Puppet on a String

Grin-9.

That was the only name he knew until hours ago. On this ship where he'd been in a wall, with these people that don't trust him, on some journey that had turned into a nightmare. He had no memories, no desires, no wishes. Now he knows his name was Echo. Echo Skylark, he worked for Kalfrey entertainment, at their amusement park located on the moon, and that he was murdered and re-animated into...this.

A cyborg with no lungs or heart, half his face is gone, one cyan blue eye exchanged for a glass robotic one with sight that Echo doesn't know how to understands. Measurements, scopes and x-rays that just happen. When the other's speak to him their words skip across his vision. It's odd. His right arm completely refitted with wires and metal and circuit boards. His entire right leg too. The left is only flesh down to his knee. His left hand from the elbow to his fingers.

Echo finds that purposeful, keeping the fingers of at least one hand.

He still has only faint flickers of memories though. Mostly a beautiful woman and a man that were there at the park that night he was killed. Just strolling along. Had he known he would be killed, violently as he can only assume, and then brought back to life, he might've paid them more attention then he had.

He'd come out of a wall, entered a battle of some kind for the ship he now stood on; The Spectrum. He'd helped the team he now stood with because it just seemed the appropriate call to make. He helped signal a distress call since he could go outside the ship without needing air easily and he was able to get them what seemed like help.

The ship they'd been on with those officers felt vaguely familiar in all the wrong ways. Echo didn't trust any of the officers for a moment, he certainly didn't trust the rabbit. Ronnie Rabbit he was called. That smile, those eyes, the high squeaky voice...Echo didn't like a single bit of it. Not one bit.

Then he'd been in that interrogation room with Donald Mallard, finding out what little he now knew about himself, more than the nothing he had nothing before, but still nowhere near enough; and he'd been shot. The man before him was suddenly dead and Echo made a choice to break glass. Not a good choice. He'd only thought that a shard of glass could be a weapon to protect himself since his sizable collection of daggers and throwing knives had been confiscated like everything else from his companions.

He'd felt the need to have a means to protect himself was vital. That was a fear he could still feel in the bones he still had.

When they'd finally returned to their mangled ship, Echo in tow because where could he go but to follow them, he'd promptly thrown up the meager contents of his stomach- a shock that he still had that -and purposefully ignored the tears as he stood alone in a collective of mystery viscera from the bloody elevator, and the blood from one Commander Donald Mallard.

That was the name that now haunted Echo like the mirage of Ronnie Rabbit.

'Whatcha thinkin' about?' The hallucination asks him. Echo stares at the identification card he discreetly swiped from Hydra. He stares at the neutral stern face that had been resigned and slightly softer when Echo had been brought back into the interrogation room.

"Am I...Am I murderer?" Echo asks sullenly.

'Nah! He was gonna get shot no matter who was in that room. You're just unlucky.' Echo doesn't feel comforted by that. 'You should probably clean that puke and blood outta your circuits before they cause a lot of problems.' Echo supposes the squeaky voiced mascot is right. Vomit and blood can't be helpful for anything. Besides, despite everything, he still has a sense of smell and he smells awful. The issue is he's pretty sure that even if the ship does have water, he can't imagine that helping either.

"Yo. What's up Clown dude?" Travis asks patting Echo on the back with a force that nearly launches him to the ground. "Why are you covered in churro vomit? And glitter? Did you eat glitter and confetti?"

"I...Wh-what was the name of the woman? The one who fixes things around the ship?" Echo asks tiredly, ignoring the question because he doesn't know.

"Sylvia? Yeah. Down that way." Travis points. Echo nods. "Want me to walk you there?" Echo starts moving.

"If you wish." Echo tells the large naked man.

"I'll go with ya'. Ya' seem easily lost."

"...Possibly." Echo can't recall if he is or not. "May I ask a question?"

"Sure! Is it about the Jets? I can answer any question about the Jets. Go Jets!"

"Do you ever...wear clothing?"

"Nah. Don't believe in it. Yours are nice though. Like all the colors and shit is cool. You should add more green and white though. Jets colors. Go Jets!" Echo glances down at his cargoes and ratty shirt and his jacket. The primary colors and happy clown faces, what look like hand drawn stars.

"Thank you." Echo responds because he may not memories but he does have manners.

"You're like...really small." Travis puts his large hand on Echo's head and pats him. "Like pocket sized. You a kid? Or just small?"

"I am-" Echo pauses and frowns. He squeezes the identification card in his hand. It bends and Echo rushes to smooth it out. He feels like someone should remember Commander Mallard.

"You're...what?"

"I...don't know how old I am." Echo states somberly. "I don't...know anything about myself. Just my name and that I was...murdered before I was turned into...this."

"What's your name?" Travis asks, sounding genuinely curious. Echo takes a small comfort in that. Travis seems passionate but kind at least. Though the nudity is still strange.

"Echo."

"Echo?" Travis asks. "Like what you yell into an empty cave and then it yells back?"

