Chapter Text
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Dr. Julien was incredibly proud of his mechanical creation; it was his magnum opus, if you will.
He never had any doubts about it when he was first constructing the blueprints; not even when he was collecting the materials needed from that goldmine of a junkyard; or when he was slowly running out of money to fund such an ambitious vision. But none of the hardships mattered now; because, in front of him, sat his nine-month-long project, wholly completed and ready for existence.
A fully functional android.
He couldn’t quite believe it himself. In retrospect, towards the end of his self-given deadline he never truly thought he would prevail in his exploits. Yet, here he was, and here it was.
Dr. Julien scribbled on a piece of scratch paper, in large dark, legible letters, the android's name. Never, in his many years, did he ever think he would be naming something so precious. He had spent many nights thinking of what to call the android when he finally finished constructing it. At first, he thought; perhaps an acronym, but he couldn’t quite put one together that fit. It was like an expecting mother trying to decide the name of her infant. It took him weeks to find a name suitable enough, one he cared to remember. When he finished writing, he showed it to his benevolent creation, smiling like a kid, then urged it to try and do the same.
“Go on,” he said calmly, trying very hard not to be too overly excited by keeping his movements placid and voice level. “Try and write it yourself.”
He pushed a small slip of blank white piece of paper towards the android, followed soon by an ink pen to write. He’s expectant, and he waits. And waits. And waits… and nothing happens. The android looks at him with a half-lidded gaze, as if it was the one that was expecting something to happen.
“…You are supposed to write your name.” He patiently reiterates. “Can you do that?”
“That…” Julien almost jumps at the sound of his creations' voice. He’s heard it before, with a few short words he made it say as a test, but he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of the sound of it. It was monotonous, yet reverent. His creation takes a moment, before the words fumble out in a soft, questioning, croak. “That is my name…?”
The android lifts a finger and slowly traces the letters with a bony metal finger. It seemed the ‘Z’ stood out to him most of all. Its bright white eyes were fixed on the word; the name; its name.
Zane.
Dr. Julien nods, taking his time even with the overwhelming fever of jubilation. Although he had entwined several codes into the android's internal network, he knew there was still some external work that needed to be done. He had implemented various protocols into the robot — language translators, complex skills, and some other technical adroitness to make it automatic — but in his excitement, he may have forgotten the more simple things; like writing, for example. He scoots closer, pushing himself against the wooden table in the middle of the room. He places a comforting hand on its shoulder. “Indeed it is, my boy.”
His creation looks back at the name, and attempts to say it out loud; “Z… Zane?”
Smiling wide, Dr. Julien nods happily. He hasn’t felt that happy in a while. Something about the whole exchange that made something inside him warm and fuzzy, a sense of patrilineal affection filling his core. “Yes, that’s it!”
And that’s how it starts. That’s how it begins. From that moment, Dr. Julien teaches Zane as one would a child; as he would his own child. His mind is ecstatic, already preparing for new lessons, new things to teach his miraculous creation. From then on, Dr. Julien earned himself a new name — not ‘doctor’; not ‘tinkerer’; not ‘the lonely man who lived alone’; but rather…
Father — as Zane now refers to him as — gives him a worn down, leather bound journal one day. He tells him that he used this to write ‘progress reports’ about him, dating back to the day he had first gotten the idea to build him in the first place. He encourages Zane to take a look at it if he has any initial questions. Then, father leaves him to go into town — wherever that is — and Zane finally takes a look at the journal. He flips it open, and begins to read the first entry.
ENTRY ONE
Today, I saw the soldiers marching through the village. They were being sent back home by one of the noble houses — Lotus, I believe? That’s the autonomous Royal Family, I’m sure. I don’t keep up with politics. All I know is that the Serpentine War is over. These soldiers did not help that much, for they were sent in the last days on the battlefield. In fact, I think they made things worse.
I did not understand the war; but I see the way it affected people. Ed, (the one that owns that junkyard — sold me those titanium pieces last week for cheap… remember to return for more…) he said they cause more harm than good. I never took Ed for someone who paid any mind to those things. But he did; and apparently so have others. He tells me about such things. I don’t live in the city, so I never knew anything that occurs in its limits.
On the way home, I thought long about the things he told me. It didn’t seem right for people who are meant to protect… to not too?
That’s when it hit me — why rely on people to protect you when something else can! Sometimes, even my own genius astounds me!
I am home now. It took me a while to find my ledgers, but I believe I can find the funds for this project. I shall return later with further updates.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
Zane blinks; he’s not sure what to think. Was he supposed to think at all? What was a war? What are soldiers? He doesn’t understand. He’s only skimmed the surface to his fathers mind; only ankles deep in unknown waters filled with growing questions and hopefully, answers. It was only a moment before he flips to the next page.
