Chapter Text
The buzzing of his tablet woke him out of deep, dreamless slumber.
47 pulled himself up, powering on his camera and fumbling in his gear for the tablet. The screen read 3:56 AM, and the incoming call was from his supervisor, yorC. yorC was alright, as TV men went, but calling at 3:56 am definitely knocked him down a few rungs on 47’s tolerable-people list.
47 didn’t answer the call. He propped the tablet against the wall, rested its base on his standard-issue cot, and snuggled back under his blanket, laying his camera once more on his soot-smudged pillow. He covered his lens with the blanket so he wouldn’t have to see yorC’s stupid name on the tablet screen.
He did, however, tap the ‘speaker’ button, so yorC’s stupid backwards voice came through loud and clear on 47’s voicemail.
“.74 .ekawa er'uoy wonk I .rewsna na rof on ekat t'now eh dna ,uoy rof gniksa si namVT natiT .3 pohs ot troper dna pu teG .setunim neetfif evah uoY”
It was a mark of how tired 47 was that it took him a few moments to translate. He worked with the TV men so much, he was near fluent in their backwards speech by now.
(47. I know you're awake. Get up and report to Shop 3. Titan Tv Man is asking for you, and he won't take no for an answer. You have fifteen minutes.)
47 burrowed deeper under the blankets with a sigh. If it were anyone but a titan asking, he’d tell them to wait until normal work hours, but members of the Titan Evaluation And Repair Team didn’t get to say no when their charges needed help.
His tablet rang again, yorC calling a second time.
74 ripped off the blankets and answered it. “I’m coming,” he said. “Let me put my boots on.”
“dooG,” said yorC. “.seilppus ruoy gnirB”
As if 47 could possibly show up without it.
He slipped out of bed, stretched until his gears creaked, then buckled on his chest rig, tool belt, boots, and climbing harness. Last but not least, he tied his red silk bandana around his neck. At least he’d remembered to wash it recently; it wasn’t too filthy to be of service.
Shouldering his bundle of brushes, brooms and chisels, he slipped out of the dormitory and made his way down the hall.
He entered Shop 3 without knocking, using his personalized key card to unlock the door and making sure it closed securely behind him. He took a few seconds to look around before the Tv scientists noticed him.
There they were, gathered on the multi-layer catwalks, surrounding the massive, static-screened figure that was Titan Tv Man. The scientists were agitated, arguing with each other and with the titan, their backwards voices echoing off the metallic shop walls and rendering their words utterly incomprehensible. Or rather, they argued at TTM, it was pretty clear the massive fellow was giving them the silent treatment.
47 strode towards the group, walking quietly to avoid being noticed. Shop 3 was a massive space - bigger than an airport terminal or parking garage, arrayed with complex scientific instruments and layers upon layers of screens hanging from the walls. The majority of the central space was empty but for the titan and the scaffolding surrounding him. At the moment, Titan Tv Man was sitting down, leaning back against one of the walls, meaning that the catwalks of the scientists penned him in like bars of a cage.
Not a good sign, 47 thought to himself grimly.
47 had worked on all three titans in the past. He quite liked Titan Camera Man, being a cameraman himself, and was proud to be allowed to help him in any way possible. TCM was quiet - always holding very still as 47 swept him out or soldered closed any injuries. He offered no sign of pain, or sensation at all really, aside from the occasional shudder. He never failed to say thank you after a cleaning, those two words in his deep voice the highest form of praise that 47 could ask for. Titan Speaker Man was also enjoyable to work with; the energetic giant had a habit of humming, or rather, playing his favorite song softly on his speakers so that it vibrated through his cavernous metal body. Once or twice 47 had even sung along a little bit, but he had to be careful doing that, because if TSM got too excited he’d start dancing, and that made it difficult to stay standing, let alone get any cleaning done. TSM did his best never to complain either, but occasional noises of discomfort slipped out now and then whenever 47 had to work on a more grievous injury or scrape residue off his internal walls. 47 appreciated that, honestly; a little communication about where to be more careful was reassuring, and helped him be better at his job, gentler in his repairs.
As for Titan Tv Man…
“.PU TUHS .UOY FO YNA OT GNINETSIL TON MA I .HGUONE EB LLIW EH YAS I DNA ,SEIRUJNI NWO YM EGDUJ NAC I”
47 reached up and flipped on his built-in translator. If a bunch of TV men and their titan were going to be talking to him at once, he would need all the help he could get. One on one he had grown able to manage, but he could already tell that the pace and tone of the conversation was not going to be calm enough to allow him time to process.
