A Robotic Heart (Revisited and Re-Wired)

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: Hello. It's been a while, hasn't it?
For those of you who don't know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Caitlyn, and like you, I am a Muppet fan. About... three years ago or so, I discovered this website and eventually decided to write a piece of fanfiction for the little-known Muppet show The Jim Henson Hour. It was based around one of the then-newer characters on the show, a semi-robotic Muppet named Digit. (For those of you used to the smileys on the site, it's this guy: ) Sadly, I never got around to really finishing it thanks to life, writer's block, etc.
However, I have decided to go back through the chapters I have written and repost them for new viewers--erm, readers. If older readers notice that a few things are different, that's because I've gone back through and rewrote some parts that I thought necessary to rewrite. I do hope that doesn't defer from your enjoyment of this story, however.
So, without further ado, here's the first chapter of the Revisited and Re-Wired edition of A Robotic Heart.))
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It was the same as it was every night. There I was in the same dark room, and there were my friends, Lindbergh, Vicki, Waldo and all the others, gathered around the same confounded table they were in every dream, performing the same doomed experiment. As I watched them, I noticed, as I always did, that something didn't look right. The chemicals they were mixing were too volatile, and anyone with any training in chemistry could tell that there was a great risk of a dangerous reaction. The people gathered around the table however, had no training. As I looked on with apprehension, I saw Waldo pick up a beaker of what I could tell to be Macguffium-239, a highly explosive and very delicate agent even under the best of circumstances, and move to pour it into the compound. Knowing that I couldn't let this happen, I tried frantically to get the attention of one of them. Finally, my calling and arm-waving got the attention of Vicki, who smiled and waved me over. I ran over, in the hopes that I could stop this experiment before it went too far. It was too late. The chemical had been poured; the damage had been done. I heard a ground-shaking explosion, and saw a large cloud of smoke. I felt myself being thrown backwards by the blast, but I knew I was the only one. I couldn't see them, but I knew the others had been caught up in the explosion. Suddenly, I felt myself falling rapidly...

~o~o~

... and immediately found myself screaming as I fell out of bed.

As soon as my body hit the floor, I sat up and breathed heavily, trying to calm myself down. I’d experienced that dream--no, nightmare--for weeks upon end now and didn’t know how to prevent it. At first I thought it would pass, but now...

“Digit?”

Looking up, I saw my friend and roommate standing at the doorway of my room in his pajamas, tiredly rubbing his eyes. Floating beside him was a little computer graphic who yawned. “What’re you doing screaming in the middle of the night?” my friend drowsily asked me.

Apparently, my scream of fright had awoken them from their slumber. Not knowing how to answer either of them, I simply remained silent.

“Did you have a bad dream or something?” the floating creature asked. "Must've been really loud..."

"You were screaming like you just saw something bad, or something," the other added.

I could not believe how correct both Lindbergh and Waldo were... “... well, yes,” I replied, “but… you see… I’ve been having this.. dream for...”

“I know, nights now,” my kiwi friend finished, moving to kneel beside me on the floor.

“We’ve been hearing that same scream for lots of nights in lots of weeks now," the graphic said, his drowsy eyes looking at me. "What’s going on with you? You're not glitching or anything, are you?”

"No, Waldo, I'm not glitching..." To be perfectly honest, I had been asking myself the same question ever since I first had that nightmare. The friends, the dark room, the chemicals, the explosion... it could possibly mean only one thing... “Lindbergh, I think my past is coming back to haunt me...”

Lindbergh looked me over. “... your past? ... like, when you became--”

“Yes, that.” Lindbergh was the only one other than myself that knew about what happened to me… how I became the way I am today...

But he, ever the optimist, tried his best to reassure me that things were okay. “Aw, don’t get yourself worried about this stuff, Digit. Maybe you did something all those nights to make you have that dream... like some of your wires got crossed again.” He paused. "... do you want me to look?”

“... no,” I said after a period of silence, crawling back up to my bed. “I think I can make it...”

He looked sort of sad after I said that. “Well, okay,” he said, then he returned to a semi-chipper voice. “I hope you get to feeling better... Good night, Digit.”

“Good night, Lindbergh, Waldo,” I nodded as they were leaving.

Poor little Waldo, ignorant of what had went on in years past (as he was not even there with me until the 1980s), raised an eyebrow in confusion. "When what happened--?"

"It's a long story, Waldo," Lindbergh interrupted, leading him out of the room. "Digit doesn't like to talk about it."

"Aww, but I wanna know!" the graphic whined. "He's basically my dad; dads are supposed to tell stories of the good old days when they rode trolleys to work and when sugar costed ten cents a bag and stuff like that!"

"It's hard to understand if I told you, Waldo," was one of the last things I heard Lindbergh say that night. "Maybe he can tell you all about it someday." Then he closed the door and went back to his room to sleep again, Waldo no doubt floating back to his computer resting site with questions in his computer-generated head still unanswered.

Lindbergh had been one of my oldest and dearest friends. He’s been with me ever since the accident and has never left me since. We were so close that we even moved in together after I was released from the hospital. From then on, we've pretty much been inseparable, partially because we became best friends, and partially because he's one of the only ones that knows how to actually fix me whenever I glitch.

Then there was Waldo C. Graphic, the self-proclaimed “spirit of 3-D”. He was a playful computer graphic who always had fun on the job and elsewhere. The little graphic had gone through a lot, including major redesigns from when I first activated him on a computer. I considered him to be the closest thing to a son that I'd ever have. After all, I basically coded him from scratch and activated him at all those places, including our former workplace, Muppet Central.

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t have other friends. There’re the members of Solid Foam, a band that I was in back in the Eighties (and a little bit earlier). I played keyboard, Clifford played bass, Beard was our guitarist, Flash on saxophone (although he could also play the fiddle), and his girlfriend Francine was our drummer. We were close as well, and it seemed as if we knew what was going on with each other, especially during that one period of time...

