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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
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...
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[... 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
The SQUIP's searching fingers find the opal band around L's finger, looser than it had been the last time L had worn it, fairly spinning behind his knuckle when turned.]
...no. I wasn't. I didn't know how else to send the message I had to, when I thought that...
[When I thought that I could save you, and the rest.]
no subject
L feels... even more bony than usual, and that sends an unusually sharp sting of emotion across its mind, over their Bond. Concern.
And then mention of saving it, and its thoughts are entirely waylaid by the notion, and heat wells up in its chest.]
... I understand. [Its voice is very soft, but its tone is even. It falls quiet for a moment; and then its face screws up into something of genuine confusion, intelligent but... uncertain.]
... I'm not sure what to call myself, as I am... definitely no longer a SQUIP.
no subject
L was the man who stood over the wreckage and read the story out of the glittering crystal and bloodstains. Actually fixing things was never his job, and even his ability to mend and heal as a Witch is bleakly reflective of what is simply not in the nature of a man who falls so short of actually being human.
I'm sorry. In regards to saving anything, at all, I'm not sure why I ever thought that I could.]
A name can be as significant, or as meaningless, as you want it to be. In the end... it's just a placeholder that refers to you. Shorthand for identity.
no subject
But this isn't truly a SQUIP anymore. It's just the impression of one, marks left on a human brain in the shape of a SQUIP.]
What would you like to call me? [He was, after all, its final user before it became... what it is now. He's the most important person who... still speaks to it and acknowledges it positively.]