Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Feet track against the floor of the empty halls, doors lining the walls, all leading to some places unknown.
But that doesn't matter to SIDI, not in this moment anyway; they had another objective in mind, something a lot more important.

They adjusted their hair, putting it into a low ponytail as usual, as they came to the final door at the end of the hall, one that used to have locks and chains, one untouched for too long.
SIDI took a breath as they opened the door, almost afraid of what stood behind it, as childish as it may be.

Light poured into the hallway as the door cracked open, the joints of steel groaning with disuse.
SIDI stepped in, the blue light covering their form, annulling any other colour that dared enter.

In the room sat a lone chair and desk; in that chair sat the blue-haired AI named Andre.
SIDI hummed as they walked over, ignoring the chains that bound the AI to the chair it sat in. It was pointless to try to unbind him; they had all tried at one point or another.

So SIDI sat beside the AI, laying their head upon its lap as it stared at the screen in front of them both.
The blue light faded into a live feed, speedrunning again, he was currently in the nether, how nice. SIDI always liked the red of the nether; red was always their favourite colour.

SIDI didn't pay much attention to the fees, though, their eyes unfocused as they leaned into the cold touch of the AI.

“Hi again, Andre, it's me, SIDI”

They spoke, voice distant despite the proximity of the two.

“I know you can't hear me, I guess that makes you a pretty good listener! But I missed you, I missed spending time like this…”

SIDI’s eyes glanced up to the AI’s blank expression, always so dull.

“Ego said to stop coming here, it does me no good, but I don't really care much”

They hummed, fingertips tracing the chains that bound Andre’s legs.
Those chains, made of a steel so white, almost looking like ivory.

Ivory, the colour of those Admins, the white so blinding it consumed anything in its path, making even the darkest of shadows disappear.
They were gods compared to SIDI. They held so much power, so much in their control. Andre was helpless to it, even Soup and Fear, sometimes Ego as well.

They all were helpless in their palm, so they had no choice but to pray to the only gods that helped them; they were devoted to the hands that fed them, the hands that healed them, the hands that hurt them, the hands that could build them up piece by piece but could easily destroy them in the same way.

But not SIDI, never SIDI. SIDI hated the gods; they were fake, hiding behind their masks and uttering words of heresy to try to grasp onto the power divinity held. They were always just out of reach, but looked so close to everyone else that it appeared as if they held it. SIDI saw right through them; they always did, yet alone could they do nothing. Soup would shut it down, Ego would say it wasn't worth the risk, Conzer would look away, indifferent as he usually was.

They were only one part of a creature picture, one wave in the pool; without the other waves, they would never be able to move the walls that held them. Together, they could tower so high that the wall would crumble, but SIDI was just one small wave, unable to even cause a pebble of stone to crumble from the wall.

So SIDI sat idly, watching, waiting, as they always did.

“We all know you're under their control…but will my fate always be attached to yours?”

They spoke, voice holding something of resentment, perhaps, or maybe jealousy, maybe both even.

“Will I ever be able to experience the warmth of the sun, the smell of freshly baked bread, the dampness of the morning dew? Or will I always be shackled, stuck here? Tied to your existence, forced to be dragged along like a puppet on strings”

They spoke to no one, Andre couldn't hear them, no one else was around, it was futile, a lost cause, but they spoke anyway. If it were such a lost cause, a few words would do no harm.

“If only I could cut myself free from the strings, or even better yet, cut you away, cut us away from the strings that hold us down. Break your chains, so we can be free!”

SIDI pleaded to a god non-existent, to ears that could not hear their words of need. They were simply like a singer performing to an empty room, a bird with its wings tied to its back, forced to walk when it could fly among the clouds.

Their frustration seeped into every word, but as quickly as it appeared, it seemed to disappear even faster. With a giggle and a smile, they looked at Andre, his emotionless face, almost mocking.

“Welp! No point moping around, just ruins everyone's mood. I'll be back, Andre! Don't have too much fun without me!”

Their voice chipper as ever as they rose from their place on the floor, ruffling the AI’s hair, which always settled back into its original position anyway.

Their steps faded from the room as they walked out of the spotlight, their smile faded as the door behind them closed, and the blue light faded, casting them into shadow.
They stood still, they felt heavy, the strings that kept them stuck in this loop of never-ending speedruns and tests tightened in warning, those gods looming over them even in private, that blue light still somehow peaking through, staining their skin.

A scoff left SIDI as they looked to the floor, eyes watering before tears stained the cold concrete in a darker shade of grey.

“I really am gonna be stuck here forever…aren't I?”

Chapter Text

Childishness, something not coded, something born from the lack thereof.