So many other names came to my mind. There was Kermit the Frog, my boss and friend. Gonzo was also there, that delightful little alien who loved dangerous stunts and poultry. So was Leon, Kermit’s chameleon cousin and con artist. Still more were Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, his assistant Beaker, and all of the Electric Mayhem.

And then there was that one name that was so dear to my heart. The very mention of it sent a vision of happiness and loveliness to my mind. She was always so happy and upbeat, with the sweetest personality I could ever think of. She was so beautiful and magnificent, a real angel on Earth... at least to me.

At that moment, my hands felt over just a few of the items that I had taken out during my moments of solitude. A high school diploma... a photo album... a college degree... a paper heart... All of them brought back so many memories...

I knew that I couldn’t go back to sleep. My mind was wide awake and didn’t want to shut down for the rest of the night. Having nothing else to do, I sat down at my desk and booted up my laptop. Then, when everything was situated, I started to reminisce about the times gone by, typing memories that flooded into my mind down on the computer.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: Chapter 2 of A Robotic Heart.))
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I'm sorry to say that I can't remember that much about my life before the accident. I'm pretty sure that it was an average life. I vaguely remember getting good grades, but I also remember not having that many friends. I don't remember having any siblings, either; I do, however, remember having an imaginary friend that later was the main influence to a special creation of mine. I doubt that I was ever in a relationship back then, given that I clearly remember that I didn't go to any prom.

However, my earliest childhood memory that I can fully remember involved working on a science project when I was in middle school. I was frustrated, not being able to figure out why a certain part in my experiment wouldn't work out. I was in the midst of a break when a knock came on my door.

"May I come in, sweetie?" a woman asked, poking her head into my room. Her hair was light brown in color and she had a very radiant smile. The detail that was very prominent about her was her species: She was human.

"Sure, Mom," I replied with a sigh.

The woman I referred to as Mom entered the room and sat down beside me on my bed. "How's the science project coming along, Michael?"

My full name was Michael Lloyd Scott. That was when I was still human and was in a family. From what I could recollect, it was just my mother and I. I don't remember having a father figure in my life.

"Not so good, Mom," I said, motioning over to my experiment. "I can't seem to make it work."

Mom took a look at the project, then back at me. "Son, you have the best grades in science that I've ever seen. You're telling me that you can't get the project- that, remember, you designed - to work?"

"I've tried everything," I told her. "I've looked and re-looked at the plans. Heck, I've even redesigned a few parts so it could work."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mom, I've tried everything."

"Everything?"

She had me there. After a few awkward moments of silence, I answered her. "... what do you think I should do?"

My mother looked at me and smiled. "Michael, I know you can think of something to make it work. You just have to keep trying until you eventually get it right."

If anything, my mother was a great motivator. She was always encouraging me to try new things and also was very supportive in my experiments.

Looking back at my experiment, I pondered my mother's words. What else could be done to improve it, I wondered.

Standing up from my position near the edge of the bed, I headed towards the desk that supported my project and began to look over it and the plans again. Before I began to tinker, however, my mother spoke again. "Remember that bedtime's in an hour."

I flashed a smile as I looked over my shoulder at her. "Okay, Mom," I said in return. "Good night."

"Good night sweetie." With a smile and an air kiss, she left the room.

I ultimately stayed up late that night, tinkering and fixing my project until I thought it would work. Then I activated it and watched as the experiment worked like a charm. With the work finally completed, I almost immediately fell asleep afterwards.

~o~o~

It should come as no surprise to anyone that my project earned an excellent grade in my science class. In fact, it might not surprise anyone if I revealed that my grades were excellent in all of my classes. (Except for P.E. I've never been that athletic.) All through my school years, I was in the top students of my class and excelled in pretty much every subject. (Again, not in P.E. at all.)

Among my fellow students, however, I wasn't what some might consider "popular". You see, I was mostly known to be studying by myself or experimenting than being involved with a group of people. As a result, I hardly received an invitation to any of the major parties or had a date for prom.

Still, I did manage to have friends in the teachers. They were always encouraging me to do the best that I could in my classes, just like Mom was encouraging me at home. I even actually had after-school access to the science lab thanks to Mr. Hucklebee, my science teacher in high school.

While in school, I also took an interest in photography. I'm hardly one to brag, but I took pretty decent pictures back then, and I still do every once in a while. In fact, it was because of my skills in that area that allowed me to join the school paper staff and (eventually) the yearbook committee.

By the time I was a senior, I was named the valedictorian of my class. My grades were high, my social life was improving (a little), I was the principle photographer for the yearbook committee, and my future seemed bright. It seemed that nothing in the world was going to stop me from achieving my major goals in life.

That is, until that one fatal day in early June that changed my life forever...

 

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: Chapter 3 of A Robotic Heart.))
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The day started out like any other normal day. I went to school, took my classes, ate lunch, and studied (or, in that day's case, took my final test of the school year). However, I had planned to stay after school for a major science experiment I was planning on showing the university I had applied to, as well as to develop some last-minute photos in the lab for the yearbook.

It was quite normal for me to stay after school to work on some days. My mom always knew that I was either at the school when I wasn’t at home (or if I didn’t tell her that I was going to a different place beforehand, which was rare) and even the students expected it from me. To be honest, I didn’t know I was that predictable…

Anyway, on that particular day, I was walking the halls towards the science classroom with Mr. Hucklebee, the science teacher.

“Thank you so much for letting me use the lab for my experiment, Mr. Hucklebee," I thanked him.

“It’s no trouble at all, Michael," he replied, handing me the keys to the science lab. “Just make sure to lock up after you’re through.”

“Oh, I will, sir.” I didn’t know how to thank him enough. That science teacher was one of the nicest guys that I’ve ever known.

After he left, I immediately rushed to the photo lab to check up on the photos and to develop some negatives. Being the head photographer for the yearbook staff, I also had a key to the journalism room and the photography lab.

I took my time developing the negatives. After all, I had plenty of time later to do my experiment. Besides, it was almost the weekend anyway.

