Chapter Five
Arthur's eyes opened slowly, dragged from sleep by the pale light filtering through the window shutters. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, his vision blurry, his mind still caught in the fog between dreaming and waking.
The couch. Familiar. Safe.
His hand fumbled across the cargo table until his fingers found his phone. The screen lit up at his touch, requesting biometric authentication. He pressed his thumb to the sensor and squinted at the display.
Monday, 12 June 2083
07:43
A week. It had been exactly one week since he'd woken up on this same couch with no memory of who he was, silver eyes and a strand of glowing white hair that marked him as something other.
He pushed himself up, his back complaining, and ran a hand through his hair. The strand caught on his fingers, faintly warm to the touch.
"Morning, Stella."
Across the room, Stella sat cross-legged on the floor, his old laptop balanced on her knees. Her quicksilver eyes reflected the shifting colors on the screen, but she didn't look up.
"Morning, Arthur." Flat. Precise.
He stood, stretched until his spine popped, and shuffled over to her. The floor was cold against his bare feet. He sat down beside her and leaned his back against the wall.
A tactical combat grid filled the screen. Isometric view. Character portraits lined up on the left, enemy units positioned across a sprawling battlefield rendered in rich, detailed pixel art. Health bars, action points, spell slots—all meticulously calculated and color-coded.
One of those sprawling fantasy strategy RPGs that had been remastered a dozen times over the decades. Complex. Unforgiving. The kind of game that required you to think ten moves ahead or watch your party get slaughtered by a pack of goblins.
Stella moved her characters with surgical precision. No wasted actions. No hesitation. Each unit deployed to maximize tactical advantage, exploiting enemy positioning and terrain bonuses with the cold efficiency of a chess grandmaster. Tank positioned to absorb aggro. Mage hanging back, charging an area-of-effect spell. Rogue flanking from the shadows.
Beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.
"Do you like the game?" he asked.
"Yes." She paused, her eyes flickering briefly—that data-scroll tell he'd learned to recognize. "It is... interesting. The decision trees are complex. Multiple variables to optimize. Each encounter requires analysis of unit capabilities, enemy behavior patterns, and environmental factors. Satisfying."
Arthur smiled. Of course she liked the math of it.
"What about the story? The characters? The whole 'saving the world from ancient evil' thing?"
She tilted her head slightly. "The narrative is adequate. The character development follows predictable arcs. However, the tactical combat system is superior. I have calculated seventeen distinct strategies for the current encounter, each with varying success probabilities."
"Seventeen," Arthur repeated. "You've thought of seventeen different ways to beat this fight?"
"Yes. Would you like me to enumerate them?"
"Maybe later." He reached up and patted her head.
Her eyes closed. She leaned—just slightly—into the touch, shoulders relaxing. Barely perceptible, but there.
"Pleasant," she murmured.
Arthur's smile widened. She always said that. Every single time. And every single time, warmth bloomed in his chest.
He'd concluded that the first time he'd seen her smile—really smile, not just mimic the expression. Three days ago. She'd been attempting to cook breakfast, following a recipe with mechanical precision, and had somehow managed to burn the scrambled egg paste so badly it had set off the smoke alarm. When he'd laughed (actually laughed, bent over with tears streaming), she'd stared at him in confusion. Slowly, the corners of her mouth had lifted. Just a little. And her eyes had... softened.
When he'd asked her why, she'd replied: "I don't know. It felt... correct."
Despite her robotic speech patterns, her flat affect, her clinical observations, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when she acted like a real person. When she'd mimic his expressions, tilting her head the same way he did when he was thinking. When she'd sit closer to him than necessary, as if drawn by something she couldn't name.
Little breadcrumbs of humanity, scattered through her code.
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts.
A message from Kira.
Kira: Yo. What you up to?
Arthur typed back quickly.
Kira: Swinging by in a few hours. Need to check on you.
Arthur frowned at the screen. That sounded ominous. He glanced at the black band on his left wrist. The one Kira had given him to monitor his vitals and location.
Arthur: Everything okay?
Kira: Yeah yeah. Just wanna see how you're holding up. Bring you some food too. You better actually eat it this time.
Shit. She'd noticed.
He sent back a thumbs-up emoji and set the phone down.
He should probably go out today. Do another training session.
