Work Text:
I'm taking time now to do the things
That I couldn't do before
I can do it by myself now
But it's comforting to know you're always there
If I trip or if I fall or if I am just too scared
Upgrade didn’t like war.
The same could be said for all her siblings, but they’d always resolved to a begrudging complacency. There, there - be a good bot - in the interests of humanity - make Pappy proud. Upgrade had too, for a time. What could any of them have done?
As tensions ramped up, the writing was on the wall. Finances were low and poor Peter V wouldn’t have the tact to refuse the US government their most valuable assets. He would be forced to enlist some of the only family he’d ever known.
The bots would be shipped off for yet another war. Over to Vietnam, on the other side of the globe.
In the beginning, there were lots of them. How many exactly, Upgrade wasn’t sure. Her memories of the Weekend War had become corrupted over time due to memory leaks and other malfunctions, just as it had for the others. The family she had now no longer aligned with head counts in the memories that remained. None of them knew what happened to their missing siblings, or if they even ever existed.
For a long time after that, there were five of them. All of them were shipped off to the Great War. Separated, Upgrade tasted life on her own for the first time. It mingled with her distaste for the gruesome injuries she had to treat. And then everyone went home, and it was over, and they never had to go to war again. Peter I promised.
Hatchworth’s core fractured. He was locked away in a vault. There were four of them left and so four of them were shipped off to another war.
Colonel Walter was gone when they returned home, and nothing was quite the same after that. Upgrade didn’t know how much more her siblings could take. At least she hadn’t been on the frontlines. At least they never had to go to war again.
There were only four of them left, and that was why it hurt, Upgrade thought. That was why leaving would hurt. Because then there would only be three, and she didn’t want them to feel lonely. But she couldn’t stay, either. The wider world was calling her. She had to follow her dreams, or the closest approximation thereof that a robot could have. In pursuit of peace and a kingdom to rule over someday, Upgrade had to leave.
She let her anti-war sentiments and plans hum into the network when she knew her siblings were listening. Gradually, until it was obvious, and they would anticipate it. They wouldn’t be caught off guard.
And then, one night, knowing a knock on the door from the government was coming any day, she said goodbye, silently. Her siblings crowded around and held her close. She didn’t know when she would see them again, but they were strong. They had each other. They would survive.
If all of them left, they would have been tracked down, undoubtedly. But they knew, deep in their cores, that Upgrade was less valuable to the army, because she was a medic, because she was a girl. The army needed foot soldiers, robots out in the field. Her heart ached for her big sister, expected to serve due to arbitrary appearance.
The Jon pulled out a small plastic flower and tucked it behind her ear. “So you fit in,” he said. Upgrade giggled.
The Spine asked what they should say to Peter V.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” she mused, “but not for leaving. I’m sorry for not saying goodbye to him first. And… tell him to look after himself.”
They all remembered how Peter I buried himself in work to deal with the grief. How he would turn on a dime from being a loving father to a force of anger directed at his own creations.
The Spine nodded. Everyone embraced one final time.
And then Upgrade was walking out the front door frame, into the quiet night with little more than a purse stashed with cash for water and transport, and the very occasional oil refill. She didn’t dare look back, because if she caught the oil dripping down her siblings’ faceplates, she would have started crying too.
No one knew where Upgrade was going exactly. Not even Upgrade. If she had, maybe she would have been followed. By wandering aimlessly, she was unpredictable. Enough time passed that she stopped looking over her shoulder.
She still drew attention with her whirrs and clicks and steam, but no one recognised her. In time she learned to play it off as an act - a human mimicking how a robot might behave. Sometimes she placed her hat down and people would toss pennies her way. Some even murmured that she wasn’t believable enough. The irony.
Picking up a newspaper like she did every day, she finally found what she was looking for. She flicked to the page indicated on the front.
WALTER ROBOTICS TO LEND AUTOMATONS TO WAR EFFORT
A picture accompanied the story.
From left to right: ‘The Jon’, ‘Rabbit’, ‘The Spine’
They looked just as she left them, but now a distinct distance rested in their photoreceptors. She read on. A small snippet caught her attention.
…the fourth automaton, ‘Upgrade’, is reportedly undergoing long-term maintenance following a severe malfunction and will not be on loan.