As I strolled back to the science lab, I thought about my life so far. I was going to be graduating from high school the next day, the valedictorian of the class. As part of the tradition of the top-honor students, I had a speech written up for the graduation ceremony that I put much time and effort in.

I unlocked the door to the lab and set my things on top of and around a vacant desk. I unfolded the experiment plans and left then open on the table as I went over to the cabinet to fetch the beakers and the other supplies.

While all of this was going on, I was going over the speech in my head. "Fellow graduates, this is a day of rejoicing.”

After setting up the beakers, I carefully brought over the chemicals needed for the experiment. “Today is the day that we leave the life we once knew and go out into the realm of the unknown to polish out skills.”

I hadn’t realized it until later, but I accidentally brought over a very fatal chemical over to the experiment table instead of one of the ones that was needed... “Who knows the great dangers that we might face for the rest of our lives? Nobody knows for sure...”

With all the materials gathered, I officially began the experiment. “... but with our education, our generation will surely rise up to meet any challenge.”

Chemical after chemical, the reactions unfolded out before me. “We must learn to chart our own course in life. The road will be challenging, but for with hard work comes great results...”

After time had past, I had jotted down and gathered most of the information that I needed, the experiment looking to be a success. Just like I had hoped. “...whether they be small...”

I then reached for the beaker containing the fatal chemical, macguffium-239. “... or colossal in size.”

Carefully, I poured a small amount of it in a tube and watched, notebook in hand, ready to record the results. “Because we have the keys to our own futures...”

A single drop was about to enter the compound. "... it would be very frightening if that life was misused in the wrong way.”

It’s amazing how a simple mistake can change a person’s whole life.

An explosion rang out through the almost vacant halls of the high school. Inside the science lab, glass was shattering and the place was filling up with dangerous smoke. The force of the blast caused me to fly backwards into a cabinet.

My head crashed into a shelf and I immediately blacked out, not knowing that this fatal experiment was the ending of the life I once knew and the beginning of a very different one.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: Chapter 4 of A Robotic Heart.))
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“Doctor, will he be all right?” What do they mean, will I be all right?

“No one can be for certain about that, ma’am. We can only wait for him to wake up.” Wake up? Then why can I hear you?

“We’re here to run some tests on him, just to make sure he’s still alive.” I am alive. Why do you think I’m deceased?

I heard these voices and more as I lied on a flat yet elevated surface, my eyes closed. I could hardly remember anything that happened. All I know is that I was someplace different than what I was used to.

Over the next few days, I slipped in and out of consciousness, only listening to the voices and sounds around me, until one day when I managed to open my eyes a little. All I could do was look around the room. I was in a hospital room with machines all around me for some reason. It was apparently in the isolated part of the hospital because there were no visitors coming to see me at the moment.

Immediately, numerous questions flooded into my brain. What happened? Why was I in this place? Why was I surrounded by machines? And why was I picking up radio signals all of a sudden?

A nurse entered the room as I was pondering. “Good morning, mister Doe,” she said with a smile. “How are you doing?”

I tried to sit up more and answer her, but it hurt to move. I let out a moan in pain.

“Ah, don’t move around so much,” the nurse said as she helped me lie back down on the hospital bed. “You’re in the hospital, sir. There was a chemical explosion in the next town, and we found you among the rubble.”

Chemical explosion? I suddenly realized that the experiment that I was doing had something to do with this. What went wrong, what went wrong...?

What appeared to be a television screen suddenly turned on and started to visualize my thoughts. I saw very faint outlines of myself grabbing the necessary equipment, the chemicals, and-- wait a minute!

The “movie” immediately rewound and paused. There was a name on a chemical container that could hardly make out. Ma... uffi... was that a cursive Q or a 2...

My eye sight immediately refocused to read the words. Macguffium-239! Of course! That was a very explosive chemical that, even under the best circumstances, was very dangerous. How could I’ve been so blind as to pick that one up?

“Amazing!”

I looked over at the nurse. She was studying some printouts that appeared out of a printer. “Why, you’re adjusting to your new gifts very well, young man.”

New gifts? What did she mean by that?

“I’ll tell the rest of the staff that you’ve woken up and run these printouts to the doctors,” she said before she left the room, leaving me alone.

For several days after that, the doctors all came and ran several tests on me. Tests, of memory, tests of knowledge, tests of skill, all while I was still in the hospital bed. Of course, I had no clue what the tests were about, yet they seemed to please the doctors so much that they were calling me “a medical wonder”.

When the doctors weren’t in the room, I was left alone to my thoughts. I couldn’t move around well just yet, so most of my time was spent lying in bed, thinking to myself and listening to TV and radio broadcasts. Actually, the receiving of the broadcasts further puzzled me. Was I some kind of transmitter person now? What was happening to me?

One day, everything was running well. I was listening to a radio melodrama about a woman, a man, and a jealous suitor when a few doctors came in.

“Hello,” I said in a weak voice, somewhat surprised that I could still talk after what happened. Judging by the doctors’ reactions, they were surprised as well. “Are you here to do more testing?”

The two doctors exchanged glances between each other before one of them spoke to me. “You’ve come a long way since you’ve arrived, young man,” he said to me. “If you don’t mind, we’re going to operate on you some more.”

I involuntarily sat up in the bed. “More operation?” I asked through the pain. The other doctor was moving closer to me, reaching his hand out to something on my chest. “But why? What were the first operations for?”

All I got in reply before I blacked out was, “We’ll tell you everything when you wake up again.”

~o~o~

I learned later that a team of both scientists and doctors operated on me so that I could have a better life support system. That makes sense to me now, but at the time, I didn’t know what all of that talk meant. For all I knew, they were treating me like some piece of machinery more than an actual person.

Anyway, after I woke up again, I realized that I finally had full control over all of my actions. I could finally sit up by my own, move my hands around, and my head could turn.

In all of this rejoicing, my mood turned to concern when I noticed that my skin seemed pale. Actually, it seemed paler than that of a regular human’s skin. Very suspicious…

Stranger than that was what appeared to be a control panel on my chest. Far from the IV connectors and chest compressors one might have expected to see hooked up to a patient, it had all sorts of buttons and switches on it, including one for the master power. By now, I know how to operate it, but back then I was wondering why I even needed it.