"Echo." He repeats the name Commander Mallard had told him. "Echo Skylark."

"Why the clown thing?" Travis asks. "Like your hair's all gay colors. Got the makeup. You do any tricks?" Echo feels an overwhelming urge to freeze and smile joyfully. He turns quickly on his metal heel and grins up at Travis. Glitching as he does a mock salute.

"Wh-Why-Why sure I can do some tricks, Lil' Buddy! I'm your new best friend, Gr-Gri-Grin-9! Ronnie Rabbit loves you!" He delights against his will. This isn't what he wants. He wants to keep walking, get cleaned up, find a corner to hide in or someone to help. He pulls a handful of long latex balloons from a compartment in his left arm, blowing out...not air but something into them as he needs them. His breath tastes oddly sweet and then bitter and noxious on the aftertaste as it expands the latex. He quickly and deftly twists and bends the squeaky thing into the face of the hallucination that stands behind Travis. "Th-Thanks for visiting Kalfrey World! Don't forget to pick up a delicious churro at any of our tasty snack shop locations! Ronnie Rabbit loves you!" Echo says brightly, cheerfully, before he can even think to stop himself. Glitching over a few words. He feels his human eye twitch violently as the artificial muscles in his neck spasm and convulse for a moment. Travis blinks at him, eyes wide, but he does take the balloon Ronnie Rabbit from Echo's outstretched hands.

"That was freaky as fuck, my guy. But...thanks."

"I...don't know why I did that." Echo confesses, feeling smaller than a speck of glitter. He stares at his hands. "What's wrong with me?" Why did that happen? It felt...scripted. Like a ritual Echo has done time and time again.

A memory flickers before his vision.

'Welcome to Kalfrey World! I'm your new best friend, Grin-9! Ronnie Rabbit loves you!' Grin-9. That's all he knew before now. That's all he ever needed to know. That name, making balloon versions of a mascot that made what skin he had left crawl and seize. 'I can do tons of tricks! Juggling, tumbling, cards, magic; what do you wanna see, Kiddo?!' Is that all Echo is worth? A performance? Is it possible for his heart to break if he doesn't have a human heart?

A large heavy hand pats his head again.

"Don't be sad. It was cute. I'm not a big Ronnie fan or like...a balloon fan. But I'll keep it till it deflates. Love gifts from fans." Echo doesn't know if he's a fan of Travis' or not but he stays quiet on the matter. He lets Travis pat his head again and follows Travis to Sylvia. He stands at the door for a moment, feeling like a scolded child but the clearly very intelligent woman hasn't even noticed him in her pursuit of repairs. There's a fox following her about. Echo feels like he might be bothering her. "Hey! The clown needs help!" Echo jolts and feels like he suddenly has a spotlight that doesn't belong to him as Travis keeps walking. Leaving Echo standing there alone.

"What?! Oh. It's you." It's not said harshly but it feels harsh. Echo lowers his head. He knows they don't trust him. That Echo is a stranger, that they don't like clowns. "What do you need? Why are you covered in glitter and...churros?"

"I...threw up."

"And you want...?"

"H-Help? Cleaning...myself?" Sylvia and the fox share a look before both of them look back at Echo.

"You don't know how to clean yourself?" Echo feels shame heat up every part of him. Even the robotic ones.

"N-No?" He feels like that is the wrong answer but it's true. Sylvia stares at him with such an intense gaze that Echo feels he may melt into a puddle of shame.

"Why? How?"

"I just..."

"Speak up."

"I don't know anything about mechanics." Echo feels the humiliation rising. He feels something bubbling up from somewhere. "Could you please-"

"You are mechanic?" Sylvia states. Echo feels like he's been slapped.

"You think I chose this?" This was not his choice. Who would choose this? He just had an experience where he had no control over himself, he has hardly any memories, he didn't even know his name; he belonged to someone in ways he didn't want and had no control over. Someone took his body and did this to him.

"I dunno. But like you should-"

"I don't remember ever being mechanic! I don't remember anything! I only just learned my real name. I can apparently make balloon rabbits but I don't know anything else!" Echo bursts out. "I came out of a wall, I killed a space terrorist, as you've been calling them, got detained, I find out only my name and that I was murdered and then I was turned into...this! This body that whirs and creaks like metal, not bones, and it...it glows in places! This was not my choice!" Echo shouts. Unsure what’s come over him but it feels powerful. "And now I don't have any memories at all! I know nothing about myself! I am covered in mystery blood and organ tissue in every part of this body that doesn't even feel like it belongs to me! I have a dead man's grey matter in my eyes and on my face and I don't know what I can do to clean it without ruining this metal husk that needs specialized care." Echo confesses, voice frantic and somber and desperate for a smidgen of compassion. Echo feels tears prick his human eye. He feels too small, too much like a kitten left behind watching his cardboard box be taken but not him. He feels like he's felt like that many times before. Being left behind or abandoned; unheard. "Pl-please help? I can do work for you afterwards. I promise I can be useful. I can learn. I swear," Echo falls to his knees and folds his hands before himself to plead. "I'm a good worker." Sylvia stares at him, face unreadable but Echo can admit she is a very lovely woman.

