Echoes of the Past

With the android gone, Entro began to explore the office, taking stock of what remained.

The flickering light barely lit the room, casting long, uneven shadows that danced over stacks of boxes. Fragile equipment lay haphazardly piled, as if someone had started to move but abandoned the effort halfway. Dust coated every surface, drifting lazily through the stale air. The room felt untouched, frozen in time—a relic of a life he could barely recognize.

"What have they done to you?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

This was once his workshop. The place where he had spent countless nights crafting the future, forsaking sleep and solitude to create something extraordinary. Here, amidst the clutter and chaos, he had poured his soul into his work—nine androids crafted with human anatomy, brains wired to think, and hearts sparked with the passion of consciousness.

They were no longer here. 

Shaking the thoughts off, Entro sought to distract himself by at least exploring the changes brought about over the years.

Most of his, dutifully organized items were moved and broken down, obviously in an attempt to understand their properties.

Organized wasn't exactly the right word considering he tossed things in calculated directions, but he knew where everything was and that's all that mattered. 

It was a large lab, enough to be a large garage, he needed the space for everything he used to work on.

It was open spaced with not many counters or cabinets as commonly seen within a chemistry lab, with everything coated in Lent, a metal Entro engineered to brunt most explosions, and the properties to withstand any acid, solely to help in his experiments.

Lent wasn't something the public had access to; its applications were too dangerous, too potent. He had never made it known to the world—not because it couldn't help humanity, but because humanity wasn't ready for it. The metal was created solely for his experiments, made to endure the stresses of bioengineering and the volatile nature of his work.

Without the necessary preparations, fostering an android was akin to raising a child in a small home; with nigh indestructible skin and the strength to snap a man's femur. 

It took a lot of patience.

This is where he would slave away for the rest of his life, making money for the very person who took everything from him. 

Remembering his face as he presented the terms of the contract, sitting there, partially spilling out of the chair he was so large. He hadn't always been that size, but after backstabbing Entro, he put up numbers on the scale.Thinking back, it started long before he was ever betrayed. Withholding information, moving massive amounts of funds, under the table deals, he was fattening himself up long before his true character was revealed. 

On the wall was plaques galore, so many different awards and certificates, it could blind any man with all its splendor. Entro never kept account of things he was awarded with, nor did he show up to accept them. He stayed in his workshop where the magic happened, grueling away at the walls of scientific innovation. They were all placed here purposely, as a reminder of what he used to be, his pinnacle. An endless future promptly cut off by the one he trusted the most.

His most famous words plastered at the top of it all. 

"To dream is to create. To create is to transcend. - E.V"

Not wanting to linger on the past, Entro forced his focus back to the present, scanning the room for any remaining traces of his former life. 

A large capsule still remained untouched on the far side of the room, where he kept androids under stasis to be worked on and analyzed. They slept, healed, decompressed, and were allowed time to themselves in the capsule, until they were ready to be enlisted into their jobs and work for Entro. 

Feeling around the backside, he placed pressure on 3 points and watched a compartment slide out. Inside, a small note could be seen. It was stiff, slightly molded and appeared very fragile. 

Gently picking it up, Entro read the contents.

'To the greatest dad a little robot could ever know'

The paper felt fragile in his hands, as though it could crumble away with the slightest pressure. Entro's heart clenched, It was all he had left of them now. The androids—his creations, his children—gone, and this note felt as fragile as the bond they once shared. He feared that if he wasn't careful, if he didn't handle it with the utmost care, this, too, would slip through his fingers like everything else.Instantly, the strong appearance he had been upholding crumbled. Tears fell with ease, as if there was nothing obstructing them, neither air, nor eyelashes. The single sentence brought him back to a better time. 

"We finished it!" 

Entro smiled at the android, her bright blue eyes sparkling with pride. Every time she blinked, the faint click of her eyelids sounded like the shutter of a camera, capturing the joy of the moment. She sat on the floor, excitement radiating from her as she brandished the working mini-airplane, its wings cutting through the air with every enthusiastic spin.

"That's right, baby, you did most of the work though."

In her excitement, she didn't even hear him speak. She was too caught up in the wonder of the moment, flying the plane around the room in wild circles. It was an adorable sight, one that filled the room with warmth—now lost in the cold emptiness of time.

"Oh, Hope, why did you have to be so stupid?"

His back and knees screamed in protest, aching from—who knows how long—curled up in the fetal position, tears long since dried but leaving faint tracks on his face as evidence of his breakdown. His voice was hoarse, the words ragged as he stumbled to his feet. The room felt stifling, suffocating.

