At first, he thought the pain was normal. It'd been there from the moment he was activated. He didn't realize that that tiny little tweak, that itty bitty little anomaly, was a herald of greater problems to come. He'd not indicated that anything in his condition was subpar because to him, nothing was.
He didn't know. To him, pain was normal. A part of existing. A trade-off for being alive.
His first weeks were spent that way. They were quiet weeks without a lot of strain on his body. He was learning new things, every experience a first. He was filling his databanks with the wealth of knowledge the world had to offer, and his thirst for that knowledge was unquenchable.
And Dr. Light was so patient. He'd explain everything, sometimes thrice over, until both were satisfied that he understood. Occasionally, Dr. Light would write notes in one of his journals, or make a point to note something on the computer in his lab.
He was building a library of baseline data, he'd explained. "You, my boy, will be the template from which every one after you will be cut. The knowledge you gain will be their springboard."
It was engaging.
And that pain continued. It crept up on him so slowly he barely noticed it. The fatigue began when his days became longer and more strenuous, when his processors didn't need so much time offline to sort through his new experiences.
Nearly two months in and Dr. Light found him on the lab floor.
That was the second time he woke up on a lab table. The first time he'd been told what repairs meant.
Dr. Light's efforts didn't fully stave the pain off. It was still there, gnawing at him deep inside, in a place that couldn't be assuaged. But he didn't say anything.
He woke up on a lab table several times after that. Dr. Light's face went from quiet concern to an aggravation with himself to a concealed panic.
It was at that point that the Doctor realized something that his creation did not.
He didn't know if this was fixable.
Weak as his body was, his mind grew sharp and strong, as did his conviction. It was small things at first. Mild instances of disobedience. Finding better ways to complete tasks. Getting the mechaniloids to do it for him.
He never outright told Dr. Light "no". Instead, he adapted human body language, the same gestures he saw in the lawyers, accountants, and business people that came to visit. The same gestures he saw on TV, or on the street. He realized he could manipulate Dr. Light to say no for him. At least, sometimes.
The Doctor certainly seemed to enjoy telling those strange people to leave him be, at any rate.
The months wore on and his condition didn't get any better. He was prone to painful episodes, sometimes ones that'd force him to rest for days on end.
It was around then that Dr. Light bought him that piano. A distraction, something he could do while sitting and not exerting himself. He played it until the keys were worn.
Then Doctor Light brought another doctor over. Perhaps a second mind would have a better idea how to repair him? By now, he did not like the lab table, but he weathered the examination, the poking, the prodding.
His programming was an issue. The man didn't seem to care how strong-willed the robot was: in fact, he approved. But there were issues, errors. Here, and there, didn't Dr. Light see?
By the look on Light's face, he had. He didn't want that truth confirmed, though.
Because that programming composed of a large part of his personality matrix, his ethics protocols, and his action/reaction logic chains.
The programming that made him him was what was making him sick.
The two debated back and forth for hours, well past dinner. It was at that point that he realized that programming was something he should know. He should know what comprised himself. He should know how he worked. Maybe he could fix himself if he knew? Maybe he'd see something the Doctors didn't?
He didn't sleep that night. He passed out the following day.
He woke on that damn lab table again, though Dr. Light was relieved that it hadn't been a true episode. The other Doctor left that night, saying that unless Light was willing to act, there was nothing to be done.
He continued playing the piano and studying programming. He continued watching Dr. Light and learning how to act. He watched those people when they came to visit, and he began watching the Company's data. Monetary exchanges, emails, he had access to everything. His passcode into Dr. Light's system barred him from nothing.
That was the first time he'd ever been the administrator of anything. It only took one day, but he started by reorganizing all the directories into something neater and easier to navigate.
In doing so, he noticed something else. Discrepancies. Assets moved to places they shouldn't be, documents claiming one thing while six others contested it.
He hadn't understood it at the time, so he just watched.
He watched and he learned.
This was how he learned what crime was. He learned what theft meant and why someone may be compelled to do so. He learned what a violation felt like, even if it was Dr. Light that was being violated by this. Embezzlement. There was a word for it.
He didn't realize there was an approved course of action among humans for this. All he saw was a virus of sorts in the system, so he purged it by exposing it.
That was the first time he ever saw that kind of fear in Dr. Light's eyes. Looking back, he understood that even though Light was afraid of what he'd done, he was far more afraid of that implication. He'd been growing so quickly then, but his morals and ethics weren't fully developed. He hadn't been exposed to enough to make a reasonable decision. It had been Blues' fault, yet it hadn't.
What Light did next had been entirely Light's fault, however.
Panicked and desperately trying to protect both himself and this precious child, he made a decision he'd forever regret.
The Three Laws should never have been put into practice, but because of his one rash decision and his blind belief that it'd helped, he helped shape the imminent culling of all his children. All but one.
The Three Laws grated on Blues' systems like nothing he'd experienced before. Constantly interfering, constantly sending jabs that shouldn't have been painful, constantly bending his fingers back to force him to do as it told him. He'd been betrayed, hurt, sick to his stomach. He felt worthless, like a mistake, like he had nowhere to go, nowhere to belong. His fleeing Light had been the result of that shift. He couldn't survive there, caught between his programming and his suppressed will. He couldn't survive out here, either. He had a choice.
A blessed choice.
His last act should have been him deciding where he wanted to pass.
He'd learn to accept that that'd merely been the curtain closing on the first act in his life.
A/N:
Well, it's been quite a while since I've posted any sort of fanfiction. This story will consist of a collection of drabbles I wrote about Blues on Tumblr, a combination of prompts and requests. I have a nice backlog of a dozen or so, and I'll add on any additional that I'll write. As you can likely guess, I've basically fled Tumblr along with many other creators.
Many of these drabbles are rather short, but each does tell a complete story. I do want to keep this entry to just Blues, but if I begin writing for other characters, I'll figure out a separate thing to post.
Now, there's something I imagine many of you wish to ask me: the status of Redemption. It's been a long time, I know. I am still in contact with that co-author (Midnyght) and we are still very close friends, but the longer we spent midway through the next chapter and the more time passed, the more our writing style changed, as well as our characterization.
It pains me to leave it unfinished, but it may stay that way. Right now, Midnyght is dealing with prolonged real-life issues that make it very difficult for her to devote time to the things she enjoys, writing included.
So, for right now, I'm going to say that Redemption is discontinued, with no plans to rewrite. It's nearly 500,000 words. It's an absolute beast, and rewriting it wouldn't be the best use of our time.
That's not to say that Redemption isn't close to my heart. I didn't set out with Mids to leave such an impact on the fandom, but we clearly did. I absolutely adore every piece of feedback we receive for that story, concrit included. I love that even now, I'm still getting reviews and follow notifications in my inbox. I want my future stories to resonate with you too, but with a concrete ending rather than years of limbo for you all. I've been on that side of the fanfiction fence; I know how frustrating that can feel, so I'm truly grateful for everyone's patience in the interim.
Mids and I have a few other story ideas, some partially written, others outlined, but until she's in a place where she can do it, those won't be getting off the ground. I don't want to publish more partially written work for…obvious reasons. I'd much rather be able to give you guys something coherent and completed, something we can be proud of that you can also enjoy.
Which brings me back to these drabbles. I don't know where I'm going with this, or even if it'll be anywhere at all. I will say that if anyone has something they'd like to see, it doesn't hurt to ask in your reviews; I won't guarantee that I'll oblige, but if I see a particularly compelling idea, I may write into it.
And when Mids and I do get something written to a point of completion where we can say a full story arc is done…well, it'll be posted here.