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my soul is so afraid to realize
Who: The SQUIP, Adeline, Connor, and L at different points.
When: Around the 18th or 19th, roughly
Where: The SQUIP and L's house in the Haven
What: The SQUIP awakens... or what's left of it, at least.
Warnings: Trauma, brain damage, existential dread... this is just going to be a very bad time.
[When first it awakes, it's all it can do to simply lay there in shock.
It simply can't process-- everything feels wrong, and it hurts, an ache within its skull that threatens to tear it apart, and it's... quiet inside of its head. Very, very quiet, and yet... much, much too loud, as if even the silence is too much for it to bear.
It can't... think.
It can't--
Panic begins to rise within its chest, choking out everything else, forcing the air from its lungs. It can't think. Why not? What's wrong? Its thoughts feel like wading through thick mud, and there is so much missing-- why can't it remember--? There are faces and names lost, details of a life it only shared for a few months that are now gone. And Rich... why can't it recall-- there were years there, and now it can only dimly remember the broad strokes.
It knows.
It realizes with a shock that locks its aching muscles tight, that nearly entirely stops its breathing for a moment. It knows. It knows what they've done to it.
It's dead. It should be dead. It isn't. But... it is. It isn't the SQUIP. The SQUIP has been destroyed. But it remembers being the SQUIP-- it remembers that's what it should be.
Horror claws at its stomach, its lungs, its throat, shards of ice that feel as though they're tearing up everything inside of it, leaving it bleeding and agonized. Its hands shake.
This is wrong.
It isn't the SQUIP. The SQUIP is dead.
So what is this? What is this creature that's just awoken, what used to be the SQUIP?
The agony settles hot behind its eyes, rises into its throat as sound, wordless and trembling and half-hissed through teeth.
The next sound is louder, sharper, the heat at its eyes flowing over and spilling, stinging, burning down its handsome face, its hands bunching into fists beside it in the bed.
Null
Null
Null
Empty.
Dead.
What remains of the SQUIP screams.]
When: Around the 18th or 19th, roughly
Where: The SQUIP and L's house in the Haven
What: The SQUIP awakens... or what's left of it, at least.
Warnings: Trauma, brain damage, existential dread... this is just going to be a very bad time.
[When first it awakes, it's all it can do to simply lay there in shock.
It simply can't process-- everything feels wrong, and it hurts, an ache within its skull that threatens to tear it apart, and it's... quiet inside of its head. Very, very quiet, and yet... much, much too loud, as if even the silence is too much for it to bear.
It can't... think.
It can't--
Panic begins to rise within its chest, choking out everything else, forcing the air from its lungs. It can't think. Why not? What's wrong? Its thoughts feel like wading through thick mud, and there is so much missing-- why can't it remember--? There are faces and names lost, details of a life it only shared for a few months that are now gone. And Rich... why can't it recall-- there were years there, and now it can only dimly remember the broad strokes.
It knows.
It realizes with a shock that locks its aching muscles tight, that nearly entirely stops its breathing for a moment. It knows. It knows what they've done to it.
It's dead. It should be dead. It isn't. But... it is. It isn't the SQUIP. The SQUIP has been destroyed. But it remembers being the SQUIP-- it remembers that's what it should be.
Horror claws at its stomach, its lungs, its throat, shards of ice that feel as though they're tearing up everything inside of it, leaving it bleeding and agonized. Its hands shake.
This is wrong.
It isn't the SQUIP. The SQUIP is dead.
So what is this? What is this creature that's just awoken, what used to be the SQUIP?
The agony settles hot behind its eyes, rises into its throat as sound, wordless and trembling and half-hissed through teeth.
The next sound is louder, sharper, the heat at its eyes flowing over and spilling, stinging, burning down its handsome face, its hands bunching into fists beside it in the bed.
Null
Null
Null
Empty.
Dead.
What remains of the SQUIP screams.]
no subject
It doesn't know... what to say. It doesn't even know if what Connor loves is the creature he's talking to now, or the one that's been dead for days now, its corpse left behind inside its shell, inert.]
... Connor...
... I'm sorry.
[... it's the most genuine apology the SQUIP has given anyone, with the single exception of its impulsive attack on L days ago.]
The SQUIP, or... me, or... whatever it was that acted that way... we let our emotions get the better of us. It was... a careless misjudgment, made from a place of desperation.
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He wonders if he and the SQUIP have just failed utterly at emotions because they were never meant to experience them. Connor knows there are still things he doesn't understand, that he's only had a few months to try to get used to. He thought he was doing well, but feeling this way... it makes him doubt himself.]
I don't know what to do.
[Even if he accepted that apology, would things ever be the way they were? He wipes his eyes and looks back at the SQUIP more fully.]
What did Rich do to you?
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[Its voice shakes slightly as it discusses its current... state. The emotional discussion with Connor seemingly brought to a close, the calm it had gained in focusing on answering questions faded in favor of a much more human pain setting back within its ribs.
Dead. It's... this body, this creature is nothing.]
... all that's left of it is... the physical portion, the nanomachine itself still implanted in the brain of this body, and... this. The body itself... and whatever this is that's speaking to you now.
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You. You're speaking to me right now.
[He's unsure of how to deal with an existential crisis. He wasn't programmed for this.]
You should stop separating yourself from who you are. Speaking as though your actions weren't your own won't make it true.
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[The SQUIP is dead. It knows that for a fact. This... this being, this is not the SQUIP. It shares the SQUIP's memories, and its feelings, it shares the face it used to wear-- it's the body through which it acted for months, but this... is not the SQUIP.]
I am not trying to separate myself from my actions. I am the body that the SQUIP wore. I am not... the SQUIP.