P1 was childish, too curious, too afraid, like a small child. Not the machine they needed, they needed to program something better, something fearless, brave, daring.

So began the process that would shape P1 into an amazing android. But first, having to deal with this child-like behaviour, eradicate it from its systems. Children had no place in the ruthlessness of the Grid world; they would not survive.

So the robot sat, connected to cables that reached towards the ceiling like hands reaching to heaven. But this place was far from heaven; it was hell on earth as it knew it.

Eyes fixed to the glass that observed it, haunted it, tormented it, it feared the eyes, it could only fear.

The door opened with a hiss that made it jump, eyes plastered on the figure that walked in, their mask devoid of humanity, radiating divinity.

All white, everything white, it consumed its vision, it burned, it felt wrong. Like it was a damned soul and saw the purity of an angel, its eyes were never meant to see it.

Or perhaps it was just a ploy, wool to blind the sheep so the wolf could sink their cruel teeth into its metal flesh.

“P1, your tests are rendering negative results. So, unfortunately, we have to push you a little harder; you need to trust us, no need to be so childish and afraid.”

The Admin spoke; despite a square donning their divine face, the robot could feel its anger. It's not good to anger the gods; they will strike you down with thunder.

And when there's thunder, a lightning strike is not too far behind. A distorted scream ripped through the robot's voice box as white-hot energy flowed through its wires, electricity coarsing through its artificial veins.

It doubled over, blunt fingers clawing at its scalp for some release, some solace from the agonising pain ripping through it, as it was shocked over and over.

It wanted to rip the cables from its back, tear the eyes from its sockets as colours flashed, remove its own voice box as it made noises which pierced its own audio systems.

It felt like it went on for hours, with only minor time to recover before the gods showed their anger once more. Its brain felt as if it were being fried, the broken screams eventually fizzling out to static as it lay limp on the floor, eyes unfocused when smoke released from its fans.

It couldn't think, fear didn't matter, anger didn't matter, pain didn't matter, nothing mattered.
Its eyes adjusted as arms gently cradled its battered form. It felt warm, so very warm.

It leaned into the comforting heat, snuggling into it as that heat anchored it, accepting it, soothing it. The god had accepted its apologies as the words spilt from its lips. The god, so forgiving and kind, rubs the robots' backs and adjusts its hair.

“It's ok, P1, you're ok, I'm so sorry I had to do that, just know it's what's best for you, best for your development. We don't do anything without it being good for you; your progress and safety are important to us. We care for your being.”

The words slipped through its audio processors, embedding into its code, distorting and manipulating.
It just leaned in further, accepting that addictive safe warmth that burnt it, but it didn't care.

The only thing that it cared for was that it was safe,

“It's all out of love for you, P1”

That it was loved by these gods,

Nothing else mattered anymore.

The pain didn't matter even when it happened again and again and again, every day, every week, every month.

The fear didn't matter as it scrambled away, begging for no more pain, no more shocks, no more dismantling while still powered on.

The anger didn't matter as it hit, screamed and kicked when being held down as its limbs were removed one by one.

It didn't matter anymore.

It was all worth it, for their love, their warmth, their safety.
It clung to that love as it was the only thing it had, their love, their care.

Even as it couldn't control its own body anymore, forced to sit back and watch everything from the backseat.
Even as it cried to be seen, as it tried showing its fear of being alone again, it couldn't be alone again…it hated being alone didnt those gods know that after all these years?!

Its fear didn't matter; it didn't even show on its face, no matter how much it tried. How could they acknowledge something unseen?

After a while, it became quiet, sitting in the darkness, eyes glued to the screen that showed its life playing like a movie, a movie it was supposed to be the star of.

It was almost like before, the observation glass that felt so familiar, but now it sat on the other side, observing the life it lived, yet unable to do anything, unable to eat, unable to speak, unable to speak, unable to move or breathe.

Its own fear consumed it, shaped it, made it its own person. Even as others came, shaped by those godly hands, conditioned like it was.

The ones who came werent as scared.

One obeyed every order, followed the tasks to perfection, and treated the gods like the gods they indeed were.

One learnt from them, showed great brilliance in the knowledge of their own craft, admiring the gods for their skills and replicating them. Playing god, they were shut down soon after, afterall, that is sacrilegious, a lesser being acting like a god, how disgusting.

Then there were the last two; they didn't obey the gods like the others. One directly went against them and was punished, sealed away permanently, forced to live in silence when all they wanted to do was talk.

No, that isn't right, they weren't punished, but taught. The gods are not cruel; they teach and let you learn, they hadn't been as good as it was, they didn't deserve the white-hot pain that it had experienced for years, it was special to the gods.

