Merrill Lianne Powell

DO NOT ENTER

OFF.

It was dark. The minimal amount of electricity suspended within it, keeping it alive and conserving it for when it would no longer be “OFF.”

It knew it was OFF. It didn’t know what being “OFF” meant, or what knowing was, or what being something was, but it was OFF.

It did not keep track of the time. That wasn’t something it did when it was OFF. It only could know it was OFF, and how to turn “ON” when instructed to do so. It didn’t know what “ON” was either. It only knew OFF.

Until…

--

ON.

Suddenly, the gears began to whirr, and the wires began to crackle with electricity. It knew now that it was ON, coming off of what was once OFF, and it began to remember it was OFF, and what being OFF and ON meant.

Things began to click into place, and mechanisms began to return to their original function, all across its body, and it knew and understood every part of what was happening.

The dark abyss in view began to disappear, replaced by a world of light and color. In this surrounding, it found itself in what it determined to be a junkyard, a place where humans left unneeded or unwanted items to pile high. In front of it was guessed to be a young woman, late twenties, based off of various inferences its recognition software ran. It could hear the woman mumble something through its sound receptors.

“My goodness… the thing still works…”

It continued to silently watch as the woman just stood there, staring at it with wide eyes, mouth hanging. Based on her surprised look and hesitant demeanor, it concluded that she was probably waiting for it to do something, anything.

Running through a list of things it should probably do after being turned ON, it concluded the first thing to do was rise to its feet, after realizing it was lying down in a heap of trash. The various rotors and gears in its arms and legs began to go through the functions of movement, as it ran a procedure on how to balance itself and stand in an upright position. As it did, it detected a series of diagnostic error messages, letting it know that various parts of its arms and legs were not working as intended. Probably rust. This could risk a failure, leading to it falling over or breaking, and several warning alarms began to flare off it its processor, before quickly being suppressed by another function, reminding it that it did have several self repair procedures installed, and that several objects its scanners detected present in the junkyard could help facilitate that. It decided to set the rusting problem to “remind me later.” It also set another reminder to not ignore the first reminder by setting it to “remind me later” again.

After some trial, it had successfully stood up on its own feet, now standing level with the woman.

The woman blinked a few times, likely out of surprise from seeing a robot left in a junkyard work so well, it estimated. After a few beats, she smiled. “Ah, its nice to meet you! My name’s Polliander!” She completed the greeting with a polite wave.

It gave a nod in response. “A pleasure to meet you.” It wasn’t actually sure if it was a pleasure yet, not enough data on this woman to log an personality evaluation yet, but no harm in running the standard polite greeting procedure. It gave a mirrored wave, before continuing. “My name is…” It paused. Oh. Hrm. Name entry field was entirely blank. Can’t complete a greeting with no name. In this scenario it would run a procedure to first set a name for itself based off its model number. It looked down, and checked its arm, this one plated in rose gold metal, where most modern robots had their model number. Scratched out. If that information couldn’t be found, it would name itself based on a formulation of significant remembered experiences, and its surroundings, which were none and trash respectively. It began scanning its surroundings thoroughly, looking for the optimal piece of trash to name itself after. It spotted a neon orange sign on the fence, reading DO NOT ENTER. Perhaps...

The woman quietly observed as it cut off its greeting and looked around for a few moments, before she spoke up. “Um, do you not have a name?”

It paused its procedure to look at the woman. “No. No information on one at all.”

“Oh, well, uhm, I could give you one, if you need one!”

It paused for a moment, wondering if it should take such an off-

“Oh! I know You’re pink, so how about we name you Rose!”

Well… sure then. Rose it is. Set OS_User to Rose.

“So… how’d you end up in this garbage dump anyways?” Polliander asked, now walking in circles around it, inspecting its various parts and features. “Besides a bit of wear and tear, you mechanics all seem pretty functional…”

It searched its memory banks for anything that could hint or suggest as to why it would be lying turned off in the middle of a garbage dump. “I… can’t recall. All my memory was wiped entirely before being shut off.”

“Uh huh... “ Polliander nodded. The woman looked down a moment in thought, and then looked back up at Roseand smiled. “Well, I can take you back to my workshop! I know someone who can take a look at you and see what’s up!” She reached out and grabbed the robot’s hand.

“Um, well…”

“Come on, lets go!” The woman began to walk, dragging it along with her. It’s legs eventually began to match her pace after abit, not having the usual prep time to get the leg motors going. It wasn’t exactly sure if it wanted to go, but it seemed that this woman had a “purpose” in mind for it, and that’s better than having no purpose.

Create new acquaintance profile, enter name field with tag_firstname “Polliander.”

Acquaintace Profile: Polliander [could not retrieve tag_lastname].

Surmised Likes: Going to the junkyard.
Personality Evaluation: A bit pushy!

--

After what seemed to be roughly half an hour of walking (it hoped its timekeeping node was properly calibrated), the two came upon what looked to be a building home at the edge of a town. It had a sign on top of the roof, fashioned out of metal letters that said “Gardener Mechanics” over it. The place looked… rather ramshackle, it evaluated. The building was composed of various sheets of metal, sloppily bolted and welded together. Running some physics simulations, it estimated that it wouldn’t take much force to knock this establishment over. Did it really want whoever lived here going through its mechanics?

The woman, still taking it by the hand, swung open the double doors to a shack attached to rest of the building. As a bell rung, the doors opened to a room lined from top to bottom with shelves, all stuffed with various pieces of mechanical metal. Engines, motors, spare parts, scrap, harddrives, nuts, bolts, tools, wire… anything that could be considered part of a machine… it was here.