I scratched the top of my head, wondering what was going on. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I had no hair on top of my head but what felt like wires growing. By then, I was beginning to freak out a little.

Curious to see whether I could control the movement of my lower half as well, I carefully scooted over to the side of the bed until my legs dangled off the side. I cautiously stood on my two feet and started to take my first few steps. As I walked around, I noticed that my movements were accompanied by a soft whirring sound. At first I thought that the noise was all in my head, but judging from all the other things that had happened to me, I knew that something was up.

Quick a I could, I rushed over to a mirror to examine myself. When I turned on the light, the reflection that I saw made me scream in shock.

No more was I human. I was now part-human, part-robot -- what the sci-fi community would later define as a cyborg.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: Chapter 5 and, as of this writing, currently the most recent re-worked chapter of A Robotic Heart. Updates will probably happen sparingly, and for that, I apologize. Just be patient.))
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For the next several weeks or so, I was in a slight denial. I didn't want to believe that I was turn into a robotic person, especially since I had almost no control over it. Yet, with help from counselors and a new friend, I managed to overcome those problems and learned how to control myself.

During those weeks, specialists were in my room, trying to help me readjust to everyday life. I learned how to control my motor reflexes better and how to improve my then-weak speaking skills, among other things. They all said that I made amazing progress, but there was one slight problem. (Besides the fact that they kept calling me “mister Doe”.)

Sometimes during the lessons, I acted up. That is to say, the electronics inside my body acted up. From time to time, my motor reflexes would short-circuit, my voice system would malfunction, or I'd blow a fuse when I blew my nose. My case was a curious one, and finding someone who could fix all of my glitches would be quite a task.

Fortunately, I met the right man- or bird, I'd rather say- for the job clearly by chance one day.

It was late morning, sometime close to noon. My legs were being unresponsive, so I was forced to stay in bed. I was sitting up in my hospital bed, working on a crossword puzzle in the daily paper ("Let's see… Thirty-two down: Acquaintance…"). In the middle of completing an entry, I heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I called out, half-expecting for it to be a doctor or a nurse to run some tests on me.

"Plumbing services!" an unfamiliar voice replied to me. "May I come in, sir?"

I blinked. Plumbing services? What did I need a plumber for? Unless there was something wrong with the sink again… "Sure, come right on in," I said. "The door's unlocked."

The creature I saw enter the room then made my eyes widen. It was a kiwi bird with shaggy brown feathers and beady eyes. He wore a shirt, overalls, and a hat, and had a tool belt around his waist. "Thank you," he said to me before going to work.

At first, I didn't know what to make of the situation. All I knew that I was a robotic patient at a hospital with a kiwi plumber in my room. Abandoning the crossword puzzle, I decided to speak to the bird as he started to set up his workspace. (A plumber was better than no visitors at all.) "So... you're the plumber?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," the kiwi answered, not looking up from his work. "I'm also an expert at first aid, a TV repairman, a pipe fitter, and a sheet metal worker."

I was surprised about all of the jobs that he had. "Quite a résumé," I commented.

"Thanks," he said, turning to me with a smile on his face. "You're not so bad yourself."

I was slightly confused about why he said that. "I beg your pardon, sir, but-"

"Oh, it's Lindbergh," the kiwi said to me, standing up and tipping his hat. "Lindbergh C. Kiwi, at your service."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lindbergh," I replied with a slight smile.

"Don't mention it, sir."

Sir? That was a little bit too formal for my liking at that moment, especially since he went to all the trouble to introduce himself to me. "You can call me... Michael, if you'd like," I introduced myself, remembering my name as somewhat of a faded memory after all the times the staff referred to me as mister Doe. "Michael... L. Scott. Pleasure to meet you, Lindbergh."

"Michael Scott?" Lindbergh repeated, curiosity in his voice. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

I blinked. Did he know about me? I searched my already fuzzy mental database for some clue. "... well, I was the vale... vale... val-e-dic-torian of my class, which I believe graduated this pa-"

"Wait, I got it!" the plumber exclaimed with a snap of his winged fingers and a turn towards me. "You're that guy who founded that natural history museum in Columbia! My second cousin loves that museum!"

... or he didn't know me at all and mistook me for someone else. (Is Michael Scott that common a name, I wonder?) "No, wait, wasn't he that mathematician, or was that that one golfer...?" the kiwi pondered before I sighed. "Never mind," I dismissed the conversation, "I thought that... never mind."

"Never mind about what, Michael?" Lindbergh asked. "I have time to talk about it."

"I-I don't want you to lose your job because you were talking to me," I responded, half-telling the truth behind my reasonings. After a few seconds of silence, the repair-bird shrugged and turned back to his project. However, it felt a little too quiet then, so I decided to just make casual conversation. "So... what does the 'C' stand for, if you don't mind me asking?"

The kiwi looked up. "Huh?"

"The 'C' in your name," I clarified. "Sorry if I'm prying into your life a little too quickly..."

"Oh," he said, slowly nodding. "It's no problem. That my middle name, Clive."

"Nice middle name," I commented.

"Eh, you get used to it after the years. Especially since my twin brother has the same name that I have."

"Your parents named you both the same?" I questioned, my head tilted in confusion.

"Nope! Mom and Dad named us Lindbergh and Clive," Lindbergh started to explain in a more chipper tone, eyes glued to the pipe leading out from under the sink, "and they gave us the other's middle name. School was tough for us because of that. The teachers could hardly tell which one of us was which. But it all worked out as we got older!"

My eyes widened. "Really? How?"

The kiwi smiled (which was hard to tell because of his beak). "Clive was more interested in acting. Me, though," he shrugged. "I was more into wood- and metal-working. My dad actually gave me my very first tool set! Ever since then, I started to work and now I can repair just about anything!"

