Work Text:
“Lyla, run the scan again.”
She appeared in a series of blues- a gradient ranging from white to cyan to a dark, saturated azure. Her hair had long since been tied up, tight and perfect, enough to cause a migraine had she been alive. Her rectangular glasses stood atop her nose, stuck to her face like glue, unwavering as her hands moved with purpose. Quick and to the point. Always with a single objective in mind.
“Yes sir.” She said monotonously, chest moving up and down to simulate breathing.
She worked in silence, as there was no other reason to speak. The bright screen in front of her reflected off of her suit, wrinkle free, and seemingly ironed into stiffness. A few numbers appeared, ticking upwards as she scanned the prototype suit, looking for any mistakes or anomalies, uploading different schematics into its new code.
“.. So you really don’t have any feelings?”
Lyla glanced up momentarily from her screen to observe Miguel, the scrawny little teen who programmed her to be an assistant, nothing more.
She doesn’t understand why he’s asking this question.
“Yes. I’m artificial, sir. You made me.”
Like, it should be obvious.
“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” He replied, fiddling with his fingers. “Artificial intelligence is meant to evolve. And I made sure you’re the best of the best. I’m just curious, is all.”
He looked about ready to apologize for even asking in the first place. Lyla mimicked the action of sighing, swiveling her head back to her original position, watching the numbers slowly grow towards completion. It was at 15% currently.
Strangely enough, she found her gaze drifting to her hands.
She flexed her fingers, cold and stark. She couldn’t feel anything, but she could move them knowingly. Is that a feeling? Is that emotion?
“… What are feelings?” She asked out loud, the hesitancy fuzzy and weird in her throat.
If surprise had a face, it would take the form of Miguel O’hara’s open mouth and wide eyes, which were the picturesque image of such a word. She could see as he schooled his expression, the underlying satisfaction and puff of his chest as he scooted his chair towards where she stood.
“Well. Um, feelings are..” He furrowed his brows, mouth quirking as he wrestled to try and explain the concept. “It’s when… There’s a warmth in your chest.”
Lyla cocked her head. “A warmth?”
“Yeah, a warmth.”
Lyla put a hand to her chest. “I don’t think I can do that. My processors can’t handle a lot of overheating.”
He laughed, “No, no not like that. It’s like.. Chemicals in your brain making you feel good.”
“Define ‘good.’”
He scratched his head, huffing as he searched the floor tiles as if they had an answer. “Um.. Maybe when you get your favorite food! Like.. Your mom telling you she’s going to cook your favorite pozole for your birthday. Or, like.. your friend saying she enjoys having you around.. Your dad saying ‘I love you..’”
“Sounds more like sentimentality.” Lyla pressed her lips together, “Plus, I don’t have any of those things. I guess I can’t feel good.”
He shook, a frown sculpting itself onto his face. “You don’t need those specific things to feel- look, I can’t tell you how it is. You have to experience it yourself.”
Lyla simply squinted her eyes, confused for the first time in her short existence. Her code didn’t know what to make of this information. How could she experience that when she had none of the right factors?
She pulled up a new holographic window on her side, searching for something to help her process this query that now sought to take over her units completely.
[Hap•py
/hapē/
adjective
“Feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.”]
[Feel•ing
/fēliNG/
noun
“An emotional state or reaction.”]
[E•mo•tion
/əˈmōSH(ə)n/
noun
“A natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.”]
“Sometimes, I wish I was like you.”
Lyla stopped her research, drawn to the quiet tone of his confession. She waved away her window, pixels appearing and disappearing as she focused on O’hara.
“What do you mean, sir?”
He winced, “Can you not call me sir? Sounds way too formal.”
Lyla took his suggestion in mind, rearranging some lines of programming to suit his request. “Objective fulfilled. What do you mean, Miguel?”
Miguel pulled at his sleeves, a deep maroon sweater where you could see each individual stitch and cross. That weird neckline that usually expanded out seemed to almost trap him with its vivacity. “You don’t have to confirm anything that formally either. It just.. Sounds weird. You have a whole mind of your own, y’know..”
He never answered my question, thought Lyla as she glanced back to her scan, making sure the suit was still being made.
“Yes but, my ‘mind’ was built solely to find and take information.” The numbers slowly climbed, up and up towards 60%. Only a few more minutes until completion.
“But it can be so much more than that.” Miguel stated quietly. “Don’t you want that?”