“!uoy nepo ot su gniwolla eb neve ton dluow uoy ,suoires ton saw ti fI”
(If it was not serious, you would not even be allowing us to open you!)
One of the scientists in a white coat, an irritated frown on his staticy face, talking down to TTM from a higher-level catwalk.
“.YDOB NWO YM WONK I .SUOIRES TON SI DNA SUOIRES SI TAHW WONK I .ELBATROFMOCNU EB OT HSIW TON OD TSUJ I ,REGNAD ON NI MA I”
(I KNOW MY OWN BODY. I KNOW WHAT IS SERIOUS AND IS NOT SERIOUS. I AM IN NO DANGER, I JUST DO NOT WISH TO BE UNCOMFORTABLE.)
“?krow eht od ot 21 wolla ylpmis ton uoy did yhw nehT .ereh ydaerla si eH”
(Then why did you not simply allow 12 to do the work? He is already here.)
47 looked around and saw 12, a fellow cameraman and member of T.E.A.R.T, moodily packing up his things on the lowest catwalk.
“.HGUOR OOT SI 21 .DLEIFELTTAB EHT NO DEBBATS GNIEB ETARELOT NAC I .ESAB GNI%#@F NWO YM NI GNILDNAH LLI HTIW PU TUP OT EVAH TON OD I”
(12 IS TOO ROUGH. I CAN TOLERATE BEING STABBED ON THE BATTLEFIELD. I DO NOT HAVE TO PUT UP WITH ILL HANDLING IN MY OWN F@#%ING BASE.)
47 carefully kept his gaze away from 12 as the cameraman brushed by him on the way to the door. He would never tell his fellow team member to his face, but this was not the first time he had heard a titan complain about 12’s methods. 47 had also seen, first hand, the scratches in the metal panels that comprised the titans’ insides, left from over-vigorous use of the chisel. True, it might not all have been from 12, but it wasn’t a hard connection to make.
So as much as he hated being woken up in the night, and as much as TTM was by far the most stubborn and difficult titan to work with, 47 understood his anger, and couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride that he himself was at least good enough at his job to be an acceptable choice when a titan wasn’t feeling their best.
TTM was the first to spot him, as the rest of his scientist squad was too focused on the argument. He barked “!PU TUHS” which needed no translation, and when the scientists fell quiet, he shifted his massive legs, tapping the concrete floor in front of him, illuminated by the glow of his great, white face.
“.EREH EMOC”
47 bent his camera-head and did as he was told, hoisting his tools more firmly onto his shoulder, trudging past the catwalks full of staring scientists, and standing before the titan who was so massive that 47 couldn’t even see over his strap-wrapped thighs. It was like reporting to a living sky-scraper.
He looked up as high as he could and snapped a salute that was respectful, if a bit weary. “47 reporting for duty, sir.”
“.HGUONE GNOL UOY KOOT”
(TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.)
The titan bent over him, debris clattering down off his clothes and shoulders with the movement. He reached forward with one massive hand as if to scoop 47 right off the ground, but one of the Tv scientists called out “!TIAW” disappearing off the catwalk in a cloud of smoke and reappearing at 47’s side.
He pulled 47 a few steps away from the titan (as if it mattered, that great face turned to watch them), and spoke low and fast.
“.trid fo tib a naht erom gnihtemos ,gnorw si gnihtemoS .smetsys sih ot tcennoc ro mih hcuot su tel ton lliw eh dna ,ffo era sgnidaer ygrene siH .dnif uoy gnihtyna su ot troper ot era uoy dna ,ereht ni tuo eye prahs a peek ot era uoY .edargyap ruoy evoba GNIHTYNA htiw ssem ,SECNATSMUCRIC YNA rednu ,TON oD ?raelc flesym ekam I oD”
(Something is wrong, something more than a bit of dirt. His energy readings are off, and he will not let us touch him or connect to his systems. You are to keep a sharp eye out in there, and you are to report to us anything you find. Do NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, mess with ANYTHING above your paygrade. Do I make myself clear?)
47 didn’t like that. Not only was he uncomfortable with the idea of there being some kind of secret problem he was expected to find, he didn’t like that he was being put in the middle of whatever argument the Tv scientists and the Titan were having.
