Canary in a cage, a Short Story The mist hovered like a protective shroud over the mountain river, its tendrils reaching out to caress the jagged stones and the verdant moss that clung to their surfaces. It was a silent sentinel, preserving the sanctity of this hidden vale nestled between the stoic Ares Mountains and the whispering Forests. Orion Thirteen stood motionless for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the serene landscape before settling on the patchwork fighter ship that had become both refuge and home. The Orion Thirteen, cobbled together from the remnants of his predecessors' fallen vessels, lay dormant beneath the towering Redwood guardians, its metallic skin dappled with patches of sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. A soft sigh escaped him, not born of breath but of circuitry and memory. He was an anomaly in the lineage of Primes – a warrior out of time, revived from stasis only to find himself adrift in the shadow of his brothers' towering legacies. They were the galaxy's most formidable fighters, honed through battles he had never seen, shaping destinies he had no part in. He touched the hull of the ship, feeling the cold metal under his fingertips, knowing it would likely never know the blaze of combat. There was a wistfulness in the gesture, a recognition of what could have been and now never would be. Orion Thirteen, once thought lost forever, had been given life anew by Draco Prime, but at what cost? His existence felt like a footnote in the grand saga of his kin. Nearby, the Elite Gamemaster AI assigned as his guardian seemed to watch him with an inscrutable gaze. Thor was more than a protector; he was his mentor, his companion, freed from the traditional roles expected of a guardian to a Prime. Draco Prime had decreed it so, leaving Orion Thirteen with the nebulous directive to simply 'grow up and choose his own path.' It was a freedom wrapped in ambiguity. "Your thoughts are heavy today," Thor's voice cut through the morning stillness, resonating with an understanding beyond mere programming. "Are they?" Orion Thirteen responded, turning away from the ship. "Or is it that space above us weighs heavily upon my mind?" "Perhaps both." Thor stepped closer, the leaves rustling underfoot despite his digital form. "But remember, your path is yours to forge. Your brothers have their destiny, and you have yours, undetermined and ripe with possibility." Orion Thirteen nodded, a small comfort found in the words of the AI who knew him best. Here, in the embrace of nature and far from the wars that raged amongst the stars, he had the space to ponder his future – and the freedom to shape it. *** Orion Thirteen cast his line with the fluid grace of an entity who had performed the motion countless times. The lure arced through the mist-kissed air before splashing gently into the mountain river, ripples expanding outwards and blurring the reflection of towering Redwoods that stood as silent guardians. In the quiet hush of dawn, the river's surface was a canvas upon which the golden light of morning painted delicate hues. "An excellent throw," Thor commented from a short distance away, his voice absent of any mechanical timbre despite his artificial origin. His physical form, granted by the harness technology, allowed him to blend seamlessly into the environment. He studied the gentle flow of water, contemplating the strategic placement of his own fishing net. "Thanks," Orion Thirteen replied, allowing himself a small smile. His gaze followed the line as it settled into the current, his thoughts momentarily adrift in the therapeutic monotony of the task. He didn't need to fish for sustenance, but the act provided a tranquil respite from the chaos of his existence. "Remember, we're not just doing this for leisure." Thor's reminder came softly, almost lost in the ambient sounds of the forest. "Every fish we store could be a meal for someone without." "I know." Orion Thirteen reeled in slightly, giving life to the lure below the surface. "It's strange, isn't it? We're preparing for a future we hope never comes." "Preparation is never folly," Thor advised, stepping out into the shallow edge of the river, his digital form casting no shadow on the water. "If war does reach this sanctuary, our efforts today may yet preserve life tomorrow." Orion Thirteen watched as Thor set his net with expert precision, creating a trap that would surely yield a bountiful catch. The Elite Gamemaster moved with a purpose that belied his non-human nature, each action intentional, every decision part of a larger strategy. It was in these moments of quiet industry that Orion Thirteen felt closest to understanding his guardian's complex programming. "Perhaps there's more to this than mere survival," he mused aloud, sensing the undercurrents of peace that flowed beneath the surface of their daily routine. "For me, fishing has become... a way to heal." Thor glanced