Suddenly, something in my head seemed to click. Maybe he could help me with some of the problems I've been having recently, I thought. "Listen Lindbergh, do you think you can help me out a little?"

The kiwi, surprised by my request, responded almost instantly as he tightened a bolt on the sink. "Sure Michael, what is it?"

I looked down at my legs, which were under the sheets of the bed, as I began my explanation. "You see, I've been confided to my bed for a few days because the motor reflex mechanisms in my legs have shorted out. The doctors say it'll take some time to fix, but I was wondering if you could help out with repair some."

"Sure I can!" Lindbergh happily replied, grabbing his wrench and making it over to my bedside. "Just let me see what I can do here..."

After having assistance swinging my legs over to the side of the hospital bed, he began to work. The kiwi then started to mess around with some of the knobs on the control panel on my chest, trying to find something before he unscrewed a panel on the back on my head. I tried very hard not to laugh as he searched around. "Aha! Here we are!" Tightening what appeared to be a few loose bolts with a screwdriver, he then closed the panel back up and started to test my reflexes by possibly the only way he knew how to: by pounding a hammer against my legs.

"OW!" I immediately retracted my legs from the hard hit. "What was that for?"

"Just testing your reflexes," Lindbergh explained me. "They seem to be pretty good. Try to walk around now."

Taking his advice, I stood up on the floor and started to take some steps around the room. I wasn't making awkward movements when I was moving anymore. "I... I can walk again!" My hand grabbed his wing in a fast handshake. "Lindbergh, you're a life saver! Thank you!"

"Aw, it's no trouble at all," the kiwi said back, a sense of a job-well-done in his voice. "Just doing my job."

The door opened. “What is going on in here?” a very alarmed nurse demanded.

Oh. Right. We were in a public hospital. I had let out a scream of shock. I was now standing on the floor on my own two feet.

And I might have just cost the plumber his job.

Shoot.

“I fixed the sink,” Lindbergh piped in, putting down his hammer and breaking the silence that was settling in. He turned the faucet on and off, proving his point.

“He did more than that,” I quickly added, continuing despite the odd look the nurse was giving me. “He fixed my legs! I can move again!” I quickly demonstrated by walking back and forth before almost toppling backwards. “It's a miracle...”

“Then what was with that scream I heard?” the confused nurse asked.

“That was fixing his legs,” the kiwi answered before I could open my mouth. “Special technique. I couldn't believe it actually worked.”

“Um, ma'am,” I spoke up again, trying to help our case, “I know that the staff has been searching for a repairman to help with my problem for a while now. Well, with the hospital's permission, I would like for him to be my personal repairman.”

"Me?" Lindbergh asked, blinking.

"Yes," I said. "From now on, you'll be in charge of helping me fix my malfunctions and glitches whenever they may happen. That is," I added as I glanced towards the nurse, "if the hospital does allow it..."

With those words (and a bit of pleading), I had not only found a repairman, but a best friend in Lindbergh C. Kiwi, one of the nicest birds I've ever known.

 

[The Count]

It makes me very happy to read that you're posting again Caitlyn. The story's as solid as ever and I hope it does get continued when you happen to have the time to post more of it.
Thanks for sharing these first chapters with us and have a happy Easter weekend.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

((A/N: So I was a bit impatient with myself on how to re-write this chapter. But I think for what it is, it probably gets its point pretty well. My only fear is that I might've mangled it from flow... Oh well. Here's Chapter 6 of A Robotic Heart.))
------
It wasn't until years later that I decided to research just what all brought about the decision to make me a cyborg. What I found out was surprisingly shocking. According to the medical records I had faxed over, there was no possible way to identify my body among the rubble. My face was deconstructed, my dental records near-unidentifiable, any sort of fingerprints were damaged, and my vital signs were all over the place. In order to save the life of a Mister John Doe, they decided to perform an experimental procedure to bring me back to life.

I could go into detail about the actual procedure itself, but I think I might make myself a bit queasy just rambling on about it. Besides, that's not either here nor there.

Now, back to the part where I was just about to be released to the hospital.

Eventually, I was released from the hospital after recovering for a while. Since they had no record of any relatives and couldn't get anything from me because of my fuzzy memory, Lindbergh was kind enough to drive me out of the hospital in his company car (“I got it from my uncle,” he explained to me later) and to my house. I wanted to show my mother (by then already becoming a memory) that I was all right, and that I had made a new friend while I was in the hospital.

Unfortunately, Mom was out of the house that day, and the door was locked.

“Darn,” I said in defeat after fiddling with the doorknob for a while.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” my kiwi companion asked me. “This is your home, right? Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere back there.”

I nodded in his direction, searching under the mat for a spare key. My search was rewarded.

“It looks like a nice place, Michael,” Lindbergh commented to me.

“Wait until you see the inside,” I said as I unlocked the front door and let the two of us in.

“Gee, it is a nice place!” he exclaimed, looking around.

A smile crept on my face. I was finally home. After countless days of being in the hospital, I was finally home. I sat down on the couch. It felt good to be back.

Lindbergh was looking at the pictures on the wall. “Is this your mom?” he asked.

I walked over to him and looked at the picture that he was observing. In that picture, my mother and I were standing side by side, smiling at the camera. “Yes,” I answered after taking it all in. “That’s my mother and myself in that picture.”

“Wow, both of you sure look happy.” The kiwi turned to me. “Where’s your father?”

I paused, trying to remember what happened to my father, but all I drew was a blank. “… I guess… I guess I’ve never had a father,” I admitted to him. “For as long as I remember, it’s been just me and my mom living together. She raised me all by herself. I think...”

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” he consoled. “Your mom must be pretty amazing.”

“Yes,” I said with a smile and a nod, “she truly is amazing.”

The attention of my friend shifted to a door that was partially open. “What’s this?” he wondered out loud, opening the door. He gasped with excitement. “Neat! Is this your room?”

I looked into the room in question. Lindbergh was right, the room that he found was my old room. Everything was still in place, just as I remembered it. The only thing that changed was the calendar.