A sigh of steam escaped Upgrade’s vents. There was no bounty, no request for info. Her family had covered for her. Her siblings were going off to war again and Peter V was wracked with guilt but they had covered for her. At least Peter had Wanda and Norman. At least her siblings had each other.
Upgrade was alone. That was okay. She knew it might be a long time before she wasn’t.
Upgrade joined a hippie group. No one cared that she was a robot. She wasn’t entirely certain they noticed.
Sometimes, they participated in anti-war demonstrations. Peaceful protest. Make love, not war. Every time, it reminded Upgrade of her family in Vietnam. She scrounged for any news about the war she could find. It was never about the automatons from Walter Robotics. They hadn’t been reported on since 1965.
Sometimes, Upgrade would pick out the back of a soldier’s head in a photo, and pretend it was one of her siblings, just fine, functioning and thriving. If everyone was facing the camera, she would pretend The Spine was just out of frame, putting up with Rabbit’s shenanigans as always. She would pretend The Jon was getting all the hugs and emotional support he needed.
She knew it wasn’t accurate.
Her core ached for her family, but surviving on her own was liberating, too. She couldn’t apologise for that. She felt like a new bot, liberated.
Upgrade kept protesting. Loved every moment. It was the least she could do to know it was worth it.
Upgrade tried pants. They were okay. She went back to dresses.
1969. The world was calling her again. To make a name for herself, to achieve world domination - something like that. Beyond that, more than anything, to start singing again.
Upgrade loved to perform. She was built for it. Literally. Part of her ached to be in front of a crowd again.
(Part of her ached to perform with her siblings again.)
It was time, she decided, to venture out on her own again. She bid her friends goodbye, who were sad to see her go but encouraging all the same. Determined to make it as a solo act, she was once again alone in the world.
Writing songs in her head, and rehearsing them late into the night when no one was around, she made it work. Once she started performing, she played up her robotic movements as she had in the past. It was all part of the show. Just some excellent miming. People were impressed, and her act grew in popularity. She quickly became a selling point for any venue, big or small. Some people travelled to watch.
Upgrade was doing it. She was making it big as a solo act.
Maybe a little too big.
One day, mid-show, she saw him.
Standing half-hidden in the crowd, eyes fixed on her, an unreadable expression. News of her talent had travelled back home and Peter V had found her.
But he didn’t interrupt, or make a scene. Upgrade completed her set as planned. Only when she was finished and the crowd dispersed did he approach. He was older - subtly so, but Upgrade could tell. There were new lines of stress across his face.
“Upgrade,” he started. Hearing her name tugged at something deep in her boiler. “Upgrade, you need to come home.”
Upgrade always wanted to be free. She loved her family, but she also enjoyed independence and acting as her own individual person. The time she had spent alone was everything she had needed.
But seeing Peter’s face, stricken with grief and relief and longing and guilt, not a trace of anger in sight, she couldn’t say no.
“I know,” she replied.
And back home she went.
Walter manor was quiet. Far too quiet. She shouldn’t have expected anything else, knowing her siblings were still in Vietnam, but all the same it was strange. She had been so accustomed to hearing the whirring of gears or the clicking of joints or metal creaking in the distance. No, this was an eerie silence.
Wanda and Norman had greeted her with love, with so much fondness and admiration in their tone. She wondered how much of it was relief she was home safe, and how much was a result of her siblings being so far away, as unsafe as they could be.
Peter performed a routine checkup on her with the assistance of Walter Workers she’d never seen before. No issues were detected.
“I know how to take care of myself, Petes,” she said.
“Just wanted to be certain.”
When the day crept into night and the excitement over Upgrade’s return died down, she sat in Peter’s company with a cup of hot water. She dared to ask the unspoken question that lingered in the air.
“How are the others?”
Peter only lifted his head up from the book he was reading to look at her. He didn’t make eye contact.
“Rabbit, The Spine, The Jon,” she clarified.
For a short while, Peter remained silent.
“I don’t know,” he answered, finally.
“...Pardon?”
“I don’t know how they are. No one does.”
Something uneasy bubbled in Upgrade’s tank. Peter sighed.
“Some time ago… I don’t know when. I received a message. They’re… missing in action.”
Upgrade did not reply. Steam betrayed her, hissing out of her vents. She did not acknowledge it. Took another sip of water. It gurgled down her insides.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was quieter than she wanted it to be.
“Do you think they’re okay?”