All he said, though, was “Understood.”
“.dooG.”
The scientist put a hand on his shoulder and teleported him up to the catwalk, among the other scientists, as if demonstrating to the titan whose side 47 was on.
“.neht no oG”
He patted 47’s shoulder, hesitated, then wiped his hand on his white coat, leaving a dark smear of dust.
47 turned away from him and strode down the catwalk. Usually, when a member of T.E.A.R.T. had to perform maintenance, their titanic charges would open a special chest hatch on the left lower side and stand close to the end of the scaffolding so that the worker could enter.
Titan Tv Man had settled back against the wall instead, his posture slouched, his chest hatch closed. He was silent, the hum of his blazing purple core filling the air between himself and the team of scientists.
47 could almost feel that temper, even from this far away. He made a shooing motion at the labcoats, requesting that they step further back.
And, to his slight surprise, they did as they were told, leaving him to face the titan alone.
He turned back to TTM, now able to look him directly in the screen, and gave a thumbs up.
TTVM did not respond, but a -_- appeared on his glowing face.
Not an ideal start, but 47 wasn’t finished. He knew TTM had requested him specifically, so this reluctance was some degree of showmanship. He could play along.
He stepped forward until he was on the very edge of the catwalk, leaned his bundle of cleaning implements on the railing, and looked into the staticy gaze of the titan.
“May I come in?” he asked, his clear voice carrying across the space between them.
The titan considered him for a moment, no expression appearing amid the bright light.
Then he wordlessly reached up, shifted his massive coat further open, and pulled wide the maintenance hatch situated where the upper left ribs would be on a human.
He didn’t move forward to the catwalk, though, as a titan usually would do in order to allow the T.E.A.R.T. members to climb through the hatch. Instead he stretched out his hand, palm up, his enormous fingers touching the same railing 47’s tools leaned against, making the entire catwalk tremble.
“.EMOC.”
The command echoed off the cavernous emptiness of Shop 3.
This was already against protocol. The titans were not supposed to handle the T.E.A.R.T. members directly with their hands. It was simply too risky at such a size and strength difference.
47 looked over his shoulder at the Tv scientists. They all stayed where they were, huddled in the shadows behind him, and made no move to correct their massive charge.
Fine. It was going to be that kind of night, was it? 47 would complain later and use this as leverage to get more vacation days. Or something.
He looked at that hand. Each finger was longer than he was tall.
“Alright,” he said, and was proud that his voice didn’t quaver even a little bit. “Just a moment.”
He picked up his bundle of tools again and tossed them off the catwalk, into the titan’s palm, where they landed with a clatter, rolled a little, and settled. 47 briefly debated clipping his safety harness to the railing, discarded the idea, and swung himself over the aluminum protective structure before he could get second thoughts.
TTM kept his hand steady. The soft thrum of life vibrated up through the soles of 47’s boots, even through the layers of metal and titan-grade cloth.
He carefully walked to his bundle and sat down, right in the center of TTM’s palm.
The massive Tv man said nothing more, only drew his hand close with a speed that, while slow to the titan, dizzied 47, and held his hand against his chest, right by the hatch.
“.RETNE.”
Since the hatch was open, the maintenance lights were on in the walkway. 47 could see well enough to notice that there was, indeed, a pretty significant layer of debris coating the metal floor of the access path, which implied that the titan had taken damage heavy enough to penetrate his coat and plating.
No wonder he was grumpy.
“Right. Here I go.”
47 tossed his bundle of tools inside, clipped his harness to a hole just inside the hatch, and pulled himself up, off of the titan’s palm and into the dimly lit corridor.
He had to take a moment to adjust. This was always the hardest part.
Titans and their smaller, standard-issue counterparts like 47 were essentially made of the same materials. Different levels of reinforcements, true, but the metal that comprised their bodies and the electrical signals that allowed them to think, feel, and move were the same, even at such vastly different scales.
That meant whenever one of the TEARTs stepped into a titan, they had to take a moment to allow their systems to distinguish between their own, native electrical signals and those of the titan they were standing in. Rubber-soled shoes and gloves helped, but even that wasn’t enough to protect them completely.
47 could feel him, though distantly, like thunder on the horizon. Titan Tv Man was aching, somewhere deep inside.