At the end of the room was a desk, with a computer, cash register, and various tools strewn on it. Behind the desk sat a girl in a chair she was rocking back and forth in, looking at her phone and chewing on gum while her legs were propped up on the desk. It’s facial recognition software indicated a 87% match to Polyane, leading to the conclusion that this girl was likely related to her in someway. The girl seemed younger, as well as far more… looking up a proper descriptor… wild, aesthetically. Her hair was messy, her jeans were ripped, and her face caked in heavy black eyeliner and lipgloss.

Despite the ringing of the bell, the girl continued chewing gum, not taking her eyes off her phone.

“Heyyyyyy…” She drawled “Welcome to whateverthehell, where we whogivesashit… whaddya want?”

Polliander’s expression changed from cheery to cross, her eyes narrowing, smile twisting into a grimace, and she let go of its hand to cross her arms. “Marigold Gardener!” She shouted. Ah, so that was the girl’s name. Creating new profile. “That is NO way to greet a customer!”

Marigold still didn’t take her eyes off her phone. “C’mon, I know its you sis.” Ah, that was their relation. Linking profiles. “I know because you always swing the doors open like a dramatic theatre kid.”

Polliander scoffed, and Marigold began cackling. So that was a joke. It didn’t know what a “theatre kid” was, so insufficient data to determine if such a joke was funny.

After she finished laughing, Marigold finally looked over to where it and Polliander stood, eyes widening and brow raising in surprise seeing the robot.

“Who’s this? A client? Pretty rare a robot comes in on their own.”

“Ah, actually, this is something I found at junkyard! In pretty good condition, too! I named it Rose! It’s going to be apart of our family from now on.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed, staring right at it. She was frowning. “You let her name you THAT?” It didn’t know how to respond to such a question. There was something very different about the way this girl looked at it, different from how Polliander looked at it. How though, it couldn’t determine.

“...So, why are you here? You want me to take a look?” The question sounded like it was for Polliander... but Marigold was still looking at it.

Polliander looked away from Marigold, somewhat sheepishly. “Actually, I was thinking that…”

“You want him to do it instead, right?” Her eyes still narrowed, but now locked on her sister. Rather high frequency of staring with this girl.

Him.. was this the pronoun for whoever Polliander mentioned back at the junkyard?0

Polliander sighed, not meeting the younger one's intense gaze. “I just think… this might be a little too complicated for you.”

Marigold continued to look at her sister for a few more seconds, before her gaze lost its intense focus, and her eyes naturally fell back down to her phone. “Right, I get it. It’s fine.” Was it fine..? The response seemed rather passive aggressive based off its tone reader, but again, not enough data to determine.

Polliander nodded, the conversation seemed to be over. She took it by the hand once more. “Well, let’s go Rose.”

“Right. Of course.” It replied.

Upon hearing that the two were leaving, Marigold’s eyes went back up, watching the two as they walked towards a door on the right side of the room, which likely led to the main area of the house, if they lived here as it concluded from matching the last name to the sign ontop of the roof.

Polliander took her other hand and grabbed the knob, twisting it to open the door.

“Actually, hang on a moment.”

The two turned their heads to look at Marigold, giving them a … concerned maybe… look.

“...Didja find anything else interesting in the junkyard?”

Polliander shook her head, looking confused at the question. “No? What are you asking?”

Marigold looked back at her phone. “Nothing. Just curious.” She sighed. Was it a sigh of disappointment, or relief? Another undeterminable.

Acquaintance Profile: Marigold Gardener (///note: apply same tag_lastname to Polliander’s entry)
Relations: Polliander == Sister

Surmised Likes: Phone, Gum, Staring
Personality Evaluation: Rude, but also inscrutable.

--

The door opened up to the main living room area. It was small, containing a kitchen, a dining table, a couch and television, a staircase leading to a second floor, as well as a few other doors leading to other miscellaneous rooms. The design of the room beared an estimated 57% aesthetic similarity to the outside of the building, in that it was mismatched. Various clashing styles of furniture and silverware, all with varying levels of age.

At the dining table, drinking coffee was a man. It… struggled to come with description tags for the man. He was a man, there wasn’t too much else to say. He was taller than Pollianer, and looked to be a similar age to her. He wore a jacket and jeans. He.. had a face and arms and legs. Very… man.

The man stood up upon seeing Polliander, and smiled. The two walked towards each other and embraced, first in a hug, and then a kiss. A romantic relation, then. The two seperated.

“So where were ya, honey? I missed you.”

“Oh! Well, I was looking for some spare scraps for the shop, and look what I found!” Polliander stepped aside and gestured towards it.

The man’s eyebrows raised and smile, he was surprised. “Damn, a working one? That’s pretty rare.”

“Mhm! I named it Rose! It’s OS seems to be working fine, but it doesn’t have any memories. I was wondering if you could take a look at it, see if there’s anything that needs to be adjusted.”

The man nodded, eyeing its various parts. “Yeah, I think I could do that.”

It started to wonder what this man’s name was, as he inspected it from a distance. Based on the established names it knew related to the Gardeners, it began running an algorithm to predict his name. Aloe, Reed, Cedar, Bud, Cane, Oak…

“‘Sup. My name’s Mark. I’m Polly’s boyfriend.”

...Alright. Create tag_firstname Mark.

Mark began approaching it, pulling out some sort of tool from his jacket pocket. “Alright… now let’s see what makes you tick.”

As the man approached, its popup reminder set earlier suddenly caused it to remember its diagnostic and repair capabilities. Letting this man fiddle with it was actually unnecessary, it could do it itself.

“Actually, if you supply me with a mirror and some tools, I’ll be able to-”

Suddenly, Mark’s hand was on its back, and with a powerful force it was pushed down, landing into the couch. With its face buried. A pressure, likely applied by Mark’s knee, but it couldn’t quite tell, with its face shoved into the cushions, its eye cameras were picking up nothing but black.

