Chapter Text
“YOU HAVE DONE WELL TODAY, CREATOR.”
Subspace doesn’t even give the Biograft a response, just continues to scribble out his plan. It will be perfect. It must be perfect. If it isn’t, he’ll just have to skip the nap and make it perfect. Which is fine, he skipped his earlier one for this, he can skip the next one.
“YOU HAVE WORKED VERY HARD TODAY, CREATOR.”
…Why isn’t it shutting up?
Okay, he sort of programmed it that way. But, still, surely it would have learned by now to shut up?
Whatever. He continues ignoring it, scratching out one of the math portions he did, and starting to redo it. It must be perfect, and he can’t be too certain that it’s perfect until he does it again. And maybe a third time. If it’s wrong, the higher-ups might get upset. He hasn’t been the best recently, quota-wise. He hits it, yes, but he doesn’t exceed it enough. He must do so much more than the minimum.
“IT IS TIME FOR YOU—”
“Shut UP. I am busy, can’t you see that?!” He hisses out, slamming his pencil down onto the desk. It hurts him so much more than it even thinks about damaging the cheap plastic, and he has to freeze up as the waves of pain throb up his arm and into his spine. Damn body frailty, even where he isn’t rotting away. Despite always being freezing, he does, in fact, feel the heat of it. Blackrock is so cold, and his lab must be colder. The Biografts can be prone to overheating if overexerted, and he won’t risk a thing. If anything gets damaged, he’ll get in trouble. Trouble. What a childish way to put it. He’s too old for that. But how else to put it? Punished? Describe it? What a waste of time, he has better things to do than worry about something that won’t—can’t—happen.
IT IS TIME FOR YOUR NAP, CREATOR.”
Why does he even keep this one around? It’s done nothing but annoy him. Ever! “I’m busy. Go power off and charge up, or make yourself useful and organize the parts!”
“I HAVE ORGANIZED THE PARTS THREE TIMES TODAY, CREATOR. HAVE I DONE A GOOD JOB, CREATOR?”
There is no winning. There is no peace. The worst part is that he’s done this to himself. If he ignores the Biograft while it’s in the Seek Feedback stage, it’ll continue in a loop until it receives feedback. If he says no, it’ll go and reorganize again, like he wants, but come back frequently in an attempt to be better. “Yes, yes! You’ve done a great job!” Despite Biografts being unable to comprehend sarcasm, he still is using it. “I think it’d be even better if you did something other than bother me right now!”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
Is it really that simple? Give it attention, and it’ll go away? What’s the point of him always fighting it, then? He has better things to do than think about that. Like work. He needs to get this perfect. If it isn’t perfect, then everything is ruined and he’ll never be good again.
He scratches out another section of math, and redoes it. Just to make sure. This is the third sketch he’s made of it, and he will make a hundred more to get it perfect.
Another section.
Another section.
Another.
It isn’t optimal enough.
It can be smaller. It can cost less.
Scratch it all out, grab a new paper.
“CREATOR, IT IS TIME TO—”
“Cease this awful behavior! It has been less than ten minutes since you’ve last bugged me! Go reorganize the parts!” Subspace presses his forehead against his hand, willing the patience to deal with the robot.
“CORRECTION: IT HAS BEEN TWO HOURS. IT IS TIME TO EAT, CREATOR.”
…Does this count as ignoring orders, and thus a reason to dismantle it? “There’s no way it’s been two hours! And it isn’t time to eat, I still have work to do!” Once again, he’s back to trying to ignore one of his own creations. How ridiculous.
“IT HAS BEEN TWO HOURS, CREATOR.”
He can’t argue with it. He knows that. Biografts are programmed to always know the exact time, even after long periods of being powered off. That part isn’t able to be put into practice, but certainly it is true. It has to be, or else the design is flawed. Which can’t happen. The idea itself fills him with… something. That feeling he gets whenever he thinks about disappointing the higher-ups. About his inventions being less than perfect. When inphernals who have never been useful once in their lives suddenly do something that draws the attention of the higher-ups.. “...Gamma isn’t telling me to do anything,” he grumbles, though he knows the Biograft is charging, since it got an electrical shock due to some idiot messing with it while retrieving sustenance for him. If it wasn’t, he would be forced to nap and eat. He’s programmed it to be able to force him, unfortunately. And it’s perfect for its purpose. If he tried to change it, it wouldn’t be perfect anymore.