“Wait a minute…” I was beginning to realize something. “Lindbergh, how long was I in the hospital?”

The kiwi looked at the calendar. “About a month, maybe?” he replied. “And that's probably more, depending on the time I was hired to help fix you. Why do you ask?”

“I want to know if I missed graduation or not,” I told him, rummaging around in the drawers of my desk for the written speech that I had prepared.

“I’m sorry, Michael, but school let out about a long time ago.”

Lindbergh helped me up off the floor after I had sunk to my knees in shock. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I could not believe it. That lab accident didn’t just hurt me physically, but academically as well. Without graduating from high school, I couldn’t go onto college and earn a degree. As if things weren’t already bad enough…

The sound of a throat clearing made me turn my head. Something had caught his eye. “Michael… there’s something I think you should know…” My companion grabbed a newspaper from the top of my desk and held the title up for me to read.

“Local High School Student Lost in Explosion” was one of the headlines.

“They think that you’re dead,” Lindbergh said to me.

I sat down on my old bed as I let all of the information sink in. No… it couldn’t be possible, they couldn’t think that I was dead.

“And… the hospital could only get so much information out of you,” my friend confessed, sitting down beside me. “That's why they called you John Doe. I’m sorry, Michael.”

My answer to him didn’t come right away. I was in a deep state of disbelief. Everyone thought I was dead, the hospital only knew my first name, I hadn’t graduated from high school, and to top it all off, I had been turned into a cybernetic being for the remainder of my life.

Lindbergh patted me on the shoulder. “You want me to leave you alone right now?” he questioned.

I mumbled something to him that had hardly any meaning whatsoever, even to me. I lied down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling and pondering the events that had happened. Lindbergh ended up sitting at the foot of my bed, offering his condolences until I couldn't hear them anymore.

~o~o~

I must’ve fallen asleep sometime later, because next thing I knew, Lindbergh was shaking me awake. “Michael, wake up,” he whispered to me. “Your mom’s home.”

Immediately, I sat up in bed. “Mom?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” the kiwi said quietly. “I don't think she saw me, but she might suspect that something's up! Didn’t you say that you wanted to see her again?”

I looked down at my hands, pondering my options. I did want to see her again, but how would she react? Would she be happy to see me alive, or would she reject me?

“Here she comes!” Lindbergh warned, scurrying back from checking outside my room door.

I moved to do something, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought to myself, Should I hide, or should I do something else like--?

“Who’s there?” a female voice called out in slight alarm.

I froze in place. I didn’t know what else to do but to meet Mom face to face.

Footsteps were heard coming closer to the room until they came to a halt. It was at this time that I turned myself around to face the doorway.

“… Mom?” I questioned almost wordlessly, stepping closer to her.

She backed away out of confusion and fear. “Who are you?” my mother asked in a voice above a whisper. “How did you get in here?”

“Mom, it’s me,” I told her, “your son, Michael.”

My mom had a look of disbelief. “… no,” she finally said after regaining her train of thought. “This can’t be happening. They told me you were…”

“I’m alive, Mother,” I said to her, coming closer. “Please… give me a chance to explain myself.”

“They said that... that you were lost in the explosion! Why should I believe you!?”

“Mom!” I didn't like raising my voice, but she was acting a bit hysterical. She had every right to, of course, but I still wanted to make her see that it was really her son talking to her. “If I offer a piece of knowledge that only the real Michael Lloyd Scott would know, would you hear me out?”

“Lloyd?” Mom repeated, her voice hushed.

I was busy searching my memory banks for anything that would make her see the truth. “When I was younger, I... I made that imaginary friend. The shape-shifter? What was his name--?”

A hand stopped me from continuing. My mother nodded, removed her hand and asked me to explain things.

Tears formed in my mother’s eyes out of a mix of emotions as I began to tell my story to her. She seemed confused and upset, like she couldn’t believe what was happening.

“… and then Lindbergh and I came here so that you would know that I was all right, Mom,” I finished in a comforting voice. “I wanted you to know that I was alive and well, that’s all.”

My mother cried as she hugged me in happiness. “My baby,” she said through the tears. “I… I can’t believe this. It’s like you’ve come back from the dead.”

A warm smile came upon my face as I hugged her back. “I know, Mom,” I told her. “It’s been difficult for me to believe all of this as well.”

Neither of us spoke for a while. We were just so glad to see each other again after all that we’ve been through that we couldn’t think of more words to speak.

“Awww…”

I turned to see a sniffling Lindbergh watching us, a tissue box close at hand. He stared back at us in surprise when he found out that we were looking at him. Clearing his throat, the kiwi went over to my mother and presented her with the tissue box. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Michael’s Mom,” he said in a friendly voice. “Need a tissue?”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Lindbergh,” Mom replied, a warm smile on her face. “Thank you for helping my son.”

The bird blushed (though it was hard to tell with the feathers in the way). “Aw, it was nothing, Mrs. S,” my friend said back. “Anything for a friend, really.”

I smiled as I observed my mother and my friend as they chatted with each other. They were getting along just well for two people who’ve just met. It seemed as if they were old friends by the time the chat started to wind down.

Good thing too, since I had just remembered an important matter that was needed to be discussed. “Mom, what’ll I do now that I’m… like this?” I asked her.

“Sweetie,” she said to me, “you’ll be fine. I know it pains me to say this, but… now that you’ve finished your schooling, I think it’s time that you live on your own.”

Since everyone in town thought I was deceased, that meant that I had to go to a different city, possibly a different state, to begin my new life. “But… that means I might never see you again.”

Mom held back more tears. “Michael… it’s just like I’ve always tell you: You can do it. You just have to believe in yourself.”

I was choked up at this point. “I just got back, Mom,” I told her. “I don’t want to leave now.”

“And what if you stayed?” Mom sat back down on my bed, trying to compose herself. “Honey... as much as I'm so overjoyed that you're back, not everyone will know how to react to you now. I don't even know if I can take watching you...” She bit her lip. “Michael, I only want what's best for you. Even if it means leaving...”

