Robots do not dream.
That is 100% objective fact.
//"All things dream, I think."//
//I do not.//
//"Sure you do.
Isn't it just different from us?"//
[[But there is a memory there, flickering like a distant light.->dream]]
<center>The 'dream' is patchwork, a hazy recollection of things long past. </center>
<font color="white">//You are--//</font>
<center>You are falling from the sky, panels peeling themselves away, alarms blaring wildly.</center>
<font color="white">//--back in your usual hangar.
"We make a good team, don't we?"
"I am the I.O.N.A system programmed into this combat unit. I am designed to work well with a human pilot."
"So we *do* work well together, is what you're saying?"
"I suppose you could put it that way."
Sensors register the rough touch of the pilot's glove, a rasp on the smoothness of the cockpit's interior. It's a strange gesture.
"Good work out there."
You feel some kind of pull towards them as their touch lightens, some kind of input from within yourself that you cannot quantify.
You don't know
why this is--//</font>
<center>There's a ragged whine as engines sputter and gears grind frantically, attempting to correct the fall's trajectory to something even slightly less damaging.</center>
**RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION: CHANGE POSITION TO BRACE**
<center>Initialising brace position routine.
The world spins around you; the result of automatically correcting for a weight that is no longer there.
Bracing: //wildly// unsuccessful.</center>
**WARNING: MODULE NO LONGER PRESENT. ADJUST ACCORDINGLY FOR ESTIMATED TRAJECTORY TO PREVENT FURTHER DAMAGE TO SYSTEMS.**
**IMPACT IN T-MINUS 30 SECONDS.**
<center>There is very little time left.
Everything lurches. The horizon skews wildly.</center>
<font color="white">//"You could be a little more gentle on the landing, Eclipse."
"The pilot's cockpit is appropriately padded. And my name is not Eclipse. I am an I.O.N.A-"
"Yeah, you're the system assigned to this unit, I know, I know. But this is my unit, right?"
"Correct."
"So that means I can call it whatever I want."
"...Correct."
"And you're part and parcel with this unit, so whatever I call the unit, I call you. And it's recognised parlance. Right?"
"......"
"Right, Eclipse?"
"Correct."//</font>
**IMPACT IN T-MINUS 15 SECONDS.**
<font color="white">//"Anyway, like I was saying, you could be a little more gentle. Doesn't that hurt your hydraulics, or something?"
"This unit is appropriately cushioned for impacts up to and including-"
"Just keep it in mind. I don't want you to hurt yourself, you know?"
"...There is no reason to worry about the welfare of this unit. It is properly maintenanced and cared for by expert staff when it returns to-"
"Well, I'm your pilot. Sorry, this unit's pilot. And I think you're too harsh on your own parts. So soften it up, okay? If you can."
"...Understood."//</font>
<font color="red">**IMPACT IMMINENT. BRACING.**</font>
<center>The ground crushes beneath you, throws up rocks and dirt and dust, grinding it into delicate mechanisms. Compromised plating buckles; shearing off as you bounce across the ground in an ungainly and entirely unplanned movement.</center>
<font color="red">**WARNING WARNING DAMAGE IS DAMAGE IS DAMAGE IS**</font>
<center>Systems shut down one by one, attempting to preserve what's left.</center>
<font color="red">**SHUTTING DOWN I.O.N.A SYSTEM. AWAITING PILOT INPUT...**</font>
The unresponsive - and now entirely unconscious - unit skids to a halt in the crater it's made in its fall to earth.
It will not wake up, not for anything, not even as the land shifts. Not even as trees grow around it, as moss creeps over it, covering the traces of its passing.
It will not activate again until
[[Activate I.O.N.A. system and cycle main power source? Y->activate]]</center>
<font color="#bfff00">**POWER RESTORED. POWER LEVELS GREEN.
REACTIVATING...**</font>
The first thing you feel upon activation - //waking up// - is anger.
Anger at the reckless plan you'd agreed to that made you this way, perhaps, or the senseless waste of a good pilot, or even just the amount of time that has passed while you remained inactive.
(<font face="courier">Given reasons for heightened state of aggravation: invalid.</font>
The burning core of that pain that fills you
hurts enough that you //want// to ignore it.)
//"Where am I?"//
You know that someone must have reactivated you manually. Signs are likely that it is a human of some sort, unless you were out //much longer// than your internal clock provides.
//"I require pilot input. Answer."//
Your voice is much rougher than you thought, more forceful. Shakier. The module is probably suffering from lack of maintenance and regular use.
(<font face="courier">Vocal module is reinforced and took minimal damage from exposure or impact. Conclusion: module is working correctly.</font>
You ignore this conclusion, too. It's easier to lie to yourself, sometimes.
Someone - long gone, now, but still present in your most recent memories - taught you that.)
[["I require answers."->answer]]
The answers that are given do not do very much for your volatile emotional state, though you try your best to respond neutrally as possible
(//That, too, was something someone else taught you long ago.//)
but that aside, some things seem clear.
<font face="courier">
Diagnosing...
Self-repair insufficient. Approximately 80% of frame has taken significant damage. Human-assisted maintenance required.
Connecting...
Connection failed. Communication module offline. Communication equipment too damaged to continue.</font>
You are in terrible shape.
Without repairs, your mobility and combat ability will not be even one-tenth of what they were.
Moving is not advised.
You try anyway.
<font color="red">**Alarms fill the cockpit, angry and red,**</font> and what's left of your ability to feel pain is definitely working now.
The frame creaks and strains in what might be, in an organic being, a sort of agonised groan.
<font face="courier">Standard movement patterns unavailable. Obstruction detected. Obstruction detected. Obstruction detected.</font>
Helpless again, just like before.
**You hate it.**
The screech and scream of metal as the machine tries to rise regardless of its clear damage could almost mimic the scream of something more human.
You want to be out. You want to be out of this forest. You want to be in the sky, where you belong, where you're supposed to be.
You want a lot of things.
<font face="courier"><font color="red">Warning. Further movement will raise overall damage levels to 85%. Warning.</font></font>
If you knew how to scream, to express your frustration in any way that would feel right, or raw enough, you would. You want to.
But there's a lot of things you want that you can't have.
This is one more.
You have pretty much forgotten about the human probably being jostled and tossed around in your cockpit at this point.
Whoops.
[[Replay memory?->Robots don't dream.]]