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Birth is chaotic and loud, yet it comes with the lingering threat of death. When the puppet stirred to life, it was alone. In the dark recesses of an abandoned train car alongside the cacophony of grunts and agonizing screams, the puppet took its first steps.
A soft voice filled its ears, guiding it to a sanctuary in the city. However, the voice instructed it to do the impossible to enter the sanctum.
It was only 5 minutes old and was already asked to do the impossible. However, this human asked for a lie, so it must lie.
Fighting its way through Krat is simple enough. However, an uneasiness stirs in its springs. How is it supposed to lie? What will happen if it does what its body is supposed to be innately against?
It reaches the door to Hotel Krat. The door asks it to prove its humanity.
The puppet lies, for the first time. A slight warmth runs through its bolts and cogs. It could get used to this.
The warm voice now has a face and a name. Sophia, she says. She directs it to its next objective. As it explores the grand hotel, another praises the puppet for its accomplishment.
The elderly woman with blue scales growing out her cheek praises it for coming this far and offers words of kindness and wisdom. She also provides a piece of clothing. A relic of the past, she calls it.
The puppet learns that it is defective for it can tell a lie. However, it was commanded to lie. Does a human order override its programming? As of now, the answer is yes.
***
Traversing the overrun streets of Elysion Boulevard, it finds remnants of happier days. Days filled with children's laughter, functioning puppets, and clear skies.
It finds a human asking to find her child. It dutifully searches for a child, but finds a shell of a puppet. It offers this shell to the woman.
“Isn't my sweet Elena precious?” she coos.
It nods in agreement. Warmth fills its springs once again. What a curious reaction.
In the rain, alongside the fresh scrap iron, the puppet observes a curious bench covered in pastels, flowers, and a whistle.
Strange whirring within it urges the puppet to play with the whistle. It struts down the streets, shutting down multiple aggressors with ease as it toots the horn.
A knock at the window catches its attention. “Murphy?!” a sickly, yet cheerful voice calls out.
A child meets the puppet's eyes. Expectations: dashed. However, the child recounts memories of the whistle to the puppet. Joyous days as long as they were with their dearest Murphy. The warm laughter softened the cool, hard metal that was Murphy. The cool metal that defended the warm laughter from the scathing criticisms from the upper echelons of Krat.
Despite the child's sickly state, reminiscing brought color to the pallid skin. After bidding farewell, it gazed at the whistle before putting it away for safekeeping.
***
The thud of a fresh corpse hitting the stone pavement allowed the sequestered Gepetto to come out of hiding. The elder was quick to examine the puppet for any issues, checking the legion arm for wear and tear before looking over its more flesh-like features. Pressing a hand over its chest, the man hummed to himself.
“Come, son. We have work to do.”
Finding Vegnini was simple. However, he is an odd man. He treats his puppet Pulcinella as a relative. Pulcinella reciprocates…or is that what its supposed to do?
***
Discovering the portrait of himself stirs confusion. This is what it looks like, minus the rosy cheeks. Gemini cackles at the uncanny resemblance, jesting at the notion of there being two of him—however, the gears inside of it pulse with unease.
At the hotel, he changes into the uniform Antonia gave it once everyone is asleep.
In the mirror's reflection stands a ghost of the past. Its stare pierces through him, uncomfortably so. The vast room suddenly shrank, enclosing him in an uncomfortable grasp. Overwhelmed, the puppet hastily strips and locks the uniform away.
***
A flutter of recognition flashed as he gazed at the heart of the giant puppet in the ballroom. Who was this blonde boy? The undecipherable static escaping his lips confuses him, until the blonde lunges at him.
An opening gives him the win, yet something in him sinks. An uneasy ebb and flow radiates through the ergo he collects.
At the exit, Gepetto awaits with praise and reinforcement of his duty. It's welcomed. His god, his father, who he was made to obey. The perfect son. The perfect father. What son would be upset to see his father after an arduous battle?
A palid Krat weeps in the background as he continues throughout the city with reinforced resolve. Yet, the sinking feeling, the urge to decipher the pit in the ergo grows.
Geppetto's words echo in his head. He cannot stop. He must be a good son.
***
Veigninis concern for him confuses him. For what purpose does this human worry over a tool like him? Pulcinella seems to have a deeper understanding of the oddities of human sentiment, yet he finds himself at a loss by Pulicinella’s resolve.
Polendina speaks of love and matters of human emotion. This, too, escapes him. He understands humans have emotions, the ergo in him recreates the feelings as he's come to recognize, yet the simple act of feeling eludes him. In the wake of Antonia's death, Polendina chooses death.
An empty shell of the Polendina that was greets him for the first time. He stares back into its lifeless eyes, desperately searching for the bountiful warmth that was there last night.
***
Drops of uncertainty begin to overflow as the question of who, or rather what, he should be pour over his mind. The springs in his body have started beating. The pounding in his chest attunes to the state of his ergo. The confusion and inexplicable anger in his ergo make him ruthless in battle.
It isn't until he reaches the windy shores of Arche Abbey that he realizes the ergo in his chest echoes the life of the one he is meant to replace.
For the Carlo Gepetto looks to recreate does not exist. Fragments of the man that lived exist in him and they carry heartbreak, inherited from a lifetime ago.
The visage of Romeo and Carlo, brothers in arms. The grief in the ergo finally receives an answer, and all he can do is grieve, silently. For he is not Carlo. He is P.
Carlo resented Gepetto to his dying day. P obeyed Gepetto, as a good tool should in the service of his creator. However, the ever-growing humanity in him now branches to unexpected futures.
“Your heart, son.”
The request for his heart takes P aback. He was Gepetto's perfect tool, a good son. He defeated Manus. Wasn't that enough? He completed his task. Why must God be so short-sighted?
“No.”
“Stupid puppet.”
The blood coursing through his veins burned. He now understands Carlo’s resentment. This is the Gepetto he knew. Behind the saccharine praises and fatherly concerns lies the man Carlo knew him to be…and now P sees him for the man he is.
Now, he must choose his future.