Nobody Home * 2026

Summary

A distorted stream of consciousness from Thomas Saggs.

This fic is connected to After School Special.

This work contains/touches upon intense/sensitive topics. Viewer discretion is advised, take care of yourself.

content warnings

Written/implicated past child abuse and child sexual abuse/sexual trauma
Self-deprecating language and negative self-talk.
Parental death

return to directory

"Scanning hard drive"
"Found: ... files"
"Recovering files"

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Creaking, buzzing, thumping.
Scratching, clicking, droning.
Thuds, whispers, whining.

Monotonous noise that filled Thomas's leather head day in and out. He didn't mind the ambience, it was hushed enough for him to focus on his tasks.

Accompanied by the radio placed on his desk, it didn't feel so empty hearing the daily broadcast through its speakers.

Thomas's brain felt less empty when there was enough noise to fill it in, he enjoyed the quiet but not complete silence.

Thomas remembered a time when his head felt less hollow, sometimes he yearns those past years of his youth, still young and spry. But Thomas doesn't convince himself that all was well in the past, he'd argue a younger him would've equally yearned to be his current build age, the emptiness had always lingered in the back of his mind.

Thomas has faint memories of his childhood, he's fully forgotten his foundational years, bits and pieces of his adolescence are fuzzy, he questions which of these parts of his life ever happened at all. Everything became garbled noise past his 30s.

The only reminder he has of his past was his younger brother, Robert. Thomas starts to ruminate over what he remembers of a younger, more vulnerable Robert. Deeply rooted feelings of shame and guilt bubble up from inside Thomas. He tries to stop dwelling on the past for now.

Thomas didn't have many friends, at least he didn't really consider them friends, just acquaintances.

He could hold up a conversation with his coworkers just fine, many of these talks were pleasant even, but that's all they were. They'd go on their merry way and never think back on that, rinse and repeat. Thomas didn't think he had anything valuable to remember, just his luck.

Plants on the other hand, were truly the ones who listened, who bothered to stay even at his most monotonous drivels. Of course, they had to stay, they were just plants. They had no other goals or autonomy than being house plants, but it still mattered to Thomas, sentient or not.

Plants couldn't judge, plants couldn't object, all they could do was sit and take in Thomas's unorganized ramblings. Thomas felt more like a plant than a cog, than a machine, than a sentient being.

Sometimes Thomas felt as if he was living a life in third person. The Thomas in front of him did what he did, felt what he felt, but they weren't the same, they couldn't be the same.

A ridiculous part of him wonders if his plants understand how he feels.

One coworker who insisted on visiting and talking to Thomas regularly was Ms. Dama. Ms. Dama always told Thomas to just call her Belle, that he didn't need to be so formal, but that felt wrong for Thomas to do, it felt disrespectful especially for a senior.

Ms. Dama was an interesting cog, lead a very ambitious life compared to her present. Ms. Dama was taking it slow, but Thomas's and her definitions of slow didn't match. She's quite lively for her age.

Ms. Dama loved spoiling Thomas in and outside of work hours, he always felt overwhelmed by these acts of service from Ms. Dama, he just never had the heart to reject or oblige to her. Ms. Dama certainly was very grandmotherly to most people she was friendly to, very generous.

Ms. Dama once told Thomas that she'd love for him to call her "grandma" but that it could be weird for outsiders, so he could use the term "auntie" instead. Ms. Dama seemed much happier by the former term though, but Thomas would argue that she wasn't much older than him to warrant that type of relationship.

A selfish part of him wished he could call her his mother, despite them not being that far apart in age gap. She certainly was more motherly than his mother ever was.

A mother that wouldn't scream and taunt him, a mother who would be safe to go to when he had nowhere, a mother who didn't destroy his items, who didn't shove and push him, a mother who kept her hands to herself, a mother who didn't look at him wrong.

But that was merely a fantasy, Ms. Dama was already an actual mother, Thomas shouldn't steal that valor. Ms. Dama was just acting polite to him, he shouldn't take advantage of that. Ms. Dama really does too much for him.

He didn't know why he still visited them. It felt right and wrong all at the same time, it was ritualistic than willingness.

Every once in a while, perhaps during a holiday, Thomas would ride all the way back to Suitopia, how it changed over the many years he's returned and left. Something that always remained the same though was his parent's manor.