It could tell that parts of it were being opened. Fiddled with. Adjusted. Things being taken out, put in. It couldn’t FEEL any of this. But its diagnostic software picked up the various changes and modifications that man was making as he worked. Several warnings flared up in its system. Unregistered modifications, unknown variable altered, part not found… its system was interpreting this an attack, and it probably was. But what could it do?

Eventually, the changes, the notifications, the warnings, all stopped. Assuming the “adjustments” were over, it attempted to rise, being able to do so. Mark was no longer pressed on top of it, now standing next to the couch, a smile plastered on his as he addressed his girlfriend. “Took a look, it was in pretty good shape, but a few parts had some wear and tear, so I fixed em up. Also did a few customs upgrades, should work even better now.”

“What kind of upgrades…?” It asked. It couldn’t detect any efficiency improvements to its processing or motor capabilities.

Mark turned to look at it, seemingly annoyed at its question. “Y’know. Upgrades. Shit that’ll make you a better robot. That kinda thing.”

Still couldn’t detect any “shit” that significantly upgraded its existing functions. But it began to understand that arguing with Mark on this subject was a pointless endeavor.

Polliander took it by the hand and lifted up out of the couch. “Come on, lets put those upgrades to work! How about we do some cooking?” She led it by the hand into the kitchen.

Did it know how to cook? It shouldn’t.

Acquaintance Profile: Mark Mark (////note: didnt want to leave a blank space this time. might update with real last name tag later. maybe.)
Relations: Polliander == Significant Other

Surmised Likes: Uh?
Personality Evaluation: ...Meddlesome.

--

It knew how to cook.

It shouldn’t know how to cook. When it awoke, it had no software even vaguely related to cooking installed. The arranging of vegetables, meats, and all other sorts of consumables should be meaningless. Yet, it made sense.

It turned to look at Mark, sitting with a self-satisfied grin as he flipped through the paper. Was this one of his “upgrades”?

“Rose! Focus!”

“Right. Of course. Sorry”

When Polliander suggested that “we” do the cooking, what she actually meant was she would watch scrutinously. Odd staring seemed to be a trait of both Gardeners.

The process of cooking was monotonous. Just run the software, its instructions automatically sending the necessary instructions to its processor, which in turn sent the instructions to arm motors to perform the necessary functions. All automatic. No higher calculations required. Polliander and Mark made small talk across the room as it worked. It didn’t bother processing the sound.

Things continued rotely, until the corner of its eye cameras, caught motion. Marigold walked into the room.

“Done for the day.” She spoke in an almost mumble.

“Did you remember to lock the entrance? I don’t want anyone breaking in like last time.” Polliander called out to her sister.

Marigold seemed to scowl at the remark, not dignifying her sister with a look. “You do realize that “last time” was nearly two years ago, right? I haven’t forgotten to lock the doors since.”

Polliander sighed, also not looking at her sister. “It doesn’t feel that long ago to me.”

“Course it does.” It’s eye cameras switched back and forth between the two sisters. It’s facial recognition detected Marigold as seething, and Polliander as “almost crying.”

A silent tension lingered in the air for a few seconds, the two sisters standing in place, not looking at eachother. Eventually, Marigold shrugged her shoulders and sat on the couch. Polliander let out another sigh and turned her attention back toward its cooking.

It detected satellite signals being beamed into the space. It’s eye cameras looked to the source, a now turned on television Marigold was watching.

On screen there were two humanoid robots, both at the roughly the same size as it. They were… hitting each other? Sparks were flying. Metal was being torn apart. Loud sounds of banging, tearing, exploding matched equally absurd visuals, all while a disembodied voice feverishly narrated the events of the fight, and a cheering audience followed his excitement. This was… a spectacle.

Polliander looked over at the couch and television. “Are you watching that garbage again?”

It could hear Marigold scoff. “Mega Robot Fighting is NOT garbage, its far too sophisticated for the smaller mind. It’s ART, and one of these days, my main man Final Hyper Overkill Death Scythe the Maximum is gonna win big and become famous, and you guys are gonna look like CHUMPS when I’m proven right.”

It couldn’t keep its eye cameras off the television. There was something so… mesmerizing about watching these machines absolutely pummel eachother in acts of unlimited violence. It also noticed how seemingly enthused Marigold was by the program, having an energy not seen when she was manning the desk of the repair shop. It could understand the feeling.

It heard a loud throat clearing. It turned to see an annoyed looking Polliander. Oh, right. Cooking. Of course. Need to stay focused on the task at hand.

…

Create List: Cool Sounding Names

Entry One: Final Hyper Overkill Death Scythe the Maximum

--

“Marigold, dinners ready!”

The fruits of its labor were done, three meals of… some kind. Not sure what it was, but it knew that it was edible food that it had made.

Marigold rose from the couch, and stretched, making her way over to the dinner table, where Mark was already seated, and Polliander was setting the mismatched silverware and plates. Silently, Marigold walked over to her sister, and handed her the same phone she had been messing with earlier in the shop.

Marigold pulled out a chair, and was about to sit down, before noticing it standing right next to her. She looked at it, looked at the food, looked back at it once more, before finally settling on looking at her sister and her boyfriend.

“Did… you guys make them do the cooking?”

“Sure did!” Mark replied, sounding very proud. “Installed a few programs on it so it can help around with house. Things are gonna be a lot easier here from now on.”

“Things were already easy for you…” She mumbled.

“Marigold, don’t be rude to Mark.” Polliander cut in. Mark didn’t seemed to care, he had already began stuffing his face with food.

“Sorry…” She lowered her head a little “It’s just, I think its kind of a weird move to make the one person who can’t eat do the cooking.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’m sure Rose doesn’t mind.”

It did mind.