Usually, he is fine with taking care of himself. He isn’t stupid, you know? He’s THE Subspace T. Mine! Korblox’s finest genius, creator of the Biografts. But he’s busy right now. There’s work to be done, and he needs to get it done. Immediately. So he can work on more, so he isn’t a total failure. Subspace T. Mine is incapable of being a failure, and he must continue to strive for greater heights. For what is he if not the paver of the future? Useless. And he can never be that.
“IT IS TIME TO EAT, CREATOR.”
Subspace scoffs, bristling. “No, it is not! Make yourself useful elsewhere, before I dismantle you and use your parts for something with a positive impact!” Haphazardly wrapping a hand around one of his lower horns, he focuses on reworking his previous design. The pressure keeps him on task, instead of his mind wandering to something less productive. What a waste that would be. If he isn’t using his brain for the good of Blackrock, he might as well give it to a Biograft. At least a machine would be able to be properly perfect, and keep up the pace all the time. It wouldn’t need to nap or eat, it would just keep working. If he could do that, he wouldn’t have to worry about such pointless activities. There’s work to be done, and he needs to get it done. If he isn’t working, he’s wasting time. If he’s wasting time, he’s failing. If he’s failing, he’s useless. If he’s useless, he might as well curl up and die, instead of wasting Blackrock’s resources. He uses too many now. There must be a way to optimize himself, like there is to optimize the Biografts.
Another scratched out equation. It isn’t even the right one for what he’s doing. Shameful. He tugs on his horn and sighs, using the pulling pressure to make up for his stupidity. Hopefully, this equation is optimal. Or he has to write it all again. And again. And again. And he will. It must be perfect. It can’t have a single flaw, or run just the slightest bit inefficiently.
He writes.
And writes.
And writes.
Only when his hands shake too hard to properly write his numbers does he stop. There must be something he’s forgetting. Not important. He must keep working. If he cannot write perfectly, he can think perfectly, and use his brain to finish the rest. But his brain is oddly foggy. He’s being so incredibly inefficient right now. He digs his nails into his palm. He must do better. He must. There is no other option. It is below him to make anything less than perfect. It is below him to be anything less. He must do better.
…That Biograft hasn’t bothered him, for once. It seems to be charging right now.
Ah, so he forgot about Gamma. It must be done charging now. Efficient, optimal. Perfect timing, as he needs it now. To wear it and get back to work.
When he tries to get up, however, he quickly has to sit back down, pressing his face into his hands. Mortifyingly, a small whine comes out of him, like he’s some sort of dog. It’s not that bad, and he needs to get back to work. There is work to do, and being stuck in his chair is severely inefficient if he cannot work. But he felt like he slammed his head hard into a wall the moment he stood up. Dizziness, fatigue, migraine, crippling nausea, his inability to properly focus on his work right now… He can’t think of a single reason for all that. Well, no matter! He has to get up and see if the zap damaged Gamma past the battery problem he quickly solved.
It takes stumbling into a counter and tripping over his feet three times, but he makes it. Usually, Gamma can stop charging on its own, but he had to… essentially prevent it from conducting its own power, just in case. The moron who caused it is quite lucky that Gamma took the brunt of it, otherwise they would likely have gotten electrocuted and died. Subspace has no opinion on it either way, as neither event impacts his work too much. Though, perhaps he is glad? It gives him an opportunity to see how well of a conductor Gamma is, so he can make changes before it happens with him in it. Or, worse, it gets fried. The Biografts are powered by the crystals, so perhaps less prone to frying, however, a strong electrical shock is still a powerful electrical shock. Going through the process of rebuilding Gamma would be… inefficient, to say the least. It would distract from his more important work, and also prevent him from doing any of it.
Could he rebuild Gamma now?
What an absurd question to ask himself, of course he could. He’s not immobilized, and he takes care to make sure he isn’t in pain all the time… but he does tend to prioritize his work… of course, he could go back to managing himself like he used to, before Gamma. It wouldn’t be too difficult to remember what he needs to do.
Right?
Yes, of course that’s right. He’s Subspace T. Mine, one of KORBLOX’s best. There’s nothing he can’t do, as long as he stops slacking and gets back to work! So he opens up Gamma, twisting the part he had designed for this very purpose. And… what did he call it again? Ugh, nevermind! It’s not important, as long as it works. It’s not that he’s forgotten, no, his memory is pristine, but rather that these terrible symptoms of his are causing a temporary lapse in recollection.
“Creator! It has been approximately seven hours since I was last online.”