His parents had mellowed out throughout the years, or maybe being away from them softened their behavior. They didn't understand him, but that was alright, they never did. Thomas didn't understand them either, he doubts he ever will.

Thomas would stay over for a night or two in the old manor, everything was getting dusty and outdated, the garden wasn't kept very well in shape, his Mother and Father were getting older.

Sometimes he'd sleep in his old bedroom, everything that was left there remained in it's spot. It still felt small and empty, missing the presence of someone else who lived here as well.

Thomas would lock the door when he went to sleep, he'd double check if he really did lock the door, again and again. He knew no one was coming in here, nobody would care to, he just had to make sure.

Thomas felt like he was wilting away the more he laid in his bed. Leaves shriveling and falling off, stem breaking, petals being ripped and teared off. He could feel fingers lingering over his metal shell, digging into him, deconstructing him, undoing his wiring.

He couldn't move, he couldn't scream, he couldn't leave. "He" wasn't himself anymore. He was merely a spectator.

He could only watch Thomas decompose.
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He remembers the last time he saw his Mother while she was still alive, she lived to be considerably old in build age, but it was clearly evident the nearing of her deactivation. They couldn't find any compatible parts for her and her motherboard was failing, all she could do was lay in bed and spout garbled noise.

Father was out of the picture, Thomas isn't sure if he wants to know where he is now, it was just the two of them in this large, decrepit house.

Thomas couldn't feel sympathy for his mother, but he couldn't feel vindicated either. Pity fueled him as he helped and accompanied her through her final days. Many times she called him a name that wasn't his anymore, many times where he had to hold and embrace her, she (didn't) couldn't remember. All Thomas wished for was for these feelings to numb over, he couldn't feel strongly about this.

He didn't feel sad nor happy when she finally passed on. Everything was silent.

Ms. Dama talked a lot about her past, it was hard to be disinterested, she always had a different story to tell.

Her memory wasn't the greatest of course, but you couldn't blame an old lady like her, Thomas understood that, his memory he could say was worser than hers.

Ms. Dama brought up her husband, a nice, well respected man in his days, Ms. Dama spoke very fondly of him, especially when he eventually passed decades ago. Her children kept on touch with her... But they were all busy with their own lives, their own families. Ms. Dama still wished they'd reach out to her, that she had more free time to visit.

A surprising fact Thomas had learnt from his meet ups with Belle was how her children were all adopted, she and her husband just weren't able to build their own children at the time. That was just the harsh reality for "same-sex" cog couples or cogs undergoing transition in the past. Thomas wonders if they ever relaxed those conditions in Suitopia.

It did comfort Thomas that Ms. Dama was also transgender, that was just another little coincidence that connected them both. Ms. Dama however definitely went through hell and back in those days compared to Thomas to be respected.

Ms. Dama would joke and tease with Thomas, she would say that she wished Thomas was her grandchild and that he was a very sweet man. Thomas couldn't believe that, it had to be a lie, he however didn't have the heart to disprove her conclusion.

Ms. Dama would tell Thomas that she hoped she hadn't disturbed him or seemed to be distracting him from work. He shook his head and reassured her, but truthfully, it was bothersome to interact with her. Ms. Dama deserves to spoil someone else more worthy of her love. I'm not that good, I'm the one wasting her time. I wish she'd realize the true me that was hiding.

Thomas thinks back to when he and Robert had a nasty argument. Words and phases flew through his head, trying to piece together the exact string of sentences they were fighting about this time. He thinks about Robert's insistence that Thomas believed he was better than him, better than other people.

Thomas hated people asserting their perceived roles onto him. They kept assigning intent from him that wasn't there, he knew he wasn't a saint or any better than any other cog. But Thomas was part of the problem, he can't make his damn mind up, he still doesn't know what he wants and what he believes in. He's perfectly comfortable fulfilling the roles assigned to him, when the masks peeled off, he was no one, he was nothing, Thomas was nothing.

Toons, Cogs, coworkers, they don't know the true me, the true me that's a spineless, pushover coward. I wish I had the strength to become someone less selfish in nature. Who I've been is simply impossible to achieve that at this point.

Robert is right. Without him I'm nothing.