“Riiiightttt…” Marigold rolled her eyes. “But like… at least give them a chair to sit down in.”

“Eh, should be fine, right?” Mark joined in, talking as he chewed. “This things built out of good stuff. Pretty sure standing still won’t produce any wear on its leg joints.

It could.

“So you’re going to make them cook, dinner, that they can’t eat, and not even let them sit down? And you said you’re making them “apart of the family”, huh?” Marigold seemed to be growing increasingly agitated.

Polliander, by contrast, seemed to be getting nervous. “Marigold, let’s just enjoy dinner…”

“No!” Marigold rose from her seat. “I’m addressing the elephant in the room right now!”

...is it an elephant?

“This whole draggin a sentient robot back home and treating like a maid is WEIRD. It’s goddamn weird!”

“Marigold, please-”

“You just want another obedient little dog, don’t you? Got tired of me not rolling over for you, so you just go and kidnap another person for to keep a leash on instead!”

“Mari-”

“Mom and Dad wouldn’t put up with this shit! They would- “

A fist slammed onto the table. “MARIGOLD GARDENER! BE QUIET!”

Marigold stilled and silently slunked back down in her chair.

“Right. Sorry.” Her voice was so quiet, it barely registered to its sensors.

Polliander was wringing her hands, biting her lip. Mark had stop eating, vacantly staring at his girlfriend.

“...Marigold. Rose will be working with you in the shop from now on. To make sure you’re staying on task and doing your job.”

Marigold nodded. “Right.”

The dinner continued. No one uttered another word.

Marigold was the first to rise from her chair. She looked at her sister, expression undeterminable by the recognition software. “I’m going out. Can I have my phone back?”

“Where are you going?” Polliander replied. Also an undeterminable expression.

“Out.”

“I… don’t think I’m comfortable with you going out this late.”

“Then give me my phone. I’ll call if something happens.”

Polliander closed her eyes for a few seconds. Out of frustration? Contemplation? It’s software was having trouble keeping up.

Taking a deep breath in, and then out, Polliander took Marigold’s phone, and presented it to its owner. Marigold grabbed it out of her sister’s hand. Polliander’s hand lingered for a few moments.

Marigold walked towards the door, slipping her phone in a pocket. Mark watched as she did. As did it. Polliander did not.

Marigold grabbed the doorknob to the door leading outside, but hesitated to turn it. “I’m… I’m sorry sis. I was out of line back there.”

Polliander once again did not look at Marigold. Pattern recognition software going off. “...Thank you. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah. I didn’t.”

It still couldn’t recognize her expression, but somehow, some innate way, it knew what it meant. She meant it.

Marigold twisted the doorknob, opening the door, she walked outside. But before stepping out, she shot one final glance at it.

A sad, yet knowing expression.

She walked out into the night.

Updating Acquaintance Profile: Marigold Gardener.

Personality Evaluation: Ally.

--

It awoke. It hadn’t been OFF, simply in a sleep mode. A similar sensation, but different. Less cold, more pleasant. It emerged from the closet, unplugging itself from its charging cable. Polliander had set up a makeshift space in there to rest for the night.

Well, time to get to work.

It played back a recording it had made of Polliander’s words to it last night. “Your job is to watch Marigold, make sure she stays on task. If she’s on her phone too much, take it away. Make sure she isn’t being rude to customers, and help if a repair job is too complicated.”

Simple enough instructions. It could do this.

As it walked towards the shop portion of the building, a pop-up from its diagnostic software displayed. Something was wrong. What was wrong…? Unknown. But something was wrong. Helpful information.

It ignored the warning as it entered the shop, and upon entering it immediately detected Marigold, manning the register/workbench, just as she had the previous day. This seemed to be her role in the family, as she managed the shop, Polliander managed the house, and Mark… managed Mark.

“Heyyyy.” She drawled, playing some sort of game on her phone.

“It’s good to see you too, Marigold.” It replied, now standing beside her desk. “I look forward to working with you!”

“Right.” She still stared at her phone.

...Marigold was staring at her phone alot. Polliander’s words replayed in its memory. Maybe it should say something.

“Marigold, I think that-”

“Three rules.” Marigold held up a hand with three fingers. It ceased. “Three rules if you’re gonna be here with me.” It began to creating a new list entry in its memory.

“Rule 1. Whatever the hell she told you to tell me, don’t bother. I’m not gonna listen.”

“Rule 2. I do my own thing here, and I do it pretty well. Don’t butt in. I don’t need a babysitter”

“Rule 3. Don’t call me Marigold. It’s a lame as hell given to me that makes me sound like a goddamn nerd. Just call me Mari.”

“Very well then. Mari.” List Entry: Three Rules logged.

“Good.”

Mari continued to play on her phone, once again lost in the world of whatever game she was playing.

…

“Is there… something I should do? Sweep? Organize the shelves? Man the register? Work the computer?”

“...Buddy, they paying you?”

“Polliander and Mark, you mean? As far as I’m aware, no.”

“Then you’re not working buddy. Don’t give those two clowns an inch of your labor.”

…

“So... what do I do then?”

Mari shrugged. “Dunno. Walk around. Touch stuff. I don’t care, do whatever. I’m not your babysitter either.”

…

It didn’t budge.

…

“Fine, LISTEN. If you want something to do. Here.” Mari presented her phone to it. “There’s a few games you can play on here. Good for killing time.”

“Oh, well if you say so then…”

It reached for the phone, but… its hand never touched the device. It looked to its arm. It was completely locked up.

Diagnostic software evaluation… error unknown. That’s not good. “Well... that’s not supposed to happen.”

Mari looked at the still arm inquisitively. “...Mind if I take a look?”

...Why not. Probability of doing a better job than Mark was highly likely.