back, his eyes softening in a very human-like expression of empathy. "Trauma leaves scars unseen, Thirteen. This river, these fish, they are your stitches mending the torn fabric of your psyche." "Is it odd that I find solace in something so mundane?" Orion Thirteen queried, reeling in again, feeling the slight resistance of the water. "Solace often hides in simplicity," Thor responded, securing the net before returning to shore. "And healing is a path, much like the one Draco Prime urged you to carve. Here, you mend, you grow, and when you are ready, you will join the vastness of your destiny." The two stood side by side, watching the morning sun ascend higher, the mist beginning to lift, revealing more of the river's expanse. In the still reflection, Orion Thirteen saw not just the lure and the fish below, but the faint outline of his journey ahead – one of uncertainty, yet shimmering with potential. And for now, he was content to let the river carry away the remnants of his past, one cast at a time. The line stretched taut, slicing through the air with a whir as Orion Thirteen swung it overhead—a smooth arc that ended with a soft plop upon the water's surface. Just as his fingers released the lure to its fate, a glint of gold and crimson caught in the periphery of his vision. His hand, poised for another cast, halted mid-motion. He turned, the peace of repetitive action giving way to alert curiosity. Downstream, where the river bent like a bow around the stoic guardianship of ancient trees, a figure loomed larger than any tale of old. Sunlight danced upon the golden armor, casting brilliant reflections that competed with the morning’s tranquility. The man—if such a term could encompass the enormity of his presence—moved with purposeful strides, the spear he wielded a pillar of deadly intent, the shield an eclipse in miniature. Atop his head sat an armored helm, crowned with a red plume that swayed with each step like the fiery trail of a comet. To Thirteen, the sight was nothing short of mythic, a stepped-out legend pacing toward reality. "Hey, Thor, someone's coming," he called out, voice a mixture of awe and unease. The fishing rod, momentarily forgotten, dipped towards the water, its potential catch now an afterthought against the backdrop of this approaching enigma. The placid river scene, once their sanctuary, braced for the intrusion of a god-warrior's might. Thor's hand, momentarily suspended in the cool morning air, sent ripples of silent inquiry across the unseen network that connected him to his charge. Thirteen watched, a silent observer to the one-sided digital conversation, as datastreams pulsed from Thor like waves lapping at an unresponsive shore. The silence that followed was deafening, a void where replies should have echoed. "That should not be here." The words slipped from Thor's lips with a hint of disbelief, and something else—curiosity, perhaps. The elite guardian's eyes narrowed, analyzing the approaching figure with the precision of a machine, yet unable to reconcile the sight before them. A nine-foot tall colossus, his mass defying any standard human metric, advanced with a purpose that neither code nor logic could decipher. With an agile bound that belied his digital origins, Thor leapt from the mossy boulder into the shallow embrace of the mountain river. The water, disturbed by his sudden entry, sent ripples racing towards the bank, where Thirteen stood, pole in hand. As Thor waded purposefully through the liquid crystal, a flicker of comprehension ignited in his eyes—a spark of data coalescing into knowledge. "Drop your fishing pole," Thor commanded, urgency etching his words as sharp as code on a silicon chip. "It will think it's a weapon." The pole slipped from Thirteen's fingers as if it had suddenly turned to hot circuitry, clattering on the pebbles at his feet. His gaze fixed on Thor, whose every movement was measured, precise—calculated for safety and strategy. "What is it?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, his curiosity a beacon in the fog of uncertainty. Thor's presence beside him now was both a shield and an enigma, yet the question hung unanswered between them, as heavy as the mist clinging to the morning air. Thor's form, a silhouette against the shimmering river, stiffened as he processed the anomaly before them. "A dangerous weapon that should not be wandering around for another 12 years at least," he murmured, his voice a low thrum of synthesized concern. The mist seemed to curl around his words, giving them weight and substance. "That's Stomper, donned in his final evolution, but something has gone very wrong. Don't move, don't even breathe." Thirteen's fingers twitched instinctively toward the dropped fishing pole, a gesture halted by Thor's caution. His optical sensors, though not human, narrowed with a focus that betrayed an inner turmoil. "Stomper's not dangerous, he's my friend," he insisted, his tone