Ugh, he forgot how cheery this one is. It’s not even his fault! The damn thing started doing it to be easier to get along with. Ridiculous! It has only made itself annoying to deal with. Though he has heard many of those co-workers (as if they could ever hold a small flame to his volcano!) express relief over dealing with Gamma over him… simply because their minds are small, and their feelings (why prioritize such a stupid concept?) are hurt by the truth. Truth hurts, he’s been aware of this since he was a newspawn. Focusing on it… as he’s said, small-minded. Nothing is comforting, there is only cruelty. Learn to be crueler than what’s around you, or get torn apart. That’s how the world operates, Blackrock has made him well aware of this. He’s lucky to be spawned in a place that does not lie about such an innate concept. Imagine! His genius would truly be wasted elsewhere, so perhaps it is better to not imagine it. The whole Inpherno would be so much worse off if he hadn’t put his whole life into this.
“You made sure to take care of yourself while I was discharging, right?”
“Yes, of course I did! What do you take me for, an idiot?” It stings saying it, since he knows he certainly did not. “...Seven hours?” He weakly repeats, in disbelief. Again, he cannot argue with Biografts over the time, and yet… “I thought it had only been three.”
The silence from Gamma is unnerving. He has not programmed in disappointed silences. Where did it learn it from?
“Creator. If I am unable to be out of service for a few hours, and you do not maintain the normal tasks, perhaps there should be two of me.”
What an… oddly good suggestion, from a robot. “Nonsense! You rarely need to go offline, what would be the point?” A small part of him, that stupid, childish part that he loathes so intensely, quietly pipes up with the worst, most incorrect remark: he’s just scared to have two beings looking after him. Ridiculous! Of course he isn’t scared of something so simple! Why, in theory, the entirety of the higher-ups look after him! Those doctors who assist him look after him!
But none of them are programmed to care. And none of them care beyond what is necessary, what is beneficial for them.
But the Biografts are programmed to. And they care to the amount he programmed, which is more than necessary. It surely isn’t beneficial for them to have to care for him, either. What is the point for him to have programmed in the Biografts complimenting him all the time? It’s something he has read a bit about online. Not every moment is productive, and when he is stuck waiting for medication to work… he does do a bit of looking about on what dim-witted idiots have to say about him. None of it is too good. He’s a bit shocked by the lack of positivity about him online. Well, outside of Blackrock spaces, and even then, it’s a bit slim. He can recall some specific accounts in the Blackrock spaces, that’s how few there are.
Obviously, the point is so others can know just how great he is! Subspace T. Mine is one of the smartest Inphernals to ever live, after all! Who else could come up with as many genius, perfect inventions as he has?! Nobody. Absolutely nobody has ever come close. The brief flash of green in his mind is enough to make him grit his teeth. Dull pain seeps into his jaw, and he quickly stops, breathing more shallowly as his nerves (or what remains of them) throb and cry. It would be so much worse without the medication, and… oh. Oh it is without the medication. It isn’t supposed to hurt at all.
Subspace is a little surprised when Gamma suddenly sets down his medication and a bottle of that incredibly gross tasting nutrient sludge… thing. It’s the most convenient form of nutrition for him, since he’s losing the ability to chew. That does not mean it tastes good, or that he enjoys it. He needs the rest of his ability to taste gone immediately so it won’t be so terrible. He has no clue what taste the sludge sets off, but it is not a pleasant one. Any form of good tastes are ones he cannot, well, taste anymore. It is just Gross Stuff that he can taste now. Or, perhaps, tasting the gross is a result of the texture, and he cannot taste it? Or is he tasting himself? The Rot, more specifically. Whatever it is, it's incredibly unpleasant.
“Creator,” Gamma aggressively shakes the bottle of sludge, which disgustingly makes a gross noise when hitting the top or bottom of the container. “I am well aware that you are displeased by this. but you must drink it, for your continued health, so you may continue to serve Blackrock.”