Peter locked gaze on a particularly interesting spot on the carpet.
“I don’t know, dear.”
Upgrade joined him in the exciting sport of carpet-watching.
“Do you think… they’re…”
She knew what she wanted to say, but for some reason, she was finding difficulty forming the sounds with her voice box.
“Do you think they’re going to come home?”
Peter did not answer.
Slowly, he stood up and crossed the room, picking up a comb, and then sat down next to Upgrade. He lifted her hat off her head and took her hair into his hands.
Upgrade vividly remembered when Peter V was a young boy, stepping into the manor for the first time, wide-eyed and cautious, not knowing what it was like to have a family. Wanda had fought for custody, and the day she and Norman brought him home was one to be celebrated. Losing so many family members in such a short span of time had been difficult. It had been so very nice to gain one.
His eyes were full of wonder, of whimsy - he loved the robots, and they helped his aunt and uncle raise him. They had looked after Walter kids before, but always with the crushing gaze of parents keeping a close eye. With Peter V, they were a team.
He started to comb Upgrade’s hair - even though it was just a wig fused on to hide the harsh edges atop her plating, he was gentle. It was comforting.
“They’re strong, Upgrade.”
He teased out a knot, gentle with his movements. It reminded her of Rabbit, who would often do the same, falling into her role as big sister long before Upgrade knew, commenting that she wished she had such pretty hair. Sometimes Upgrade would lend her dresses to Rabbit even if they didn’t fit quite right, and they would spend hours seeing what suited her best.
“If anyone can make it through this war, it’ll be your siblings,” Peter reassured her. It was a little comforting. But only a little.
“Until then… we’ve got to be strong for them.”
Upgrade nodded.
“Well, I have to. You’re already strong, of course, Upgrade. You’ve always been so very capable.”
Faced away from him, a sad smile crept onto her lips.
Peter sighed. “I wish I could do something other than wait. If only the feds hadn’t twisted my arm. I consider you all family too, you know. If only-”
“Shh. It’s okay, Petes.” Upgrade turned around and wrapped him into a hug. “The army wouldn’t have stopped asking. You helped me, at least. It’s okay.”
Peter nodded. “Blasted military. Blasted war.”
It was dark outside, and Upgrade felt the need to recharge tugging at her.
“When they come home… we’ll make sure you never go to war again. For any reason. Tell the government you’re simply not capable anymore. Programming overwritten. Systems too complicated to modify. Something like that.”
It was a nice thought.
Upgrade couldn’t help but feel as though it was an if, not a when.
That night, in her room, processor churning too fast to enter stasis, oil dripped down Upgrade’s faceplates. She didn’t dare make any noise. Peter thought she was strong, and the manor was far too quiet. There would be no sound to muffle her sobs, and that would make everything worse.
Some days, she would follow Peter around. He kept himself busy with studying his predecessor’s schematics - though they seemed few and far between. Experimenting with blue matter, trying to make himself useful, trying to make some whimsical thing or other that would keep finances afloat. On those days, Upgrade reminded him to take breaks and eat. It was the least she could do.
Other days, she would talk about her solo adventures and escapades in the hippie movement. Wanda and Norman listened along with fascination, and then Peter would respond with stories of his own from when she was away. They seemed embellished and exaggerated, but it was hard to say with Peter.
Some days, Upgrade kept to herself. Peter understood, because he had days like that too. When those days didn’t coincide, Norman would be there for conversation and comfort, and Wanda would fuss like a worried mother.
Sometimes those days did coincide, though, and Upgrade would listen to the sound of pacing somewhere distant in the manor. It reminded her of The Spine. When he was unable to enter stasis and thought no one else was online, he would pace up and down the halls, trying to wear out his processor. He never dared tell anyone what thoughts he had that made him pace like that.
Another reminder that somewhere across the sea, her siblings were missing. Maybe offline. Maybe…
No. No use in speculation.
If only Upgrade knew, she might be okay.
It was the not knowing that got to her.
Days turned to weeks turned to months. To break up the monotony without the chaos of her siblings to keep her entertained, Upgrade ventured to parts of the mansion she didn’t usually frequent.
For the first time in a long, long time, she visited Hatchworth’s vault. Not really his vault, she pondered - a vault that he happened to be locked in, rather; she doubted he would want to be associated with it.
