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Day After Day


By "Sapphire Rose"
Archivist's note: This fic was taken down by for unknown reasons... but we have ben able to preserve it here for your enjoyment

Title: Day After Day

Author: Sapphire Rose

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: EVERYTHING in this story belongs to me except Joe, Jane, Rouge City, and basically everything in the movie," A.I.: Artificial Intelligence". And The G-String Quartet idea? That belongs to Roxy Blue! Also, she's letting me use her idea for the love-bot company, Palasade. So don't think I'm copying off her, because she gave me permission. And Boston Market doesn't belong to me either.

Summary: This is a diary, written by Gigolo Joe. If the dictionary had a deflnition to alternate universe, they would show a snippet to this. I don't think Joe really thinks like I depicted, so this is as alternate universe as you can get.


Dec.18, 2231

I have decided to chronicle my life in a book, so that in later years, people can read it and say," My god! Who would ever know these things would care about anything! Especially one of these!". I was a bit hesitant to get one, as it was Ryan's idea. I assumed it would be a mistake, as most of Ryan's ideas aren't the brightest, but I took his advice, and went out and bought this.

I guess I should introduce myself flrst. My name is Gigolo Joe. I'm a lover mecha. That means I have sex with orga women for a living. I guess it's a good life, and I'm doing extremely well, unlike Ryan.

Speaking out which, I must introduce you to my best friends, Jane and Ryan. lane's also a lover model, but she's a female. Ryan is actually orga, but he's a rnale hustler anyway, so we sort of have the same job, just he has a choice. He's only 19, but he's a good kid. Although not very bright.

Oh, damn, my chains are flashing. I have to go to another customer. But I did enjoy writing in you. I'll come back later.

Dec. 19, 2231

Well, last night was a travesty. The woman didn't want me in particular (which is surprising, because most women do), and she slapped me upside the head with a newspaper, and called the police on me. Lucky for me, they didn't arrest me just because she didn't want me, but they took her back to the mental institution, where she belonged (No, really. I kid you not. She was an escaped mental patient).

Then came more shit. Another customer with a bad attitude was on my agenda. She likes experimenting with candy canes, which I found disgusting, so when I refused, she slapped me.


Christmas is coming.

And Ryan's gone crazy.

Ryan always goes crazy around Christmas time. He becomes very paranoid just because Christmas is the official start of slow season. He's trying to get in as many people as possible so maybe he can scrimp enough money together to stay at an inn on Christmas instead of a homeless shelter, where he stays every night. He's had his eyes set on a high-class inn for 2 months now, The Derion. It's very nice. One time I had a customer who was staying there. It's luxuriously furnished. The chandeliers are actually made of crystal. Such a hotel is hard to find in a city like this. Mostly people come here to screw people like me. People don't usually come here for family vacations, but The Derion is the kind of place you'd stick your family while you went golfing or something. I guess it's for all the business men who come here.

How Ryan will ever get money for that place in 5 days, I'll never know. But he's trying.

I've been feeling slow lately. I've haven't really wanted to go out much, or do my job, for that matter.

Oh hell, I'm complaining to a book.

December 21, 2231

Sigh. Business is slowing down. Nothing at all happened today, so I'm not going to write much more.

December 22, 2231

Same as yesterday. Boooring. How is it that the world slows down around this time every year? At least in this business.

December 23, 2231

Today I didn't have any business at all. Ryan, Jane, and I went down by a lake to just relax and not have anything

to worry about (except Ryan, who's still fretting about the hotel problem). The lake was beautiful. The moon's reflection made it so the water shimmered. The real moon was out tonight. Not the balloon moon the collects broken mecha the gather in the woods. I guess they took a break tonight.

And what a beautiful night it was. It's times like these that make me wonder about myself, about others like me, about humans. The world I know is hard-core and unforgiving. Yet tonight I sensed it was softer, lighter, and less dangerous. What is it about nights like these that make me ponder such strange topics? Sometimes I wonder if this life was really meant for me.

There was much snow on the ground. It was cold and crunchy. It doesn't snow much in Rouge City. I don't think it has snowed this hard for about 4 years. It's frigid outside, but it doesn't matter. I have a coat, and my body doesn't react to temperatures that well. Ryan has to wear a lot of layers. Lucky I don't.

Tonight reminded me when Ryan and I went for a walk across a bridge to an island. It was snowing that night too. For some strange reason, the bridge collapsed that night. We were stuck on this island. Ryan kept saying," We'll starve to death on this God-forsaken rock!" I said," Maybe you will, but I won't," and no one said anything else the whole 2 hours we were stuck on there. Ryan's like that. He frets about every little thing, like tonight as he frets about the hotel problem.