ENTRY TWO
I stayed up all night working on the blueprints. I have run into several errors that might cause a problem in the future if I am to continue with this project, and I can sense future limitations ahead. Nevertheless, I am persistent.
I will base its bone structure off that of a regular human. That will make its purpose more apparent; and hopefully make it less… unnerving. I think I may borrow more medical textbooks from the nearby hospital; I can’t seem to find my own. I fear I haven’t cleaned since last fall. I will try to sort through storage at a later date. For now, I work with my hands as I see fit.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
Zane raises a brow at many words and phrasings in this passage. What does father mean by ‘unnerving’? He looked exactly like him, did he not? They only had aesthetic differences; Zane had dark, tan skin while his father had paler skin; Zane had different textured, white hair while his father had dark brown hair with a slight wave; Zane was tall with a sturdy build, his father was shorter but lean. They didn’t look that different, not at all. And most importantly: what is a purpose? And what was his purpose? Why was he made? This entry didn’t provide a straightforward answer. And what exactly is a hospital — no, he knows what that is. A facility to improve health and heal the sick and injured. He doesn’t know how he knew that, but he knows.
He does take note of the potential storage problem and tabs it for later. He was made for something; maybe he was made to clean? Perhaps if he kept reading, he would discover what exactly he was created for.
ENTRY THREE
Ed provided me with new (spare) parts. These ones come from an old engine; a few from an old washing machine; and the rest being whatever scrap he could conjure up from the week before.
He tried to bargain with some new portions that he just got shipped in from Metalonia, but I regretfully declined. As much as I desire such fine material, I have put myself on a strict budget for this project. I still have to pay for rations.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
ENTRY FOUR
I’ve traded out the iron skeleton for something more nimble. The iron braces are too heavy; causing the casting not to set right; so, I must make the proper adjustments to accommodate for the exterior layers.
They’ve been asking me what I’m working on. I don’t want to tell them, so I avoid the question if possible; I tell them many things but never a straightforward answer. I don’t see why I must give them one. They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t then; and they wouldn’t now.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
Zane frowns at that last line. He wasn’t quite sure what his father meant. From his earlier entry’s, people seemed just fine (like that Ed — he was helpful, according to the entry). He wasn’t sure why his father didn’t like them. He would like to meet them one day.
Even though the entries were getting more and more confusing, Zane turned to the next page, eager.
ENTRY FIVE
For weeks I’ve toiled with the inner makings of the machine. The outer casing is already completed — it has a face, skin, the general body of a human — yet the Android is still unfinished. It lacks a core, a power source to bring it to life. Without one, it will never truly be complete, never truly live. I’ve tried electricity, but that never worked, always fusing out. I’ve tampered with other forms of energy, all leading to the same place: a dead end and burnt fingers. It might never work if I can not find a suitable solution to power the Android.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
Zane flips through the next dozen entries, reading on even as they get more erratic and irregular, filled with drunk, drawn-out, angry ramblings that go on and on about civilization outside his hobbit dwelling, and his fathers difficulty in acquiring a power source for him. But he must have found one, for Zane was sitting right here, on the stool in his house, blinking and breathing, with a power humming underneath his chestplate. He was certainly alive, wasn’t he? He had to be. If he wasn’t alive, then what was he? Surely not anything else.
His gaze returns to the page, blinking several times to bring himself back to reality and return his attention to what was at hand. He finds one page different from the more recent chaotic ones, one where desolation seeps from the words on the paper.
ENTRY TWENTY-THREE
It is over; it must be. I have failed in my attempts to make this work. It never works. Nothing ever works. I’ve searched Ninjago for anything, spoken to people who I haven’t spoken to in years to try and find a solution to my biggest problem: a suitable power source. But I have found nothing. Everything leads me to a dead end. No path I take leads to remedy, nothing I do brings me comfort. It's an uncomfortable feeling under the skin, an enduring manic sensation in my chest that plagues me.
Months and months of sleepless nights, I slaved over this venture, spending hours and hours trying to make the impossible happen. Now, the illusion of semblance has shattered. Why did I believe myself to make the unmakable? Who am I, to create life?
The project sits on my worktable now, not quite bare, so close to being finished. I haven’t touched it in close to a month. It’s just been sitting there, collecting dust. I can’t find the motivation to finish it.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
That made Zane think. He tried to imagine himself on the work table, unresponsive, completely unaware of the world, practically dead. He searches his processor, trying to find a memory, or a feeling, of the time he was precariously asleep in a dreamless, lifeless state. Any recollection of what happened during that period of time was completely nonexistent to him. He doesn’t remember that time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
When he flips to the next page, he’s half-surprised there’s another entry.
