2022-12-16: Mechanical Dogeza

• Log: 2022-12-16: Mechanical Dogeza
• Cast: Sousuke Sagara
• Where: Shuffle Alliance garage in Tsutsujidai
• Date: U.C. 0096 12 11
• Summary: The young man finds himself alone in a place that feels like home. He hates it without reservation.

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He’d let it sit. Why, again?

Sousuke Sagara sat on a bench in a Shuffle Alliance-affiliated garage carved out of Tsutsujidai’s barren underbelly by, he assumed, Doctor Sayla Mass. Or possibly General Amit, Mithril’s head of Intelligence. The man was more than capable of arranging for a space like this. Hardly mattered.

At the moment, it was just his, and the machine’s. A few other Shuffles had stashed their robots here, and normally a place like this would be alive with technicians, quartermasters, and more, hustling to get machines ready for their return trips.

Silence. Arbalest prostrated before him; hands and knees on the floor, head rotated forward to expose the cockpit, putting the whole machine, in a position not dissimilar from the Japanese dogeza. He found himself annoyed that such a failure of a device had the temerity left to mock him with an apology. Trapped here with this absurd device, with its unreliable powers, and no support.

Deep breath. It doesn’t think. AL is just a clever piece of data processing software. Deep breath. You have other problems.

In Sousuke’s lap sat a powder-blue lunchbox. It had a floral pattern on it he supposed someone thought was feminine.

A monogrammed K branding one side. He wondered who would give her such a gift that she’d keep. Kyoko wouldn’t have chosen an English-language monogram. Her father? He doubted she’d want to look at it long enough to use it. Mother, perhaps.

Tension ran through his fingers at the prospect.

It had been a simple lunch, intended for his trip to the Music festival, before the world imploded. That was days ago now. He’d let it sit. He knew how well each component would hold up. Kaname’s skill was no small thing, but her cooking wasn’t actually magic. Things would begin to go bad. Would have already lost some of their spark.

Two days on. It would be unsalvageable after today.

He opened the lid and produced a pair of field-use chopsticks he’d started carrying.

Ten minutes later, he put them down in the empty box, and didn’t understand why the sticks touching the plastic rang so loud in his ears.

Twenty minutes after that, his phone’s alarm beeped at him, and he stood up, and left the Arbalest in darkness.