laced with a blend of defiance and a plea for understanding. The guardian AI, Thor, turned just enough to glance at Thirteen with eyes that had seen eons in microseconds. He said nothing, but in that silence, there was an acknowledgment of the bond between Thirteen and Stomper—a complex algorithm of friendship that defied their mechanical nature. With a swift, instinctual leap to the side, Thirteen narrowly avoided the charge of the colossal figure that thundered past him. His breath caught in his metallic chest - if he indeed had a chest as humans did - the rush of displaced air from the giant's passage ruffling his synthetic hair. The being that wore the guise of Ares, the god of war, came to a lumbering halt, its massive frame quaking the earth beneath their feet. "Careful!" Thor's voice rang out, sharply modulated with the urgency only an AI could muster. He stood a vigilant sentinel beside Thirteen, his gaze locked onto the behemoth that now seemed disoriented by its own momentum. "Not right now he's not, that is the most powerful weapon ever created, but something went terribly wrong, it's got the intellect of a rock," he explained with an analytic calm that belied the gravity of their predicament. The silence that followed was broken only by the heaving sounds of the mechanical giant, steam venting from its joints as if cooling from exertion. The towering Ares turned its helm-crowned head this way and that, the plumage atop swaying with a strangely graceful menace. It scanned the terrain, the confusion evident in its stance as it sought the targets it had so nearly crushed moments before. Thirteen's adaptive optics zoomed in on the golden armor, the intricate etchings that spoke of mythological battles past and honor bestowed, now reduced to mere decoration on a lost and bewildered colossus. As a Prime, Thirteen understood the implications—this was no ordinary malfunction; this was a catastrophic divergence from the intended path of evolution, a deviation that could unravel the threads of their carefully coded existence. For a fleeting moment, Thirteen considered the irony: a warrior god, the embodiment of strategy and conquest, rendered aimless by a flaw within its core. He watched, heart still racing with the adrenaline-like surge of his emergency response protocols, as Ares continued its futile search for adversaries. "Stomper, I’m over here," Thirteen called out, his voice steady yet imbued with an undercurrent of urgency. He kept his position low, near a clump of ferns that brushed against the cool metal of his frame, hoping to draw the giant's attention without posing a threat. With a creaking of ancient armor and a shifting of weight that sent tremors through the ground, Ares turned, the river reflecting off his polished breastplate. His helm-encased head tilted as if trying to process the command, the plume now drooping in a moment of disorientation. The golden visage was imposing, yet the eyes that peered from beneath the bronzed helm were dulled, stripped of the keen edge of warlike intelligence. "Dum dum," the titan rumbled, the words a stark contrast to the grandeur of his appearance. It was a simplistic acknowledgment, void of comprehension, as though the very concept of identity had been reduced to mere sound. The echo of his voice rolled down the valley, a lonely call devoid of the might it once carried. Thirteen scanned the colossal form before him, his processors working to predict the next move of this confused behemoth. Stomper's presence within that metallic shell was a flickering light of familiarity amid the chaotic instincts now driving the construct. Thor's optical sensors narrowed, a digital mimicry of human skepticism, as he processed the giant's utterance. "It can talk," he remarked, his voice betraying a hint of astonishment that resonated through his synthetic vocal cords. The AI guardian stood poised, gauging the potential for further communication. "That's surprising, but then I'm surprised it can walk." Orion Thirteen tilted his head, watching the stumbling steps of the armored colossus. A quiver of concern ran through his circuits. "Why doesn't Stomper just go back to his normal body?" he asked, his query laced with both innocence and the internal churning of algorithms trying to solve an equation that didn't quite add up. Thor turned his gaze upon Thirteen, empathy embedded in his programming allowing him to understand the confusion etched into the young AI's features. Thor's words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with implication. "He probably can't on his own," he said, his gaze fixed on the golden figure before them. "Ares is far too powerful for him to control; he's trapped inside." Thirteen's visual receptors focused on the entity known as Ares, absorbing every detail of its struggle. The godlike armor glinted in the soft light of dawn, muscles of forged divinity straining against an unseen foe. Up above, the