And, somehow, he was afraid, the emotion as strong, penetrating and unshakable as the very real pain that bored relentlessly into the titan’s back.
47 didn’t understand.
The titans were massive, fearless, all-powerful. He’d seen them take down foes that had left an entire squad of cameramen in pieces. He’d seen them win battles that seemed to shake the sky itself. He’d seen them survive poundings that surely would have turned a mortal being into lifeless shards, and get right back up to give twice what they got.
What on earth could frighten a titan?
But whatever it was, this had something to do with why 47 was here. And 47, though he was nothing more than a glorified chimney sweep, was good at, and even enjoyed, his job.
There was just something so soothing about completing tasks that were simple enough to Not Mess Up and having them Actually Be Useful.
Maybe that was a good place to start. It WAS messy in here, after all - the floor littered with dust, debris, and ash. If it was that bad in L1, 47 had no doubt the other maintenance pathways (three on the left, three on the right) would be just as bad, not to mention the actual base level below them. All those wires, covered in dirt and who knew what else.
Ugh. It was gonna be a long night.
Best to get started.
He unclipped his harness, then pulled his wire-brush broom out first, using it to scour the walls of any clinging debris. The titan was designed with intelligence - the corridors were meant to be catch-alls for anything that somehow got inside the titan’s massive frame. If 47 looked up, all he would see are wires, metal paneling, gears, and pistons. All of the above were enclosed in circular casings, meaning that anything falling from above would have little chance of staying in place, with how much the titans moved. The floor he currently stood on was littered with bits and pieces, but he decided to save that for last, instead focusing on what lay above.
Using his harness and climbing rope, he pulled himself up to the high ledge of the platform and walked along it, reaching out with his broom to knock free any dirt, rocks or other odds and ends that had collected on the casings within reach. If he had a full team, they’d be rappelling up and down the full length of the titan, but as this was a one man job and the titan in question was in a mood, there was only so much he could-
“?KSA OT GNIOG UOY T'NERA”
(AREN’T YOU GOING TO ASK?)
He paused, broom still raised, only about halfway down the corridor. He’d been so focused on his work, he’d almost forgotten that there was a reason Titan Tv Man was acting this way.
47 could still feel it, if he reached for the sensation. That ache in his back, that itch in his middle.
He resumed sweeping, thinking a moment before giving his answer. “I’m not your boss,” he said.
“.YEHT ERA REHTIEN”
(NEITHER ARE THEY.)
A wave of anger swept through TTM, so strong it made 47’s knees wobble. He decided to forgo the ledge for now and carefully slipped down, back to the corridor, choosing to sweep the floor instead.
“Pretty sure they’re the boss of all of us, big guy,” he said. Shards of rock and metal clicked together under his broom, dust swirling up in small puffs.
“.TNECALPMOC NWORG EVAH YEHT .DNILB .DLROW SIHT GNITCETORP TSOL SEVIL EHT EULAV TON OD YEHT”
(THEY HAVE GROWN COMPLACENT. BLIND. THEY DO NOT VALUE THE LIVES LOST PROTECTING THIS WORLD.)
47 kept sweeping. TTM was saying aloud the things he, and many other cameramen, often felt. The camera men had been the first to enter this battle, and every step, every choice, had included sacrifice, yes, but also more. They cared deeply for their soldiers, taking great risks to protect those fighting, and developing technology that protected individuals from enemy tricks, not just weapons of destruction. The teams of medics that ran out onto the battlefield hoping to save lives shattered by enemy weapons were cameramen. The ones who took the worst beatings while the Tv scientists collected their samples were cameramen.
It was odd to hear TTM, of all people, lamenting the state of things.
47 resumed sweeping, collecting the debris in a pan and dumping the pan into a sack. The rubble had to be contained so it would not work its way deeper into TTM’s innards and cause malfunctions.
He knew he would be risking his own hide if he complained of his bosses aloud with them so close by. Instead, all he said was, “I am glad to know that you care for those who fall, even if so many have forgotten.”
“.HPMH”
The angle of the floor tilted slightly as TTM adjusted his position. More debris rained down from above, sprinkling over the floor 47 had just swept, clattering down on his head and shoulders. He sighed, used his red kerchief to wipe dust off his face, walked to the very end of the corridor, and began again, listening.
