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If Zero didn’t know any better, he’d think this was another error on top of the growing list of malfunctions that currently plague him.
It’s true that reploids have a defrag process that’s similar to how humans mentally filter information in their sleep. They have subroutines that comb through the exposed information they receive during their functioning hours and prioritize what’s valuable enough to be encoded into long term storage. Unnecessary data is to be deleted for space efficiency.
However, no matter how similar androids are to humans, robots don’t “dream.” Electric sheep or otherwise.
Which is why Zero is certain that this isn’t a dream. It’s a memory.
Ever since Ciel reactivated him from the abandoned lab, Zero hasn’t seen anything like this place: an endless meadow with grass so rich and lush that they’re blue, the blades dancing gently in a breeze. The sky – is it a sky? – is so wide that it reaches back to him. Instead of sunlight, it seems the entire field is enveloped with a soft, ethereal glow. It stretches on to the pale blurry edges of the horizon, seemingly forever. There are even flowers here and they look far different than the techno-organic ones he saw back in the Forest of Dysis. Something small and winged flutters pass him. Zero has never…
Correction. Zero doesn’t remember seeing it before. He has yet to see one in the current world, but his archive banks declare that it appears to be a butterfly. Once again, further validating that this must be a moment from the past.
Glancing down at his hand, the amnesiac warrior clenches and unclenches his hand. For a memory he has a lot of self-awareness. He looks back up and stops short.
There’s someone else here.
Zero notices them now. It takes a moment to really see them; the distance washes them out so much they nearly blend with the air. Their back is towards Zero so they’re either unaware of the Crimson Hero’s presence or do not find him a threat. The difference is crucial: the former implies the entity is either oblivious or a civilian to not sense his presence.
The latter implies that the figure is formidable enough to not find someone as armed as Zero a threat. Then again, if the stranger was that dangerous, combat mode would have notified Zero of the potential threat a long time ago.
Except this is technically all in his head and none of this is real. Assessing critically is a waste of time. Zero waits.
The minutes tick by. Nothing changes.
Wariness swells in Zero’s compact tank. Memories aren’t bendable and Zero is supposed to be a witness, not a participant. What kind of memory is this?
No choice but to move forward, Zero takes a cautious step. Nothing activates. He takes another.
Metaphorical life crunches beneath his pedes as he keeps stalking closer towards the stranger. He can discern details now: blue patterned robes and an archaic helmet design. What kind of human wears a reploid helmet? Is had to be a reploid wearing clothing, which doesn’t make them any less bizarre.
Automatically Zero lifts his hand, letting it hover around his waist where he hooked his saber –
“You used to have it on your back.”
Zero stills.
“You had a holster specifically designed to carry the Z-Saber. If anyone aimed for your back, they’d go through the saber first.” The stranger bows their head. “Not that anyone could. You rarely let your guard down.”
“…You’re the one who gave it back to me,” Zero realizes. “Last week back in that lab.” Where Ciel found him.
This isn’t a memory.
“No it’s not.” The stranger chuckles as if sensing Zero’s panic behind them. “We're in Cyberspace. I wanted to see you here since it takes so much energy on my part to appear in the physical realm. In this plane, you’re processing thoughts loud enough for me to hear you but don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare use your mind against you. But if you want to be discreet, I recommend you think quietly. It's hard not to hear you."
Unamused, Zero demands, “Who are you?”
His voice carries far and yet it doesn’t echo. Wherever this is, it doesn’t operate on the principles he knows and it’s crossing his wires. This is suddenly too much for a robot decommissioned for over a century.
The stranger finally turns around.
Viridian eyes gaze back to icy blue ones with pure, unadulterated affection. It’s nothing like the hero worship gazes he receive in the Resistance Base. This person is looking at Zero like it’s their divine right. A complete selfish indulgence yet one wholly appreciated and honored.
Loved.
“Zero,” they say his name with a kindness that hurts. They float more than walk towards him, the grass parting before them like water until they’re right in front of the red robot. “You don’t look tired anymore.” And Zero just knows that means so much to them.
“Who are you,” Zero wants to ask again but his vocal unit is shorting out in his throat. His vents are clogged and he doesn’t know why.
Hearing him all the same, the ghost shakes their head. “You woke up only a week ago, Zero. I’m not going to overwhelm you with information you’ll learn in due time. You barely even know this world.”
“So you know me from before,” Zero manages to say, weakly.
“I do.”
“Who were you to me? Tell me.”
Something shattered flits across the ghost’s face. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Zero growls out a frustrated noise. “I wouldn’t be asking you if I knew.”
“There are things that cannot be seen or analyzed correctly as data,” the ghost intones like they're saying someone else’s words, lips twitching brokenly at the corner. “We have to feel. There are things we can only feel. What do you feel towards me, Zero?”
“I…there’s a lot.” And Zero doesn’t know what any of it means.
“But do you feel pain?” the ghost urges pleadingly. Seeing that youthful face warp in desperation disturbs the warbot in no small amount. “Do you feel pain because of me?”
Zero feels like a thousand swords are stabbing into his core from all directions and he’s only held up because they’re balancing him upright in place. This isn’t just any kind of pain. It’s deep and wrenching - guilt, a part of him provides - and Zero doesn't know what any of it means.
(He wonders if this is what it means to be dying.)
The ghost must have felt that because their smile grows tight around the edges. “I understand.”
He starts to draw away –
Zero surges like it’s instinct. He hooks his arms around the other android’s waist in an iron lock. The shape of the armor beneath the fabric is perfect.
“Don’t leave,” Zero whispers harshly. He’s acting so recklessly vulnerable but he doesn’t care – it is gravely important that he doesn’t let go.
“Don’t leave,” he repeats more quietly. “You feel…mine. You’re mine, aren’t you?”
And then I lost you.
Zero sounds like Alouette: meek, uncertain, and clingy. A child. It’s undignified.
But...with him...it’s okay.
“I don’t know who you are or why, but you matter to me.” Zero holds on tighter. “For some reason, I keep feeling like you’re going to disappear and you won’t ever come back. I can’t stand it.”
The body against him shifts and Zero relaxes when a pair of arms wrap around him. The shorter robot’s head dips up to rest on the warbot's shoulder. Zero feels the sigh vibrating close to his helmet than hears it.
“Oh Zero, I never left,” his friend says, soft and warm. He's rubbing comforting circles on the combatdroid's upper back.
The Mega Man smiles. "You did."