Well, the night is still young, might as well go down to a brothel, maybe get some business there.

December 24, 2231

Ryan has gone completely insane. He is not even close to getting enough money for The Derion, and I can assure you he won't get it by tonight. Guess it's another homeless shelter Christmas for Ryan.

I kind of feel sorry for him. lane and I couldn't care less where we stay, but he does, and I hope he gets what he wants. He wants to spend all the money he tried to save up on a nice Boston Market turkey from 2 towns over, but they serve good food at the shelter, and he wants money for next year. Just wait until summer, Ryan, just wait.

Seems to me like there is absolutely no one in Rouge City. Only me and people like me roam the streets now. No one goes to Rouge City for Christmas. Well, tomorrow's the morning, which means empty pockets for us.

December 25, 2231

Merry X-Mas to all.

I've rented out a room in a Motel Six just so I don't have to stay on the streets. I came out of it today and the city was completely still. No noise, no people, no catcalls, no nothing. It felt kind of peaceful. I walked up and down the street for a while, just for the sheer hell of it. The city was sleeping.

I went down to the homeless shelter to visit Ryan. He was stuffing his face with bacon when I got there. He was extremely happy. The night before, he came across a virgin who wanted to escape her family for Christmas, and she came here. She liked Ryan a lot and spent the night with him, bringing in a good amount of money ($65 to be exact. Lucky, lucky, Ryan). She wants him all this week before she can home and brag to her friends.

Jane came by later to tell about her night. She spent the night with some guy who smelled like cheese, which was not very pleasant, and he didn't have that much money ($18). So I was the only one who didn't get someone last night. No matter, though, there's the annual Palasade Conference and Upgrade next week.

Yes! I'm getting called! I'll tell you about the Conference and Upgrade tomorrow.

December 26, 2231

I'm going to tell you about the Conference and Upgrade. Every year around this time, the execs of Palasade have a huge meeting to discuss everything. They bring a bunch of orga female prostitutes and orga male hustlers to test out any new models or just upgraded ones. Sometimes the people who test us pay us, even thought it happens rarely. At this time, they call in all of us for technology upgrades, to make us better at our profession.

All the business execs who come out here during this upgrades can't resist trying us out themselves, and to make it fair, they pay us lots and lots of money (once lane got a guy who paid her $200).

I have to go, it's upgrading time!

Dec. 31, 2231

Degrading. Absolutely degrading. Even more so this year for some reason.

The execs all had tons of new ideas and wanted to test them all out. That's why I was gone for so long, because they kept us in the Palasade Building. They poked, prodded, and used little knife things all over us. It was painful and, you guessed it, degrading. Completely degrading.

Lucky Ryan. He doesn't have to do this. He's orga; he can't be upgraded. He said it'd be cool if he could be upgraded, then he'd get more business. I said he was a nut, but he didn't listen.

I'm too degraded to keep writing.

January 1, 2232

Jane, Ryan, and I rang in the New Year like it was 2200. Ryan got invited to a party and invited me and Jane. At this party of his, every single person got drunk, including Ryan, who was underage, and the whole place banged with music all night long. About halfway through the party Ryan taught us how we could get the feeling of being drunk. He said that if we both got our wires tangled in every which way, we'd be messed up and act and feel as if we were drunk. When I asked him how he knew this, he simply shrugged and said, "I dunno". He then propped us up against the wall and had every loser in the place charge at. I don't remember anything after that but Ryan said

I sang karoke. Badly, too.

There is absolutely no way that I will miss Ryan's birthday this year. The last 4 years I've stupidly forgotten. His birthday is on January 29. lane remembered last year, but she didn't even bother to tell me; she said it would help me learn my lesson.

Ryan will be turning 20. Still not legal, I know, and Ryan's not too happy about that. But he does believe that turning 20 makes you an adult. And now he can join HAMAUPWCGSFTSBTSAIAATP, (Hustlers Against Mean And Ugly People Who Can't Get Sex From Their Spouse Because They Suck At It And Are Too Pathetic) which is like a union, asking customers for a fixed amount of money, not just based on the hustler's performance. Ryan says the only reason he's joining is because it has a cool name.

Well, now! The very first customer of the year 2232 is calling!