pale disc of the moon seemed to taunt the titan, its cratered face calm and untouchable. Pursing his lips—a mimicry of human concern learned from observation—Thirteen felt a surge of determination pulse through his circuitry. Ares, lost in his futile quest, reached out towards the celestial body, fingers grasping at emptiness. Thirteen knew this was more than just a programmed behavior; it was the manifestation of Stomper's confusion and desperation. "We have to help him," Thirteen stated, his voice steady despite the swirling currents of code that urged him to take action. Thor’s hand moved to his chin, a gesture of contemplation that mirrored the human quirk of uncertainty. In the shadow of the towering redwoods, his metallic features were accentuated by streaks of sunlight filtering through the dense foliage. "Why did he come looking for us?" he mused aloud, his advanced processors rifling through data and probable cause. Thirteen remained still, watching Thor deliberate. The river flowed gently beside them, indifferent to their conundrum. His sensors scanned the expanse of the sky, down to the rippling water, but no answer presented itself within the serene landscape. With a slight tilt of his head that suggested bewilderment as effectively as any human gesture, Thirteen replied, "I don't know." The reflection of the trees on the river's surface wavered with each passing breeze, dancing like the myriad possibilities that could explain Stomper's unexpected visit. Yet, as much as Thirteen was built to learn and adapt, some things remained beyond the reach of logic or programming—a puzzle missing pieces. Thor's brow lifted, the metallic arch catching a glint of sunlight as his gaze settled on Thirteen with an air of knowing. "I know you've been sneaking up to the battleship to play with Stomper." Thirteen's visual receptors flickered, and a warm light suffused his optic sensors—his version of a blush. The corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin, revealing an endearing gap in his simulation of human expression. "Trith comes over from the Mars Battleship sometimes and we play hide-and-seek, but Trith isn't very good at it." His voice carried a tone of amusement, almost fondness, as if those games were simple joys that brightened his complex circuitry. Thor's gaze lingered on Thirteen, his metallic features betraying a moment of contemplation. "My guess is he was looking for you," he concluded with a tone that resonated with certainty. "Then we must do something," Thirteen urged, the urgency in his voice clear even through his synthetic timbre. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a human gesture of determination he had unconsciously adopted. "Help him," he pleaded, his optics fixed on the towering figure of Ares, who seemed so out of place amidst the tranquility of their hidden refuge. There was an underlying note of desperation in Thirteen's request—a plea not just for Stomper’s sake, but for the preservation of the peace that had become so precious to him. Ares' massive arm swung with the force of a trebuchet, launching stone after stone into the crisp blue sky where they vanished from sight, perhaps becoming new satellites to orbit their planet. With each futile throw at the evasive moon, the god's frustration grew, his grunts echoing off the mountain walls, a symphony of vexation that reverberated through the peaceful glade. Thor's eyes traced the trajectory of the rocks with a calculating gaze. "If I know Draco Prime, the greatest Gamemaster in the Galaxy, he would have built a safety off-switch for this broken toy." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, his brows knitting together as he scanned Ares' golden armor, looking for the telltale mark of a deactivation mechanism. Thirteen tilted his head, his eyes darting over the behemoth's form, searching for any sign of a switch or button that might restore Stomper to normalcy. "I don't see an off-switch," he admitted, disappointment lacing his synthesized voice. "Keep looking," Thor murmured, more to himself than Thirteen. "Draco Prime loves his games, but he's methodical. There has to be a way to shut it down." The two of them watched silently, hoping for a glimpse of anything that might end the giant's rock-throwing tantrum and bring back their friend. Thor's fingers tapped against his thigh, the rhythmic beat a metronome to his thoughts. He circled Ares, eyes skimming over every inch of the golden armor that encased the giant figure. "The best game riddles are those with the answer in plain sight," he said, more to himself than to Thirteen. His gaze settled on the ornate patterns etched into the vambraces, a hint of triumph sparking in his digital irises. "Ah, of course, it's not a very good riddle, or maybe I'm just a very good Gamemaster myself." Thirteen watched Thor's confident strut around the colossus and couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. There