Post by Goro Utari on Aug 21, 2019 21:22:18 GMT -4
Goro breathed a great sigh of relief as Izumi told him he’d said enough. Honestly, it felt like more than enough to him, far too much to leak out, and to burden someone else with. At the very back of his mind, his own voice whispered that it wouldn’t be a surprise if Izumi just gave up, and dumped him off the building at that very moment. That he’d deserve it. That he wouldn’t be able to recover with his wings in the state they were.
Of course, none of that happened. Instead, Izumi said it was his turn. Goro tilted his head ever so slightly in surprise, as the robot began discussing the technology that made him up. Information that Izumi had said he wouldn’t share with Goro, the last time they met. That he’d felt like he was even further from, earlier that night. That came as a shock, but what he was describing was even more so.
The Direct Neural Interface. Goro had heard very vague rumours about it being in development online, years ago, but it’d never been anything solid. It’d always seemed like nothing more than a ridiculous hoax, a stupid conspiracy theory, something hypothetical that optimistic fools were inventing stories about in a vain attempt to bend reality. He’d never dreamed of it being a reality, let alone that it’d be anywhere near his grasp.
And yet, as he heard Izumi out the rest of the way, Goro’s excitement soured. Combined knowledge? They’d share their memories, and thoughts? Izumi seemed concerned that his own mind would be lost to Goro’s, and he had to admit, he shared that fear. There was a lot he didn’t want Izumi knowing, not just confidential matters but more personal things. Every nightmare he’d had. Every time he’d woken up, horrified and expecting to still be impaled on Mother’s claws. How it felt to slip away from himself, to see his life flash before his eyes so long ago, when Nick had almost killed him. All his failures, all the punishments for said failures, all the pain he’s ever experienced in his life.
He couldn’t burden Izumi with all of that for even a moment, let alone risk scarring his mind for life with it. The benefits that would come with the use of the DNI were significant; there’d be no divide in their worldviews anymore, Izumi would understand him perfectly. But that wasn’t enough to justify subjecting him to the horror that was being Goro.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I… That I can bring myself to ask you to activate the DNI, either.” He said, after thinking for a long time. “I will be truthful to you as much as I am able without endangering my life further, but there’s information I know that would immediately risk your life by you learning it, and my life by my sharing it.” Was that a good excuse? He didn’t know. He wasn’t exactly lying, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
“I do appreciate that you would tell me about it, though. Don’t take my refusal as ignorance of how much sharing this means to you.” His voice was still quiet, and platitudes like that felt foreign on his tongue.
He raised his head, finally, and looked out over the nighttime Tokyo skyline. Through Izumi's visor, the view was crisp and sharp, undeterred by Goro's myopia. The clouds, which were nigh omnipresent above the city, were absent for the first time in what felt like forever. Beyond where they'd obscured, the moon stood proud above them, and the stars gathered around it. The cold of the twilight breeze that blew against their wings was shut out by Izumi's padding, but Goro could feel it dance across their plating all the same.
Silence returned to them once more, but Goro found it welcome this time. For once, his mind was quiet, not tormenting him with anxieties and past violence. The streets below were just as still; only one or two cars passing by at a lazy pace, rather than the bustle of usual. He was dimly aware that motorists were likely to notice them, but didn't give it a second thought.
When they return to the bed and breakfast, when Goro returns to his own hotel room, the magnitude of what he's shared tonight will surely sink in. But right now, he didn't care about any of that.
Right now, he was Nightmare.
Of course, none of that happened. Instead, Izumi said it was his turn. Goro tilted his head ever so slightly in surprise, as the robot began discussing the technology that made him up. Information that Izumi had said he wouldn’t share with Goro, the last time they met. That he’d felt like he was even further from, earlier that night. That came as a shock, but what he was describing was even more so.
The Direct Neural Interface. Goro had heard very vague rumours about it being in development online, years ago, but it’d never been anything solid. It’d always seemed like nothing more than a ridiculous hoax, a stupid conspiracy theory, something hypothetical that optimistic fools were inventing stories about in a vain attempt to bend reality. He’d never dreamed of it being a reality, let alone that it’d be anywhere near his grasp.
And yet, as he heard Izumi out the rest of the way, Goro’s excitement soured. Combined knowledge? They’d share their memories, and thoughts? Izumi seemed concerned that his own mind would be lost to Goro’s, and he had to admit, he shared that fear. There was a lot he didn’t want Izumi knowing, not just confidential matters but more personal things. Every nightmare he’d had. Every time he’d woken up, horrified and expecting to still be impaled on Mother’s claws. How it felt to slip away from himself, to see his life flash before his eyes so long ago, when Nick had almost killed him. All his failures, all the punishments for said failures, all the pain he’s ever experienced in his life.
He couldn’t burden Izumi with all of that for even a moment, let alone risk scarring his mind for life with it. The benefits that would come with the use of the DNI were significant; there’d be no divide in their worldviews anymore, Izumi would understand him perfectly. But that wasn’t enough to justify subjecting him to the horror that was being Goro.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I… That I can bring myself to ask you to activate the DNI, either.” He said, after thinking for a long time. “I will be truthful to you as much as I am able without endangering my life further, but there’s information I know that would immediately risk your life by you learning it, and my life by my sharing it.” Was that a good excuse? He didn’t know. He wasn’t exactly lying, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
“I do appreciate that you would tell me about it, though. Don’t take my refusal as ignorance of how much sharing this means to you.” His voice was still quiet, and platitudes like that felt foreign on his tongue.
He raised his head, finally, and looked out over the nighttime Tokyo skyline. Through Izumi's visor, the view was crisp and sharp, undeterred by Goro's myopia. The clouds, which were nigh omnipresent above the city, were absent for the first time in what felt like forever. Beyond where they'd obscured, the moon stood proud above them, and the stars gathered around it. The cold of the twilight breeze that blew against their wings was shut out by Izumi's padding, but Goro could feel it dance across their plating all the same.
Silence returned to them once more, but Goro found it welcome this time. For once, his mind was quiet, not tormenting him with anxieties and past violence. The streets below were just as still; only one or two cars passing by at a lazy pace, rather than the bustle of usual. He was dimly aware that motorists were likely to notice them, but didn't give it a second thought.
When they return to the bed and breakfast, when Goro returns to his own hotel room, the magnitude of what he's shared tonight will surely sink in. But right now, he didn't care about any of that.
Right now, he was Nightmare.