Jan. 2, 2232

People sure are rowdy after New Year's, it seems. I got about 9 customer's last night and made over $40. 1 contributed $10 to Ryan's Derion Fund (he didn't take my advice and used all the money he had saved up for a Boston Market dinner).

Anyway, lane, Ryan, and I got a total of 28 customers, and contributed over $20 to Ryan's Derion Fund. I don't know why Ryan is so intent on getting into this hotel for Christmas next year. Is he obsessive- compulsive? Or just crazy? You be the judge.

Jan. 3, 2232

Tomorrow is G-String Quartet Day!

The G-String Quartet is a famous group of erotic and exotic dancers. They sing, they dance, they "perform" for certain clients, and they make many a man happy.

Every January, the G-String Quartet comes to Rouge. And every January, every nightclub competes for them to appear there. The 3 major contenders are The Velvet Box (a sensual nightclub with lots of velvet seats, slow music, and candlelight), Silicone Valley (a nightclub featuring dancers with various surgically enhanced body parts), and Jewel of Rouge.

Jewel of Rouge is a very different, though educational nightclub. They fill it up for all kinds of sex toys and sets of exotic locations, such as a back of a car, in a broom closet, and in a box (I know what you're thinking. In a box? Well, it's true. Some people are into that, sex in a really confined space. Myself, I find it uncomfortable). I learn a lot of new techniques there. It's one of the most popular nightclubs in Rouge. And almost every year it gets the G- String Quartet.

This year, Silicone Valley got them.

At the nightclub where the G-String Quartet is performing, the club also has to book some love mechas. lane and I are favorites of Jewel of Rouge, so we get invited every year. But this year we weren't sure if Silicone Valley would invite us.

They did.

I have much to prepare for so I must go. Good night.

Chapter Two: Running

Jan. 13, 2232

More than a week! Would you expect more than a week at Silicone Valley!

This year, people came all out. The place was so packed I only just managed to escape to the back storage room with a client. She was angry with the room, but I found rather it was a turn-on. Location, location, I say!

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Silicone Valley was packed shoulder to shoulder with all kinds of people, from bikers to preppies to lesbians to stud-muffins. They were all drooling tremendously over the stage in which the G-String Quartet was (literally; the janitorial crew was very angry). Not that the said group didn't give the people what they wanted. They danced the night away. The made people so horny I had over 13 customers in 6 hours, which Jane told me was a record. Ryan had the absolute time of his life, he told me. He said he got drunk, did a couple customers, and even did G-String Quartet member Alexia, though he was probably drunk at the time.


Nothing really happened today, except for what Jane told me about. She said that an orga man had been swept away by the Flesh Faire balloon in Media. The Flesh Faire had sent him flying through a fan, and when blood and guts splattered everywhere, they finally figured out he was an orga. Just another reason why these things should go out of business.


Today Ryan got a girlfriend.

He was parading her around like some kind of prize. She seemed to enjoy it, believe it or not. Ryan had this huge smile on his face while showing her off to his union, and when he came to me and Jane, I thought his eye would fall off for all the winking he was doing at her.

Her name is Olivia; everyone calls her Liv. She's actually the virgin that Ryan got as a customer over the December holidays. I not really sure I like her much. She seems conceited the kind of person who would show off just for the sake of showing off. She also seemed like she would be the kind of person who would do something for pure shock value. Ryan told me that was the exact reason she asked him of service.

But Liv is absolutely gorgeous. She has this chocolate brown hair the is about mid-back length. And her eyes! Oh her eyes! They're beautiful! They have the most liquidy brown color I have ever seen. I can see why Ryan always smiles so much while parading her around.

January 16, 2232

I have to get out of here.

February 22, 223

I know I haven't written for a long time.

But something awful has happened. I had to get out of Rouge City.

Ryan was killed on January 16. 1 don't know who killed him, or why, but I was certainly in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can't really say much now; I have to do something. But I'll write more as soon as I get to my destination, across the Delaware River.

March 5, 2232

I'm truly sorry.

I know I haven't really written for a long time. It's been hectic. I had to get from Rouge City to here in Haddonfield, and even now I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

I already told you Ryan was killed. So let me tell you how this all came to be.

I was called to a club called Sapphire Sunset, for a customer was staying there. I went in, I went upstairs, I knocked on the door. Whoever was in there was taking a shower, so I waited patiently. Suddenly, I saw a red liquid on the ground of another room.

It was blood.

I didn't know why I went in. I was probably curious to see what had happened. But I did go in, and it was Ryan Underwood that I saw.