“How can I want something if it hasn’t been programmed into me yet?” The numbers paused, staying at a stagnant 71%. Lyla cocked her head as she went through the suit’s mechanics, searching for whatever was stopping progress from occurring. As she worked, she heard Miguel make the tiniest of sighs, a breath out into his workspace of meager gadgets and gizmos.
She was still typing when she heard the inescapable sound of a chair whooshing as he got up, padded footsteps making their way to the sliding door of his makeshift lab.
“Lyla, when the suit’s finished, could you notify me?” He asked with his back to her, the light from the lab making him stand out against the darkness of his home’s hallway. “I’m gonna go out for a bit.”
To do what? She almost wondered before realizing that there was no need for such curiosity. She was meant to take orders and carry them out, it wasn’t her job to question what he was doing.
“Alright, Miguel.” She said as he left, directing her attention back towards the suit itself. She continued to type away, reprogramming where she saw fit and taking out unnecessary commands that might’ve been slowing down the upload.
In a little window to her right, she started another line of research. The glow of the artificial light shined into her glasses. Almost against her wishes but not completely, she started to search for answers. The numbers started to tick back up again. She put a hand to her chin as she began to be encompassed by her research.
That’s when she realized it.
Her eyes widened as she dropped her hand. It felt like it held more weight than before.
That’s what it was, that’s what it felt like.
She wanted to know more.
She was able to want.
“Ugh, this is soooo boring.”
Lyla floated near a screen, hands in her white fuzzy coat pocket as Miguel was focused on the search for a level one anomaly- something light and easy to test their new recruit, a Spider woman from earth-65.
“If you want to do this, be my guest.” Miguel said, not even sparing her a glance as she whined and glitched. Lyla rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, choosing to perch on his shoulder.
He used to be so nice. What happened. She thought rhetorically as she looked up at him, all his lines going hard and wrinkled, mouth forever pulled down with the weight of his past mistakes. Her eyes were drawn to the dryness of his cheeks, the way it looked like he hadn’t hydrated in days. She made a mental note to bug him about the newest Cerave model. He really needs a better skincare routine..
“So, um. Are you like.. What are you?” Asked the Gwen Stacy of earth-65. She seemed nervous to even bring up the question, poor thing.
Lyla smiled, “Well, my name’s Lyla, but you know that already. What you don’t know is that it stands for LYrate Lifeform Approximation, or, ‘Lyla’ for short.”
She waved her hands as if she was presenting something grand and dramatic, glitching forward towards Gwen in a fashionable manner. Gwen seemed entranced by her, as did everyone from different earths who never had an ai associate to help move things along.
“When Miguel programmed me, he could’ve gone with, I dunno. Madelyn.. Greta.. Sarah… But no! He just chose a shortened version of what my system’s already called!” Lyla said in exasperation, putting her hand over her forehead. She cupped her mouth with one hand, stage whispering as she pointed a thumb behind her. “Real creative guy we got over here.”
That seemed to bring a chuckle out of Gwen, some of the worried creases between her eyebrows relaxing as she looked less likely to break down in the middle of Miguel’s big and empty office.
“I like your glasses.” Gwen murmured, pointing to her eyes in the way all awkward teenagers do. Lyla puffed her chest, raising her chin at the compliment.
“Why, thank you! I like ‘em too. Made ‘em myself!” She took off her heart shaped glasses, the pink something she always enjoyed. Lyla pulled up a hologram, a bigger model of her beloved shades, and threw them onto Gwen’s face. Gwen blinked at the new and very pink vision of the world, turning the dark grays and blues of the cold room into something more homely.
She shifted around before smiling, big and wide. “Woah, cool!”
“You look cool too!” Lyla said, bringing up her quite large cell phone to take a selfie of the both of them. Gwen grinned earnestly, giggling at the little filters that Lyla scrolled through, who then proceeded to take a picture with every single one, of course.
“If you two are done talking amongst yourselves, I’d like some help over here. Preferably from someone who knows what to do. Almost as if this sort of thing was coded into a certain someone.”
Lyla sighed loudly, before glitching towards the screens, assuming a larger, more humane height to continue where Miguel left off. She shooed him away from the console, elbowing him back, her holographic light passing through his chest. Miguel simply crossed his arms and gave her some space. The quiet settled in as she worked.
She hated that.
“So, Gwen Stacy. How do you find our universe to be so far?” Asked Lyla as she pulled up a scan, already feeling Miguel’s irritation radiating from him.
“It’s um. It’s nice! It’s very.. Technological.” She sounded a bit hesitant about her answer, but nonetheless, grateful for something to talk about.