.ELBARONOH ERA SREIDLOS RUO TAHT EES OT NATIT A EKAT TON SEOD TI .ROF ERAC UOY ESOHT FO YTEFAS EHT ROF RAEF OT SLEEF TI WOH DENRAEL EVAH I ,SREHTORB YM HTIW EMIT HCUM OS TNEPS EVAH I ECNIS REVE
( IT DOES NOT TAKE A TITAN TO SEE THAT OUR SOLDIERS ARE HONORABLE. EVER SINCE I HAVE SPENT SO MUCH TIME WITH MY BROTHERS, I HAVE LEARNED HOW IT FEELS TO FEAR FOR THE SAFETY OF THOSE YOU CARE FOR.)
47’s heart softened a fraction, releasing some of the irritation he’d felt about being woken up at such an ungodly hour. He did greatly enjoy watching the titans interact out on the battlefield - their loyalty and love for eachother was clear for all to see.
“A heart is a heavy thing to bear,” he said, sweeping away, “but seeing how much heart all you titans have gives heart to all us normal guys too. You’re heroes to every member of the alliance.” No flattery there, just simple honesty. “It would give the troops a lot of courage to hear how much you care for them.”
“.SPOORT EHT OT KAEPS EM TEL TON OD YEHT .SEIMENE TSEGNORTS EHT ELTTAB OT REDRO NI SPOHS EHT FO YTEFAS EHT EVAEL OT DESOPPUS YLNO MA I ".DETSAW" EB OT TON MA I
(THEY DO NOT LET ME SPEAK TO THE TROOPS. I AM ONLY SUPPOSED TO LEAVE THE SAFETY OF THE SHOPS IN ORDER TO BATTLE THE STRONGEST ENEMIES. I AM NOT TO BE "WASTED.")
The ground shifted again as TTM moved - 47 could feel him, just a little, lifting his arms and doing air quotes around ‘wasted,’ could also feel the wave of bitterness that accompanied the motion, strong enough to make his knees shake. More debris fell, of course, but 47 told himself it was better to get it out now than to leave it in.
So, TTM wished for a stronger bond with the soldiers, but wasn’t allowed to have one. That seemed very like the TV scientists - they wouldn’t want his care for expendable troops to become a liability for their greatest creation.
Though, perhaps the problem was deeper than that.. TTM had mentioned that he was fearing for the safety of those he cared for. 47 wondered if that was the source of the afraid feeling that had permiated the air ever since he set foot inside TTM, dark and soft behind the soreness of whatever was afflicting TTM’s back.
“Can you do me a favor?” 47 asked, changing the subject to something safer and resting a hand on the wall to steady himself. “Can you give a good strong shake so that everything that needs to fall will fall? That way I can clean it all in one go.”
A moment of hesitation. Once again, 47 could feel the ache and itch of something wrong in the titan’s body. Maybe the question would be enough to make him speak up about his injury.
But the titan was as stubborn as he was large. He said, “,NO DLOH” and began to move, rocking his torso back and forth, side to side.
47 quickly crouched, bracing his back against the wall and sheltering his head and neck as debris and dust rained down. Stones, metal fragments, burned bits of plastic - there seemed to be quite the buildup. TTM had been fighting hard before this repair session.
The movement also sent waves of pain through 47’s back and ribs, and only professional pride kept him from breaking and begging the titan to stop.
But if TTM could withstand it, then 47 could too. He endured, resolving firmly to find out what the problem was before he finished tonight’s cleaning.
Eventually the movement stopped, and so did the rain of dust. 47 didn’t even bother assessing the damage this time, he just uncurled himself stiffly from his sheltering ball, (his back ACHED with phantom, titan-originating pain) and limped to resume sweeping from the beginning. “I’ll finish this corridor and then begin on the one below, alright?”
He didn’t know if the titan was aware that he, 47, was eavesdropping on his neural signals. He hoped not, but there was always the chance that the readings worked both ways. Maybe the titan’s pain was too great, and he wouldn’t mark the small echo.
“.ENIF” was the only reply TTM made.
47 swept more quickly this time, impatient both to get the job done and to begin investigating other levels of the titan’s insides. He bagged up the rubble, collected his implements, and clipped his harness to a safety loop before swinging down to sweep the level below.