My friend Ryan Underwood.

He was lying on the ground face down; his body sprawled across the floor. There was a large knife protruding from his back. I was aghast for one moment.

Then came the mistake of a lifetime.

I don't know why I was so stupid.

I picked up the knife.

I pulled it out of Ryan's back.

At that very moment, a police helicopter light shined through the window. I was standing over the dead body of Ryan, a bloody knife in my hand, a blank and un-remorseful look on my face. I wasn't surprised they called out on their speaker "YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"

Needless to say, I bolted out of there as soon as possible. I kept running and running and running, not stopping for anyone or anything. I found some kids in a car, stuffed some money in their pockets, threw them out, and drove away in their car.

I had to get out.

Once I was deep in the woods, I paused to write in my diary, and then left again.

So here I am. In Haddonfield, New Jersey. On the way to Camden. Running from the police in a stolen car.

I never even paused to think about Ryan.

What would happen now? My best friend is now dead. Yet I feel nothing, no sorrow, no pain. For some reason I'm glad I can't feel anything, for now I'm not tortured by demons of emotion. But for some strange reason, I wish I could...

Part 3: The Fraternal Order of the Crispa

April 9, 2232

Ah! Here you are! Been looking everywhere. Oh-customer. See you 'round.

April 10, 2232

Whew, what a night. Six customers called me in 9 hours. Tiring, I'll tell you. Anyway ... wow, I haven't written for forever, have I? Well, I'll tell you why. I lost this damn thing. Yes, I lost it. On March 5, 1 lost it. Yesterday I found it at Shangri-La's lost and found box. Oh no ... duty calls once again.

April 11, 2232

I've been in Camden for a while now. Everything here is so different from Rouge. This place is a lot ... seedier. The clubs are grittier. The streets are dirtier. The lights are dimmer. Camden is what the red-light district would be in a city, say, in the year, 2014. Still, it's a place to work, and I don't think any of the police in Rouge City have come here. Perhaps they've given up.

April 12, 2232

I saw Jane today.

I walked up to her to say hello, and she just turned away. She was acting very spiteful, so I asked her what was wrong. "What's wrong?" she said. "Just look." And then she held up a newspaper headline. It showed a picture of me standing over Ryan Underwood's dead body with a knife in my hand. With that un-remorseful look on my face.

"Why did you do it?" she asked me. I told her I didn't, but she didn't believe me. Then she turned and walked away.

Now I'm alone. Again.

But no matter. I feel nothing of emotional pain, not a big deal. There's work to be done.

April 16, 2232

Today I encountered a very interesting man.

I was walking along as usual and a pretty young woman asked me for some service. I said yes, of course, and she told me to give her about an hour, then to meet at Bittersweet Inn. She left, and I didn't think anything of anything that had just happened, but then a man tapped me on the shoulder. He was wearing a black robe and had his eyes covered. He told me his name was Number 18 and I am disgracing the human race. When I told him I was not human, he chuckled and said it didn't matter and I was disgracing myself.

A woman came up to me and told me he was part of some sort of cult that wanted to rid the world of prostitution. Not that that's a bad thing for orgas, but for me and others like me it is. Besides, I don't feel I'm disgracing myself.

April 17, 2232

Last night I told you about that strange cult member, did I not? Well, anyway, when I came out of Bittersweet Inn this morning, I saw #18 again. I walked past him and he said nothing, but that man is starting to make me nervous.

By chance, I met up with the woman again. She said the cult was called the Fraternal Order of Crispa, but everyone just called them the Crispa. Crispa to me sounds like either the name of a cereal or a baking material, but if Crispas are so bent on wiping out prostitution, then I'm guessing they don't care what their names are.

May 27, 2232

It's been a while, hasn't it? I have a lot to do right now so I'll explain later.

May 28, 2322

The thing is I rented out a tenant so I wouldn't have to live on the streets; it just felt better (besides, what else am I going to buy with the money I make?). And as soon as I moved in, the city decided to make it into a hotel. So they moved us out to another tenant but I left this diary at the old tenant by mistake. The people who were re- renovating the tenant found this diary and mailed it to me. Good thing, too, because I would be mortified if someone ever read it.

May 29, 2322

Off to Pittsburgh I go!

There's a big love mecha convention in Pittsburgh and the club I'm currently working at wants me to represent them. The thing is, they have to pick one mecha out of their "supply" to come down to the convention and stand

for them, so the owner, Sasha Weaver, wants me to go. She said I'm a good, Ist rate mecha that is a good representative for a convention like this. I'm not allowed to bring anything for some reason (security or something, I don't know), so I can't bring this diary. But I'll write all about my trip when I get back. So off to Pittsburgh I go!