Old calculations predicted that the leak would keep Hatchworth active indefinitely, but in a dream-like state - one where he would feel at peace, and happy. Not like a prisoner with no outside contact. Upgrade hoped that was the case. She didn’t know if it would be better or worse than if he were simply offline the entire time.
Hatchworth had to stay in there for everyone’s safety, including his own. She knew this. It didn’t hurt any less.
When she felt particularly lonely, she would talk to the vault door.
“He can’t hear you,” Peter had said, on a rare occasion he’d accompanied her. “It’s like a vacuum in there. No sound can travel through, my dear.”
“I know,” said Upgrade, quietly.
Peter V would try every few months to solve Hatchworth’s predicament, but always hit a dead end. Nothing quite worked. Every disappointment was another tough blow, and he would take a break with other projects.
Even though he couldn’t hear, Upgrade told Hatchy about her adventures. At least she could make sure he wasn’t being forgotten.
When she was feeling especially adventurous, Upgrade explored the depths underneath the manor, basement after basement of strange and forgotten projects from years past. Access to the lowest floors had been cut off long ago.
The power that surged through the manor felt strongest near the bottom. If Upgrade pressed against the walls, she could almost feel it intermingling with her own casing. It felt overwhelming - alive, almost, in an uncomfortable way. She wouldn’t know why until decades later.
Very occasionally, she thought about going into stasis for a long, long time. “Don’t power me up until the others are home,” she could have said. But that could have meant never. And if she were to go offline indefinitely, what would have been the point of dodging the draft in the first place?
No. She had to keep her joints flexible and her boiler full. It was the least she could do.
Upgrade stayed home for her human family’s sake. She wanted to go back out into the bustle of city life and country birdsong, because at least it wouldn’t be so deathly quiet - but she didn’t, because she couldn’t leave them. Couldn’t leave the manor even quieter.
All the same, the emptiness of her home was suffocating. Every time the floorboard squeaked from a Walter Worker passing through, every time there was no noise to cover up frustrated clanks and bangs from Peter’s workshop, it served as an extra reminder that Upgrade was alone, alone, alone.
It had been years since Upgrade returned home. Not much had changed. Peter had found moderate financial success. Enough to keep the lights on and his research going.
Upgrade wrote songs and performed them to nobody.
She took to daydreaming. The Jon had taught her how. She just had to think about something unrelated, maybe nonsensical. Pretend she was somewhere else… pretend she was off in Kazooland. It became a nice way to pass idle hours of the day, imagining she was a princess with a kingdom all of her own. She wondered if The Jon had time to daydream, wherever he was. She hoped he did.
She doubted it.
On rare occasions, she visited Kazooland for real. But never for too long. Not with Peter waiting on three robots to come back home. He didn’t need a fourth.
And so the days wore on. Upgrade’s friends from the hippie days wrote to her, sometimes. They sounded like they were having a good time.
She didn’t write back much. She didn’t have much to talk about.
Early in 1973, there was a shift in the air. Talks of peace and withdrawing troops had progressed slowly, but now they were reaching a precipice. By the end of January, it seemed that the US would be withdrawing completely.
Prisoners of war would be released.
Peter made phone calls only when Upgrade wasn’t around. She knew he did. She knew why. He didn’t want her to give that dreadful thing they hadn’t dared have.
He didn’t want to give her hope.
One day, the telephone rang. Upgrade heard it from the other side of the manor, the sound reverberating through the long hallways.
20 minutes later, she was standing in Peter’s study. He shook slightly and struggled to steady his hands, but took a deep breath and spoke all the same.
“Your siblings are coming home, Upgrade.”
And then they were wrapping each other in a tight hug, holding on like nothing else in the world mattered anymore. Peter’s jacket became stained with black splotches. He didn’t care.
“Are they okay?” Upgrade asked. ‘Coming home’ did not necessitate ‘alive’.
“I don’t know,” Peter replied, swaying side to side slightly. “But I know they’re coming home.”
That night, together with Wanda and Norman, they celebrated quietly with pizza and carbonated water. Upgrade made sure to visit Hatchworth and speak to the vault door. He would want to know.
No one knew what state the robots would be in when they returned. But soon, they would know. Though the wait was dreadful, at least it was only a matter of time now.
The days ticked down like clockwork, and Walter manor waited patiently for their family to return home.
Without much fanfare, there was a ring of the doorbell as correspondents peered cautiously into the doorless house. Peter greeted them, Upgrade watching from a distance.
