energy surging through his mind; the euphoria of a revelation.

He saw me! He heard me! The robot would be crying if he could, relief rolling over him in waves that crashed down against rocks. He felt exceedingly warm, as if it was a thought he could barely handle. In his mind, he is begging that he will be taken back. A part of him wants Luke to be the only one to see him now.

He can feel the memory of Luke’s dexterous fingers tracing the lines on his steel. The man’s eyes, wide and excited, have watched P03 tremor beneath their curious sunlight shower, and they have softened all the more.

This man. This stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid man. P03 knows it now. This is what he needs. He loved him before, but it had never registered that indulgence is not weakness. Loving Luke feels good; the thought of being loved by Luke feels good. He doesn’t care anymore if robots were never meant to dream. A lot of good things were never meant to happen.

He can see it now. He knows this is illogical but he feels this is right, and something whirring within him is reeling him closer and closer to this sensation. The love P03 had drowned is resurfacing, gasping for air that smells like Luke, a stifled force pushed down for so long that once let go, it has soared upon release.

Please, the Scrybe mouths desperately, please.

Please, Luke. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I need this. I love you.

And this time, a little more gently, he knocks upon the cabin’s door again.

“Luke?” P03 calls.

Shuffling. Footsteps. Creeeaaak.

Face-to-face, Luke and P03 stand on opposite sides of the doorway, on opposite sides of the universe, on opposite sides of each other’s minds.

The only thing between them is a cream-coloured pelt nestled tightly in Luke’s arms. There are no more walls to shield them now.

“I—” P03 begins.

“I love you, too.” Luke completes.