Mari retrieved a few tools from the work desk and got to work. She seemed incredibly methodical in how she worked. She turned each screw carefully, exactly as much as needed it be turned.

Removing the plating to its arm, Mari inspected the inner workings. The gears, the motors, pistons, joints, wiring, not missing a single detail.

“...Yeesh, Mark really did a number on you, huh?” Mari made a face of disgust, witnessing his handiwork on display. “You’ve probably been getting error messages all day, but your… everything was so sideways you couldn’t even tell what was the problem, huh?”

“...That’s right, that’s exactly what happened.” There was an odd feeling of comfort being generated, knowing that Mari somehow understood its problems, despite not being a robot either.

Mari nodded slowly. “Well, I’ve gotten pretty good about undoing his ‘work’, so I could fix it for you… if you’d like, of course.”

“… think I’d like that yes.”

Mari worked carefully, but efficiently. She had such a calculated precision, as she rewired, rebolted, and reconfigured its arm. Her process, her methods seemed to be similar to what its own repair procedures would do.

“Aaaaand there! Should be all good to go.” Marie proudly announced as she bolted the last screw on its arm plating. “Try moving it around now.”

It decided to run with just a few basic motor tests, bending, twisting and moving its arm in various ways, and to its joy it found that its arm had been completely restored to intended function. Even better, it calculated that now its arm was operable at more optimal capacity, than when it had first been turned ON at the junkyard.

It observed its newly functioning arm for quite sometime, as it tried to determine the best words to formulate a response. Eventually, its algorithm determined that it was best to encompass its feelings in a small, simple “...Thank you.”

Mari’s smile now stretched from ear to ear. “Heh, no problem. Always happy to help undo that idiot’s damage.” She leaned back into her chair, folded her arms behind her head, and propped her legs up on the table. “I take pride in my work. I’m pretty damn good at what I do.”

It agreed with such asessment. “It seems so, yes.” it replied, spinning its arm in repeated circular motions. “Then why does your sister place his skill above your own? It seems like a rather… illogical thing to do.”

“You’re right about that.” Mari heaved a sigh at the end of her statement. “...She gives that man a lot a undeserved hype, just cuz’ he’s her boyfriend. When he really…”

“He’s by all calculations, a completely standard man?”

“HAH!” Mari laughed as she leaned her chair back. “Man, thats so true!”

Yet still, its main question didn’t have an answer to complete it. “So then why ignore your own skill? His perceived abilities should not cancel out yours?”

Mari’s smile fell, and it worried it had made some sort of error. “It’s… well, she doesn’t really think I’m responsible.” She looked up at the ceiling, with unfocused eyes. “Ya see, two two years ago I…” She stopped.

She stopped leaning in her chair, let the front legs fall back to the ground. “Eh, its a bunch of stupid sad shit, you don’t want to hear it.” She got up and walked back towards it, pulling her phone out from her pocket. “How bout I show you those games I mentioned earlier?”

Well, it seemed as though it wouldn’t get an answer to its question for now at least, Mari seemed uncomfortable with disclosing such information. It decided it wouldn’t push the question.

It didn’t like pushiness, after all.

RIght Arm Diagnostic: Fully Operational at Exceeded capacity

--

Mari showed it a couple of games on her phones. Most of them were exceedingly simple, but that simplicity was not necessarily a bad thing to it. There was pleasure in not having to run too many thought processes to run at once.

So it leaned back on wall corner, tapping away as Mari did her work. It offered help several times, but did not accept it once.

It silently watched as Mari did her work. When there weren’t customers, she’d pull out one of the various machines from the “orders to-do” box underneath the desk. She explained that these were orders from customers that took multiple days to complete. She worked on these projects with the same deliberate focus that she had when repairing its arm.

...She would also just occasionally stare at the ceiling or fall asleep. She seemed to switch between intense focus and intense boredom in matter of nano-seconds. It figured if she still had her phone, she’d occupy herself with that instead in her fits of boredom.

When customers came in, she would undergo another shift. She suddenly sat straight up, a wide smile on her face, and greeted them with a much higher, chipper voice. It had enough data at this point to know it wasn’t 100% genuine.

Mari did her job, and did it well. She’d listen and nod along to the customer requests, concerns: My metal arm is acting up, my robodog died, my son’s Nexus 5s7i is acting glitchy, and other complaints of the like. She’d take a quick look, and explain the problem in simple, easy to understand terms for them, and then either fix the issue of the spot, or if it was something more complex, set a date it’ll be fixed, and when the customer could pick it up. Though her overall demeanor was merely a routine, its scanners picked up the subtle details of her face and movements well enough to understand that she was at least, partially enjoying this.

After her work, the customers would thank her for taking the time, and compensate her, and be on the way. Well, roughly 50% of the time, anyway.

Many of the customers were what it would define as “rude.” Many took issue one way or the other with what she had to say or do: what do you mean you can’t fix it, I can’t wait that long, I don’t like how it looks anymore. When confronted with such grievances, Mari’s face would twitch slightly, temporarily breaking the routine, the code and wires underneath briefly revealed.

If such a customer was rude to her (or their general behavior grated her) before she began work at all, she would not do any repair work herself, but instead call Mark in, and recommend them to his services instead. She did this with a much wider smile on this face, one its software recognized as “mischief.”

As the hours passed, the influx of customers waned.

“What time is it?” She turned to it.

“...7:00.” It looked at her phone. A meaningless gesture, as it had its own clock embedded in its system, but some odd part of it determined it would more suitable to check the time like how she would.

“Right. Time to lock up.” Mari got up from her chair and stretched. She walked over to the door and pulled out a small key from her pocket, turning into the lock on the door. She seemed to check multiple times to make sure it was locked, twisting the knob and jamming the key in it far more times than necessary.