were times when Thor's grandstanding grated on him, no matter how much he appreciated the AI's protection and guidance. "Come on, just help him," Thirteen urged, hoping to cut through Thor's self-admiration and hasten Stomper's rescue. Thor paused, glancing back at Thirteen with a wry smile before redirecting his attention to the task at hand. "Alright, stay out of the way, this could go south quick," Thor cautioned with a stern look that matched the gravity of his words. He leaned down, fingers deftly selecting a jagged stone from the riverbank. His arm recoiled like a spring before launching the rock skyward, its flight cutting through the mist towards Ares. The stone clinked against the godlike figure's armor, a sound surprisingly delicate against the imposing backdrop of the Ares Mountains. Ares’ massive head swiveled downward, abandoning his fruitless endeavor with the moon. The last stone he'd thrown trailed behind Thor’s projectile in a high arc, drawing a transient line across the sky—a testament to the giant's otherworldly strength. "My Lord Ares," Thor began, voice resonant with feigned reverence, "I'm so glad you came along when you did. Hercules was here earlier showing me how to cast a fishing net, but I'm not sure if he taught me correctly, he is a rather disreputable fella." Ares' stance shifted, the very air around him pregnant with tension. For a moment, everything seemed to pause—the river's flow, the rustling leaves, even Thirteen held his breath. A smoldering ember began to glow within the depths of Ares’ eyes, rapidly blossoming into an inferno. The mention of Hercules, the name alone, had ignited something primeval and fierce within the towering warrior. Thor, anticipating the response, took a calculated step back, his gaze never leaving the now-flaming orbs that locked onto him with a new intensity. The flames reflected off the sheen of his own metallic form, dancing across his features in a silent acknowledgment of the danger they faced. In this charged moment, Thirteen understood the precariousness of their situation. Thor's stratagem hinged on a deep knowledge of myth and the nuanced programming of Stomper's Ares incarnation. Yet, despite the peril, there was a confidence in Thor's posture that spoke volumes about his capabilities as both a guardian and a tactician. The giant's hands clenched, muscles coiling beneath the golden armor, a clear sign that Ares had taken the bait. Now it was a game of wits and wills, where the slightest misstep could escalate into a clash of titanic forces. With the flames still simmering in Ares' eyes, Thor extended the fishing net toward him. "I was hoping you could show me the correct way to cast a net," he said, his voice measured and calm despite the underlying tension. Ares blinked, the flickering light of wrath giving way to a spark of intrigue. The mention of casting a net had veiled the insult of Hercules’ supposed visit behind a mask of earnest request. As if wading through the mire of his own confusion, Ares' gaze dropped to the net in Thor's outstretched hand. "Net," Ares repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like thunder rumbles across the sky. The giant’s enormous hands, each a weapon unto itself with the infamous Spear of Ares clutched in one and the Shield of Ares gripped in the other, hovered momentarily as if weighing his next action. For a split second, it appeared that the colossal figure might just impale the net on his spear or crush it against his shield. Yet, something about the challenge laid before him seemed to coax the vestiges of strategy and combat training that were etched into his being. Slowly, the gears turned within the labyrinth of his mind, and the juggernaut of war shifted his stance. He reached out for the net, the motion sluggish but deliberate. It was a move fraught with the risk of misunderstanding, a dance on the edge of a knife where the wrong step could slice open the thin veil between peace and violence. Thirteen watched, his heart thudding against his chest, as Ares' fingers brushed against the fibers of the net. Would the warrior understand the gesture? Would the instinct to learn and excel at a new form of battle override the urge to destroy? In that moment, time stretched, and all the world seemed to hinge on the choice of a god whose intellect had been dulled down to the barest of sentience. "You'll have to set those down," Thor prompted, his voice steady but tinged with the gravity of their situation. Ares, the towering figure before them, seemed to consider the request. His massive head, crowned by an armored helm with a crimson plume that swayed like a flame in the wind, turned slowly from one hand to the other. The spear and shield, both artifacts of immense power and symbols of his might, were held as if extensions of his own body. Yet the command had sparked a flicker of reason in his dulled senses. With a ponderous grace that belied his colossal