He leaned heavily against the wall, using it for support until he reached the door. His head cleared enough to take in his surroundings: no one was around, except for a janitor, absentmindedly scrubbing the floor, by hand for some odd reason.

Faint mechanical sounds reached his ears, the dull hum of automated machines, their gears turning rhythmically in the background. It was clear—he was alone. Just the cleaners. The others were gone.

He didn't want to be here any longer. His body ached with every step as he hobbled to the front entrance, his focus narrowed to a tunnel vision.

The moment he burst outside, the cool night air hit him, sharp and biting against his skin. He had left his coat behind. 

---

The moment Entro stepped outside, the cool night air hit him like a blade, sharp and biting against his skin. He had left his coat behind. 

Shrugging off the chill, he began the familiar trek back to his apartment. At this hour, the streets were barren of families. The only life left on the roads was that of crooks and hoodlums—but even they steered clear of him. They knew his name, and more importantly, they knew what happened the last time someone tried their luck. 

He focused on the sound of his boots hitting the pavement, the rhythmic echo against the stillness of the night. But his mind betrayed him, pulling him back to a memory he'd worked tirelessly to suppress. 

It had been a warm night—so different from this one. Entro had taken Raze out for a walk. Raze had always been more restless than his first creation, Hope. Entro thought a little open space might help, especially given how well Raze had been progressing with his training. 

At first, it had been pleasant. The hum of distant cars and the occasional honk of a horn blended into the soft bustle of a city that never truly slept. Raze walked beside him, composed and focused, his jacket catching the faint glow of streetlights as they passed. 

But peace is always fleeting.

They had rounded a particular corner—Entro still remembered every detail about it. It was just a block from his house, a spot etched into his mind.

A drunk man had been in their path, shouting at a scruffy dog over a stolen sock. When he noticed Entro and Raze, the dog was forgotten, and the drunk's attention shifted entirely to them.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A man and a little kid taking a stroll down Mittleton Avenue. You know where you are, old man?"

Old. Entro had been barely in his twenties then, his face still smooth and youthful. Yet here was this vagrant, calling him old. 

The man stumbled closer, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Raze. "And look at this kid—nice jacket. Fancy. I've only seen these on TV." 

He reached out, his grimy fingers aiming for Raze pocket. Instinctively, Entro stepped between them, his silence conveying everything that needed to be said:

Back off. 

The drunk snorted, but recognition flickered across his face. "Wait… I know you. Entropy Voldstadt; the man of the hour— all of 24 hours." 

Entro's shoulders stiffened. The man's tone had shifted erratically, swinging between mocking humor and seething anger. 

"What're you doing slumming it here? Don't tell me this kid's one of your little projects. What, you here to show off? Flaunt how rich you are? Coming to remind us poor folk you can buy this whole block if you wanted?" 

The drunk's words blurred into meaningless noise again. Entro barely heard him over the pounding in his ears. This wasn't what tonight was supposed to be. He'd wanted a simple, peaceful walk, just him and Raze. 

"—and don't get me started on. You're not even paying attention! Too rich to even listen, huh?" 

The man's jabbing finger broke through Entro's trance. The foul stench of alcohol rolled off him, strong enough to make Entro's stomach turn. 

And then Raze moved. 

The android extended his hand, palm open, offering coins that gleamed under the streetlights. The drunk paused, his tirade faltering as greed overtook him. 

"See, now that's how you—"

The words choked off as Raze fingers snapped shut, crushing the man's hand with an audible crunch. 

The scream that followed was deafening, reverberating down the empty street. Entro's stomach lurched, but before he could react, Raze had already hoisted the man off the ground by his throat. 

The fear in the man's eyes was undeniable, his drunken bravado replaced by desperation. He looked at Entro, pleading silently, but it was too late. 

Raze grip tightened. 

The crack of bone was sharp, final. The man's body went limp, and Raze dropped him unceremoniously, as though he were nothing more than discarded waste. 

If Entro truly thought about it, that incident seemed to vanish into thin air once Harlan, his financial executive, caught wind of it. No reports, no witnesses—just eerie silence. Nobody mentioned it, nor did anyone lead on that they knew. Perhaps they were paid to forget, or perhaps they truly never noticed.

At the time, Entro didn't care enough to dig deeper. He had been far too preoccupied with something else: figuring out what had gone wrong with Raze.

It wasn't until much later that he uncovered the truth. Raze hadn't acted out of instinct or malfunction—he'd acted out of anger. Real anger. He'd seen his creator, his father, being disrespected and had passed judgment with the cold finality of a machine. In Raze's eyes, disrespect warranted death.

That was the moment the cracks had begun to show, the first glimpse of just how complicated Entro's creations could be.

And shortly after that realization came their demise.