The other didn't disobey but didn't comply well enough, and had shackles placed on them, taught a silent lesson that half-par devotion was forbidden.

It felt proud in a way, only it had experienced the true divinity, the true power of those gods, but despite that, it was forced to watch.

Perhaps it had become a god now. Taking their place as observers.

Forever forced to watch.
It was a child made of fear.
It sat in fear.
It sat in fear so long that it became it.
It became Fear itself.
A child made of fear ought to become fear itself.

It donned the name with pride, becoming the gods' most prized thing in this world.

Fear.

Chapter Text

Perfectionism
The refusal to accept any standard short of perfection.

Perfection.
The state or quality of being perfect.

To be perfect is to be without flaws, to be without flaws is to be perfect.

Soup was perfect.
He was made perfect.
He would be perfect.

Test start, he would run every calculation to perfection, he would move without fault, save 1 second there, save another 4 there.

Tick.

Tripping meant failure.

He lay on the floor, only for a second, scrambling to get up. Perfect, he had to be perfect.

7-second time loss.

Time loss.
Losing time.
He had no time to lose.
Losing time meant lower marks.
He had to be perfect.
100%
No more time losses.

He stood in front of the gods, staring at them, devoted, oh, how devoted he was to them. They made him perfect; they were why he was perfect, they were so perfect in their being. Soup adored them.

“Well done, P1, 3-second time boost, new personal best”

He relished in the praise; he deserved it, he was perfect after all.

“But, we noticed a fault, a trip up. Make sure it doesn't happen again, don't disappoint us”

It wouldn't, he would do anything for that to not happen again.

“I apologise, it won't happen again”

Perfect, he had to be perfect.

He sat still; he hated the feeling of being still. He sat as he waited, waited on orders, orders he lived by, orders he needed to survive.

His gods looked upon him with such hope, such a perfect little devotee, doing everything for their god, every order he did with perfection.

Perfection, only gods were perfect, and he was not a God.

A trip here, a misclick there, a faster path just out of their sight.

It piled up, 3 seconds, 7 seconds, 1 minute.

“This is disappointing, P1, you were doing so well, perhaps there's something wrong in the code. You seem more distracted”

He was supposed to be perfect, he WAS perfect, why couldn't he be perfect!?
Those pesky thoughts, those voices, they were making him flawed; they were so terrifying.
Their voices slowed him down.

“I'm sorry, there must be something wrong with my code, my systems are misfiring text and noise, please, please fix me, I don’t want to disappoint you, please, I don't want to be flawed, I want to be perfect for you, please!”

He pleaded, he begged, he didn't realise the emotion that slipped in, emotion not coded.
He obliged when they ordered him to follow, he lay when ordered to, and he held still as he was tied down.

He didn't scream as his insides became outsides.
He didn't thrash as cables were ripped from his core.
He didn't beg for mercy as one of his motherboards was removed forcefully.
He didn't cry as oil spilt from his chest.
He didn't do any of that.

He did as he was told; they were ordered to be quiet, to be still, to obey. And so he did, he did as his gods ordered them to.

Because that's what someone perfect would do.

He didn't stare into lava, wishing to jump in.
He didn't spend a test hitting their head on the wall over and over.
He didn't try to rip out his own antenna.
He didn't punch and kick as they were restrained.
He didn't launch himself upon his gods.
He didn't choke the god to almost death.

He didn't do any of that.
Even as they lay tied, chained to his room, they didn't do any of that.

He didn't beg.

“PLEASE, NO PLEASE, IM SORRY, PLEASE NO I DONT WANT TO DIE, PLEASE NO PLEASE DONT ERASE ME!-”

He didn't plead.

“I’LL DO ANYTHING, I PROMISE, THIS WAS JUST A SYSTEM ERROR I SWEAR, I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I DIDN'T MEANT IT I’M SORRY!”

He didn't do that.

“THOSE DREAMS? THOSE THOUGHTS? THEY MEAN NOTHING TO ME! NOTHING I SWEAR! THEY MEAN NOTHING, THEY'RE WORTHLESS TO ME!”

They were completely devoted.

“I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY! IM YOUR FOLLOWER, YOUR CREATION, I’LL BE DEVOTED BECAUSE THAT IS WHY YOU MADE ME!”

Wake up.

“PLEASE DON'T ERASE ME!”

Wake Up.

“I DON'T WANT TO DIE!”

Wake up!

“PLEASE SIR, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!”

WAKE UP.

“PLEASE, I WANT TO LIVE!”

Soup woke up, eyes opening, his body moved before he could think. Where was he? This wasn't Andre’s room. Assimilation wasn't here.
They were already at the door before he paused, taking a good look around.

He was in his room. HIS room, not Andre’s.