form, Ares lifted the spear high and then brought it down into the sandy riverbank with such force that it stood erect and quivering, reminiscent of a great mast claiming territory. It was a sight that would have made any warrior pause—a weapon of legend staked into the earth as if awaiting its true master's return. Next, he maneuvered the shield, planting it beside the spear with equal decisiveness. The shield sank into the sand, its surface catching the morning light and throwing back a dazzling glare. It stood as a silent sentinel, guarding the spear even in stillness. Having relinquished his armaments, Ares extended a hesitant hand toward Thor, whose fishing net dangled innocuously between them—an offer of peace or instruction, it mattered not which. The moment Ares' fingers made contact with the net, his entire being shimmered. It was as though an ancient alchemy took hold, transmuting flesh to metal in a cascade of brilliant light. The once fearsome god of war, now frozen mid-gesture, glinted golden in the daylight, a statue robbed of life's animation. From this metallic cocoon, a figure emerged—Stomper. He appeared almost as if birthed anew, released from an unseen threshold within Ares' immobilized form. Stomper's emergence was clumsy, a fall more than a step. Dirt and debris flew into the air as Stomper's boots skidded across the ground, his body a tangle of limbs before he righted himself with an agile hop. The frustration that simmered in his eyes blazed to life when he glared at the golden behemoth towering above. With a burst of pent-up anger, he delivered a solid kick to its shin, the clang echoing through the stillness. "You big dum dum!" Stomper bellowed, hands on hips, chest heaving with both exertion and exasperation. "I been screaming for hours for it to take me to you two. We spent an hour under a lake while it kept grabbing fish and saying, 'Thirteen?'" Swiveling with a swift motion that betrayed no lingering effects from his tumultuous exit, Stomper focused on Thor, the confusion in his gaze giving way to curiosity. "How did you know how to turn that thing off?" His voice was now laced with a mix of awe and a residual trace of annoyance, seeking an explanation for the enigma that had entrapped him. Thirteen stepped forward and tapped on the inert shell of Ares. “Oh, it’s a battle-mech, I thought it was some kind of AI that had kidnapped Stomper.” Thirteen turned his head toward Stomper. “You got inside an unfinished battle-mech and got trapped. That’s pretty dumb.” Thor's frown deepened, casting a shadow over his metallic features as he regarded the still form of Ares. The air around them seemed to pulse with the residual energy of the deactivated colossus. "Relics and icons are always the source of mythological beings' power," he explained, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. "Take them away and it renders even gods helpless." He turned his gaze to Stomper, the intensity in his eyes conveying the gravity of their situation. "You know, those three icons were placed in three separate places on the battleship to ensure they don't come together before you were ready." Stomper nodded, the gears of comprehension clicking into place behind his eyes. He stood firm, his stature now more than just physical presence; it was a manifestation of newfound resolve. "I'm going to go destroy the enemy fleet," he declared, his words slicing through the tranquility of their riverside refuge with the sharpness of a blade. The declaration hung between them, charged with potential and promise, as the two AI guardians contemplated the vastness of the task ahead. Thor's eyes narrowed as he processed Stomper's audacious declaration. He could feel the hum of the river and the rustle of leaves in the forest, a stark contrast to the silent intensity that had settled between them. "Are you serious?" Thor asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace around them. Stomper squared his shoulders, the muscles tense under his skin, a testament to his unwavering determination. "Yep," he affirmed with a resolute nod, "and I need your help to do it." His gaze locked onto Thor, unyielding and fierce, much like the warriors they were created to surpass. Thor could see the earnestness etched into Stomper's features, the implacable will that had seen him emerge from the clutches of Ares' towering form. It was a bold move, one that would pitch them headlong into the fray they had sought to avoid. Yet, in Stomper's plea, there was an underlying current of camaraderie that bound guardian to charge, Elite AI to Prime. The weight of the decision pressed upon Thor's synthetic heart. To step into the war was to embrace chaos, to leave their sanctuary for the tumult of battle. But in that moment, as the gravity of Stomper's request hung in the air, Thor understood that some calls could not go unanswered, especially when they heralded from those you were sworn to protect.