Chapter Text
Purpose: something all humans sought.
Most humans ended up making their own purposes, basing it on what they felt, on chemical reactions. Humans often lived for excitement, did anything for an adrenaline rush while others sought out intellectual activities, anything to achieve tranquility. No matter the activities, though, their purposes relied on anything that increased pleasure.
Reploids didn't.
Reploids lived to serve humanity, created with actual, important purposes, not thrown into the world in momentary lust or “love.” Unlike reploids, humans didn't dwell on the ramifications of their actions. No, they happily lived their lives, unaware of any consequences.
Reploids didn't.
No, most reploids knew of their monumental importance and didn't carelessly create life. The desire to procreate, however, was a vestige of humanity’s animal lineage.
As a vestige, it had outlived its purpose like all their animal instincts.
Even as a newly created reploid, Sigma knew this well. Undoubtedly the rest of his kind did, too. They must've believed their creation wasn't for primitive, selfish goals, but crucial objectives mankind couldn't handle or comprehend.
Sigma’s creation, however, was more important.
He knew this as he laid there, not fully activated. Before he glanced at the world or moved, he knew of his greatness as the new leader of the Maverick Hunters, an organization set out to retire Mavericks. Maverick being a term for reploids who rebelled against humanity. All of this was already written into his programming, written into his data-banks. He was great; was built for greatness; would achieve greatness.
A soft-spoken, confident voice rang out throughout the room, bringing him out of his thoughts; it was the first sound he had ever heard.
“Dr. Cain, turn on the lights and activate everything. I think it's ready.”
Sigma opened his eyes. And there was light.