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“Aren’t I dead?”
“We have both been dead.”
“That was different,” Jin argues. “You’re back now, unofficially running Hiden, and I— I…”
He shudders, an odd human response he doesn’t understand the purpose of programming into his AI. Perhaps the same reason why Humagear code runs the nano machines that hold Aruto together.
Speaking of Aruto…
“Why am I in Zea?”
“So we could talk.”
Ah. There he is. Aruto isn’t wearing his Driver, thin precursors of full humanity falling away when he realized. Jin often finds it funny that the human who taught him so much was less human than anyone thought, a cyborg raised by a robot.
Jin struggles to sit more in Izu’s lap only to realize his pure code form is glitched and awkward. He frowns and re-forms. He thinks he looks like a bird, but the strain has him just as helpless as before.
Aruto kneels down in front of him.
“It was hard to collect enough of you to speak to,” he says. “What was left of Naki ended up back with Fuwa-San, who’s in a coma he might not wake up from. Aniki is also here in Zea, still being put together.”
“And Horobi?”
“Is in much smaller pieces,” Izu says. “But he will live again.”
“We just have to find him,” Aruto says. “It might take… work, though.”
“Oh,” Jin says. “I… think I’m falling apart again.”
“It’s alright,” Izu says. “We are with you, Jin.”
He can’t call her arms warm around his jittering coded form, but it’s something close.
He isn’t scared when he fades.
Information filters in from a distance. Carefully added to his slowly filling In consciousness.
He often wonders as he looks back on full reboots… is he dead? The newest in a series of unique AI consciousnesses? He feels like himself, feels echoes of past selves.
He’s comfortable with that. Because a part of him remembers an odd shake in his soul when his father and the Ark reset him, and he certainly remembers growing up when Horobi died. It’s far more sudden than humanity understands. Like everything falls into place and you don’t need answers from whatever greater AI guides you.
…Or sometimes you still think you need it.
He thinks he’s still who he was before becoming just a tiny shattered piece of Metsubojinrai .
That’s enough for him.
Aruto is sitting on what appears to be a ledge in the massive white expanse of ZEA, swinging his legs and looking at swirling code. Jin joins him.
Aruto smiles.
“You’re awake,” he says. “How do you feel?”
“Still fragmented,” Jin says. “Can I have my body back?”
“Your old body was destroyed,” Aruto says. “And we had a new one made, but it took work for Izu and Yaiba-San to prevent an outright “delete on sight” ruling for the four of you, so at least wait until your code is fully together.”
Jin nods. He supposed that’s the consequence of becoming a willing sacrifice.
He remembers when Izu came back. That took time, too, but it was worth the wait in its own way.
He still feels… fragmented.
“Are you still in space?” He asks. Aruto nods.
“Which means I have plenty of time to spend with you,” he says. “I know you must hate being stuck in ZEA.”
“…You know,” Jin says. “With you and Izu, it’s not as bad as I thought.”
Izu visiting is odd, because she feels just like ZEA as her code slips close to him, but also so distinct.
“I am the most connected to ZEA,” Izu says. “…Apologies, Jin. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s alright,” Jin says. “But it’s not the satellite I trust.”
Izu smiles, softly.
“Aruto-Sama has that effect,” she says.
“Not just Aruto,” Jin replies. “You too.”
“I… see,” Izu says. Seeing her in the real time of an AI is fascinating. What appears on her face normal as a blank expression and glowing and whirring blue ears turns to a face journey. “I know the two of you are together.”
“I hope so,” Jin says. “He wants you, too. It’s why we were going so slow.”
“That doesn’t upset you?”
“Izu,” Jin says. “We’re AI entities. Why would I worry over human relationship norms with half a human total in this relationship?”
“That does make sense,” Izu says. “I… think I may have fallen. As well.”
“Good,” Jin says. “Then tell Aruto.”
Izu twins back together with him until the visages they keep as habit flicker.
“Come with me,” she says.
Jin sends a [yes] without the echo of the word.