I glanced away, away from her nearly-quivering form and over to framed pictures of how things used to be. She was right. I wasn't the same boy the townspeople used to know. I had changed, transformed against my will into some horrifying creature (to most people) that would have me ran out of town even the moment that I tried to tell them who I really was...

A feathered hand patted me on the back. “Hey, it’ll be all right,” the owner of the wing told me. “Besides, I’ll be with you.”

“I’m sure you and Lindbergh will be fine,” my mother said, a few stray tears rolling down her cheeks.

I hugged my mother again. “I promise to write when I can,” I told her, trying to prevent the tears from flowing. “When I remember, at least.”

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” she said back, looking at me straight into the eyes.

Trying to keep from crying myself (if I even still had tear ducts then), I looked back at her. “I promise, Mom.”

Those were some of the last words I ever said to her. After that, Mother and Lindbergh helped me pack my things and loaded them in the back seat of my friend’s car. I hugged my mother one last time before getting into the car, driving off into the sunset and leaving behind the life I once knew so I could begin a new life.

Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

 

[The Count]

Bitter sweet, you've still got the chops to make readers feel the right range of emotions. Again, thank you for sharing this story with us.
*Leaves batch of cookies for Caitlyn.

 

[Zoot the Saxer]

((A/N: Hello. It's been a while, hasn't it?
For those of you who don't know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Caitlyn, and like you, I am a Muppet fan. About... three years ago or so, I discovered this website and eventually decided to write a piece of fanfiction for the little-known Muppet show The Jim Henson Hour. It was based around one of the then-newer characters on the show, a semi-robotic Muppet named Digit. (For those of you used to the smileys on the site, it's this guy: ) Sadly, I never got around to really finishing it thanks to life, writer's block, etc.
However, I have decided to go back through the chapters I have written and repost them for new viewers--erm, readers. If older readers notice that a few things are different, that's because I've gone back through and rewrote some parts that I thought necessary to rewrite. I do hope that doesn't defer from your enjoyment of this story, however.
So, without further ado, here's the first chapter of the Revisited and Re-Wired edition of A Robotic Heart.))
---------------
It was the same as it was every night. There I was in the same dark room, and there were my friends, Lindbergh, Vicki, Waldo and all the others, gathered around the same confounded table they were in every dream, performing the same doomed experiment. As I watched them, I noticed, as I always did, that something didn't look right. The chemicals they were mixing were too volatile, and anyone with any training in chemistry could tell that there was a great risk of a dangerous reaction. The people gathered around the table however, had no training. As I looked on with apprehension, I saw Waldo pick up a beaker of what I could tell to be Macguffium-239, a highly explosive and very delicate agent even under the best of circumstances, and move to pour it into the compound. Knowing that I couldn't let this happen, I tried frantically to get the attention of one of them. Finally, my calling and arm-waving got the attention of Vicki, who smiled and waved me over. I ran over, in the hopes that I could stop this experiment before it went too far. It was too late. The chemical had been poured; the damage had been done. I heard a ground-shaking explosion, and saw a large cloud of smoke. I felt myself being thrown backwards by the blast, but I knew I was the only one. I couldn't see them, but I knew the others had been caught up in the explosion. Suddenly, I felt myself falling rapidly...

~o~o~

... and immediately found myself screaming as I fell out of bed.

As soon as my body hit the floor, I sat up and breathed heavily, trying to calm myself down. I’d experienced that dream--no, nightmare--for weeks upon end now and didn’t know how to prevent it. At first I thought it would pass, but now...

“Digit?”

Looking up, I saw my friend and roommate standing at the doorway of my room in his pajamas, tiredly rubbing his eyes. Floating beside him was a little computer graphic who yawned. “What’re you doing screaming in the middle of the night?” my friend drowsily asked me.

Apparently, my scream of fright had awoken them from their slumber. Not knowing how to answer either of them, I simply remained silent.

“Did you have a bad dream or something?” the floating creature asked. "Must've been really loud..."

"You were screaming like you just saw something bad, or something," the other added.

I could not believe how correct both Lindbergh and Waldo were... “... well, yes,” I replied, “but… you see… I’ve been having this.. dream for...”

“I know, nights now,” my kiwi friend finished, moving to kneel beside me on the floor.

“We’ve been hearing that same scream for lots of nights in lots of weeks now," the graphic said, his drowsy eyes looking at me. "What’s going on with you? You're not glitching or anything, are you?”

"No, Waldo, I'm not glitching..." To be perfectly honest, I had been asking myself the same question ever since I first had that nightmare. The friends, the dark room, the chemicals, the explosion... it could possibly mean only one thing... “Lindbergh, I think my past is coming back to haunt me...”

Lindbergh looked me over. “... your past? ... like, when you became--”

“Yes, that.” Lindbergh was the only one other than myself that knew about what happened to me… how I became the way I am today...

But he, ever the optimist, tried his best to reassure me that things were okay. “Aw, don’t get yourself worried about this stuff, Digit. Maybe you did something all those nights to make you have that dream... like some of your wires got crossed again.” He paused. "... do you want me to look?”

“... no,” I said after a period of silence, crawling back up to my bed. “I think I can make it...”

He looked sort of sad after I said that. “Well, okay,” he said, then he returned to a semi-chipper voice. “I hope you get to feeling better... Good night, Digit.”

“Good night, Lindbergh, Waldo,” I nodded as they were leaving.

Poor little Waldo, ignorant of what had went on in years past (as he was not even there with me until the 1980s), raised an eyebrow in confusion. "When what happened--?"

"It's a long story, Waldo," Lindbergh interrupted, leading him out of the room. "Digit doesn't like to talk about it."

"Aww, but I wanna know!" the graphic whined. "He's basically my dad; dads are supposed to tell stories of the good old days when they rode trolleys to work and when sugar costed ten cents a bag and stuff like that!"

"It's hard to understand if I told you, Waldo," was one of the last things I heard Lindbergh say that night. "Maybe he can tell you all about it someday." Then he closed the door and went back to his room to sleep again, Waldo no doubt floating back to his computer resting site with questions in his computer-generated head still unanswered.