Chapter Four: When In Pittsburgh...
A/N: If anyone lives in Pittsburgh and is in any way offended, I apologize. I only used it because it was a big city and somewhat close to Camden. My dad lived in Pittsburgh whilst in medical school and he loved it, so I have nothing against it. Same thing for the city of Camden, New Jersey. I've been their many a time. I'm assuming Rouge City used to be known as Philadelphia in this world, so I'm also pretending Camden was the city where Joe was introduced in the movie.

April 30, 2232

1 do not like Pittsburgh.

I will never go back there for as long as I will live.

Sasha Weaver drove me to an airport and to a special carrier that holds the other mecha representatives. There must've been hundreds. Sasha said every single club in Rouge City, Camden, and Trenton had to send a mecha, and as you can imagine, there are quite a lot of clubs in those cities.

The plane ride itself wasn't bad. It was long, it was dull, but it wasn't all too eventful. The mechas had grouped themselves into little cliques, none of which I was included in. It's not like I cared, but it was strange to see these mechas interacting. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt for not mourning for Ryan more than I did, but in an instant it went away.

So anyway, we arrived in the Pittsburgh airport, and when I walked out onto the street, it was the most metropolitan place I've seen in my life. Instead of the usual hookers and drunks I usually saw in the places I've lived in, I saw dignified men in sharp suits yakking away on their cell phones, and women dressed in business dresses with headset phones carrying briefcases. With my metallic clothes, I felt very out of place. Luckily, the other mechas were dressed in similar style, so I wasn't completely alone.

As we all filed out of the airport, I noticed the citizens staring at us with curiosity. Apparently, they were all too thick to know what we were. The only mechas they probably knew were those stuffy business robots, the ones all with their fine suits and ties. The people's expressions turned from curiosity to disgust when they realized what kind of mecha we were. We were just the perverted, dirty, lower class robots. I suddenly felt like I was surrounded by Crispa members.

A large transport drove up to us and we all got in. It felt strange to be among so many lover mecha at the same time. I had never been chosen to go to this convention whilst living in Rouge City. Maybe living in Camden wasn't so bad. I felt kinda proud to be chosen to represent my club at such a, ahem, "respectable', convention.

In an instant, those feelings of pride were swept away, for a businessman in a pinstripe suit sauntered on up tome. His small blue eyes were hidden behind thick glasses, and he had a handlebar type moustache. He actually struck me as the kind of person who would need a lover mecha. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

'What kind of freak of nature are you?' he said in a squeaky voice. 'You're disgracing the human and mecha race!'

I didn't know what to say. Luckily, an attendant came up before the Squeaky Celibate could insult me any further.

'Look, pallie, this is for a convention. If you don't have nothing nice to say, then shut your ugly face', the attendant said.

Squeaky Celibate glared at both the attendant and me, and then strutted away.

I later discovered the attendant's name was Ripper Dean (He says his real name is Oscar, but no one calls him that). Ripper said some people just are stupid, and that we weren't going to the convention right away. We were first going to a hotel where the human attendants could rest up for the night. And so ends that day. I'll write more tomorrow.

May 1, 2232

Ah, it's the first day of May.

Anyway, back to my story. We all went to the hotel, they slept, the next day they woke up, and we left for the convention.

The place where the convention was being held was actually quite a spectacular building. It was huge and white on the outside, and it was huge and gray on the inside. Not the most interesting building, but it was really, really huge.

Inside, the walls were all painted gray, and the celing towered above us. There was a skylight opening up to the gray sky. Tables and displays were set up everywhere. Ripper said this building was only for the mechas in the New Jersey/Pennsylvania area. There were a few more buildings for other regions. I personally couldn't imagine buildings with a bigger room than this.

The lead attendant (named Veronica) told us to go to the table that have our numbers on it. Our ID numbers, not our names. We were each given each a scanning device that helped us find our numbers. Mine was 302742]OM, soI entered that into the scanning device, and it directed me to Table #35.

At #35, 1 saw 5 other mechas: 3 women and 2 men. The women were talking amongst themselves, and the men were doing the same. I stood alone by the card that said my number. A minute or 2 later, one of the men (whohad dark brown eyes) came up to me and asked me a question.

'Are you the one that killed Ryan Underwood?"

That was awfully abrupt. I wasn't prepared for that.