The one memory comes back to him. Sylvia looks a lot like the woman he saw. Could it be possible? Should he ask? No. He should stay quiet about that. Especially if he wants help right now. He's more than certain that blood, vomit and tissue could corrode or rust his body and he's not sure he could handle that mentally right now.

"Okay, well. Firstly...Get up. Secondly, calm down. I guess it's only fair to help you. You did help us save the ship. Kind of. Come sit. Kit, find him something to wear while we do this, please? Travis being naked all the time is enough. Do you have cybernetics like...down there?" Echo takes a moment to check because he honestly doesn't know the answer to that.

"No?" He answers, confused because that feels as purposeful as letting him keep the fingers of one hand and his stomach. He's not sure he wants to know the purpose though.

"Interesting. Mystery for another day. C'mon. Sit." Sylvia pats a part of the work bench behind her. Echo climbs up carefully and makes sure to pay attention to what Sylvia shows him. He certainly doesn't want to bother her again. She does keep glancing at him. Eyes flicking over every part of him as she takes him apart with an odd sense of care. It still feels a bit invasive but Echo needs her help right now. He just wants to feel as human as possible. "Huh. You really don't have lungs." She marvels, getting closer to stare at the cogs and wires and buttons and circuits. Inspecting the gas tanks behind his titanium ribs and their tubes. She pokes a tube. "Guess that explains the glitter. Interesting that you've got like your innards."

"Did you think I was lying?"

"No, but can't be too cautious out here." Sylvia answers as she pulls a long squidgy bit of decaying brain from Echo's glass eye socket with tweezers. Echo feels his stomach churn at the sight. He might puke again. "Well, that was disgusting." Sylvia throws the goo into the trash can next to her. There's a sizeable piles of bone fragments, plasma covered bits of muscle fiber and skin of varying colors.

"I am very sorry you did not enjoy the experience, M-Ma'am." Echo glitches and twitches then blinks confused by the response yet knowing where it comes from. Sylvia clocks it with a watchful questioning eye. Echo hopes she doesn't ask about it but she's definitely noticed the compartments and ways that Echo can perform his jolly little tricks. They'd all tried to scrub away the makeup but it seems to be a permanent reminder of Echo's role. Even on the metal parts of his face.

"Did you blow Mallard's head to smithereens?" Sylvia sighs as she scrubs and rubs at Echo's robotic glass eye with a rag.

"No, Ma'am." Echo answers, sadly but honestly. Sylvia reconnects his eye with deft hands, quick and efficient. Echo blinks, hears the metal lids of his eye clink as she comes into clearer view. She pats his flesh cheek lightly, softly, like a mother almost.

"Then shut up and don't apologize."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Don't call me that. Name's Sylvia." Echo stares at her but does as told.

"Yes, Sylvia." When he's done and Sylvia has commented on the odd placements of his flesh and metal bits, Echo is dressed in clean dry clothes and doing his best to fix whatever Sylvia's fox homunculus tells him to. It helps that his robotic eye can read him the specifications and measurements of things before him and translates Kit's little noises.

When his own clothing is clean again, and Sylvia has decided to rest, Echo leaves her workshop and finds himself alone and awake and staring at the picture of inky black space before the captain's chair. He's sitting on the floor, one leg propped up so he can rest his chin against his hands.

Who is he? Not just his name but who is he? What does he like? What does he not like? Is he allergic to anything?

'Whatcha thinkin' about?' The rabbit is back. His friend, the one that just slotted next to him from earlier standing menacingly.

"Wasn't there only one of you?" Echo accepts that he's just going to be haunted and hunted by Ronnie Rabbits now.

'Collect all ten of us, you get one free churro from any of the tasty snack shops at Kalfrey World!'

"I hate churros." Echo murmurs and realizes that he does, in fact, very much hate churros. By the look in both Ronnie's eyes that was the wrong thing to say.

'I wonder what your brain tastes like.' One says.

'So unfriendly. Where's that Kalfrey Cast Member smile?' The other says. Echo's body reacts again before he can think or deny the request. He's on his feet and smiling warmly, cheerfully. Ronnie grins manically at him. 'Got any tricks, Clown?' Echo once again moves his body without his consent. Smile frozen on his face. He's scared, he should've just kept his head down and his mouth shut. He makes another balloon Ronnie Rabbit. The figment before him grins wickedly and pats Echo’s metal and wired cheek like he's an object that's done its job. 'Good boy.'

When he's gone, Echo glares at the balloon creation and sets it down carefully, just in case he's still being watched and finds an empty wall panel to hide behind.

The small dark place offers him enough safety to cry himself to sleep.

In his dreams, he can still feel the yanking of his strings...