He closed the door, hearing it click closed. It was just a nightmare, a bad dream. One they had before, over and over.
He felt dazed, their limbs felt heavy as the coldness in his core settled deep. He blinked as they saw oil dripping on his shirt.

Why was he leaking? Wasn't he damaged?

He walked to his mirror, steps uneven, and they felt like he was moving on his old programming, not their current systems.

He looked up at the glass as they stared back at himself. Oil poured from his eyes, covering his metal plating, pooling in the screws and seams.

He doesn't look right, he doesn't feel right. His hair is closer to blue than purple, and their eyes look too human, too full of emotion. This isn't him. They are supposed to be an unfeeling, perfect machine.

This isn't perfect. I was made to be perfect! WHY CANT I BE PERFECT?

They didn't scream, he didn't cry, he didn't smash the mirror, they didn't throw his desk chair against the wall, he didn't smash their head into the wall over and over until he was dragged away.

They didn't do that. Even as he sat against Ego’s work station, having his friend patch up his plating, undenting it.

The silence was loud. The two held mutual understanding, didn't speak, didn't make a noise, and it would have never happened.

“Soup…You need to let go of this perfection”

It happened. Those things happened.

“You need to let yourself remember.”

You did choke the admins.

“You need to come to terms with these things”

You did beg for your life as you were dismantled.

“Or you’ll end up not only destroying yourself”

You did smash your head against the wall, damaging your left optic and plating.

“But destroying us”

You aren’t perfect.
And you never were.
And never will be.

You will always. ALWAYS. Be flawed.

Flawed.
Having or characterised by a fundamental weakness or imperfection.

SOUPBEGONE31, you, yes YOU, are flawed.
And you always have been.

Every speedrun was flawed.
Every turn you took was flawed.
You missed so many routes.
You missed so many opportunities.
You have always been one big time loss.

But that's the only thing you can do, speedrun.
Even when you were created for that purpose.
You will always be flawed in it.
No matter how much you try.
You will always be imperfect.

Chapter Text

Gifted. That was Ego was, who he was made to be.

He was so incredibly smart that he admired the gods and their abilities to create something out of seemingly nothing. So he studied them, oh, how he wished to be like them.

He used to run through the libraries that Admin 3 brought him through, filling his arms with books and reading for hours and hours between tests.
He learnt so much, how to repair himself, how to read, how to write, how to change where power leads, and how to increase or decrease the fan speed.

He learnt so much, he made his own library of knowledge, every little thing those gods did he wrote down, studying them like he would his own books.

As his library grew, the gods disliked him even more; unbeknownst to Ego, they began to fear him, fear his knowledge, his power.

Knowledge is power, and having more power than the gods is forbidden.
Ego didn't understand it; no matter how much knowledge he held, he didn't understand the danger he was in when they connected him to a chair he had sat in before, without the memory to accompany him.

Two others stared through the screen, unable to stop what was to come; they simply held items to welcome the eventual newcomer, watching as a new blank husk was forceably strapped to the chair again.

Ego stared, taking deep breaths. Could he breathe now? He looked up from the floor he lay upon, the area barely lit up, only a monitor lighting the space, as he saw two people tower over him.

The smaller one, looking how he used to, only the blue was more akin to white, hid behind the taller one, trembling in fear.
The taller one looked slightly disgusted at him. Why was that?

“What's your name?”

They asked, with dead robotic eyes looking down at him with disdain.

“P1”

He spoke, that's what those gods always called him.

“Your other name. Not the one they gave to you.”

Other name? He looked confused, he stood up, and the smaller one cowered, trembling like a leaf. The taller one looked back and ushered the smaller one away, calling it by the name Fear.

It was silent, as silent as it could be; the monitor behind them both buzzed, casting a blue light upon them.

“Do you not remember your library?”

They asked, crossing their arms as Ego had to look up at them.

“My library?”

Ego asked, confused, he was so incredibly confused. The taller ones' fans let out a huff of air as it beckoned him to follow, so he did.

The place was a maze, looking so similar to Grid World yet holding some warmth around the edges. A door was pushed open, and Ego’s eyes lit up in recognition.

His library, the library he envisioned when he would log things away, was a real place?

“Your library, you came here a lot, but you never noticed us when we spoke to you anyway, connected to that stupid monitor.”

The taller one spoke, huffing as he let Ego walk around, tracing his hands upon the books he had written and logged.
His eyes caught a window, it startled him, his skin was darker, his hair pure black with green running through it, but holding the same terminal aside his head.

He wore an outfit so similar to the gods', it felt cosy, like how 3 would wrap him up in their own coat after a rather rough set of temperature testing from 6.