…Did he program it with the preference to speak in the first-person? He can recall moments of it speaking in the third-person, but those might have been attempts to seem cuter to appeal to others. He has tried that strategy in the past, and it does not work. In fact, it had done the opposite! He had been treated more negatively, for being weird. Did he do it to seem cuter…? Why did he do that? It doesn't matter, the past is the past! He’s much better now. However Gamma speaks, it is different from mass-produced Biografts on purpose. Zeta Biografts are not efficient in communication, there was no purpose for that, but Epsilon Biografts have generic speeches for their jobs. Both variants speak in ways to make it clear they are robots. Gamma is to speak more… like an inphernal. That was programmed with the intention of easier communication. Enough inphernals already say he is too loud, it would ruin communication attempts if he spoke through Gamma, and it projected his voice even louder. Of course, they are wrong! Subspace T. Mine is nowhere near too loud, and they are all lucky to even hear his voice in the first place! He is such a busy inphernal, and they should be gracious to have the chance to be near him at all! Yet that is treated as a bad thing. Because they are unable to recognize the importance of him, as they are all focused on themselves. Like he is. As is natural and normal.
So why does he want them to focus on him?
Because he is important, much more important than them! It’s like how he focuses on the higher-ups! It’s natural to prioritize those better than you, to be as useful to them as you can be, in the hopes of becoming better yourself. To strive towards perfection, as everything should be. Perfect. Flawless. A single flaw and it is useless. His use for Blackrock, and the Inpherno as a whole, though mostly Blackrock, is enough to cause those better than him to grant him a small bit of their attention. So his flaws can be fixed. So he can be perfect. Though it is costly to fix this flaw of his, and it certainly will be lethal sooner rather than later. His demise is being delayed by the higher-ups, so he can… can… why are they delaying it? Oh, yes, his genius inventions!
“If you don’t stop ignoring me, Creator, I will have to forcefeed you! :D”
That’s enough to snap Subspace out of it. “So impatient, Gamma! I’m busy! Though it is necessary, so I suppose I may tolerate it this once.” He glances towards the other Biograft. Still charging. He feels slightly hollow. To focus on something more efficient (ignore what he does not wish to acknowledge), he snatches the cup from Gamma, and starts alternating between pills and drinking the sludge. So he doesn’t end up throwing up from an empty stomach full of pills. Most of his other treatments occur late at night, and early in the morning, to stay efficient. There is the mid-day one, but Gamma is able to do that one, and is much faster than the doctors. So it does not take much out of his day.
Now, back to work.
His whole body is jerked back by the firm grip on his shoulder. “Creator! You are moving incredibly sluggishly! It seems like you have completely ignored taking care of yourself in my brief absence, and you need to be forced to sleep for the night!”
“What?!” He sputters, turning around to look up at Gamma. And he feels like a newspawn again, when his supervisor caught him sabotaging competition, and made him go to bed instead of allowing him to continue working through the night. It had little to do with the sabotage, and everything to do with him not using his time efficiently. He learned to be better about his efforts, to the point nobody could tell it was him doing it. His supervisor knew, of course, the supervisors of newspawn tend to know everything they ever do, and approved. He was behaving as newspawn should; focused on themselves, and willing to throw others down the pit to climb out of it. “I simply must finish this invention, Gamma! It is critical that it gets done very soon! The deadline—”
“Is not for three months, Creator! :)”
“Exactly! That is so incredibly soon, I must finish it now! Did that electric shock rewrite your programming, Gamma?! It needs done—” he coughs a few times, unable to really raise his voice anymore. How did those more intolerable inphernals put it…? Right, yes. Subspace has a shrill voice, and it is too high-pitched to be tolerable. Which gives him the impression of loudness, even when he is quiet. Whispering is different, though he has never been good at it. No point in it, however, if he is keeping his schemes to himself. Shouting has been something to hurt his throat in the past, but now The Rot itself makes it near impossible to get too loud. Though, it is also lowering his voice slowly through the decay of his vocal cords… which has not made his voice easier on the ears of the weak-willed. “It needs to be done now. So I may keep up my decent pace and get started on the next one.”
Gamma mimics the sound of clearing its throat. “Quota is based on work done, which is defined as ‘how much you do’, not ‘how much you get done’, as some projects made be too large to get done in this timeframe. This policy is indiscriminate, and applies to all scientists. However, certain divisions may have smaller or larger quotas, depending on the average of time those divisions take to hit quota.”
“And where did you learn that?” It frustrates him (makes him uncomfortable) to have facts tossed at him. “Quota is different for me, I’m the head of this department. I must set a good example of what the pace should be, and I must prove to the higher-ups that I am worth the cost of treatment. It isn’t cheap, Gamma, and it certainly isn’t cheap to fund my work, either.”
“The projects you do are already worth so much, Creator! There is no need to go at such a brutal pace. Using the theory of the bell curve, you are only making the worst look better, and yourself look worse.”
