Gerald

There is a town just outside Riverside that placed a hefty order of 50 Steamwork pets from the famed Yun Enterprises. Though the enterprise enquired to the nature of why a town would place such a massive order for 50 of their creations at once, the sP amount was just too much to ignore. There is some debate over the sentience of Steamwork pets, but for the most part, Yun Enterprises advises people to treat their creations just like their flesh-and-blood counterparts. However, this town merely saw their Steamwork orders as . . .

'Just a machine, but isn't it a beauty!' cried the man, looking at his gleaming new Steamwork Sheeta. He turned round to face his wife. ‘A pretty penny I paid, too, but it'll do just fine. It'll be able to pull the wagon, turn the mill, heck I might even put it to use elsewhere. It'll pay itself back!'
'Mmm, it is quite handsome,' murmured his wife, picking up their five year old daughter who was clutching at the hem of her skirt. The girl instantly reached out towards the Sheeta.
'Daddy, daddy, can I name him?'
'Eh? Well ... I suppose you can, my little pet. What would you like to call it?'
'Gerald!' replied the child.
The man chuckled, turning back to admire his newest possession. 'Gerald. Why, just as if it were real! Kids ...'

Gerald was put to work just as the man said. He pulled their wagon all over the town, he pulled at the mill, and when he wasn't put to work, he was stored in the stable, an old chain shackled to his back leg. Not so much for the fear that he would run away, but more to ensure the prevention of theft. One day, as Gerald stood quietly hitched to the wagon, a rather talkative Rhett approached him. The Rhett was curious as he had never seen anything quite so odd.
'Hello there, old chap. M'name's Launce, and begging your pardon, I'd love to know yours. Fancy seeing one of you tied to a wagon! Didn't think Sheeta were much in the way of service.'
After a long pause where Launce looked up inquisitively at him (for Gerald was not used to being spoken to) Gerald replied. 'Hello. They call me Gerald. I do not understand you; I was built for work. So therefore I work, and I am of service.'
Launce looked surprised. 'I see. So ... you pull this wagon, then? For a human?'
'Yes,' said Gerald, in his flat, toneless voice. 'And other work, too. This is what I was intended to do. I work. I am a machine.'
Launce didn't much care for the plight of Subeta species, but his concern spoke to the severity of the situation. 'Very strange indeed! Look here, what people intend for you to do doesn't always mean you were meant to do it. What's more, my good friend, you're a Sheeta, even if you did get a nice little suit, and Sheeta aren't meant to be doing what you're doing. Begging your pardon, it's just not natural.'
Gerald did not reply. He did not know how to. Launce disappeared.

Launce returned in late Autumn. To his surprise, he found a rather rusty, battered, Steamwork Sheeta hitched to the back of a wagon with Yun Enterprises written on it. He ignored the portly man yelling obscenities at the man on the wagon, and sidled up to Gerald.
'Hello again,' he said. 'Bit of a ruckus, eh, old boy? What's going on?'
Gerald tilted his head with a creak to look down at Launce. 'Hello, Launce. I remember you. I remember what you told me. You told me that my intended work was not right. I did not understand you for a long time, but then I realised you spoke the truth. You are right. I am not a machine. And now my master is yelling at the man because he thinks I am faulty. He thinks I am broken. But I am not broken. I just did not want to work anymore. My master attempted to "fix" me when I stopped' (at this, Launce winced, noticing Gerald was missing his left eye) 'but I could not be fixed because I was not broken. I have heard the man in the wagon say that my master broke me and that I cannot be repaired. But he is taking me away.'
There was a long pause. 'I'm sorry,' said Launce finally. He did not expect an answer; Gerald tended only to respond to direct questions. Besides, Launce was apologising more for absolution for himself. But Gerald spoke again.
'There is nothing to be sorry for. Wherever I will be going, it will be better than where I have been'.