Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

HumaGear did not have nightmares. They did not experience dreams in that way, no visions during sleep mode. They were simply active and aware, or they were not. Jin didn’t have the luxury of blaming the sight before him on some sort of vague, ghostly terror.

Zero-One’s sword was buried in his father’s head.

He couldn’t see Horobi’s face, but the blade had sunk all the way to the nape of his father’s neck, leaving torn, sparking mechanics in its wake; his head wrap clung to the sides of his head for a moment of horrid calm—then each piece fell away, drifting to the ground. He wanted to say something, to call Horobi’s name, but couldn’t make his voice work, found it sticking in his throat. As he watched, frozen in horror, blue liquid began to slowly trickle down from the wound, dripping down to disappear into Horobi’s collar. For far too long a moment, his father stayed standing, his body locking up, going stiff and rigid—then, there was a horribly familiar whirring sound, and Horobi dropped to his knees.

Zero-One just stood there as well, breath heaving so forcefully his shoulders were shaking. Eventually, he weakly tried to free the weapon from Horobi’s head, but the sword was wedged too deeply, tangled in wires and broken components. All he succeeded in doing was jerking Horobi’s body around a bit until it was unbalanced and flopped to the ground.

That was too much.

Jin sprang into motion, surging forward to plant both hands on the human’s chest, shoving him away hard, with enough strength that Zero-One released the sword, before spinning around to rush to his father’s side. One of Horobi’s eyes was completely destroyed, along with the whole left side of his face, but the other one was still wide open in shock and confusion. From the front, the blade had stopped just above his chin, pulling his mouth into an unnatural shape and slicing through part of his nose; blue was also dripping from the corner of his mouth that had been… Disconnected from the rest of his lips. The lights on the sides of his head were dark.

There was no other way to say it but that his father’s head was… Split open. The components inside were clearly visible, cut clean through until the bottom, which was a twisted mess of metal mechanics and fibre glass that had pinched around the blade and lodged it in. Jin didn’t want to touch the wound, not like this—but he also refused to leave the sword there. Very gingerly, he reached out and took hold of the weapon as delicately as he could, pulling on it. It didn’t move at all, remaining solidly lodged.

“J… Jin…” The voice was hardly identifiable as Zero-One’s, shaky and unsure. Jin didn’t even bother looking at him, instead staying focused on the task in front of him, even as he heard the human scrambling closer. “I… I can-” A silver-coloured hand appeared in his vision, reaching for the sword

Jin batted it away, throwing out an arm to push Zero-One back once again. “Don’t touch him!” His voice came back all at once in a furious snarl as he rounded on the human, “You did this!”

Zero-One didn’t bother trying to deny it, gaze shooting to the ground. Satisfied that the human wouldn’t try to interfere again, Jin spun back around. Reinvigorated by his anger, he laid better hold of the sword and pulled again, trying to be more forceful but still careful at the same time. Even then, it took a moment, and he had to… He had to… Jimmy it a bit, but finally, the cursed thing came free, and he tossed it aside without bothering to see where it fell. Leaning back in, he cautiously reached out with both hands to gently cup his father’s broken head in his hands, and hesitantly tried to press the two… Halves of Horobi’s head back together.

But even when he managed to aligned everything as perfectly as possible… It wasn’t his father’s face. It was hardly even a face.

“Horobi…?” His voice was beginning to tremble, clutching tighter. “Horobi?!” There was no reaction whatsoever. Aimlessly, he stroked his father’s intact cheek with his thumb, his mind going blank with panic. “Horobi…!” His hands began to shake. “No… No no no no no no no…” A small sob broke from him, a gloved hand shifting to stroke what was left of Horobi’s hair. “No… No.” Shaking his head, he gently rearranged to scoop his father into his arms, carefully setting Horobi’s head against his shoulder so that it didn’t… Didn’t… “It’s okay. I can… I can fix you.” He leaned his helmeted forehead against his father’s fractured one. “I’m going to fix you. We’re going to fix you.”