He scoffs. “I have only had one subject graded on a bell curve, and we were secretly graded on work ethic instead. Even if we worked on something from another subject, or did anything productive, such as experiment or read further on scientific pursuits, we were graded higher than those who wasted their time. The effort is seen, even if the result goes elsewhere.” he grabs at his lower horns again, though his right hand is much looser than his left in its grasp. “I do not need to listen to this, or argue with a Biograft.”
Instead of continuing the argument, Gamma starts guiding him towards the small, decently blocked off room in the lab. It was, assumedly, once a storage closet, but he has repurposed it into a bedroom. Though that may give the impression that it’s small, this is the robotics division. Storage closets are big, because the parts are big. Subspace has a lab meant for multiple scientists dedicated to just him, so he uses that space for storage instead. Maybe once upon a time, before The Rot, there were other scientists in here with him. If so, he has no recollection. Or maybe he chooses to forget, because it's easier to not confront the past. “Hey—Did you not listen to me, Gamma?! I have to get back to work! Unhand me!” This feels vaguely familiar, like that clip online of that movie, the sharer of it did not share the name, where the newspawn is dragged out of a store throwing a fit. Of course, he is not a newspawn, nor throwing a fit. Gamma is the unreasonable one here. He doesn’t have time for movies, but he will admit he was slightly intrigued, as the child was described as a genius with too much attitude. Or something similar.
“Nope! :D” Gamma opens the door, and then quickly shuts it behind it, once the two are inside. It turns the light on. Dim, perfect for getting around. “You must sleep. How else will your incredible mind work well enough to perform up to standard?”
Well, that’s a new direction to this refusal to listen. Acknowledging the truth, instead of trying to use stupid half-truths to coerce him into behaving a certain way. “Yes, that is true… However! I feel just fine! And I must get back to work! Move, Gamma!”
Frustratingly, the Biograft does not move. At all. “I will turn off my vision, so you may get ready to sleep, Creator!” Not exactly what it does, it most definitely can still see, and now he’s a little curious on what Gamma is getting influenced by. He’ll check at some point.
“Oh, fine. Whatever. Tomorrow, I’m going to have to work even harder.” He’s well aware he shouldn’t. Managing his health is of the utmost importance. Still, he didn’t make enough progress today. He spent most of it optimizing yesterday's work. Hopefully, he can make more progress tomorrow.
Begrudgingly, he takes off his uniform, hastily switching into something more comfortable to sleep in. Just for efficiency. That is the only reason. He is perfectly fine with his body, there is nothing wrong with it. He never stares at older pictures of him in envy, wishing he still had some of that mass, so he could actually move heavy (anything heavier than a textbook) objects comfortably. It does not haunt him to see his bones. The padding in his uniform is not to hide his bones, but instead to be more protective against impact. Yes. There are all allegations (from where? Nobody sees him anymore!) he has heard, and he knows for certain are false. He looks… fine. Not perfect, but his body can’t get there anymore. So his mind must stay perfect, his inventions must stay perfect. If something is wrong with them, then something is wrong with him. Is his mind really perfect?
Clearly, he needs to sleep. He never has these doubts when he’s properly maintaining his health.
Subspace gets into bed, though he still feels that pang of desire (distress) to work. He will perform better with sleep, and when medicated properly.
…Though he suspects not every medication they give him is for pain management, or keeping his bodily funcitons.
But the list is approved by the higher-ups, he vaguely remembers that, so there is little to worry about. It all causes him to perform better, there is no reason to doubt what he is given, and he feels no need to find answers. Just a need to keep working, and working, and working.
Though he is slightly curious. Not enough to look into it, but, still, curious. The idea of medicating him for something other than what’s necessary would imply there is something wrong with his…
Of course, there can’t be. There never will be. All but his body is perfect. It has to be, so he can continue to benefit Blackrock. His body is of little importance to that goal, so there is no need to perfect it.
Nothing he does is perfect enough.
He will make it all perfect. That is the point of refinement.
“Gamma, I am lacking the ability to fall asleep.”
“On it, Creator!”
It’s really just white noise. But it helps. Gamma tried to share facts about white noise before, and he wasn’t interested. Subspace T. Mine does not require another presence to sleep. That would be ridiculous! It makes him think of all the work he needs to get done tomorrow, thus encouraging him to sleep sooner. Yes, that is it. Nothing else, nothing at all.
…Tomorrow… something is happening tomorrow… surely Gamma will remind him in the morning. Otherwise, it must not be important to his work.