Once, there was a room. Small and dusty, it laid in disrepair, shrouded by the darkness of closed doors. The room was filled with forgotten knick-knacks and rife with mechanical sundry, most rusted and falling apart. The wall was lined with shelves, each holding books, blueprints, and other mechanical debris. If one looked closely, in the corners of the room you could see old robots laying unmoving, long since having their cores run out. The only clean part of the room was a desk that stood in the center, a small light illuminating the disassembled pieces of a small robot. Eight legs, a body, and a small fanged head. A hatch on the body was open revealing nearly complete wires and a hollow in the center, an empty plug waiting for a core. A core that would power the little spider and give it life.
But the little robot had been forgotten, even if less recently than the others, and was left in the room to waste away, never knowing the purpose for its creation.
Until, one day, the door, hinges rusted and damaged, creaked open.
The room saw light, and the little robot, more rusted and wires a bit oxidized, was revealed to the fading eyes of an older model. A helper robot, made to be robust and long lasting, though this one was on its last legs. The helper came into the room, tutting at the state of it, and began to tidy. Strewn papers were gathered into neat piles on the overflowing shelves, the poor shell of a bot that sat in the corner was finally relieved of its sigil and put into a box, set outside the room. Cobwebs were swept and the shelves were dusted and, eventually, the helper got to the little robot.
He considered it for a moment, eyes clicking open and shut, gazing at the blueprints still on the table above its body. An unfinished robot was not uncommon for the room, but this one was still in the designing phase, unusual for the creator who made and then forgot. Switching tracks, the helper lurched back into motion, sweeping around the room gathering materials with a deft hand. Metal sheets, screws, tools, bolts, and wires, before skidding back to a halt before the small robot.
Building is not that hard for one with a design and who is a robot themselves, so it was a short time until the little robot, now recognizable as a spider, was complete. Minus the core. The Helper was pleased with itself, the strange urge from the core deep within itself was gone, it could continue with its duties again. Thinking this thought, the Helper left, leaving the room to its darkness once more.
But this marked a change.
The Room did not stay dark forever. Now, in the odd hours of the night, a small skittering sound could be heard through the door of the room, its hinges now oiled and maintained, thanks to the helper bot. But still, the door was not opened, and no one, not man nor machine, went in or out. A helper bot, old and nearly fading, could sometimes be seen standing idle at the door, listening to faint sounds it was sure could not possibly be heard, but that he could hear all the same, before shaking himself out of his stupor and returning to his job.
This sparked the interest of others in the house. The Helper was dedicated, all in the house knew that, and for the Helper to show any deviation of its programming meant that whatever was in that door had to be interesting. The first to look was a maintenance droid. They had noticed the discrepancy in the Helpers logs during a routine check, and had decided to investigate, if there was a room filled with machines, well, the very idea brought a spark to their eye. So during its next break cycle, it slipped out of the garage, and made its way to the room, following the path the helper ran through the house, as it was their only clue for which of the rooms in this house it was.
It took a while, but eventually the Droid found a locked door, old wood and faded paint paired with a tarnished door knob and oddly pristine hinges, the Droid stood before the door to the room that had it so intrigued. But opening the door, locks were no object to a droid so used to picking apart bots, yielded no surprises. All they were met with was an old room filled with slightly organized piles of scrap and an empty table. Papers were scattered across the floor and a box had been torn open. There was nothing of real interest, the Droid thought with a sigh, slowly starting to inspect pieces of the room, just some old rusted -
Their musings were cut off as their preceptors picked up a sound. Scuttling and scratching, somewhere along the ceiling. Something was there. Thinking fast, the Droid swiveled to the scrap it had been looking at before, ‘I think I can just…’ they grabbed a few pieces from the pile, swiftly connecting them with a few wires nearby, ‘and if I add this…’ a few more pieces were screwed in as the sounds grew louder, whatever it was clearly getting closer, ‘final touches and, there!’ Connecting the new creation into itself, the Droid lifted a hastily constructed lantern, enough to light the whole room, something their own lights couldn’t and the light from outside definitely couldn’t, ‘Now what is… huh?’ Revealed now in the light, still getting closer, was a small mechanical spider. Its joints were connected almost amaturely though, making it not only unable to move across uneven surfaces but also unable to climb on surfaces, something a glance at the blueprints on the table would tell you it should be able to do.
Setting down the lantern, the Droid carefully picked up the spider, it easily fit in the palm of their hand, and wheeled over to the desk, taking the lantern along. The tools were still laid out, so the Droid quickly, but carefully, made adjustments to the little spider's legs, straightening the limbs and replacing the ends with the proper material. It hadn’t taken long, but when the Droid was done it felt… relieved almost. As if a subtle pressure had been lifted off their shoulders. It felt nice.
A check of the time revealed that the Droid was due back at its station half an hour ago, so standing quickly, they gave a small wave to the spider before rushing out the door, almost taking the lantern along, before remembering to unplug it.
