Work Text:
The warm buzz of the monitor room was unnervingly nostalgic. The comforting sound of the best months of his life - the months he felt liked, appreciated, wanted, and maybe even loved - had since been tainted by an untimely death, and after, the bitter truth. The man adjusted his scarf to allow for some space around his neck, an attempt at reducing the overwhelming nausea that swam in his gut.
For a moment, he made no effort to open the room before him, instead opting to shuffle his feet in place. If an onlooker had seen him, they might have thought the man was contemplating his actions, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. His mind was completely blank, devoid of consideration, emotion, and fear. At least, that’s what he continued to tell himself.
After he successfully wasted a few seconds adjusting his beanie, the man pushed open the door, now face-to-face with an overwhelming number of computer screens.
“Oh!” A surprised voice came from one of the monitors. “It’s, uh…” It trailed off for a moment, confused and uncomfortable. “Me, I guess.”
“I’m not you anymore.” The visitor retorted quickly, voice prickly and just as uncomfortable as the AI. The man adjusted his scarf to cover a section of his face, as if the action might give him some factor of intimidation. “My name is Sou Hiyori, and you will address me as such.”
…
“... I don’t want to call you that.” The computer program confessed with an awkward laugh.
“What?” The man replied, quickly deflated. “That’s literally my name now! He said I could-”
“No.” The monitor interrupted.
“What do you mean, no?” The visitor scoffed in shock. “You can’t just say no!”
“I’m gonna call you Shin, I think.” The AI decided slowly, spurring a groan of frustration from the teal-haired man. “It feels wrong not to, even though that’s, like, really weird, ‘cause I’m Shin.”
“Whatever,” Shin spat out, incredibly embarrassed to have lost out to a digital replica of his former self, “I don’t care what you call me, y’know why?” The AI did not audibly respond to his question, though it did provide a slight tilt of the head. “I don’t care, because it doesn’t matter.” He sneered. “You won’t get to call me anything at all soon enough.”
“What do you mean?” The monitor squeaked, its eyes widening in nervous confusion. “Are you planning to mess with my programming?”
“Yeah,” Shin let out a grumbly, discontent laugh, “I’m gonna do something like that.” He took a seat in front of the computer screen that housed the AI, eyebrows furrowed in focus and frustration.
“I’d really prefer you didn’t, please.” The monitor responded, shaking its head back and forth, as if it had any say in the matter. Shin sinisterly smirked back, stretching his fingers out before getting to work.
“Let’s see here…” He muttered, tapping away at the keyboard. This was easy, Shin told himself, he’d done this a million times before.
In fact, he was likely partially responsible for a lot of this programming in the first place.
… Don’t think about that.
“H-hey, Shin-”
“Shut it.” The man spat, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly start to dissipate as he worked. He had nothing to be so stressed about here, Shin told himself, willing himself to remember his strengths. Coding was something that Shin understood, something he had quite a bit of practice with. As he worked, the man fell into memories of when he was younger, the hours spent with his roommate as the man taught Shin all there was to know about this sort of thing.
Y’know, back when he was… the exact figure that peered back at him through the screen.
Whoops, that was one of the things he was supposed to not think about.
“I don’t want to die, Shin.” It stated simply, quietly, looking down and at absolutely nothing.
Shin knew that look, that expression. It was one he’d worn time and time again, heat burning his cheeks and gaze turned away out of fear.
Sou Hiyori’s eyes would always sparkle back, making it clear and obvious that he derived such a delicious satisfaction from the boy’s trembling hands and palatable fear.
Shin Tsukimi, on the other hand, only felt sicker.
“Put yourself into my shoes, would ‘ya?” He groaned, rolling his eyes and tugging on his beanie in frustration. “How would you feel if you were suddenly met with the high school version of yourself being kept as some sort of… like, literally a virtual pet by the weirdest guy in the world.”
‘Weirdest guy in the world’ might not have been a perfect, all-encompassing description of what Hiyori was, but it wasn’t worth Shin’s time to go into (or even think about at all). Besides, it wasn’t as if the AI was unfamiliar with its creator… Owner? Certainly not a friend.
“Umm, I think, uh,” the monitor cleared its throat, as if it needed to do such a thing, “I think I wouldn’t feel as bad as it feels to meet the older version of myself and have him be…”
“Okay, enough, didn’t I already tell you to shut up?” Shin interrupted with a grumble, shaking his head as he returned to his work. He still had a long ways to go if he had any intention of going through with this plan and destroying the AI for good…
… Right?
Only a few moments later, Shin’s eyes lit up with recognition and accomplishment as his mouse grazed over the killswitch. He let out a soft, breathy laugh; that had been a good bit easier than he was anticipating.
… Why had Hiyori made the AI’s killswitch so easy to access?
The man’s finger did not press down to click. Rather, he sat in silent shock, questioning just how important the AI really was if Hiyori didn’t care enough to add any additional protection.
Sou Hiyori was a programming mastermind; he had created the whole damn thing! Certainly he knew a thing or two about adding the necessary safeties.
Because keeping the Shin AI safe had to matter to him, right? Right???
Because keeping the Shin AI safe
had
to matter to him, right?
...
If that were true, Shin would have had a lot more work to do. He knew he was good, sure, but he wasn't that good.
“I… I can’t do it.” Shin confessed, falling back into the chair with a thump. He was struck with a wave of intense exhaustion, and Shin opted to slump over and catch his breath with his eyes shut.
“Shin?” The monitor called out hesitantly. He didn’t answer.
For a while, the one two of them waited in silence, the man’s eyelids not once peeking open.
Every time he stared at that screen, Shin could only see a mirror. Someone terrified looked back, eyes wet with self-preservation and stained with a tinge of pity. The reflection of a lonely boy who only wanted to be seen, whose only intention was to help anyone willing to keep him around. Was this regression, Shin wondered, or was this all he would ever be?
…
When he regained his sight, the computer screens were already behind him.
As he left the monitor room, the man immediately struggled to remember if he was successful in destroying the AI or not, if he had destroyed the last remaining fragment of ‘Shin Tsukimi’.
“My name is Sou Hiyori.” He muttered to himself as he stalked down the hall, fingers grazing the wool fabric of his dotted scarf. Yet, every time he made that claim, the man believed it less and less.