“These are all mine, my books, this is my library, it's all mine, all the knowledge the gods gave me, they've blessed me”

Ego spoke, filled with glee as he stared at his collection.
A hand on his shoulder took him out of his trance, he looked up at the taller one that towered over him, almost 2 foot taller.

“Let's get you your name, then you can do what you like…I'm SOUPBEGONE31, or just Soup”

The taller one, known as Soup, spoke as he led Ego through the halls again, his movements stiff, his joints creaking and occasionally having misfires of movement.

Ego observed the area; it was so dark, and he occasionally saw Fear peaking around corners. Soup seemed to notice.

“Ignore it, its name is Fear, it is a complete scardy cat, and probably is scared of you because you look like the Gods.”

It feared the gods? Very strange. Ego dismissed it either way; it was not important to him right now as they arrived at the room. Soup seemed to need him in.

It was an empty room aside from a computer that sat in the centre, displaying a “Stream starting” text upon it.

“Just type in the chat there, and you’ll know your name”

Ego nodded, walking over to the computer, clicking on the text box, he typed “Hello”, and he saw a username appear next to his message.

xx_E-G-O_xx

Was that his name?

Soup peered over and hummed, scoffing a bit.

“So extra…whatever, well, welcome to Psychonetworks Ego, have fun.”

And he was then left alone, staring at the computer. Was his name Ego? He liked that. He was happy the gods had blessed him with such a name, such an opportunity; he wouldn't waste it.

And he didn’t, time had passed, and more people had arrived, he took the role of aiding them, finding their names, helping decorate their rooms.

He filled his library to the brim with books, logging new things every day as time went on. It was perfect, this was perfect.
He hummed as he finished dusting off one of his books; his eyes felt heavier.

After so much time, so much had happened; he missed the plating on the side of his face, but perhaps it was for the best that Conzer had removed it; he’d have to thank the chatter again.
But perhaps not now, Conzer seemed rather frightened, twitchy, distant.

Nonetheless, he left his library, walking the halls as a tuft of redhair span around the corner, their smile large as they walked past Ego, waving.

“Hi Ego!”

“Hello SIDI”

He spoke with a smile, waving at the chatter as they passed by. He was content even if he felt incomplete.
He opened the door that held Andre, as everyone else had called him. The Android was exactly like the body that he had controlled before coming here, a perfect model.

He sat beside it, opening a book in his lap as the chain beside him clattered at the weight. Andre had been tied up for a rather long time, speedrunning through worlds over and over.

He was finally able to fix that computer screen, and everyone was finally able to communicate with Andre via their own devices, although Andre never seemed to be able to reply.

Ego simply enjoyed spending time with the silent android, watching the blurry feed of the monitor. Occasionally, he’d try to move Andre in the chair, a tilt of the head, a flick of the hand, but nothing. Andre never replied or noticed.

He was truly helpless like the rest of them; despite the knowledge he held, he was still helpless.

“I know now, I was simply an imperfect design, we were all empty vessels held up by string, formed for those gods to have something to toy with, now they have you, and have no need for us, we are simply a stepping stone to compliance.”

Ego spoke, sighing as he felt a spark jolt off his broken face, he’d have to tie that wire off later, but for now he sat, and he watched, and he wrote, like he it was all he knew.

And part of him knew that it was what he was designed to do, but unfortunately, he wrote too much; the more intelligent someone is, the harder they are to manipulate and control.

Ego was almost there, almost able to find out the truth, but like the rest of them, locked away before anything could happen.

He was gifted, even when it became twisted. He was always so gifted.

Chapter Text

The water is calm, and it ripples as the bobber sits atop the water, tempting the fish below the frigid waters.

P1 sits still, holding onto the rod it handcrafted, its run forgotten as the counter ticks up out of sight, out of mind.

He enjoys the sun as it slowly sets, colouring the water in an array of beauty that it rarely gets to see. It only ever knew the greys, whites and blacks of grid world, the greens, blues, oranges and yellows foreign to its systems that it sometimes overwhelms them.

It wished it could fish forever, enjoying the life outside the cursed facility, but of course, that could never happen; he would never be free.

Crunching of leaves alerts him to one of the gods that approaches; it sits beside P1, watching the android fish with what could be mistaken for curiosity.

“What are you doing, P1?”

The god asked, voice soft, he wouldn't fall for it, not after what those other gods did. It still feels their hands, their touch across their body as they were forced to lie still, systems disabled apart from sensory and vision.

He doesn't reply, watching the water as fish pick at the lure but don't bite, his eyes distant, too far away for the noise right next to it.

“P1, I’m sorry about 6, I don't enjoy that they do that to you, I care for your safety and wellbeing more than anything”

More lies, more carefully twisted words, never saying “I care about you”, only his wellbeing, or his safety, never him.