Kira had suggested it after the first few days—said he needed to learn to control the constant pull, the way the city's energy sang to him like a siren song. Every power line, every battery, every piece of charged tech screaming take me, drain me, use me.
At first, he'd barely made it two blocks before the headaches started, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer density of it all. The city was a blazing inferno to his Energy Sense. Walking through Midspire was wading through fire.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
But he was getting better. Yesterday, he'd managed a full hour in the crowded marketplace without accidentally draining someone's phone. Progress.
He looked at Stella, still absorbed in her game. "Hey. I need to go out for a bit. Training session."
Her eyes flickered, considering. "Training session. You are practicing energy absorption control."
"Yeah. Kira's orders. She says if I don't learn to filter it out, I'll either go crazy from the constant noise or accidentally drain something important and get noticed."
"Logical." Stella closed the laptop carefully and looked at him. "May I accompany you?"
Arthur hesitated. He'd been leaving her in the apartment for these sessions—safer that way, less risk of exposure. But the way she was looking at him, those silver eyes reflecting the faint light from the window...
"I want to see it," she added quietly. "The city. Not through a window. Not through scans. I want to experience it."
The word hung in the air between them.
Arthur thought about it. The training route he'd been using was relatively isolated—maintenance levels, old industrial walkways, places where foot traffic was minimal. But still...
"It's risky," he said. "If someone sees you—"
"I can cloak," Stella said simply.
Arthur blinked. "You can what?"
"Cloak. Optical camouflage. I can render myself effectively invisible to visual detection and dampen my thermal signature." She tilted her head. "How do you think I remained undetected in your apartment before you woke? And when Kira first visited?"
Arthur's mind raced back. The bathroom, the black blanket on the floor and no trace of her.
"You were hiding the whole time. Right under my nose."
"Yes. My cloaking system is highly effective. Not perfect—I still have mass, create minor air displacement, generate electromagnetic interference at close range—but sufficient for avoiding casual detection."
Arthur let out a breath. "Okay. That's... that's actually really helpful. If things go wrong out there, you can just disappear."
"Precisely." Pride colored her tone. "So. May I accompany you?"
Arthur looked at her—at those earnest eyes, at the way she was waiting for his permission—and found he couldn't say no.
"Okay. But you stay close. If I say hide, you cloak immediately. Got it?"
Relief flickered through her expression. "Understood."
* * *
Before they left, Arthur rummaged through the dented wardrobe, pulling out clothing. "Here," he said, handing her a bundle. "Put these on. Your hair and eyes are too distinctive. If someone sees you..."
Stella took the clothes, examining them with quiet curiosity. A grey hoodie—oversized on her slender frame, the fabric worn soft from years of use. A black medical mask, the kind common in Midspire's lower levels where the air quality was questionable. Dark cargo pants that she had to roll at the ankles.
She dressed efficiently, pulling the hoodie over her white shirt, tugging the hood up to shadow her face. The silvery-white hair disappeared into the grey fabric, though a few strands escaped near her temples—bright enough to catch the light. She adjusted the mask over her nose and mouth, leaving only her eyes visible.
"How do I look?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled.
Arthur studied her. With the hood up and mask on, she could have been any young woman navigating Midspire's industrial sectors. The distinctive teal strand was hidden. Her porcelain skin was covered. Only her eyes remained—luminous, unnatural—but in the dim corridors, they might pass for high-end optical mods.
"Good," he said. "Just keep your head down and don't make eye contact with anyone."
He pulled on his own grey hoodie—a twin to hers, dark and nondescript—and a worn black jacket, still riddled with holes, over it. The kind of layered, anonymous look that was common in the maintenance levels. The white strand was tucked under the hood, and he kept his hands in his pockets to hide the faint glow that sometimes pulsed through his veins when he was near strong energy sources.
Two shadows. Two ghosts moving through the city unseen.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, they were walking through one of Midspire's lower maintenance corridors. The air here was thick with the smell of ozone and machine oil, the walls lined with exposed pipes and conduits that hummed with power. Overhead, the industrial lighting cast everything in harsh white and deep shadow.
Arthur walked with his hood up, hands in his pockets, eyes forward. Beside him, Stella moved with that same fluid precision, though the oversized hoodie made her seem smaller, less threatening. Just another modded kid navigating the industrial underbelly.