Twice more he did this, clearing out levels 2 and 3 with speed and care. TTM was uncharacteristically quiet - perhaps due to the pain of his throbbing back. Certainly the vibration and heat from his core contributed to a smotheringly oppressive atmosphere. It didn’t make for pleasant work - 47’s own back was required to put a lot of effort in, between the sweeping, climbing, and hauling the refuse bag around, but he didn’t let himself take a break until L2 and 3 were clear.
“I’m going to go back up, toss the garbage, and then switch to your right side,” he told the titan. “We’re halfway done. Hang in there.”
TTM didn’t answer. Which, in itself, should have been a warning, but 47 was too tired, achy and determined to do anything about it.
He hauled himself back to L1, flung the debris bag out the hatch (he could hear it land on the shop floor with a satisfying, echoey crunch, over a dozen yards below), then chose a fresh bag and hopped up to a crossbeam, clipping his harness to a sturdy-enough wire and using his broom like an acrobat’s balance bar to tightrope walk across the beam over to R1.
He noted a problem almost immediately.
First of all, purple glow was spluttering somewhere near the middle of the corridor, bright enough to be seen even over the maintenance lights illuminating the metal floor and walls. That meant something had damaged the power conductor system that channeled energy from TTM’s core to his limbs and weapons.
47 hesitated. Should he ask TTM what had happened? Would he get an answer if he did?
He hopped down from the beam, and rested his hand on the corridor wall, focusing his senses on the emotions hovering in the air like a fine, permeating mist.
TTM was sore. TTM was angry. But under all that, he was still afraid - more afraid now that 47 was on the side with the damage.
Why? 47 didn’t understand how a tiny, standard-edition camera man, little more than a specialized janitor, could cause any fear in a being so overwhelmingly immense and powerful.
He patted the wall a few times, hoping the sensation was reassuring to his massive client, and picked up his broom once more.
He’d follow protocol for now. He’d apply comfort in the shape of routine, and hope that the calm regularity of sweeping would soothe away some of the titan’s anxiety.
Sweep by sweep he worked his way down the hall, keeping the strokes regular, predictable, as steady as a heartbeat. He didn’t look for the source of the flickering, not yet - he focused only on the task at hand, on the clatter of fragments under the wire thatching of his broom, and the smooth darkness of the path left in his wake, cleared of all dust.
Once he could hear the crackling, however, he stopped, and raised his camera a fraction.
There was a jagged wound in the floor, and a matching one in the wall. It looked like some long, sharp implement had stabbed through the titan’s back and into the maintenance hallway, piercing the metal plating 47 stood on along with the wiring beneath. The cut was not clean - when whatever weapon it was had pulled free, it had ripped up a chunk of the floor panel, leaving a gaping hole, filled with purple sparks and electrical arcing. It radiated heat.
47 stood there, staring at the damage, and the ache in his chest was only half shared neural signals.
This was why TTM was upset?
This was what he hadn’t wanted to tell the scientists about?
But why? It didn’t make sense. It was a real injury, true, but it wasn’t THAT bad. The power running under the floor here was ancillary to TTM’s core - at most it was a wire-patching job. 47 himself could do it, if he had that level of clearance.
Which he didn’t.
He looked up into the darkness above him, though he of course could not see TTM’s face from the inside. “You know I’m not allowed to fix this,” he said.
“.LLIW UOY” came the reverberating reply, tense and irritable.
“I don’t have clearance for anything at all related to your core. That includes power distribution systems.” 47 waved a hand at the gaping fissure, even though TTM couldn’t see him. “Your team of scientists are the ones who understand your body best. You must allow them to patch this.”
“.UOY NAHT KNAR REHGIH A MA I .REIDLOS ,SREDRO YM YEBO LLIW UOY”
(I AM A HIGHER RANK THAN YOU. YOU WILL OBEY MY ORDERS, SOLDIER.)
47 couldn’t exactly argue with that. He looked helplessly at the sparking panel in the floor, then began to set aside his broom. “I at least have to talk to the scientists about this. Maybe they can give me permission to-”
But before he could finish the sentence, Titan Tv Man moved. He shifted upright, lifted one of his great arms, and quicker than 47 could track, closed the entry hatch back on the left side of his body.
All the maintenance lights went out immediately. 47 was plunged into darkness, broken only by the sparks of wiring before him that held thousands of times the amount of charge his own metallic body needed to move.
“.YAS I SA OD UOY LITNU EVAEL TON LLIW UOY”
(YOU WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL YOU DO AS I SAY.)
47 was trapped.