ENTRY TWENTY-FOUR
I FOUND IT! At last, the solution is in my hands! I was so blind to give up hope so easily, to allow myself to stoop to such unproductive thoughts. Production is in full swing! It was late one night, and I, rather regrettably, was wasting the night sulking on my past oversights upon the many miscalculations and errors of my original blueprints. That was until I heard a loud disturbance coming from outside my residence. I stepped outside to find the most peculiar of things. Not even today’s science can explain what I saw. In the night sky was a meteor falling from the twilight; it was an icy blue, leaving an almost mystical trail behind it. I tracked its trajectory until I found where it landed; a secluded lacuna that seemed to pull away from it.
Upon further investigation, it was a stone of unimaginable energy! I took it back with me, and after running a spate of tests, I concluded it was the perfect power source for my machine. And, as luck would have it, the surgical procedure of insertion was a success! All systems are operational and functional. It’s merely been a year, but in ways, it’s been my life’s work. The zenith of all I have ever worked towards. I shall commence the activation sequence in just a moment.
- Dr. Augustus Julien
When Dr. Julien returned, Zane had an abundance of questions; and so he felt inclined to ask.
“Father?”
Dr. Julien smiled. “Yes, Zane?”
Zane kept his gaze elsewhere, on the walls, on the bookshelves, on the kitchen counters. His hands figured in his lap. “I have questions; about many things.”
The older man’s eyes flicker to the journal held in Zane’s hands, thoughts circling behind his irises. “Hm… I had hoped these journal entries would explain everything, but… well, let me hear them, my boy.”
So, Zane does not tarry for a moment to ask him; “what’s a war?” He asks. “And what’s a soldier?”
“You mean: what is war?” Dr. Julien corrected cordially. “War is… war is when people fight over petty things; like land, or money, power, or simply being right. Things of the like.”
Zane finally met his eyes. “But, why?”
Dr. Julien merely shrugged his shoulders, pulling the last of his rations from the grocery bags. His voice was strained, yet equally unbothered. “There is no why; they just do.” Despite his explanation, his words felt refrained and tacit, serving in invoking more confusion.
“Is that why we live here?” Zane asks, his expression turning slightly plaintive. “Away from the city? To get away from war?”
Dr. Julien considered this, indifferent. “More or less. The city isn’t that amazing anyways; it’s very loud, and so bright — no places for people like us, who like to think.”
Zane wished he could see the city; meet more people. He can’t say he doesn’t like the solitary serenity of his home — no matter the short amount of time he has spent here — but he wonders what the world outside this limited world he was in was like.
“Father?”
“Yes, Zane?”
There was a beat. Zane felt a heavy somber feeling weighing down on his shoulders. He still felt confused, still not sure of everything meant. But there was a growing sense of urgency at the idea of war. “Can you… tell me about the war? What was it like?”
And so, father tells him. He tells him that the war was about — twelve or so — years ago. He tells him about how it began; when a species called the Serpentine started to war against the human race.
“I’m not sure why,” Dr. Julien says, “I’ve met a few in my day; crafty people, they were! I remember there being a rather fragile peace between us and them. I can’t quite recall what broke it. Nor why it was needed in the first place.”
He then goes on to explain some significant battles in less detail than Zane would have preferred. Everything he said was vague, and seemed as though he didn’t have all the details himself. Zane was growing rather weary by the end. He wanted to know what had happened; why it had happened.
“Father?”
“Yes, Zane?”
“Why did you create me?”
“…to help me, Zane. To help everyone.”
At a later date — a day father would deem his ‘birthday’, after explaining what in fact a birthday was — Dr. Julien bestowed upon Zane a wonderful gift; a journal of his own. Now, it wasn’t entirely his own; it had belonged to Dr. Julien first. It had all his old entries and scribbles and smudged ink marks made from unwashed, hardworking hands still intact for Zane to look back on. But it had a few empty pages left; and Dr. Julien said he could fill them all up with whatever he wanted.
“I can write down… anything?” Zane asked with curious hesitance; he wanted to know the limits of what he was allowed to share with the journal.
“Anything, my boy!” Dr. Julien confirmed with a buoyant smile. “Anything you wish to say is yours to write.”
Zane’s eyes returned to the leather-bound journal in his hands. His thumbs pressed into the cover, creating little dents but he didn’t quite care for quality at the moment; not with his mind on the contents of what would be in the journal. What will he write about? What did he want to write about? He didn’t really know himself. Father did say he could write about anything… but anything means everything; there is just so much. And what if he writes down something wrong; or something that doesn’t make sense; or something that others won’t understand?
Dr. Julien noticed the pinch in his brow, the quiver of his lower lip, and the unfocused look in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t read anything you write. I’d say you're old enough to have some privacy of your own now, wouldn’t you say?”
Meeting his fathers eyes, Zane doesn’t say a word. Would privacy make it easier? Now that he thinks about it; being able to write when you know no one is reading doesn’t make the whole ordeal sound more appealing. His lips tune up into a small smile and his father looks happy.
His first birthday gift… he likes it very much.
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