'No. He was one of my best friends, however,' I said to him. The brown eyed mecah lent to whisper in my ear.

'You killed him, didn't you?'

I didn't know what to say. I really didn't. I just said, 'Leave me alone', and turned away.

I ... I don't think I can keep writing.

Chapter Five: Shot in the Dark ... or the light

May 2, 2232

I later found out the mechas in my group. The mean one with the dark brown eyes whom accused me of killing Ryan? His name is Steven. There was another one with bleached blonde hair named Damien. The women who overloaded on whore makeup, her name is Hannah. The other two women's names are Liz and Anna (Liz has black hair, and Anna has 4 fingers on one of her hands).

Damien apologized for Steven's rash behavior. I told him I didn't kill Ryan, and surprisingly he believed me. I think we're becoming friends.

I asked him to tell me about himself. He said he was made by Cybertronics and worked in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, at a small nightclub. Then he asked me about myself.

I didn't really know what to say. No one had ever asked me about myself before. What was I supposed to say? I wasn't sure. So I told him I worked in Camden, and I was made by Palasade. He didn't ask about Ryan, and thank God for that, because I wasn't keen to talk about it.

I don't get it. I'm a love mecha at a convention in Pittsburgh. But in spite of that, I don't feel satisfied. Is it because of Ryan? Should I mourn him? I'm a goddamn mecha! I don't feel emotion, dammit! But why do I feel so strange? Ryan was a friend, and now he's dead. Am I feeling anyway?

Something to ponder.

May 3, 2002

It's over.

The convention is over. We're going back.

On the day where the people from the companies came to inspect us, everything went wrong. I thought I noticed a man in black entering, but I didn't pay notice. I told Damien, and he agreed with me.

And now I pay the price.

We were all standing around, minding our own business, and the people were taking notes on us. I was talking to Damien about a strange customer who kept calling me Walter, and then he came in.

He was a normal looking man. He had either really dark brown or black hair that was slicked back, and he wore glasses that shielded his eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a black necktie. And he had a handgun too; just itwas in his pocket.

I wasn't looking. I don't know what happened next.

But I remember the sound of the gunshot, shortly followed by screaming. More gunshots after that. Veronica started pushing Damien and me out the door, along with a whole bunch of other mecha. She was talking so fast I couldn't understand her, but I managed to pick up, 'Get out!' and 'Help!". Soon we were out the door
and on the street where a few more men in black were shooting.

A bullet hit me in the arm.

I cried out in pain, but nothing was done to help. Several mechas were already lying dead on the ground, their wires fried from the gunshots.

Damien grabbed my uninjured arm and starting pulling me towards the bus that took us to the airport. The other attendants were trying to lead the mechas to the other buses. A few of the mechas were shot, and even a few humans as well. I was shoved onto the bus, and into a seat, where my face was smashed into the window. I clutched my injured arm in pain, which was almost blinding. Damien pushed through the chaos on the bus and sat next to me. The men in black were still shooting. In the midst of the carnage, I managed to spot the Ripper Dean's
bloody body.

Where was I? What was happening? Thoughts ran through my head. I didn't understand anything that was happening.

What the hell was going on?

The bus rambled down the street as fast as the driver could go. Damien asked to examine my arm, but I refused. I'd get it fixed in Camden.

When we arrived at the airport, Veronica pushed everyone out of the bus. The next half-hour was a blur; everything went so fast. Before I knew it, I was back in the cargo bay of the plane. I was going home and I didn't even know why.

I don't feel like writing anymore. I'll write more tomorrow.

May 4, 2232

Back to my story.

I'm now back in Camden. In the mecha hospital thing, writing. They had to fix my arm.

I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know who these men in black were, I didn't know why they were shooting us, and I didn't know what we did wrong.
But today I found out.

They were members of the Order of the Crispa. The top members of the Crispa had planned an ambush on us, since the convention was full of love mecha, and they were against prostitution to such a radical degree. But I'dnever think they'd do something like that. Kill innocent people and mechas, I mean.

Oh, Damien died yesterday. Turns out he had a bullet in him and his pain receptors were busted, so he didn't feel it. Now he's dead.

It's so strange. I've seen so much death. Shouldn't I be affected? Shouldn't I be feeling something? I mean, I know I'm a mecha, but there has to be something more to that.

This journal is almost finished up. I'd get a new one, but I don't have much money right now. You know, this thing's helped me a lot. I guess it's good to get thoughts out.

So goodbye.