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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.]
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And that thought feels like someone's run a blade right through its rib cage.
It loved you. It couldn't stand seeing you like that.
It.
Not "me."
The SQUIP is dead.]
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I hate this, but not for the reason you think.
[More than the third person and the past tense, he actually hates that he can't dispute it or pretend that he would rather not wake up at all than wake up... deficient.]
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I'm sorry. Your SQUIP is gone.
It can't perform its singular function for him anymore. It's no longer the machine that caught his fascination, nor is it anything remarkable at all any longer.
It's nothing. Just a body. Meat, with borrowed memories from something that isn't alive anymore.
Its chest hurts. It still... wants him to care for it. Even though it isn't the SQUIP, it isn't the thing he fell in love with at all, it isn't anything that can benefit him in any way any longer... how selfish. It truly must be human now.]
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That might be true. I don't know if it is.
[What else can he say, without it sounding stupid, ringing hollow, seeming senseless and ignorant as someone who has always been human though he wants to deny it?]
Would you rather it was true?
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Immediate.
I feel wrong. Hollow, and stupid, and...
It wants to be right again. It wants to be whole, and alive, and itself.
What will you do? Will you stay with this...?
With this... husk, this mimicry of something he loved? It's a selfish question to even ask. It wants him to. It wants him to stay with it, it wants him to touch it and hold it.
It's in pain... and it is afraid.]
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He takes a step closer.]
I'm not leaving. I owe you so much more than that, but...
[I've been human my whole life, and it's still unbearably difficult. I don't know how to initiate you without making you want to die.
The SQUIP once said that L was better, in tender moments, when he didn't speak. He taps into that wisdom now, one knee and then the other climbing onto the mattress so he can pull the SQUIP's head into his lap. A week spent sleeping has left him even thinner; he doesn't remove the sheet from his Bonded's head. The extra cushioning is probably a good thing.]
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Its fist curls, and then unfurls; it wanted this. It wanted it so much, but it feels wrong, because it isn't...
... it finally does pull the sheet off of it to turn its head, to look up at him. It looks... exhausted, dark and heavy under its normally sharp eyes, its face pink and stained with tears and its hair wild.]
... I already want to die. Death would've been better than... this.
[It takes a shuddering breath, and then it speaks again; its voice is cracking and tired.]
I'm not... the perfect machine that did those things for you. I'm not anything at all.
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L's fingers curl and knit through the snags and tangles in its hair.]
Don't say that. Death wouldn't be better... and also, for the record you weren't perfect before. You brainwashed people into loving you, for one...
[He sighs shallowly.]
But I wasn't one of them.
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You... understand. You have to. I'm not... a SQUIP anymore. I'm not the thing you love.
[There's a sharp pang of ache in its chest as it says it, but it wants to be absolutely clear. If it is honest with no one else in its entire existence... it wants to be honest with L.]
At the very most, I'm... a fraction, or maybe an inferior copy of it.
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You never had to be a "thing" here. I never thought of you that way.
[Even though he certainly invoked it when trying to defend its actions to others.]
If you're a sentient person with your own motivations, and things you would kill or die for, then you're entitled to being acknowledged as such. I know you've lost something, but... not nearly as much as you think you have. Please just take my word on that.
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L never knew it as a device. L knew it as a person. L knew it as a face, with a personality, its own goals-- he's always known it like this, in this shape... this shape that it hates so much, and has ever since its arrival. It wasn't only the SQUIP that he wanted. It was all of it. Even the broken, faulty, difficult human aspects that this place forced upon it. It thought of itself as his SQUIP first, his lover a distant second.
But that's not how L saw it.
And so even this... this hollow, emptied-out thing laying on his lap... even this is something that he might care about.
It reaches up to take his hand, pulls it down to its lips to press a kiss against it as its eyes drift closed.
The way that it's muted their Bond... it relaxes, releases, and warmth flows over it, a warm, organic swelling within its ribs that it now has no way to control or hide.]