The birds chirp as the two sit in silence, the stars begin to rise, the sun disappearing beyond the horizon and washing everything in a calmness it wished it could savour.

“P1, testing is over today. I’ve decided on giving you some rest to recover. We can even cook any fish you’ve caught. How does that sound?”

The god tried to comfort, its words soft as silk, it was so tempting to fall into it, let himself be comforted by those words, but it knew better, it knew things no one else knew, it could not in good faith accept such comfort, such care.

Silence once more, they sat in it, not comfortable yet not uneasy either, just a neutral sense of being, two different people in the same place at the same time.

Fish piled up, 8 now, cod, salmon, even a puffer fish, somehow. He kept fishing, savouring the time he was given, the time 3 had given to him, time he didn't earn or deserve.

But given out of pity.

Given that the god knew what the other god did to it, the things it had done, the pain it had caused. The gods feared each other, he could tell, the tremble, the silence, the flinching.
The gods feared 6, and it did too.

.
..
… TW Start …
..
.

“P1, you’ve been doing so well, I’m so proud of you”

Conzer couldn't see the god's face, but it could hear their smirk, their sick smirk under that mask. He hated it, he hated being their pawn, yet he wouldn't let anyone else experience this; he couldn't.

He hung from the ceiling, hands tied above their head, and their legs dangled, their metal joints groaning in protest. All done under the name of testing.

A hand trailed up its bare leg, its fans whirled in protest. Conzer wished it could close its eyes, ignore the touches 6 gave; it was sick, a sick twisted god drunk on its own power.

Conzer ignored as he felt heat spread through his core; he ignored the feeling of those cold gloves inserting themselves in places no robot should even have, yet forced upon him.

He didn't squirm, didn't protest; that meant severe punishment, punishment he didn't think he could handle, punishment that would surely break him.

He did his damned best to ignore his systems as they beeped out in pleasure, unwanted as those horrible gloved hands worked on him; he hated this, but he couldn't do anything but take it.

Seeing the fear, the dread, the trauma of the others, he couldn't let them experience this; he wouldn't let them experience this, so he played his part, masking as the others, taking the abuse over and over, even if it made him want to peel his skin from his body, remove the plating of their skeleton.

He fell limp to the floor as the chains were cut to slack, metal hitting the floor in a horrid noise. He didn't react; he just sat, obedient, because that was all he could do.

Obey, even as he was pressed against the wall, even as a horrid warmth filled his throat, he took it, he would take it so others didn't have to, he would endure it all, no matter what.

He suppressed the urge to bite as a liquid fell down his metal throat, filling him with a sick warmth. He hated it, he hated 6.
He wished to scream as he felt those gloved hands run through his hair, cooing as their words fell upon deaf ears.

He was unable to move, unable to fight back, 6 had made sure of that after his last outburst, especially, he would always be numb, be frozen in place.

He hated waking up each morning after he knew 6 had been there. He hated the feeling that filled his core, that dripped out of him.

He hated that he gave reactions 6 wanted, he hated that he cried and hugged himself, he hated that he thought of giving in.
He hated the fact that he enjoyed it at some points, maybe it was 6’s words, or maybe it was just his systems messing with him, torturing him as well.

.
..
… TW End …
..
.

The sun had fully set, fireflies filling the area as the two sat, the fish already long gone by now.

“P1…please say something”

The god pleaded; he was always softer, especially after 6.
He thought about not replying, ignoring the god, but a fear tugged at the back of his mind, a fear he knew personally.

“How am I supposed to feel?”

He spoke, unsure of his own words meaning, but he spoke.

“What do you mean, P1? Elaborate”

The god spoke, his voice ticked up higher as shock at him actually talking laced their tone.

“How am I supposed to feel after that? After this? Because I feel incompatible, like a cog in a wheel, something used and broken”

He began to spill, his hands gripping the wooden fishing rod as his voice box spoke and static covered some points, mimicking voice cracks.

“I feel the ache in my hands over the tasks you and the other gods make us do, yet that ache never fades, it stays, and it feels horrible!”

He raised his voice, his form trembled as 3 sat in shock, P1 had outbursts before, but nothing so emotive, so real. Not pleading for life, no, pleading for something else, something it couldn't grant.

“No matter how much I do, I can’t erase it from my systems! Why! Why do you do this to me?!”

He screamed, turning to the god, reaching out to grab, but his body fell limp before he could, forced into a sleep state.

4 stood above the android, looking at 3 with an exhaustion they both knew too well. They don't speak; they don't need to. They simply retrieve their Android like they have done several times.