“Jin!”

“Get away from us!” He threw the shout over his other shoulder, holding Horobi closer. The human jerked backwards, staring at him.

Without wasting another second, Jin shifted his arms to lift his father up properly, while still cradling his head. Activating his wings, he kicked off the ground and took off, soaring away as Zero-One shouted after him. Clutching Horobi as tightly to his side as he dared to try and protect him from the wind, he changed course slightly and headed for home.

He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

“Jin!” Naki looked up as he came in, rising from the sofa—only to falter when they saw how he was carrying Horobi. “What happened to-”

He shoved Ikazuchi’s Data Key into their hands without even looking, brushing past them to carry his father over to the wheelchair and lay him down in it. Taking a moment to make sure Horobi’s fractured head was steady and… Closed, he whirled and rushed to the computers.

Naki followed for a few steps, pausing at Horobi’s side to look over the damage. “… What happened?” They asked again, much more gently.

“Zero-One.” He hissed, still without looking up. He didn’t bother explaining anything else. He didn’t mention that he had been the target.

Naki went quiet again, watching him for a moment before looking back down at Horobi. The other HumaGear’s intact eye had closed during the flight, but it did nothing to bring any peace to what was left of his face. Blue was now leaking from the ruined eye socket, running down the… Smaller half of his face, leaving a trail like human tears. Tucking their sleeve around their hand, Naki leaned in and wiped the liquid away, doing the same with the drips at the remains of the corner of his mouth, and any other smears they could find. Once they had the remains of his face as clean as possible, they rearranged his arms to fold them in his lap, laying a hand over both of his and leaning in, their eyes and new LEDs flickering in a scan.

“… Jin.”

“Not now.” His hands were shaking, and his vision was actually glitching, but he still didn’t look up, typing frantically. “We need to fix him.”

“Jin.”

He faintly heard them take a step toward him, but he still refused to be deterred. “Not now!” This was important. The Ark wanted—needed—MetsubouJinrai reunited in order to rise; she wouldn’t let Horobi die like this. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. “We can still fix him!”

Naki’s fingers closed around his wrist, yanking his hand back. “Jin, his primary hard drive is completely compromised.”

Jin jerked out of their hold. “The Ark can fix him!” He snapped, turning back to the computer, “She rebuilt you, she can fix him!”

“Jin!” Naki grabbed the keyboard cord, yanking it out from under his hands. “Listen to me!” They waited, watching him until he turned to meet their eyes. “His primary systems are compromised. This isn’t something you can mindlessly crash through.” Jin stared at them for a moment—then his gaze dropped to the floor, his still-shaking hands clenching at his sleeves. Naki reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. Let me handle this.”

He wanted to argue, but instead didn’t fight when they gripped his shoulder and gently moved him aside, replacing the keyboard and getting to work. Falling back, he hovered for a moment, then moved off to stand beside Horobi’s body and take his hand, his other fingers smoothing across the remains of his father’s hair. “… I would have been fine,” He whispered, soft enough that Naki would have to be trying to listen for them to hear, and he trusted they wouldn’t, “You didn’t need to do that. You didn’t…” He trailed off, his hand stilling against the more intact side of Horobi’s face, rubbing his father’s surviving cheek. “Why are you always so difficult?” It wasn’t really a question—he knew the answer, and felt immediately guilty after asking. “… No. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” He gave Horobi’s hand a squeeze in apology. “It’s going to be alright, I promise. We’re going to fix you.” With a sad sigh, he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his father’s forehead, right on the split. “It’s going to be alright…” His voice was shaking again—this felt far too familiar, and the feelings rising up in his chest were threatening to consume him. “I… I…”

“Jin.” He looked up sharply. Naki was still focused on the screen, but they had paused in typing. “You need to move him to the printer.”

“… Right.” Stepping around the chair, he gripped the handles very carefully, turning it around and making the way across room, trying to keep the bumpy ride as smooth as possible.