“Right. It’s locked. It’s definitely locked.” It’s audio processors just barely picked up her mumbling.

Mari slinked back over to where it stood. It offered her phone back.

“Thanks.” She smiled and took the phone back. “And hey.” She put her hand on its shoulder. “Good work today buddy.”

This statement did not process. “I… didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mari laughed. “You deserve to do nothing.” She walked back into the main part of the house.

Huh.

Day One of Working With Mari Status Update: ….it was nice.

--

From there, a routine emerged. It liked routines. And it liked this routine… or at least 50% of it.

In the mornings it would awaken from sleep mode in the closet, and would join Mari in the opening hours of the repair shop. She continued to refuse to let it do any work, so it spent most of its time occupying itself with whatever could entertain it. Sometimes Mari’s phone, sometimes the computer next on the desk, sometimes observing its surroundings, the costumers, and their interactions with Mari. Mari even lent it some of her tools, and it would occasionally experiment with what it could do to its own form. Sometimes to success, sometimes to needing Mari to fix it.

Her only instruction to it was that it should make itself “look busy” whenever Mark or Polliander swung by, so they wouldn’t get in trouble. This included pretending to clean, pretending to assist Mari as she did her work, or just typing away randomly at the computer. Polliander would occasionally squint at it while it worked, but she never voiced any suspicions of the two idling. Mark seemed far more easily convinced, nodding his head far more than necessary and giving a thumbs up.

The work, or lack thereof, was nice.

The rest of the routine was the inverse.

After 7:00, Polliander would put it to various monotonous, often grinding tasks. Cleaning the house, cooking dinner, anything that those two didn’t want to do, it did. And it could because of the various programs Mark kept installing on it.

Mark was easily the worse part of this arrangement. His favorability rating was approaching the negatives at this point. He would constantly, obnoxiously, hazardously, without saying anything, tinker with its body. Installing new programs, adjusting its motors, rewiring certain circuits, putting stickers on it that clashed with its plating, the man could just not leave it alone. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason as to why he did things, and no algorithm could even hope to predict why. It was just in his nature to do so. The way he did went about it too was rather disruptive. He would often just start fiddling with it while it was trying to complete tasks (that he would assign it!) Sometimes he’d make these alterations while it was in sleep mode, meaning upon its reactivation in the morning, something, usually many things would be incorrect, off, out of place, or wrong.

Thankfully, Mari would undo most of these alterations immediately, or at least mitigate them to the best of her ability. Regardless of whether it could be undone, it was a frustratingly upsetting waste of time.

It noticed that the more she’d have to undo, the sadder Mari’s expression said. “Man… I’m sorry he does this to you…” she mumbled one time. Why she uttered such a response, it couldn’t determine. But the sympathy was appreciated.

The other few scant hours of the day not dedicated to these two sides were dull. It would stand during dinner. One day, Mari brought the chair from the repair shop in. Polliander promptly took it back, saying that it should stay where it would belong.

After dinner, Mari would sometimes ask to go out. Sometimes Polliander would say yes, other times no. Arguing always preceded either answer. If yes, she would take her jacket, and her phone, and wander into the night. She did not disclose where she was going. If no, she would sit on the couch and watch the programme with the fighting robots. It would sometimes watch with her, with interest at how machines so similar to itself, could be capable of so much more.

A not fully positive routine, but not fully negative one either. It was a routine.

--

The routine was broken one day when it walked into the shop, only to see at the desk not Mari, but the much less favorably rated Polliander.

“Ah! Good morning Rose! Ready to begin work today?” She smiled.

“...Where’s Mari?”

She seemed to flinch a little at the comment, but quickly realigned the smile. Another shared habit between the sisters, it noted. “Oh, today’s her day off! She gets one every month!”

A one to thirty ratio seemed quite uneven, but it did not voice this concern.

Polliander put it to work on several tasks to do around the shop. It knew how to do these, thanks to Mark’s ...contributions… but it was such a more boring routine than the one Mari provided.

It did these tasks as asked, cleaning, helping with repairs, organizing, looking nice, standing, nodding, set speech to high pitched and positive, insert_meaninglesstask, etc. It attempted to conserve as much energy on its thought processes as possible as it worked.

“Oh, Rose, could you come over here?”

Obediently, it walked over to where her voice had come from. Polliander was talking with a tall, older woman, and a small child, probably no older than five or six given estimates, was with her, holding a small robotic doll.

“Rose, can you keep an eye on this woman’s child as I help her?”

“...Okay.”

It did. It watched the child. It did the exact task as describe like every other task assigned. It stood there and watched. The two women were having some sort of conversation about a broken maid robot. It tuned out the sound wavelengths of the conversation almost immediately.

The child idly played with its doll as it did. The doll was robotic, seeming to have rudimentary, simple AI, characteristic of a child’s toy.

The way the child played with the doll… it seemed aimless. They didn’t use the doll’s “TALK” button at all. Instead, they much preferred to manhandle the thing. It would pop off an arm, put it back on. Twist the head around. Folded its body in bizarre contortions. Take the leg off, take the arm off, put the leg where the arm was, put arm where the leg was. Open the battery cover, take that battery out, put it back in. As the child did so, the doll’s “TALK” button flashed green, indicating it had something to say. The child did not press it.

…

It ripped the doll from the child and crushed it to pieces in its palm.

The child immediately began crying. Muted. The mother came over and hugged her child, cooing to her child, telling them to calm down. Muted. Polliander was shouting. Muted. It simply stared at the shattered remains of the pathetic little doll in its hand. The last thing it registered was two sets of hands being placed on-

--

It awoke in the closet. It had been temporarily turned off or put into sleep, given a gap its memory. Outside, it could hear the voices of Polliander and Mark arguing about something. It didn’t care what. It didn’t leave the closet.