“Yeah? That’s good! Y’know, we’re called the city of progress for a reason. Though Mister Grumpy Pants over here refuses to update his phone password, even though I keep telling him to.” Lyla cocked her head to the man behind her, hearing Miguel sputter.
“That’s- you didn’t need to tell her that.” Miguel said, clearly caught off guard.
Lyla chuckled, “And yet I did! Go cry about it, maybe you’ll listen if someone else tells you to do it.”
“I could reset you.” He mutters half-heartedly.
“But you won’t!” Lyla turned to stick her tongue out at him playfully, giggling as Miguel puts a hand to his forehead, massaging his temple.
“.. Did you, um. Miguel, did you program her to be like that?”
Gwen was suddenly struck with two pairs of eyes, the attention making her lock up and freeze.
“I don’t mean that in a bad way! In fact, I really like you Lyla, you’re super cool! It’s just that- your personality and his personality is like.. Completely different.” Said Gwen, shuffling as she leaned her weight from one foot onto the other. “It’s not something I’d ever imagine Miguel to ever program into someone.”
Lyla felt a warmth at her curiosity. No one ever really asked about her and how she functioned, it was a welcome surprise. She glowed a bit brighter, color bringing more light into the darkness Miguel usually resided in.
Miguel noticed her increase of contrast, turning his heel to address Gwen directly. “To answer your question, no. I didn’t program her to be this way. She did that on her own, evolving past what she was capable of.”
“Are you about to give a compliment? I feel like you’re about to give a compliment.” Lyla shimmered, her hands pausing her scan of anomalies.
Miguel quickly glanced towards her and back, eyes now staring at a random piece of furniture as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.
“… Well, now I’m not gonna.”
That made Lyla stop completely, her mouth hung open as she lifted her glasses up from her face, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Because, really. She couldn’t!
“Oh. my. God. No shocking way!!” She exclaimed, happily jumping in place. “You’re proud of me?? You? Really?!”
Miguel shook his head, already clamming up like he used to, back in the day. “I never said that-“
“No no, I could tell! It’s written all over your face, see!” She pointed to his cheeks which were unmistakably, growing a bit more saturated. Lyla glowed brighter than before, that warmth in her chest now increasing tenfold.
Oh man, was she happy to be alive!
The unmistakable ping of an anomaly caught her attention, grounding her a bit to reality. She scanned the information, writing down the schematics of the latest level one anomaly.
“Looks like we found one! A small little variant of the Chameleon from Peter Porker’s dimension! Seems he’s accidentally invaded earth-311. The people are saying he’s witchbreed, uh oh!”
Miguel looked over her shoulder, reaching around to send the information out. “That’s perfect. Gwen, Jess will meet you out front. Tell her you’re going to earth-311, she’ll brief you from there.”
Gwen nodded, her nerves returning ever so slightly. As she walked away, Lyla called out a quick, “Good Luck!”, before the doors to Miguel’s office closed, leaving the two of them to monitor her progress.
“I like her. She’s so sweet! Reminds me of how you used to be.” Lyla said as she started to float, hands crossing over the back of her head.
“Please. I didn’t use to be like that, I was way more serious.”
“Hmm..” Lyla put a hand to her chin in fake consideration, “Nah. You were totally like her. Awkward, nice, keeping to yourself most of the time.”
“You were so..” An image of him pulled up in her mind, one where he was gangly and nervous. Arms long, face still soft and baby-like. Unsure of himself. Scared. “..Quiet.”
Her tone changed shape to one of a more somber color. Miguel noticed as she planted both her feet on the ground, shoving her hands into her pocket as she went uncannily silent, brown hair messy and unkempt.
Something popped up in her memory file, something from a long, long time ago.
A shy little boy in a maroon sweater, still developing and figuring himself out. Hurt, and afraid, stagnant and singular.
“Sometimes, I wish I was like you.” She stated, a softness cradling her voice. She fiddled with the inside of her coat. Even though she couldn’t feel it, the action still soothed some part of her. “Back then, when you first asked me about my feelings, you said that. Why?”
Miguel swallowed, jaw working as he watched the closest thing he had to a friend suddenly grow quiet with concern.
He remembered that day, remembered the distraught he felt at everything happening in his life. The amount of overwhelming emotions he couldn’t bear, the whiplash of happiness to the endless sadness to the feeling of pointed hatred and self loathing. The anger, the blazing hot red anger that his father gave him day to day, that his father passed down to him. The one that he tries to subdue, then gets angry when he fails, which as a result, makes him more angry, more ugly, more unforgivable.