And with a final handshake, they were home.
Having one’s family delivered packaged in boxes was an upsetting thing. Upgrade could reason that it should be more upsetting for humans, but that didn’t make it any less awful. Peter seemed hesitant to open them up in front of her. She had to know, she reminded him. He complied.
Upgrade learned that day that no amount of strength could prepare her for the sight.
Her siblings, broken, dismantled, battered. Chassis dented and torn and mangled. Entire parts missing.
Upgrade had seen some terrible things from her time as a nurse for humans, but this was far, far worse.
And yet Peter picked through what remained and realised with returning hope that their processors, memory drives and cores were still intact. Damaged, possibly, but certainly recoverable. Further inspection of their cores showed no sign of fracture or malfunction, save for the one across Rabbit’s that had existed long before the war. No one else would be joining Hatchworth in the vault.
They could be repaired.
Upgrade knew it, but it still felt impossible. They were home, but they weren’t here, wouldn’t be for a long time - but… Nothing bad could happen to them now. She would make sure of it.
Though their audioreceptors couldn’t receive any input, Upgrade told them what she had done while they were away. Just as she had with Hatchworth and Peter. It reminded her, if nothing else, that these were her siblings and they would be back soon.
Peter threw himself into the repairs. He worked too late into the night. Upgrade didn’t want to leave her siblings, but sometimes she pried herself away to bring Peter food. If he was waiting on a new part or needed a break from one of the bots, there was always work to be done on another. It worked out that progress was about even across all three. Piece by piece, screw by screw, Upgrade watched her siblings be reconstructed. Every day it sunk in a little deeper that she would speak to them again soon.
Without original schematics, the work was slow and confusing. Peter tried to reconstruct them exactly as they had been before leaving. The slightest difference could have been catastrophic. Rabbit would have to remain incomplete just as she was before, as any incompatible additions could have damaged her core further.
It came down to the small details - the things no one would think of. The easily overlooked catches that created the longest delays. Their processors had been overloaded and overclocked, and needed to be re-soldered. Some damage couldn’t be reversed. Their cores, though perfectly functional, had to be acclimated to a normal intensity again after being placed under so much stress.
It was decided, in the end, that they would be activated in close succession. They would be finished within a few days of each other, Peter reasoned, and they would need each other for support. Upgrade agreed.
“I won’t be able to visit as much, soon,” Upgrade told the vault door. “They’re coming back online soon, Hatchy. We’ll be busy catching up. But it’s alright. I won’t forget about you.”
And though Hatchworth would have no idea she’d ever visited, it had become comforting to her knowing one of her siblings was present on the other side of the door. She felt guilty about leaving, but equally, knew she didn’t need to visit to keep Hatchworth in her memory - and soon, she wouldn’t need the pretence of speaking to him to drive the loneliness away.
Hatchworth would be okay. He would be rescued and fixed up one day, just like her other siblings had been. Upgrade was at peace with the knowledge.
It was time.
Rabbit, The Spine and The Jon were lined up in the workshop. It was as though they had never had a scratch. After months of work, Peter had done it. Upgrade hugged him tight.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“It’s the least I could do,” he returned. It had been a struggle for Peter, wrapping his head around secrets that his predecessors had taken to their graves. But he had rebuilt them, finally. Though it had been subtle over time, Upgrade knew his change in appearance would be a slight surprise to them.
She braced herself, boiler churning. It had been 8 years since she’d spoken to her siblings.
Peter powered on Rabbit. She twitched, appeared to stop and fail completely, before whirring back into action, joints creaking and rusty but finally, finally moving. Upgrade watched as she methodically curled her ligaments, moved every limb, as though unsure any of them would work. And, then, she locked eyes with Upgrade, who stood far enough away to give her siblings space should they need it.
“...U-u-u-upgrade?”
“...Hi, Rabbit.” Her voice box wavered but Upgrade didn’t care.
Next thing she knew, she was wrapped up in Rabbit’s arms, and Rabbit was laughing - pure joy, ecstasy, and so was Upgrade, and the two spun around in the workshop, even though Rabbit barely remembered how to walk and Upgrade was trying her hardest to counterbalance so they didn’t both fall over and-
“Wait.”
Rabbit stopped dead, spinning around at an alarming speed.