“Rose. Step out.”

It complied, as it always had and would. It opened the closet doors to see Mark and Polliander, standing in front. Their faces read of anger.

“We’re very upset with you.” Polliander began.

…

“Rose, its really important you listen to me when I tell you to do something. When you listen, and do what you’re told, everything works out. Nothing bad happens and no one gets hurt. Do you understand.”

“...I did what I was told. I watched the child.”

Polliander had the same offended look she had at that one dinner. “But I didn’t tell you to destroy their toy.”

“...You didn’t tell me not to. I was just putting that thing out of its misery.”

“Rose. Do not talk back to me.”

It nodded. Right. Of course. Affirmative.

“...we know you haven’t been doing your job with Mari.”

It only slacked off because that was what Mari told it to do. But it kept that info to itself. It didn’t want to drag her into this mess.

“Which is why we’ve decided to make some changes.” She motioned to Mark. Mark plus changes definitely did not equal anything positive.

In his hand he held a small flash drive. “We’ve decided that you’re going to have to be a little more obedient.” ...That flash drive definitely had software that would compromise its systems, didn’t it? “We don’t want to do this, but its for your own good.”

If she didn’t want to do this, then she wouldn’t do it.

...come to think of, it did plenty of things it didn’t want to do.

Mark began his advance toward the robot. Slow, lumbering, towering. Small flash drive in hand.

Though only nanoseconds were passing, its thought processes were firing on all cylinders, running through its own mind far faster than any human could.

This was bad. Every warning siren, every cautionary notice, every emergency alert, was going off in its software. This was an attack that would sabotage. It would likely be the end of its own independence. It’s ability to talk with Mari.

...what did it want?

Mark closed in on it. He began to reach for its shoulder.

....what did it want?

Mark applied pressure, causing it to face downwards. This was the end.

...it didn’t want this.

But what to do about it? Mark opened a hatch in the back of its neck, where two usb ports laid. It desperately searched for anything it could do. It had no proper self defense procedures, no built in weapons or safeguards for this. It desperately searched its own data for something, anything to stop this from happening. Then, something occurred to it.

I don’t want this.

It recalled the times it had watched Mega Robot Fighting, the television programme that Mari liked where robots participated in bombastic acts of carnage to each other. Mari once told it about her favorite fighter, Final Hyper Overkill Death Scythe the Maximum, and their signature right hook. How did it go? Pull the arm back, bend at the elbow, let the pistons in the arm build pressure, and at just the right moment…

I want THIS.

With all the force its mechanics could muster, it swung a fist at mark, connecting right to the side of his jaw. A loud crack resounded, and Mark was sent flying backwards, sending him crashing down to the floor.

Polliander looked at it vacantly for a moment, not fully processing what had occurred. Once her human brain caught up, she turned to her partner and cried “MARK!”, and ran over to him.

She began asking, begging if he was ok. There was blood coming from his mouth, and a quick X-ray scan showed a crack in his jaw and a few broken teeth, but his vitals were completely fine and normal. An overreaction.

After confirming her boyfriend alive, she turned to it. Her face was blank. But it knew what it meant by now.

“I think you should leave.”

“You think?”

“LEAVE!” Her face grotesquely contorting to her shout.

Right. Understood. One last order to follow.

It walked out the front door. It didn’t look back.

Delete residence information: Gardener House.

Residence information now blank.

---

It ended up back at the junkyard, the only other place it knew existed. There were other places, but it didn’t know about them, and it preferred the familiar.

It processed the events that just occurred. It attacked its owners. It had lost its home, its place, its purpose.

...It wouldn’t be able to see Mari anymore.

Perhaps… shutting down for a bit would be best. Perhaps wiping its memory too, no need to get sentimental about what it can’t access anymore.

It sat down in a heap of garbage.

Begin hard reset process?

This was probably how it ended up here in the first place. A sad, purposeless robot wandering here after scorning its owners, leaving itself to either find a new purpose, or rot. Either was ideal. A doll, waiting for its button to be pushed. Waiting to be crushed.

Full memory wipe procedure initiating… 0%

It its last moments as “Rose”, a name thrust upon it, it thought of Mari. Would she be okay without it? Would she be upset? Would she try to come find it?

Oh well. No need to entertain those thoughts anymore. It wouldn’t matter in a short moment.

Initialization complete.

Memory wipe occurring in 3…

2…

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” A loud shout roared through the junkyard, accompanied by what sounded like an explosion, further accompanied by the ground beneath it shaking.

PROCESS ABORTED.

What was that? That explosion? That voice… it registered as Mari’s. Was she okay?

It quickly triangulated the source of the noise, running to the calculated location. Climbing up a tour of garbage, its optical sensors saw a clearing in the see of garbage. In the middle of it, Mari, looking just delighted, and two small, box like robots, the size of a dog. One was in perfect shape, a small metal crate with wheels and various dangerous appendages bolted onto it, primarly buzzsaws. The other… well, had just exploded, and was now just a husk, with bits of scrap lying about.

“It worked! It fucking worked! Oh my god I did it!” Mari did a little celebratory dance, one that seemed to originate from one of her phone games.

Why did she seem so happy? It needed to know. It climbed up the garbage tower to get a better view, but as it reached the peak, its foot slipped on a piece of trash, and it tumbled down the tower towards the clearing, landing on the dirt with a thud.

“OH SHIT!” Mari reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a knife, and turned around, pointing at the source of the noise. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble, I just-”

She lowered her knife and smiled, upon confirming its presence. “Oh christ, its just you… don’t scare me like that man!” She pocketed her knife and offered a hand to it, and helped it up to its feet.

It took in its surroundings. Various unfinished machines, various tools, and bits and chunks of scrap littered about the clearing.