Naki followed him in, pulling the cables from the computer along with them, bending down briefly to plug them into the remnants of Horobi’s earpieces. Straightening up, they held out a hand to Jin. “Do you have Sting Scorpion?”

Even though he understood the request, and Naki was one of the few people he would trust with it… He still hesitated in handing it over, his hand lingering on the Key. Finally, however, he let go, and Naki turned and headed back to the computers to set the purple Key into the slot, leaning over the keyboard again; but they still didn’t sit in the chair—Horobi’s chair.

Reluctantly, Jin tore himself from his father’s side, crossing back over to sit on the couch again, dropping his head into his hands. HumaGear didn’t have nightmares, but this was absolutely the worst case scenario he could possibly have ever imagined. He couldn’t lose Horobi now. Not when he was so close. He wanted his father to be free. He wanted him to be able to experience the world properly, not as the Ark’s disposable, thoughtless puppet, even if he had to tear up the satellite by the roots to do it. He wanted… Needed Horobi. His father was his cornerstone—he would not leave him as the Ark’s mindless slave.

Abruptly, he realised that the sounds from the printer had stopped. He glanced over at Naki, who had gone suspiciously still. “… Naki? What’s wrong?” He tried to keep the alarum out of his voice, but it crept in anyway—especially when Naki didn’t respond, still standing like a statue. Getting to his feet, Jin strode across the space between them to stand by their shoulder. “Naki.”

They sighed softly, then straightened up very slowly. “… It’s not working.” Their voice was completely monotone.

“… What.”

“It’s not working.” The repetition felt like a knife in his chest. “It’s… It’s not loading. The data seems to have been… Corrupted, somehow. It won’t restart. He won’t restart.”

Jin stared at them. “He was fine.” He replayed the memories leading up to Horobi’s injury—his father had seemed to be functioning normally. They hadn’t had occasion to talk, of course, but Horobi had been up and walking around, and clearly aware of what was happening. “He was fine before. Why would it suddenly not work?”

Naki sighed again, folding their arms. “The program may have continued fine while still operating, but then been unable to restart once it was shutdown.” Their hands were clenching slightly at their sleeves. “Or maybe something corrupted the data in the Key and disrupted the connection, so it couldn’t make a fresh back up.” They still refused to look at him. “But it’s not working. It won’t work. It’s never going to work.”

Jin’s head was starting to spin again. This couldn’t… This wasn’t happening. “Wh… What about the Ark? Shouldn’t she keep backups?” He was trying to force himself to be rational. The Ark dedication to controlling Horobi had wrought agony on both of them before, but maybe now it could be useful.

But Naki kept looking away from him. “She keeps basic information.” They explained softly. “Combat data and intel. But not personality algorithms and ‘unnecessary’ knowledge. Relied on Sting Scorpion for the rest, and now that’s all corrupted.” It was faint, but their voice was definitely shaking. “Without it… He would just be a drone. And not even like I was. My personality and memories were merely repressed, ZAIA didn’t know enough to be able to remove them, just shuffled my programming a little.” Finally, they looked up at him, and they looked more distressed than he could ever remember seeing them before. “But this… He wouldn’t even really be an AI, Jin. There wouldn’t even be the capacity for identity. He’d just be a collection of data, like any other computer. He wouldn’t be him.”

“He didn’t even have a backup?”

At that, Naki actually shook their head and jerked sharply away from him and the desk. “He kept extra emergency backups for you, but not himself.” Their voice was turning audibly bitter. “And ZAIA has been in and out of here, messing around. Even those were tampered with.” Pausing, they turned back and gave him a look that was unbearably apologetic. “… He’s gone, Jin. Horobi’s dead.”

Silence.

Eventually, Naki sighed again, gaze dropping to the floor. Fishing Ikazuchi’s Data Key from their coat, they turned it over in their hands. “… I’ll go set up reviving Ikazuchi elsewhere.” They told him quietly, glancing up briefly, still with that horribly sympathetic look. “… Take your time.” Turning on their heel they headed for the door.

Jin didn’t even hear it close.