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Memories - that's what Pythagoras calls them. “Well, S-Bear, they're records of one's experiences - a permanent storage of recorded data. Many would consider them an essential part of being a person!” He does not lift his gaze, his eyes affixed to the worktable littered with kaleidoscopic graphs and diagrams of inexplicable nature. “Who did you hear about this from, anyway?”
You ask if you could have memories.
“Hmm?” he grunts, now turned to face you. “You? No no no, I'm afraid such a thing is out of the question. It would be far too dangerous to grant something like you knowledge of past events. You may have some latent memories from your lineage factor, but there's not enough data to make conclusions. Now, if you wouldn't mind, please tell me how my response made you feel.” He pulls out a large sheet of paper littered with mad cyphers and inscriptions, concealing the charts he had been studying beneath its size. “It's just for the data sheets, you see.”
You think there is something—maybe someone—that you should remember. You have never had that thought before - the concept of 'should' or 'should not'. Perhaps you were defective.
You tell him that you feel nothing.
“Yes, of course… Say, while I have you here-” Pythagoras interjects, his large robot body rising to meet your height. “Why don't we do another test of your devil fruit abilities?”
You acquiesce, not knowing if this was the second or seventieth time you've done the same test.
You will never know.
“What do you want, S-Hawk?” Atlas asks, her fists swift like lightning as she spars with another one of her many holographic opponents. This kind of battle did not interest you - your belly hungered for a different kind of duel, although you knew not the reason. Desire was not something you were designed to possess.
You ask her the meaning of pride.
She smiles, her jabs growing faster as she responds. “Pride? That's an odd question for a cyborg like you to ask. Pride is knowing that you're good at something and making sure everyone else knows it too!” She knocks the hologram to the floor where it quickly flickers out of existence. She poses triumphantly, before cocking her head to meet your stare. “You sure you're not malfunctioning? I'd love an excuse to spar with ya' that won't get me in trouble.”
You ask her if having pride is bad.
“Hm? Bad?” she mutters, pondering the question for a moment. “No, it's not bad - it's a sign that you know what you're capable of and are willing to prove it. Everyone has pride, after all.” She slams her fist into a button on the wall, the hologram reconstituting itself. “Don't worry about it, it's nothing you need to know about. Now go away, you're bothering me.”
You do as you are told, leaping to a higher vantage point from which you can watch Punk-05 train. You are often told to make yourself disappear, and you always do as you're told.
That's what a machine does.
You approach Edison, his hands whirring as he works on another one of his overly-complex creations. You have tried before to understand what it is that he does exactly, but those attempts are always fruitless. He doesn't even notice you until you tap him on the shoulder, his small figure bounding into the air.
“Ah!” He exclaims as he lands on the floor. He quickly stands, turning to face you as he returns to his seat. “What is it, S-Crocodile?”
You ask him what the purpose of 'thinking' is.
“Thinkin'?” he replies, somewhat offended. “Oh, yes - you wouldn't know, would ya'?” As he speaks, his hands begin to blur as he focuses on tinkering with yet another inane contraption. “It's for plannin'; plannin' somethin' big or somethin' small, it don't really matter!”
You ask what good a plan is in the first place.
“A plan is everythin', um…” He pauses for a moment, looking you over. His hands quickly busy themselves once more, Punk-03 seemingly having remembered something. “A plan is everythin', boy! If ya' can't anticipate what the future holds, then you'll never get anywhere! Why, if ya' can't plan ahead, then you're really no better off than an anima- EUREKA!”
He jumps in his chair, interrupting his own sentence as his small arm struggles to push whatever he was working on off his desk. The mass of metal cracks into many small pieces upon impact with the floor, leaving nuts, bolts, and miscellaneous pieces of scrap metal all over the floor. “I've had a fantastic idea!” He grabs a piece of paper before beginning to fanatically scrawl what looked like machine plans for… something. “Get someone ta' clean that mess up, will ya'?”
You nod, kneeling down to pick up a piece from the ground. He turns to you, his eyes narrowing as he looks between your hand and your face.
"No, what-" he stutters, before turning back to his plans. “I woulda' used a broom, but whateva'!”
You stop, standing back up. You wonder how many other things you could do with one tenth of the brain power that robot possesses.
Wonder is all you can do.
“Ehhhh?” Lilith gasps, taking her eyes off of the Sea Beast Weapon she was currently repairing. "What do you mean you don't know what 'evil means', S-Flamingo?" She places down her wrench, turning on her knees to face you. “Well, it's quite simple! It's, um…”
She pauses for a moment, before pulling a square device be-speckled with buttons out of a pocket that was hidden… somewhere on her jumpsuit. “Hey, Shaka - you there?"
“Of course I am here." A smooth, monotone voice replies. “What is it you require?"