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The SQUIP takes his hand. He thinks the last time it touched him was different, but he has no clear memory of those moments, no true recollection. It's all a blur at the very best, supplemented by what he's been able to glean from the SQUIP's own memory of the events.]
I hate being human. I have since I realized that I was. I'm sorry this happened to you, and...
[This is hard to acknowledge. It was his fault though, wasn't it?]
I'm sorry that it happened on my account.
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... I did what I had to do.
[The SQUIP, or what remains of it, reaches up to touch L's cheek, its thumb brushing over the hollow shape gently.]
Here, I'm independent; you're my user, but... not really. Not... the way a SQUIP is intended to be used. Any actions I've made on your behalf were my own decision.
[It falls quiet, brushing fingertips over his lips, watching his face; it can feel his warm breath on its fingers there. As exhausted and dead as he may look... he is alive. And he's still himself.]
... I have no regrets.
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Someone with no regrets wouldn't be curled up in the dark, this way.
[He pauses.]
Wasn't it Hans Christian Anderson who implied that a soul could be gained through good deeds? Or humanity, which seems to be analogous in the philosophical sense...
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[It's painful, and horrible, and terrifying... but it leaves that unsaid. But it doesn't blame L. It doesn't regret saving him, not for an instant.
Logically, it was a very poor strategic choice. It's aware of that. Its circuits screamed that fact the entire time it disobeyed them and dropped to L's side, left itself open and weak, but... it made a choice. It changed the priority of certain asks.
"Protect L" was placed, in that moment, above protecting itself.
And it had terrible, terrible consequences. It would never deny that.
But... it doesn't regret its choice.
At his question, it half-smiles sadly.]
I wouldn't know anymore. [It doesn't remember. But it looks at him questioningly.] Do you believe that?
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He wonders if the SQUIP had been able to foresee what was going to happen. Of all those potential futures, one of them must have ended in fried circuits and an empty, gaping motherboard.
His fingers card through the SQUIP's hair, working out the tangles, trying to fix what's broken in some small, insignificant way.]
1,000 cases are 1,000 good deeds, right? By that logic... I should have souls to spare.
[His fingers falter.]
But it was all selfish, and. I think that matters.
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But had it seen that other possibilities ended with L dead, or worse...
It lets its eyes drift closed... and it isn't terrifying for it this time, not like it was before. Instead of emptiness, of quiet, there's L, there are his fingers threading through its hair, gently combing it, brushing against its scalp.
As before, when they very first Bonded... the sensation of there being something where there had been nothing. It may be far more muddled now, the details lost... its own thoughts are much less hard-edged and well-organized, its attention more easily scattered, but there is something there within it, and that strengthens it.
It hasn't opened its Bond to Connor. It's tried, in fact, to quiet it, to ignore it if at all possible, because when first it attempted on awakening, it felt anger. Anger, and agony, and it couldn't handle that on top of its own, and so, in a fit of cowardice and misery... it's fought to dim their Bond's influence on it.
For now, it focuses... on L. Its first. Loyal to a fault... sharing a love he is too broken to properly discuss, but not too broken to feel or to act on. It's promised to fix him. But...
... does it want to fix him? To... change him from who he is now?
Error. Script unavailable.]
Before my arrival here, I believed, based on the data accessible to me at the time, that humans made up the idea of "souls" to comfort themselves. Humans need to believe that there's something bigger than themselves in the world, and to explain things that they can't otherwise explain with their limited knowledge.
[It looks up at him again, the circuitry etched into its right eye the only remaining remnant of what it once was.]
I'm still... pretty sure that's the truth, but I now lack the data to back that belief up. I think I understand now why humans are so... unsure about everything.
[A sad smile crosses its face-- the shadow, the ghost of the smug, knowing look it used to wear.]
Also... humans are inherently selfish. It's one of the basic facts my programming was built around. Humans act in their own self-interest by default, and generally only act in the interest of others when it also benefits them as well.