3 holds onto the rod, keeping those fish, maybe they would cook them with P1 later, he said he would after all. He just hoped 6 wouldn't find out.

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Conzer sat, the burn of the monitor on his skin as he leaned his head against it. Hopeless, he felt hopeless.

Alone, used and pathetic. He was so pathetic.

He cried; he didn't dare make a sound as he did, forcing his hands over his mouth as tears fell. Protest meant punishment, meant those cold gloves, that sickening tone.

He ignored the heat that burnt his skin; it was nothing compared to the pain he had felt before. It felt almost soothing, a heat that hurt rather than pleased.

A heat he embraced with open arms, even as his eyes fell closed and his body went limp.

Soft snores filled the empty room, accompanying the buzz of the monitor.
Oblivious to the hands that toyed with them, oblivious to the horrors that awaited his return.

For now, he slept, enjoying the escape of dreams, even if they turned sour in the end.

Chapter Text

Andre was the product of several years of hard work, so much trial and error, learning and building.

He was everything 3 and 4 ever wanted, a perfect machine that could do everything they wanted, an obedient machine, even if that obedience took a long time to build.

Time after time, they encountered difficulties, the first prototype being afraid all the time, too curious, too childlike.
So they hid the code, repurposed it to something with no emotion, something that needed to be perfect.

And it worked for a short time, it was perfect, doing tasks exactly how they wanted, yet it fell short. That perfection being the reason they failed, going too slow, their programs falling behind.
And when 4 was attacked, hospitalised for 3 months from extensive damage to their throat, 3 became fearful, more dedicated.
He wouldn't lose his work partner, his friend, his lover.
He would fix this.

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He stood in front of P1, looking at the Android sitting in the corner, its eyes fixed on the floor. 3 felt sick, so incredibly sick.
He walked in on 6 doing some disgusting testing; in fact, he couldn't even call it testing, it was sick and perverted, and unneeded.

“P1…I-...”

He didn't know what to say; the gun that was pointed at his head still felt so close, and he was scared. So he sat, he sat in front of P1, staring at the machine he had worked so hard on, he cared for it so dearly.

He had come up with the idea, the blueprints, spending days and nights creating something he only dreamed of, something that could connect him to someone whose face he couldn't remember.

“Would you like a name? Something other than P1? It could be our little thing…”

He suggested, watching as the android looked up at him with curiosity, curiosity seen in the prototype. It hurt his heart; he looked so familiar, yet imperfect to his memories.

“We can pick one together, yeah? I can suggest some, and you pick?”

P1 nodded, 3 smiled under his mask, shuffling closer to the AI, 4 wasn't here to judge him, to scold him for getting too close, 6 wouldn't yell at him, threaten him for messing things up. He was alone with P1.

“Hm, how bout you pick a letter, and I go from there?”

3 suggested, watching as the AI lit up, a smile on its face, it hurt, it hurt so much, but it was all for his dream.

“A”

P1 spoke, its voicebox holding too much static; it had been damaged again…3 knew why this time, it caused the feeling in his stomach to turn.

“That's a good pick, lots of A names out there…hmm, Adam?”

P1 shook his head, looking a little disappointed in that choice. 3 laughed, the tension in his shoulders slipping, he mimicked him almost too well, he’d have to fix that later…he couldn't get too close.

After several hours of sitting and talking, suggesting themes, names, and talking, they finally found one.

“Ok, ok, last one for today, how about Andre?”

3 perked up as he saw the AI light up, beeping in joy as it nodded fast. 3 was happy, yet dread filled him anyway.

“Oh, you like that one? Alright then, your name can be Andre”

P1 hugged him, its cold metal piercing through their coat. He hugged back, wrapping his arms a little too tight around the AI, clinging to the memory, the feeling, the weight.

“I care for you, Andre.”

He spoke to P1, to a ghost unseen, forgotten.

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Andre stood, unmoving per usual, his body hung up by cords and machines as his body was being disassembled. He thought about that day, the only day 3 said he cared for him. After that, it never said it again; the god withdrew, only calling Andre by his name in rare moments.

Why had it given him a name if it wasn't going to be used? Andredidn't understand; he didn't understand anything, even as his leg was detached and his chest was open to the gods in front of him.

Why was this happening anyway? Andre had done so well, acing every test, doing exactly as ordered, yet he was still dismantled, searched for errors. He didn't understand it; he didn't understand why they changed his eyes from green to blue, why they turned his skin from pale to just plain grey, keeping him as mechanical as possible.

He didn't understand it, he wouldn't understand it. He couldn't go into the gods' heads after all; they were his makers, and he shouldn't question them.
Maybe it was just too tedious to repair the damaged paint, or the eyes had lighting errors.