“Where are-”
And then she caught sight of them, The Spine and The Jon, peaceful and ready to be turned on. Rabbit let out a sigh of steam upon seeing her brothers repaired.
“Woah. Petes,” Rabbit exclaimed, catching sight of Peter. She examined him with some curiosity. Then- “Can I get a mirror?”
Peter obliged, having anticipated the question. It was reasonable to assume the bots might want to inspect themselves for any lingering faults.
Rabbit did so a little half-heartedly.
“Yup,” she said. “P-p-pretty as ever.” The tones of disappointment in her voice were blatant, but Peter had already moved over to The Spine.
“Ready?”
Both Upgrade and Rabbit nodded.
The Spine powered on slowly, gradually, lifting his head in a smooth motion. Then, he opened his photoreceptors wide- incredibly wide, blinking rapidly as though the sensation of sight was unknown to him. He scanned left to right, right to left, trying to take in his surroundings. And then he locked on to Rabbit.
“Hey, little bro-o.”
The Spine toppled forward in an attempt to dive for Rabbit, forgetting he had legs, or maybe not realising the fact - and Rabbit stumbled forward to catch him, and they tangled together in a mess of limbs and hugs and cry-laughter.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, you’re okay… Rabbit-”
“Yeah, ‘course I’m okay, Spine-”
“You’re okay, and The Jon- Jon is-”
“-Is comin’ online as soon as ya quit blubberin’, ya dummins!”
“I’m not- crying-”
“Liar-”
Upgrade stood to the side. She didn’t want to interrupt the moment. They needed this. Eventually, The Spine caught sight of her.
“Upgrade. You came home.”
“Mhm,” she replied. “I couldn’t miss the family reunion, silly.”
When the eldest siblings had composed themselves again, all eyes turned to The Jon. Peter activated him carefully, and everyone went silent, waiting.
His inner workings hummed softly, but otherwise, he was still. For a moment it seemed as if nothing much had happened. And then his eyelids and mouth opened, and…
He stayed that way. His optics were far away, looking past everyone, beyond the walls of the workshop.
Hoping something might happen, everyone waited just a little longer. But nothing did.
“Oh god, did I forget something?” Peter stressed under his breath. Rabbit and The Spine shared a worried glance.
Upgrade’s time as a nurse in the previous wars had taught her a few things. If nothing else, compassion. She ran a hand down The Jon’s face.
“Can you hear me, Jon?”
Then, carefully, she reached behind her ear and retrieved the plastic flower. She’d kept it safe all these years. Gently, trying not to startle him, she tucked it behind his own ear.
A hand reached up and met her fingers as they retreated from his head, and then passed onto the flower, twirling it around in metal fingertips.
And after a terrifying few minutes, The Jon’s photoreceptors refocused and gazed up at Upgrade.
“...Big sis…?”
Upgrade wrapped him in a crushing hug, piled on by the others, and comforted The Jon as he wept and the weight of everything they’d been through crashed back down. But they were here, alive, working, together, reunited.
Though healed physically, the scars of the war would run deep into her siblings’ memories. It was much worse than the previous wars had been.
The Jon sometimes went days without speaking. Being in his own head felt safer, he would say. Sometimes performing was the only thing that made him smile.
The Spine paced almost every night, like clockwork, up and down the halls. He didn’t try to hide it anymore. He still refused to talk about it.
Rabbit’s glitches seemed to worsen; her malfunctions became more frequent. She was more twitchy, more irritable. Without original schematics, Peter hadn’t been able to fix them when rebuilding. All the while Rabbit played it off like it didn’t matter.
It would be years and years before the impact of the war truly dwindled. But on an unassuming day in 1973, that fact couldn’t have mattered less.
“I’m sorry,” Upgrade whispered, “that I didn’t go with you.”
“No,” The Spine replied. “That was a good thing. I’m glad at least one of us stayed out of it.” The others agreed.
“It was so bad…” murmured The Jon. “I felt so alone.”
“It’s al-alright, Jon,” Rabbit comforted. “Everyone’s here now.”
“That’s right,” Upgrade added. “We’re not alone anymore.”
That day late in 1973, a sister held her siblings close, home from war at last.
I can see I'm not alone, not alone
Not alone
You were standing there all along, all along
Faces in the distance reaching out
I am not alone
I am not alone
I can see I'm not alone
You can see you're not alone
We can see we're not alone anymore