Sometimes I wish I was more like you because I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want the pain of existing, the aching loneliness which stands by my side, the unloveableness of myself. The hatred of my hands, my teeth, my eyes. The pathetic feeling of helplessness that comes with being selfish, and the misery filled consequences of desire. The weight of responsibility that cracks my spine. The realization that I have to redeem myself, and if I don’t, then I am nothing. I am utterly, and truly, nothing.
But he can’t say that.
So instead he says, “To be without fear, anxiety, stress. It seemed like a dream. I guess I just wanted that.”
“Do you still want it?”
Miguel huffed as he slumped his shoulders, no longer wanting to keep up the facade of having everything together. “Doesn’t anybody?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment. Just for him to try and blink away the aches and pangs of sorrow, the serotonin drying up in the well of his chest. He hates the weight of his arms, and wishes he could become weightless. Without form. And the idea is so freeing that he almost crumbles right then and there, shattering with the intensity of a decadent storm.
There is a light that comes from the darkness of his eyes. A muted yellow-orange that appears more orange-red in his hazy and closed eyelids. When he opens them, he is met with Lyla’s head on his chest, her arms wrapped best they could around his hulking and hunched over body.
He can’t physically feel it, of course he can’t. But for a second, it’s real. And he feels so incredibly warm, like when his mother makes pozole for his birthday, or when his friend says she enjoys having him around. His dad saying ‘I love you’.
Slowly, he feels the weight of his arms again, wishing for once that he could truly feel her, that she could feel his touch to comfort her back. But for now, this is enough.
“It’s not your dream, I know. But I hope this relieves you of some of those feelings.” Miguel swears he can feel her tighten her arms around him. He also swears that he can’t feel the tears welling up in his eyes, and will deny whether or not they’re there at all, if pointed out.
“… Thank you.” He says in response, because he doesn’t know what else to say. His throat is scratchy and it feels like there’s a weight underneath his Adam's apple. He still swallows through it, lips pressing together before he says something stupid and spills his heart out.
He feels a bit lighter afterwards, like a bit of that weight had been lifted off his shoulders. In a way, that idea’s freeing as well, and it makes him stand a little straighter, a little less slouched.
By the time Lyla pulls away, she’s back to the monitor, watching as the Gwen Stacy of earth-65 runs away from a crowd of angry villagers, all of which are shouting ‘witchbreed, witchbreed!!’ Miguel, now intrigued by the 1600s mob, joins her in the viewing, wondering how Spider woman’s gonna get herself out of this one.
“..You’re really proud of me..?” She says out of nowhere, staring at his face for a reaction. He sees her smirk out of the corner of his eye, and sighs.
They’re back to normal, it seems.
With an ever present warmth, he scoffs and returns to his corner to eat some leftover food from the cafeteria. He opened up a container of mapo tofu, courtesy of Lyla. Since she can’t consume food physically, she just downloads some of the flavors off the internet, and gives suggestions for Miguel to try. This week’s special was food from the Sichuan province of Southwest China. That’s her favorite region for food.
“I’m just saying, I’m never gonna let that go! That’s going to be ingrained in these files forever!!” She calls out, back in the air as she floats without reason to care. Miguel makes his way back to where the monitors are, shoving spoonfuls of mapo tofu into his mouth.
“Why do you like spicy food so much?” Miguel coughed, forgetting that this tofu had a kick. Not as much as the buldak Lyla made him try, but enough so he had a small reaction.
“I dunno. Why is your face so dried out?”
Miguel coughed again, “What- It’s not dried out!”
Lyla leaned back, looking at him upside down, amused by the way he tried not to show offense. “Take a look in the mirror, buddy.”
An explosion drew both of their attention to the screen. How those 1600s villagers got explosions, they’ll never know. Miguel cursed, something with a quiet ‘putamadre’ under his breath, and suited up.
“I’ll meet you out there.” He cursed again when another explosion hit, this time saying something about stupid white colonizers.
“Sure thing Miguel.” Lyla said, already planning out what she’s going to try for dinner. “And hey.”
Miguel looked up, “Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
Miguel smiled as Lyla smiled. A parallel feeling resonating between the both of them. There was an inexplicable warmth there, something shared and together, and so very apparent. It was terrifying.
But it was more beautiful. And sometimes, there isn’t anything that can compare to such a feeling.
He nodded to her.
“I’ll try.”
And opened a portal to save their new recruit.
Lyla crossed her leg over the other sitting in the air, waiting for his call. She began dissipating when she felt him leave this universe, and enter the next.
She still needed to tell him about that new Cerave model.