“Okay, cool, cool.” She says dismissively, her eyes narrowing as she whispers into the box. “What was it you said evil was again?” Before the voice on the other end can reply, she places one end of the box directly up to her ear, muffling the response to the point that all you can hear are vague noises that sound like speech.
“Yup, got it!” She replies, tucking the box away back into her pocket. She turns her attention back to you, smiling. “Yes, of course - evil! It's 'doing unto others things you would not have them do unto you'! Doing bad stuff to people who don't 'deserve it', or whatever.” Her hands form bunny ears as she mock quotes something she probably heard from the box. “I'm glad to see you taking interest in my designation, but I fail to see why you'd care.”
You ask her what makes someone deserving of bad things to happen to them.
“Oh, I don't know!” She replies, shrugging. “I don't actually believe any of that garbage Shaka says, but he gets mad if I don't consult him first before I tell you guys anything.” She picks up the wrench, before getting back to work. “Way I see it, the only thing that determines right or wrong is your strength - bad things don't happen to strong people, after all! Now, pass me whatever lug nuts are sitting around.”
She reaches out her hand expectantly. You grab a handful of lug nuts before dropping them into her hand. She balls her fist together, giving you a thumbs up before returning to her work.
You don't react, instead opting to stand and leave the scientist to her work. You wonder what made her feel so familiar…
You don't think it was anything good.
“Hmrh?” York snorts, her eyes slowly opening as she stretches. “What is it, S-Gecko? Can't you bother someone else? I'm busy… sleeping…”
You ask her why she sleeps all the time when she's one of the smartest people on the planet.
“'s easier, kid…” She mumbles, scratching her stomach. “Why work when y'can just get everyone else ta' do the work for ya?” She yawns, before rolling over onto her side. “Now go away, you're cutting into my beauty sleep. Go bother someone else…”
You do not stand, instead opting to take a seat beside the woman. You find her behaviour to be highly illogical, yet you can't bring yourself to disagree with her.
Perhaps if you lay down for a moment, you can understand.
“What was that, S-Snake, dear?” Shaka asked, bending down to your level. “Can you repeat the question?”
You repeat your question, asking the tall man what a feeling is.
“A feeling?” he repeats to himself, as if to let the question culture and grow within his mind. “It's a chemical reaction within your mind that occurs based on how you react to certain stimuli.” He does not remove his gaze as he explains, although he does rise to his feet. “Does that make sense?”
You ask him what makes a feeling 'good'.
“Good? Oh, have you been talking to Lilith again?” He sighs, taking a box out of his pocket. Although he steps out of the room, you can still hear vague sounds of conversing.
After a few moments, he returns. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, slipping the same box device back into his pocket. “Anyway, about your question… a feeling is 'good' when you like the way it 'feels'. Rather, it's when something doesn't feel 'bad' that it feels good.” He takes a moment to collect himself, seemingly unable to succinctly explain the concept. “It's nothing you should be worried about, okay?” He ruffles your hair, before shooing you away. “Now go on, I've got things I must attend to.”
You exit his office, although you remain near the doorway. You think you know what a feeling is, but you're not sure if you're able to tell 'good' feelings and 'bad' feelings apart.
Maybe they are one and the same.
“S-Shark, there you are!” Stella exclaims, screens of technicolour splendour intermittently bathing the room as sunlight does a tidal pool at dawn.
A human might have described it with adjectives like “beautiful” or “amazing”, but you knew nothing about such experiences. Those alien considerations of aesthetics proved an obvious gap in your knowledge; a void which tore at your ersatz soul. You had to know.
You open your mouth to speak, but you are impeded by Stella's hand firmly raised towards you. “Hold on one moment,” he commands, taking a few steps towards you. “Before you speak, I have a question for you.” The screens behind him flash white before slowly merging to form an image of you, although… it was wrong. Your wings atrophied, your flame extinguished. An overgrowth of blue scales suffocated your umber skin, a pair of gills an intruder on his face, your face.
“Tell me, S-Shark…” Stella booms, his posture changing to that of a dominant, commanding leader. “Do you recognize this person?”
You feel your body begin to tremble, the mechanized sinew and musculature powerless in comparison to the primal terror—at least, you imagine this to be analogous to fear—that made your viridian blood run cold.
You tell Stella that you have never seen the man before, but… you aren't sure if that's the truth.
“Interesting.” Stella mutters, as the screens flicker one by one until they all display nothing but darkness. “Very interesting.” He turns towards the screens, scrutinizing his own reflection. “That will be all, S-Shark. You are dismissed.”
You nod, quickly taking your leave. As you exit the room, Stella turns to his computers. “Interesting response - it seems it's unable to reconcile the existence of its original counterpart with its own…”
You take a seat in your room, the air cool and sterile as you begin to think. What… was that? They were like you, but all wrong. Every question you had intended to ask the doctor were obliterated in an instant, a new question synthesized from their remains.
“Who am I?”