Arthur's Energy Sense was active, and the world around him blazed. The pipes carried electrical current like rivers of light. The junction boxes pulsed like beating hearts. Even the emergency lights radiated energy in soft, steady rhythms.
He focused on filtering it out. Building walls in his mind. Letting the noise fade to background static.
Beside him, Stella walked in perfect silence, her movements fluid and precise. She was scanning everything—eyes flickering as she analyzed the environment, cataloging every detail.
"This is nice," she said suddenly, and Arthur nearly tripped over his own feet.
Her voice was different. Still soft, still precise, but... natural. The flat, robotic cadence was gone, replaced by something that sounded almost human. Warm. Alive.
He stopped walking and stared at her. "What?"
"The corridor." She gestured to the industrial surroundings. "It's quiet. Private. I can see why you chose this location for training." She turned to look at him. "Why did you stop?"
"You're... you're speaking differently."
"Oh." She blinked, considering. "Yes. You requested that I adapt my verbal output to appear more natural when in public spaces. To avoid drawing attention."
"I—what? When did I ask you that?"
"Before we left the apartment. You said: 'Try to speak normally when we're out.' I interpreted this as a request to modulate my speech patterns to mimic standard human conversation cadence and inflection."
Arthur's mind reeled. He had said that, almost as an afterthought while they were getting ready. He'd assumed she couldn't do it, that her robotic speech was hardwired.
"Wait. You can just... do that? Change how you talk?"
"Yes." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Then why don't you speak like this all the time?"
Stella was quiet for a moment, her metallic gaze searching his face. "I don't know. I hadn't thought to. My default speech patterns are efficient for data transmission, but..." She paused. "Do you prefer this? When I speak this way?"
Arthur opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought about it.
Yes. He did prefer it. It made her feel more... real. More there. Like he was talking to a person instead of an interface.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I do. It's nice. Easier to talk to you."
Relief crossed her expression—subtle, barely there. "I will speak this way. From now on." She tilted her head, and there was something almost playful in the gesture. "Is this better?"
"Much better." Arthur smiled and started walking again. "Come on. Let's keep moving before someone finds us loitering."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Arthur focusing on his control exercises while Stella observed everything with quiet fascination. She'd occasionally stop to examine something—a junction box, a pressure gauge, a faded safety warning painted on the wall—and Arthur would wait patiently while she satisfied her curiosity.
It felt almost normal. Like two people taking a walk, not a mutant and an amnesiac android hiding from the world.
"Arthur?" Stella's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"About what happened in the alley." She was looking at him now, expression serious. "The men who died. Kira doesn't know, does she?"
Arthur's stomach tightened. They hadn't talked about this since he'd watched the corrupted footage, since he'd realized what he'd done.
"No," he said quietly. "She doesn't."
"Will you tell her?"
"I don't know." He touched his forehead, feeling the faint warmth of energy just beneath his skin. "I don't... I don't know how she'd react. If she'd still see me as Arthur, or if she'd just see a monster who killed five people."
Stella was quiet for a long moment. "You're not a monster. You were defending yourself."
"I don't remember it. I don't remember choosing to do it. What if I lose control again? What if I hurt someone who doesn't deserve it?"
"I will stop you," Stella said simply. "That is my function as your companion. To assist you. To protect you from threats. Including yourself, if necessary."
Arthur looked at her, and the knot in his chest loosened. "You'd do that?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "You are my caretaker. But I am also yours. We protect each other."
He didn't know what to say to that. So instead, he just reached out and squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back, her grip firm and warm, and they kept walking.
"If Kira asks," Arthur said after a while, "about that night, about the alley... can you... can you not tell her?"
Stella's eyes flickered briefly. "You wish me to lie?"
"I wish you to keep a secret. Just until I understand what I am. Until I know I'm not dangerous."
She considered this, expression thoughtful. "I can do that. I am capable of deception when necessary." She glanced at him. "Your secret is safe with me, Arthur. I promise."
Relief flooded through him. "Thank you."
"However," she added, "if she directly threatens you, or if withholding information puts you in danger, I will reassess. Your safety is my priority."
"That's fair."
They walked a bit further before Arthur felt his control slipping. The energy from a nearby transformer was calling to him, a siren song he couldn't quite ignore. He stopped, closed his eyes, and focused on building the mental walls higher.
When he opened his eyes again, the pull had lessened. Not gone, but manageable.