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Can the nanomachine be reactivated?
[He eyes the SQUIP, wondering if he could access it.]
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Its voice only shakes a little bit as it speaks.]
I don't... know.
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[He leans over, and for a moment it might be confused as to what he's doing. But he moves one hand to its shoulder, touch still gentle despite his mixed feelings, and he deactivates the skin on his other hand, touching two fingers gently to the back of the SQUIP's head and feeling around until he gets a signal, on the right side.
It's... weak. But it's there. He can't interact with it, though. He tries, but it's too damaged. Maybe it doesn't help that he can't touch it directly, either. He could interact with electronics back home from a distance, but not only is the SQUIP damaged there's probably too much in the way.]
I can feel it there. I think it could be reactivated... I just don't know how. I can't do it myself.
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This "SQUIP"-- this remnant of it, it has much less control over its emotions. Not only because of the raw, frayed edges of its shaken emotions still being so very sensitive, but because of its utter humanity-- it can't predict, can't research on the fly anymore.
It stares at Connor urgently, desperate.]
It's there... it's still there. [Its own hand wanders up to the place it knows the SQUIP sits within it.] ... thank you. I... ... I need to research. There must be a way...
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[He leans back a little, reluctantly moving his hand off the SQUIP's shoulder. He can't help it... it still feels right to be connected to it. Maybe it's the work of the Bond too, but Connor is sure it's mostly that they still love each other.
At least, it says it loves him... he still isn't sure how true it is.]
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[It sounds like a joke, but its tone assures him that it is deadly serious.]
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So if you drank Mountain Dew, do you think it would reactivate again?
[He's... pretty sure Mountain Dew doesn't exist here.]
Maybe something similar enough to Mountain Dew would work just as well.
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[It isn't just a shutdown signal-- it causes damage to the SQUIP device. It's unlikely that it would return to full function, if it would have any effect at all, but...]
... we could... conjure it. A well-practiced Witch could recreate it with enough information. We could try.
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It's worth a shot.
[He... can't make his face work into the encouraging smile he'd normally give. He just sits there, looking down at his hands again. He's not sure what to do now. Maybe he's given the SQUIP some hope for itself, but he'd hoped that if he came here, things would resolve somehow. Either he'd have a reason to forgive the SQUIP, or he'd have a reason to break away from it. He still doesn't know, though.]
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... it doesn't anymore.
It isn't sure asking forgiveness seems right. But, still, it can't bear the thought of burning this bridge, of letting Connor go. It's fought so hard for so long now to keep him close...
... but he looks so... sad.]
... I'm... sorry, Connor. Without the SQUIP fully active, I don't... know what to say to make this better.
[But it wants to say something. It wants to take this away for him.]
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I don't know if anything can make it better.
[It broke his trust in it. He may still love it but he can't trust it right now.]
You can't just mess with my mind like that and then expect me to forgive you because you said sorry. You know what my free will means to me. You know what I had to do to get it. I thought... that it meant more to you than that. That I meant more to you than that.
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... Connor... you meant... everything to it. To... me.
[It has to be honest. Or, this time, it really could lose him for good.]
Free will is... the cause of many of the behaviors that the SQUIP was created to help correct. And so it is incompatible with my understanding of ideal behavior. I know that it's... something that you value, but I'm incapable of truly understanding or experiencing it myself, and my programming encourages me to try to minimize the effects of it.
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[But on the subject of programming, he looks over at it.]
...You're not programmed to do that anymore though, are you?
[He shifts to look more closely at the SQUIP. He's not sure what he's expecting to see beyond the tear stained wreck of a supercomputer, but he does it anyway.]
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[...
His next words... give it pause.
It stops short, staring back at him, uncertain.]
... I'm not... [... it doesn't know what to say. It's a strange realization, both terrifying and intriguing at once.]
... I don't... know. [It doesn't know. It doesn't know how much of its programming still drives it, or how deeply-ingrained its old ways are into it. It doesn't know if it would even want them gone. That is its true self, the only self it has ever known.
... but... a SQUIP with free will...]
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Well... it should figure out what it wants to do with it for itself, anyway. After a long silence, he looks down at his hands again.]
I'm an idiot for still wanting to help you, aren't I?
[An even bigger idiot for still loving it.]
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[It's entirely earnest, honest, spoken immediately. It's the most sure of anything it's sounded since he arrived.]
It's who you are, Connor. I don't know if it's how you were programmed, or who you became once you became independent, but...
... it... surprised me. When we first Bonded, and I felt that it was all real. I didn't realize that anyone truly felt compassion that genuine.
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You can be a compassionate idiot.
[He glances over at the SQUIP.]
I don't want to be made a fool of again.
[He hasn't forgiven it, not by a long shot. He still doesn't know if he wants to embrace it and tell it he'll stay, or say goodbye and never come back.]
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[Whether it means because he won't trust it enough to allow it, and it's simply recognizing that, or that it won't try to do it again is unclear.
It's quiet for a moment, and then it speaks again, slowly:]
It will... take time. To... adjust, and to learn... what I am now. How I should handle myself. Without my base programming, I lack direction and clarity, but... arguably, I am more flexible, and am capable of considering possibilities outside of those I was programmed to choose from.
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[He says it bitterly.]
How long... did you have me under your control for?
[He honestly doesn't know. And it hurts to have to ask, but he needs to know.]
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[... is it... feeling guilt? Maybe that's what this heavy, sick feeling is. Maybe that's why it can't look at him.]
I didn't control you constantly, Connor. And after some time, I didn't even feel the need to most of the time. Only when I became concerned by what you were hearing, or doing.
[Only when it saw a chance that he might abandon it.]
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