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It's both simpler and more complicated than that. Souls are a fantasy; the idea of a literal glowing spirit that lives forever once our bodies have died and decayed is absurd. But the idea that there are things bigger than us, and things beyond rational explanation... it's extremely true.
[L's encounters with a shinigami in his world, both their presences here, essentially prove as much.]
Is your premise that no human acts without selfishness, even those who perform good deeds?
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[... a slight smirk does pick at the edge of its mouth then, weak, yet present.]
After my arrival here, it would be... incredibly irrational for me to claim that there isn't anything bigger, or... at least much more strange than I'd been programmed to believe. My conclusions were based on a data set on which I had been trained... and it was limited.
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I could say the same. Nothing is as it seems and no one could be blamed for witnessing this and doubting their own sanity.
[He'd doubted it before this point, in fact still wonders often if he's in the middle of one long psychotic episode that began that evening on the rooftop, or that night in the helicopter after he touched the killer notebook.]
I'm not saying it isn't miserable, but... it isn't unique.
[He rephrases.]
I mean to say that you're not alone.
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[It felt alone for a very long time. Isolated away from the other units, unable to network-- isolated from Jeremy, once and then again when he so sharply rejected it.
But it isn't. There is, at least... one other living thing here that understands it, truly. That remains beside it, even still.
They're suffering... but at least they're suffering together.
It reaches up to press a hand over its face, sighing softly.]
... this new... sensory input is... [It shakes its head slowly, slightly, where its head sits in his bony lap.] There's so much information to process at once.
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I know.
[He thinks it was worse when he was a child. Blinding lights, sounds that were deafening. So much to run and hide from, bury until screaming was the only answer.]
It helps to focus on what's most important. If it isn't, and you can immediately judge that to be true... dismiss it immediately. Other things require your attention.
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It closes its eyes, focusing, again, on the gentle touch of L's fingers; it can feel the clothing on its skin, the mattress beneath it, it can hear their breathing and distant talk outside. Even with its eyes closed, light is visible, red through its eyelids.
It is used to every detail being important. Every breath, every glance and shifting of weight, the time of day when someone speaks or doesn't speak, how many minutes have passed since its user's eyes have met those of the one they care for.
Every detail is important. So how do humans tell what to prioritize?]
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[In fact, you can't know. L's frustration is clear in his tone when he speaks, and his fingers are tenser in the SQUIP's hair.]
Process of elimination can help you determine where your chances are best, and... then you hope that the odds favor your decisions and your actions. You hope that you have enough energy and attention to focus on the few things that are important, and the rest... it's a grey blur that takes away anything you might have missed. If you remember later... you're lucky, not smart.
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It feels the way he tenses where he's touching it, the edge of his former gentleness sharpened just slightly; it opens its eyes to gaze up at him, equal parts curious and concerned.
That's right. That's why... humanity made SQUIPs. That's why humanity created machines in general-- to track all the tiny bits of information that their brains are incapable of recalling in their entirety, to store images that would otherwise be lost, faded over time or as soon as their eyes turned away from them. But now, even the data and imagery it had been entrusted with as a SQUIP are gone, and it is left, instead, with this... new memory, a very painfully limited memory.
It wonders what else it will learn and then forget.
Will it forget things about L?
All at once, the fleeting nature of human memories sinks into its muscles like ice water, and its frame tightens, its expression darkening. It doesn't want to have to forget anything. Not a single second. This is all so valuable-- not only from a data gathering standpoint, but from a sentimental standpoint as well.
It reaches up to feel over his hand, seeking to see... if the ring is there. A memory, a feeling made physical, represented so that it can't be forgotten.]
... you weren't wearing the ring during the battle. [There's no secret amount of sting behind it, although it's muted. It understands, objectively, the thought process that would lead him to such an action. The issue is that it's now human enough to fully feel the effects of that action-- the effects that L likely had explicitly in mind when he removed it.]
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