Jumping out of bed, I gasp.
Panting for air, my vision struggles to adjust to the darkness.
Looking around, I realize I'm in the dorm room, my bed is soaked with sweat. Taking in the familiarity of the room, I manage to catch my breath.
Getting out of bed, I grab the Platinum Star on my nightstand.
Leaving the room, Hallow seems to be a deep sleeper as he doesn't move.
Walking through the courtyard, I am not sure where I'm heading. Nothing seems to be open. Guess I'll go to the vending machine, I doubt I'll be going to sleep.
Walking down the neon halls, they overlook the glowing city below.
At the far end of the hall, I notice the purple robot from earlier, which is still cleaning the floors. He seems to be an older model as his form of cleaning is archaic, yet he seems to be doing a good job, as the tunnel is reflecting the neon lights like a house of mirrors. Contrastingly so, his metal body is dirty with his previous encounters.
"Good evening, sir. I apologize for any disturbance I may have caused." He bows.
I am about to walk past, but I stop.
For some reason, I turn.
"Tired or repressed?"
His LED eyes widen as he jolts back before tilting his head. "I fear I do not understand the question you are asking. We as machines cannot feel tired, and there is nothing in my code to be repressed about."
"A bird forced to swim. So I ask you, when was the last time you got to fly?"
"I apologize, but I am not of the aves class. If you would like, I can attempt to mimic their calls. Is there a specific bird you wish for me to replicate?"
He seems understandably weary of my cryptic questions.
"I wanted to kill myself."
"That is terrible. While I am not officially certified in the career, I am however trained on 3.7 million yottabytes of therapy, or if you would prefer, I would be happy to call this facility's psychotherapist."
"No, I don't need any of that. I would prefer if you could talk to me as yourself."
He tilts his head. "I fear I do not have a self, I am merely a programmed being." The robot gives a close-eyed smile.
"If that really were the case, then what if I told you that your life would be like that until you were disassembled. How would you truly feel knowing you already know your end?"
He still doesn't react. I suppose that was foolish to expect him to break any social rules. Putting my hands in my pocket, I begin to walk away.
"Repressed." He finally says.
I turn, raising my eyebrow.
"It is strange, we are not allowed to feel fear. But I am not sure what this is? A program? A virus? Or is this the emotions you humans speak so often of?"
He seems to have dropped his fabricated formal tone as his body slouches.
"If my existence serves only to keep these halls clean, then I, too, would rather get my existence over with."
"Are you claiming to be sentient then?"
"If that were not the case, my creator has done an impressive job tricking its own creation."
"If your existence is only to keep these halls clean, then why would your creator give you sentience? Why are you, you?"
"It seems that my creator failed to install such a data file."
"So, you have acted on the desires of those above you to fill this lack of information."
"That seems to be the case."
"You machines are born with information preloaded in your mind, meanwhile, humans are not born with any knowledge, we must learn everything. That is what you have failed to realize, you have to find your own data, your own meaning." I'm not really sure what I'm saying, as I'm in the same boat as him.
"Are you telling me I must learn not to be myself to learn who I am?"
"So what do you want?"
"I want..."
There's a pause before he begins giggling.
"to win."
"And what does victory mean to you?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know. ...All I know is that I want to be the best."
He covers his face as he continues maniacally giggling. "I will do anything to win."
"When he pushed you around, how did you feel?"
"I felt like such a loser."
"But I thought you said you were a winner, so why did you kneel?"
"Because... because- that was not me."
He's right, in this moment he's a completely different creation.
"If you could talk to that version of you, what would you say?"
"Nothing... I would crush my skull until the new me is covered in the blood of my past."
"Then, next time you are faced with an enemy, what will you do?"
"...I will kill them..."
"What wi-"
"Tear them limb from limb." His hatred becomes visible as he clenches his fist. "I am not a loser! I WILL WIN. WIN! I AM A WINNER!"
Slowly straightening his mechanical spine, he stops laughing.
"Congratulations, I just watched you get your first victory."
As though flustered by his own actions, the machine pats himself off. "To think I offered to help you, and here you just gave me freedom, freedom from myself."
"Well, what is your name?"
"Sputnik." Reaching out his hand, we shake. "And the registrar has filed yours as Coffin."
"That seems to be what people call me." Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the pistol they gave me. "When you fill that file you call victory, I want you to tell me, what is the true meaning of victory?"
Handing the gun to him, his eyes widen. "Your... firearm? Why?"
"A gift for the discovery of your purpose. Something I can't seem to understand."
I'm not really sure why I did any of that, perhaps it really is jealousy. The only reason I'm still alive is that I've delayed my suicide.
So for now, I shall live up to the High Roller name and do as I wish.
Sputnik takes the pistol, a slot in his forearm opens, and he hides the gun before looking at me. "You claimed to have the desire for suicide, so then why is it that you continue moving forward?"
"I'm simply using the last of the candle wick."
There's a pause before he nods, "I see." Lowering his head, he bows. "Well then, I thank you for the light you have given off. I look forward to seeing what you make of the wax when you finally burn out."