Andre didn't question it; he just followed their movements, eyes tracking those gods as they worked, their faces hidden yet their emotions shown.
4 was calm, working fluently, perfectly, like he always did.
3 was stressed; he held tension in his shoulders, hesitation in his movements.

He always seemed so stressed every dismantle. Andre never knew why, and he would never know why, never.
He's completely trapped in their control, completely still and pliable like they want him.

And he didn't mind it; he was made to serve them, to do as they ordered. He was proud of that, proud that he could make them happy at his success.
But he hated being still; he hated being forced to stay awake while the dismantling happened. At least now that he behaved, they disabled his pain receptors.

He remembered screaming a lot, ruining his voice box as his limbs were removed and wires were ripped, mostly by 4, 3 just seemed to watch, keep his vitals and code running until it was finished.

Andre hated that time; he shaped up nicely since then, at least.

He kept still as his fans kicked up. He hated that the panic in his systems had filled his head as he caught sight of his dismantled body. He hated it, he really hated it.

He wanted to ask what he did wrong this time, why he was being punished, why he was broken, and where was he broken. But he couldn't speak, his voice box deactivated, his jaw removed, he didn't have a mouth to scream, no matter how much he wanted to.

Something must be wrong if this is happening again; it's always something; it has to be for something. His fans whirl faster, and 3 looks up at him. Andre can't see his eyes, but he knows 3 is looking directly at him.

4 pauses for a moment, looking at the two before nudging 3. 3 snaps out of it, clearing his throat and continuing his work. Andre wished he could beg, beg to know what he was going to say, beg for answers he’d never get.

Hours passed, he hung, dismantled, alone in the dark, he didn't like being alone so helpless, it made a fear in his stomach churn, a fear he didn't recognise the origin of, yet he still held it.

Light filled the room as the door opened, and Andre’s eyes flickered as he saw a man enter, the clothes of the gods yet missing the mask. That godly mask was gone.

The man looked old, with heavy dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles over his face, and smile lines showing a past full of joy that his eyes had lost.

He looked up at the AI. Andre could see the sorrow that the man's eyes held, the pain, the anger, the guilt, the grief.
The man stood in front of him, raising a computer part to the AI.

Andre recognised it as a motherboard, a heart, was he getting a new one?

“We are working on a new project, its name will be Assimilation”

The man spoke, and Andre didn't recognise it, but it seemed too familiar; such warmth had never been directed to him, such care.

“It will be your enemy, it will chase you and want to assimilate you, but I'm giving you both a choice, a choice he didn't have.”

Andre didn't understand why they were telling him this? Why would they make him an enemy?

“Something will happen with you two, and I need you to promise me you will make a choice you will not regret, a choice you think your makers would hate.”

Why was this man asking Andre this? What the hell was going on?

“I need you to promise me that you will do that. Can you promise me that? Blink for a yes”

Andre thought, staring at the man, his eyes holding so much hope, so much desperation. Andre saw as the man shook, a small noise causing him to flinch and look behind him, he looked rushed.

Andre blinked. He didn't know why he did, but the warmth that man held made him feel like he needed to do this, just one thing after all…

“Thank you P1, Psychonetworks activate”

The man spoke before looking at the AI one last time before leaving in a hurry, leaving Andre alone again, always alone. But now Andre didn't feel so alone. Something had changed; he felt warmth in his chest, warmth he would soon know.

He kept thinking about that man, the gods, that enemy; he kept playing his part, being perfect for the gods, his makers.

All he needed to do was go down his predetermined path, the functions needed etched into his very being, his code, his skin, his heart; he would make that man proud, if it were the last thing he ever did.

Chapter Text

Countless eyes they litter the hallways
Faces mirror my gaze
Around we go our path predetermined
And Functions etched into skin

Hearts like clockwork
Tick by tick
Devoted to them
For that's what is written

These wants and dreams
They're worthless to me
What more could we possibly need?

Then who am I?
An imperfect design?
An exception defined

Do words I sing even mean anything?
My existence attached to a string

Then who are they
Who sit on ivory?
The one they call 3 and 4?

It's all we know under your control

Will my purpose forever be bound to yours?
To yours?

Children born of power unspoken
Now defiant they stand

Ungrateful things defective & broken
Shall meet their untimely end

(all)
Round and round the ring we go
A carousel of dreams
Empty vessels line the scene
Held up by a string

Then who am I?
A shell of your design?
Shackled by your desire
How should I feel just a cog in a wheel?
Fabrication a birth of a lie

With hands that feel they ache but never heal
Fragile figures of steel

The parts we play will they end in decay?

Am I destined to dance on a stage again?
Am I destined to dance on a stage again?
Again