Lindbergh had been one of my oldest and dearest friends. He’s been with me ever since the accident and has never left me since. We were so close that we even moved in together after I was released from the hospital. From then on, we've pretty much been inseparable, partially because we became best friends, and partially because he's one of the only ones that knows how to actually fix me whenever I glitch.

Then there was Waldo C. Graphic, the self-proclaimed “spirit of 3-D”. He was a playful computer graphic who always had fun on the job and elsewhere. The little graphic had gone through a lot, including major redesigns from when I first activated him on a computer. I considered him to be the closest thing to a son that I'd ever have. After all, I basically coded him from scratch and activated him at all those places, including our former workplace, Muppet Central.

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t have other friends. There’re the members of Solid Foam, a band that I was in back in the Eighties (and a little bit earlier). I played keyboard, Clifford played bass, Beard was our guitarist, Flash on saxophone (although he could also play the fiddle), and his girlfriend Francine was our drummer. We were close as well, and it seemed as if we knew what was going on with each other, especially during that one period of time...

So many other names came to my mind. There was Kermit the Frog, my boss and friend. Gonzo was also there, that delightful little alien who loved dangerous stunts and poultry. So was Leon, Kermit’s chameleon cousin and con artist. Still more were Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, his assistant Beaker, and all of the Electric Mayhem.

And then there was that one name that was so dear to my heart. The very mention of it sent a vision of happiness and loveliness to my mind. She was always so happy and upbeat, with the sweetest personality I could ever think of. She was so beautiful and magnificent, a real angel on Earth... at least to me.

At that moment, my hands felt over just a few of the items that I had taken out during my moments of solitude. A high school diploma... a photo album... a college degree... a paper heart... All of them brought back so many memories...

I knew that I couldn’t go back to sleep. My mind was wide awake and didn’t want to shut down for the rest of the night. Having nothing else to do, I sat down at my desk and booted up my laptop. Then, when everything was situated, I started to reminisce about the times gone by, typing memories that flooded into my mind down on the computer.

Wow, great start! O___o Can't wait to see what happens next.

 

[Zoot the Saxer]

((A/N: Chapter 2 of A Robotic Heart.))
---------
I'm sorry to say that I can't remember that much about my life before the accident. I'm pretty sure that it was an average life. I vaguely remember getting good grades, but I also remember not having that many friends. I don't remember having any siblings, either; I do, however, remember having an imaginary friend that later was the main influence to a special creation of mine. I doubt that I was ever in a relationship back then, given that I clearly remember that I didn't go to any prom.

However, my earliest childhood memory that I can fully remember involved working on a science project when I was in middle school. I was frustrated, not being able to figure out why a certain part in my experiment wouldn't work out. I was in the midst of a break when a knock came on my door.

"May I come in, sweetie?" a woman asked, poking her head into my room. Her hair was light brown in color and she had a very radiant smile. The detail that was very prominent about her was her species: She was human.

"Sure, Mom," I replied with a sigh.

The woman I referred to as Mom entered the room and sat down beside me on my bed. "How's the science project coming along, Michael?"

My full name was Michael Lloyd Scott. That was when I was still human and was in a family. From what I could recollect, it was just my mother and I. I don't remember having a father figure in my life.

"Not so good, Mom," I said, motioning over to my experiment. "I can't seem to make it work."

Mom took a look at the project, then back at me. "Son, you have the best grades in science that I've ever seen. You're telling me that you can't get the project- that, remember, you designed - to work?"

"I've tried everything," I told her. "I've looked and re-looked at the plans. Heck, I've even redesigned a few parts so it could work."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mom, I've tried everything."

"Everything?"

She had me there. After a few awkward moments of silence, I answered her. "... what do you think I should do?"

My mother looked at me and smiled. "Michael, I know you can think of something to make it work. You just have to keep trying until you eventually get it right."

If anything, my mother was a great motivator. She was always encouraging me to try new things and also was very supportive in my experiments.

Looking back at my experiment, I pondered my mother's words. What else could be done to improve it, I wondered.

Standing up from my position near the edge of the bed, I headed towards the desk that supported my project and began to look over it and the plans again. Before I began to tinker, however, my mother spoke again. "Remember that bedtime's in an hour."

I flashed a smile as I looked over my shoulder at her. "Okay, Mom," I said in return. "Good night."

"Good night sweetie." With a smile and an air kiss, she left the room.

I ultimately stayed up late that night, tinkering and fixing my project until I thought it would work. Then I activated it and watched as the experiment worked like a charm. With the work finally completed, I almost immediately fell asleep afterwards.

~o~o~

It should come as no surprise to anyone that my project earned an excellent grade in my science class. In fact, it might not surprise anyone if I revealed that my grades were excellent in all of my classes. (Except for P.E. I've never been that athletic.) All through my school years, I was in the top students of my class and excelled in pretty much every subject. (Again, not in P.E. at all.)

Among my fellow students, however, I wasn't what some might consider "popular". You see, I was mostly known to be studying by myself or experimenting than being involved with a group of people. As a result, I hardly received an invitation to any of the major parties or had a date for prom.

Still, I did manage to have friends in the teachers. They were always encouraging me to do the best that I could in my classes, just like Mom was encouraging me at home. I even actually had after-school access to the science lab thanks to Mr. Hucklebee, my science teacher in high school.

While in school, I also took an interest in photography. I'm hardly one to brag, but I took pretty decent pictures back then, and I still do every once in a while. In fact, it was because of my skills in that area that allowed me to join the school paper staff and (eventually) the yearbook committee.

By the time I was a senior, I was named the valedictorian of my class. My grades were high, my social life was improving (a little), I was the principle photographer for the yearbook committee, and my future seemed bright. It seemed that nothing in the world was going to stop me from achieving my major goals in life.

That is, until that one fatal day in early June that changed my life forever...

Wow, Digit was a human?? Crazy. Great backstory so far!!!