Tom: What have I done?
Though I did not pull the trigger, I built the gun that he holds in in his hand.
Last night I dreamed I climbed to the top of a mountain of metal
and for miles I could see the destruction of man.
I will not be the father of death.
Darling Emily, everything that I have done, I have done for you,
but it's turned out all wrong.
Can I take it back? Can I turn off this machine
before it destroys everything that I've loved?
I will find a way to make this right!
I will find a way, Emily.
I will not be the father of death!
[Emily Stanton climbed the stairs to her beloved's apartment, a folded letter in her hand. Tom had been so busy with his work these last few months, they'd barely seen one another. This, instead, was how they'd communicated. The door at the top of the stairs was cracked open. She called out to Tom as she entered the darkened room. A man was bent over the desk rummaging through the drawers frantically. It was Albert Wily. He turned, startled, and looked at Emily; the hint of a smile crossed his face. He motioned, not at Emily, but at the figure standing in the shadows behind her. The machine shut the door obediently.]
Emily: What are you doing here? (Albert: Let me take you away.)
I'm not going anywhere. (He will be nothing when this runs its course.)
He will be everything that a man
is supposed to be.
If the shadow blocks out the sun... there will be light!
If it stays 'till the sun is set... there will be light!
If the sun never shows its face again... there will be light!
No matter how dark the city gets... there will be...
[Albert Wily's eyes grew cold as Emily's rejection of him became clear. He turned to the machine standing at the door and quickly slid his finger across his own throat. The robot moved silently towards Emily as Wily slid through the window, onto the fire escape, and into the streets below. Emily ran to the window, following his escape, but the machine was too quick. Its cold hands caught the soft flesh of her arm. She opened her mouth to scream but the warm tearing of a cold blade across her neck aborted the sound.
Even as Thomas Light climbed the stairs to his apartment, he sensed something was wrong. He opened the door, crossed through, and locked it behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, the first thing he made out was a red light pulsing slowly on the fire escape. A moment passed as Light tried to reconcile the image of a machine he'd just left at his workshop, with the figure now towering outside his window. His gaze drifted from the shaded helmet of the machine to its hand and to the knife it gripped, dripping deep crimson droplets onto the toe of its black boots. The machine tossed the knife in through the window, and leapt to the ground below. Light's eyes followed the arc of the blade to the floor, to Emily.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Thomas held his darling Emily in his arms, pulling her close to his chest. Shaking silently.
Footsteps rang out from the stairwell. A fist rapped violently against the door. Thomas didn't notice. He slowly brushed the hair from Emily's face and kissed her forehead. A single tear falling from his own eyes to hers. In her hand, a folded letter with his name scrawled carelessly on the front.
The sound of the door splintering finally shook Light from his mournful reverie. He pocketed the note and lowered his love to the ground as he inched slowly to the edge of the open window.
His actions were met with the hollow click of rounds being loaded into chambers. He began howling incoherently to the policemen about renegade robots and red lights in blast shields. The only responses he received were nervous faces and fingers inching toward triggers. In grief and desperation, Light turned and threw himself from the window.
Shots shattered the hush of the sleeping city.
Light's tumbling body flattened the roof of a car parked below. The air was thrust from his lungs. His right arm was shattered, but he was alive. He rolled from the car onto the shards of glass lying on the street below, shredding his hands and knees. Gasping for air and retching violently on the pavement, for the first time in his life not thinking about the future, Light scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the darkness.]
Though I did not pull the trigger, I built the gun that he holds in in his hand.
Last night I dreamed I climbed to the top of a mountain of metal
and for miles I could see the destruction of man.
I will not be the father of death.
Darling Emily, everything that I have done, I have done for you,
but it's turned out all wrong.
Can I take it back? Can I turn off this machine
before it destroys everything that I've loved?
I will find a way to make this right!
I will find a way, Emily.
I will not be the father of death!
[Emily Stanton climbed the stairs to her beloved's apartment, a folded letter in her hand. Tom had been so busy with his work these last few months, they'd barely seen one another. This, instead, was how they'd communicated. The door at the top of the stairs was cracked open. She called out to Tom as she entered the darkened room. A man was bent over the desk rummaging through the drawers frantically. It was Albert Wily. He turned, startled, and looked at Emily; the hint of a smile crossed his face. He motioned, not at Emily, but at the figure standing in the shadows behind her. The machine shut the door obediently.]
Emily: What are you doing here? (Albert: Let me take you away.)
I'm not going anywhere. (He will be nothing when this runs its course.)
He will be everything that a man
is supposed to be.
If the shadow blocks out the sun... there will be light!
If it stays 'till the sun is set... there will be light!
If the sun never shows its face again... there will be light!
No matter how dark the city gets... there will be...
[Albert Wily's eyes grew cold as Emily's rejection of him became clear. He turned to the machine standing at the door and quickly slid his finger across his own throat. The robot moved silently towards Emily as Wily slid through the window, onto the fire escape, and into the streets below. Emily ran to the window, following his escape, but the machine was too quick. Its cold hands caught the soft flesh of her arm. She opened her mouth to scream but the warm tearing of a cold blade across her neck aborted the sound.
Even as Thomas Light climbed the stairs to his apartment, he sensed something was wrong. He opened the door, crossed through, and locked it behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, the first thing he made out was a red light pulsing slowly on the fire escape. A moment passed as Light tried to reconcile the image of a machine he'd just left at his workshop, with the figure now towering outside his window. His gaze drifted from the shaded helmet of the machine to its hand and to the knife it gripped, dripping deep crimson droplets onto the toe of its black boots. The machine tossed the knife in through the window, and leapt to the ground below. Light's eyes followed the arc of the blade to the floor, to Emily.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Thomas held his darling Emily in his arms, pulling her close to his chest. Shaking silently.
Footsteps rang out from the stairwell. A fist rapped violently against the door. Thomas didn't notice. He slowly brushed the hair from Emily's face and kissed her forehead. A single tear falling from his own eyes to hers. In her hand, a folded letter with his name scrawled carelessly on the front.
The sound of the door splintering finally shook Light from his mournful reverie. He pocketed the note and lowered his love to the ground as he inched slowly to the edge of the open window.
His actions were met with the hollow click of rounds being loaded into chambers. He began howling incoherently to the policemen about renegade robots and red lights in blast shields. The only responses he received were nervous faces and fingers inching toward triggers. In grief and desperation, Light turned and threw himself from the window.
Shots shattered the hush of the sleeping city.
Light's tumbling body flattened the roof of a car parked below. The air was thrust from his lungs. His right arm was shattered, but he was alive. He rolled from the car onto the shards of glass lying on the street below, shredding his hands and knees. Gasping for air and retching violently on the pavement, for the first time in his life not thinking about the future, Light scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the darkness.]