And so the room was left alone again. But this time, it was not in darkness as, curiously, the lantern still shone. The spider flexed its legs, now fixed, and scurried around the room, enjoying its new freedom of movement. It chirped, a small sound it did not know it could make, and indulged in the light given by the Droid. It hoped that more would visit, but the spider knew to be patient. It had waited this long, it could wait a little longer.
More sought out the room. The sounds from it grew louder, drawing more and more bots in, and the door remained unlocked, though no matter how many times various bots went in the room was eternally messy. Everyone of them encountered the spider, each giving a small gift, even if they did not know that it was.
Cleaned eyes from a small polisher bot, a page of recipes printed out and forgotten by a cook, a sword left by a guard on accident, more visits from various droids, fixing up some of the wiring problems and rusting issues, and even more visits from helpers, cleaning the room only for it to return to its previous state of disarray every single time. The small robot was happy. At least, it thought that’s what this was.
But something changed, and not for the better. The light of the lantern which had been lit since it had been made began to fade. Bots were no longer drawn to the room like moths to a flame. And the little robot began to fade. The Helper noticed the sounds of the room growing quiet. It … unsettled him. The little robot of the room was not a quiet one. When it learned how to make sounds, it made them all the time. It chirped at every little thing, made quiet hissing sounds when distressed, squeaked when excited, and the list goes on and on. The Helper was worried. Was something wrong? He had thought it was odd when the little robot had been moving without a core, but had just assumed that he had missed something, was the little robot dying? That thought put a strain on his core, ‘this sort of thinking was wholly unhelpful.’ he decided. But his struggle was quickly forgotten when a small fading chirp and a dull thud had him flying to the door handle, all mental turmoil completely left behind in favor of trying to help the little spider that had snuck its way into the Helpers core.
But the Helper was no mechanic. All he knew was that the little spider, once so energetic, was now laying on the floor, not moving, not even twitching, and that the lantern light had gone out.
‘It’s quiet’ thought the spider, ‘It was never this quiet when the light was on.’ But the light wasn’t on, which meant that the little robot's time was up. A soft sound came from the spider, ‘I never even went outside the room’ it mourned, ‘I wonder… if there was more… ‘
A helper robot screeched into the garage, letting out a strangled “HELP” before shoving a small object into the hands of the Mechanic droid. The Droid panicked, nearly throwing the spider to the ground, before realizing what it was.
“What…”
“It’s dying!” The Helper exclaimed, “I-I think it needs a core! Or something! I don’t know! It- I never put one in but it was moving and I never- but it's dying! And - and the lantern was out and -!”
“Stop!” the Droid yelled over the panicking bot before them, “You’re going to strip all your screws with how hard your head is turning. Little Buddy doesn’t have a core?”
“No! I put it together, but I didn’t have one. I didn’t think there was one in the room so I just left it!” He paused for a second, “But maybe that … no no no, it couldn’t…”
“If you don’t explain what your spewing I swear to every tool I own-”
“Gah!” Helper shouted, pointing at the spider. A faint light had appeared in its eyes, accompanied by a light clicking sound of servos resetting. The Droid didn’t hesitate. They flipped the robot over and unscrewed the hatch to the core bay as fast as they could before halting with a small whine.
This was… insane.
Inside the little spider, was wires. There had to be dozens of them, each pulsing with a tiny amount of blue light, though some were tinted other shades. Each beat with a rhythm all its own, but that wasn’t the only odd thing.
The Droid started to chuckle, little more than small bit-crushed wheezes, and the Helper started. “I did not put that in there.” The Helper said, which in turn made the Droid effectively turn into a tea kettle, the laughter translating in a very odd way.
“It’s incredible!” They finally managed to get out, “Each wire has a teeny tiny piece of core, enough for it to power itself.”
“But…”
“But it's not really enough to keep it going. It needs either a real core, or more wires, and I have no idea where these came from.”
“But I do.” The sudden voice had the duo whirling around to stare, slack jawed, at the master of the house as an old woman walked forward to look at the small spider, before picking it up gently in her hands.
“I designed it myself,” she said gently, “living off the bonds it formed with others, a tiny bit of core from each interaction, amplified by a device to sustain cores. But I never finished it. The cores never… caught in the way they needed to. It never came to life. Until you fixed it.” With this she smiled at the Helper, “I suppose it just needs an extra touch.” The woman handed the spider back to the help with a small grin and a nod.
Taking the robot back in his hands, the helper looked down and noticed something new. One of the wires seemed...familiar. A weight that he knew. He carefully moved his finger to touch it and-
Sparks flew from the spider, and all at once, the wires pulsed glowing a bright blue, and the eyes flared to life. Handing it quickly to the Droid, the hatch was replaced as the little robot began to chirp, softly at first but then getting louder and louder. Until with a little shriek, the spider flipped itself over and looked at the Helper, squealing loudly in delight.
Smiles grew upon the faces of the three present, as the little robot began to run around the space, mesmerized by the world outside the room, free at last.
Once there was a room. It was dark and dusty and filled with old metal and paper scattered across the floor. There is a table in the center of the room with a blueprint on it for a small robot spider, titled “Wire Spider’.
And the door to the room, old with chipped paint, scratch marks, and unusually polished hinges, well.
The door to that room is open.
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