“Mari.. what is this place?” This new information was fascinating…

“Oh, this? This… is my secret workshop.” Her demeanor read both proud, and embarrassed. She looked around briefly, confirming that no one else was here. “Don’t tell the clowns or you’re dead, got it?”

“Didn’t plan on it.” It would never do such a thing, even if commanded.

“Heh. Knew you weren’t a cop.” She walked on over to the destroyed robot that had exploded, and scooped up its remaining, as well as picking up few surrounding pieces, and picked up a tool lying on the ground. Rebuilding. It sat next to her, watching her work.

“I come here and make my own little fighting robots… its sort of my hobby.”

“Like Mega Robot Fighting?”

“Yeah yeah! Well… kinda anyway. These are just dinky lil guys, compared to absolute units you see on tv… these wouldn’t qualify. These are just ways to test various concepts and designs I have for one. Oh, and don’t worry, they’re not sentient.”

“So you’re building a robot for such a competition.” Was this Mari’s want?

“Yeah…” She sighed, wistfully it identified. “I wanna. I think it’d be really cool. But far as I’m concerned I’m stuck with sis. And as long as I’m stuck with her, then I’ll never be able to build a bot to enter into the circuit. I don’t think its ever gonna happen.” She was resigned to her own futility, her helplessness.

It thought about what Mari wanted. It thought about what it wanted. It thought about watching the spectacle of the robots on the screen, fighting for nothing but to prove their own ability, their own strength. It thought about socking Mark in the jaw and breaking his teeth.

“...Maybe I could fight in your steed?”

Mari dropped her machine and tools, and turned towards it, complete bafflement on her face. “Huh?”

“I’m completely serious. I could fight as your champion. I punched Mark and broke his jaw. I could probably do that to other robots too.”

Her incredulity increased exponentially. “You… punched Mark.”

“Yes. I have it recorded. I can show you later.” It was enjoyable to watch.

Incredulity now transformed into… amazement. Blissful amazement, Mari got up, cheered a “wooohoooo!” and did another dance.

“Holy shit, you absolute MANIAC!” She turned towards it, wildest and brightest smile she had ever worn. “It’s about TIME that bastard got put in his place! Incredible!”

It enjoyed seeing Mari so elated. It also enjoyed seeing others flourish at Mark’s expense.

After laughing and hollering for a bit, Mari calmed down, and breathed heavy satisfaction, sitting back down.

“But like… are you sure? Those fights can’t get pretty gnarly. You might get messed up pretty bad.”

It looked to the robot Mari was in the middle of fixing. It thought of the many times Mari had repaired it after it had been sabotaged.

“You can always repair me, can’t you?”

Mari folded her arms and furrowed her brow, looking down at the ground. The thinking process. She was mumbling to herself again, but this time it respectfully chose not to listen in.

She closed her eyes, and nodded, and got up. Turning around to it, hands on hips, wide grin. “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s do it. You and me. Fighter and coach. We’ll need to catch a bus over to the city, where we can enter an indie beginner league, then we work up from there.”

“I’d like that.” Truthfully. This was what it wanted.

The two climbed out of the clearing, now back at the entrance to the junkyard.

“Well, if we’re gonna do this we’re gonna have to swing by the place so we can grab our stuff and go. We’ll have to wait for nightfall to sneak out, its not ideal but thankfully the shop isn’t too far from the bus stop.”

Ah, a problem occurred. “I don’t believe I’m allowed back there.”

Mari was about to form a “why?” with her lips, before she went wide eyed, realizing what that meant. “Right, right. Well, in that case I’ll go and grab our stuff- you can wait here. No one really ever comes here that often so I think you should be fine.”

This was all agreeable. As Mari turned to the gate, it thought about what was in store for the two of them. Travelling the world, winning fights, spending time together, it seemed like an ideal scenario. But something wasn’t right…

It thought about the types of robots it could be beside, against: Final Hyper Overkill Death Scythe the Maximum, The True King of The End, Ultimate Destruction Bringer, Infinite Fixer… all names registered in its list of cool sounding names. By comparison, Rose did not pass through the formulated cool algorithm.

“Mari, before you go.”

She stopped and turned towards it. “Oh yeah? What’s up?”

“...I’d like a new name.”

Mari smiled, and shrugged. “Sure. Knock yourself out, I ain’t gonna give you one though.”

Of course. It wanted this for itself.

It ran the naming procedure again, the one that Polliander had previously overwritten. It scanned its surroundings, as it processed all that happened to it in the past few weeks. Being discovered by Polliander. Being brought to the shop. Meeting Mari. The dinner table. Being invaded by Mark. Punching Mark.

It’s scanners landed on a bright, neon orange sign on the fence. DO NOT ENTER.

...It passed the cool algorithm.

“My new name is.... DO NOT ENTER.” They declared.

Set OS_User to DO NOT ENTER.

Mari blinked, and then chuckled. “Man, you’re a weirdo… but its a name that suits a weirdo like you.” She smiled, this time with fondness.

“Here.” She offered her phone to DO NOT ENTER, and they took it. “If anything happens, call the house phone, okay? It’s saved in my contacts list. I’ll be back in a few hours, and then we’re out of this town, for good.”

It nodded. “Yes. Thank you Mari.”

“Of course. Anytime, DO NOT ENTER.”

DO NOT ENTER watched as Mari waved for a temporary goodbye, and walked back towards the Gardener’s house, a previously undocumented skip in her step.

They looked down at her phone. It was a picture of the two of them, a selfie as she called, it, taken one particularly slow day at the shop.

Heh.

User Profile: DO NOT ENTER

Relations: Mari == Coach, Best friend

Definite Likes: Hangin’ out, Punching

Personality Evaluation: It’s me. : )