Objectification
He sat quietly in the Resistance headquarters, staring stoically across the raised platform at the chalkboard. Drawn across it in white lines were a series of graphs that Xenon's circuit's managed to register as having to do with the Blackwings. Bright blue eyes shifted their gaze around the room, focusing in on the individuals scattered around the hidden dwelling; every seat was full except for three. One he registered as being the seat of the jaguar tamer Belle, currently stricken with illness. The other two empty seats….Xenon could not quite compute the reasoning for their emptiness. Everyone he was familiar with in the Resistance was at this meeting but it was clear that a certain amount of chairs had been prepared—and Claudine did not just let any fool wander in and join. That was too hazardous.
This was his first formal 'meeting' with the Resistance, though. Xenon did not know if he could quite be a proper judge of such matters yet.
"…And that's our plan for agreements with the Alliance." Claudine's sharp, crisp tone finished off her speech. Contempt was clear in the woman's tone as her nails dug into the wooden handle of the cane she was using to direct the meeting. The android was well aware that his ally had much hatred that she directed towards the Alliance; he had figured out swiftly that it was because said Alliance was directed by the Knights of Cygnus, whom the Resistance had tangled negatively with in the past.
Xenon simply kept a solemn expression. The petty battle that was present there…it was not his business, he supposed. He had more important directives.
And yet I am so filled with questions.
Is this the nature of the human emotion?
Xenon was pushed out of his thoughtful trance by a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot upwards to look at his brunette haired ally, who was shaking her head slowly at him. "Xenon. The meeting…it ended. You can leave now, if you want?"
The android looked up; indeed, Claudine was telling him nothing but the simple truth. The members of the Resistance had begun to filter out of the room at regular intervals, as to not attract suspicion to their entryway pipe. For the most part, though, the room was completely barren now besides Brighton, Checky, Claudine, and Xenon himself. The android was a bit put off at his sudden lack of attention—it wasn't as if he had dozed off or anything (as if he were even capable of such a thing) but he was well aware that paying attention should have been his directive during that meeting.
"My apologies. I got distracted." The android mumbled. Claudine shook her head.
"It's fine. It was your first meeting with the Resistance. It can be kind of a lot to take in for a first timer." She replied gently. He merely stared out at the chairs for a moment longer.
"Claudine."
"Yes?"
"There were a total of fifty chairs placed out for tonight's meeting. Only forty seven individuals came to the event, one of which the instructors were informed ahead of time would be sick." Xenon began. Claudine cocked an eyebrow. "There were two individuals tonight who simply…were not here. On top of that, when I looked over the room, I saw everyone who I have been introduced to thus far. Who was missing?"
"…Ah. I see." Claudine chuckled lightly—Xenon's question, though asked in a very needlessly complicated way, was in actuality very childlike. "Since you arrived, some of our agents are out on duties around the world. Much like you, they've found that they are much more useful to the Resistance when…away from the Resistance. They occasionally return home but not often enough to attend every single meeting that we have."
"You speak of them as if they are a specific."
"They are." Brighton grunted gruffly; the callous man was squatted down near the stairway up to the center platform, buffing up his weapon. "They're fine students. But they're both idiots. And Claudine, you're being too nice to them—they're here now, downstairs, and you allowed them to not attend the meeting anyhow."
"They are here? In this complex?" Xenon asked curiously.
"Yes, and usually they would be training with Belle if she weren't sick right now. She's fond of battling with them." Claudine said. Xenon studied the woman carefully, taking in the slight smile on her face and then the annoyed scowl on Brighton's lips. "Pay no attention to this one over here, by the way. He won't say it to his face, or to anyone else, but Luka is his best student and he knows it. We all do. Even if Luka is a lunkhead."
"I said no such—"
"Luka. So one of them is a mage, of Brighton's variety." Xenon repeated the name. His eyes glittered with code. "The other?"
"You really are a curious one, aren't you?" Brighton snorted, and jabbed a thumb in Checky's direction. The bear-man paid them no mind and continued about his own work. "The other one is Checky's student. Obsessed with machines, and will do anything to be around them and tinker with them. Checky made the mechs that we work with but AIDAN is always making modifications to them. He helped ramp the clunkers up from version 1.0 to the version that our mechanics currently work with."
"I see. A skilled mechanic, then. Aidan." Xenon filtered the second name away for further use, as well as the minimal information he had been treated to—a pair of males, each serving under their own unique trades and interests, and known for being the best at their trade. It wasn't much but Xenon had noted that communication was easier with people if knowledge was possessed about their interests. So if he ever had to run into these two individuals, he would at least be somewhat prepared.
…He figured, anyways.
A large explosion and a hole being punched through the wall on their left interrupted that train of thought, though.
Xenon immediately jumped backwards, revving up his jets to clear away the smoke and debris that had accumulated from the falling wall. His right arm shot forward in an aggressive gesture, with a missile hanging out from under the elbow joint—the android was prepared to fire at this new intruder. His electronic eyes focused pointedly on the crumbling wall and the three figures that emerged from it—his programming only identified two of them as actually organic, the other being a clunky large vehicle shaped like an overbuilt man. One leg of the machine was broken off and the rider had fallen out next to the other organic being.
Xenon scanned the organics quickly; a white haired boy with headphones and bright red eyes (very unusual for an organic, he noted) and another boy with brilliant red hair and bright golden eyes. A pair of goggles were strapped across the redhead's face, and with a cough the boy moved it out of his face—then quickly scrambled back at the sight of a missile launcher directed in his face. A natural default reaction for an organic, as was the redhead's next action of raising his weapon; Xenon simply slapped the wand out of the boy's hands with a quick snap of his sword-whip.
The other organic had an odd reaction.
He chuckled.
"How interesting."
And, quickly, the white haired one reached across Xenon's arm and under the elbow joint. The android jerked backwards a bit, prepping to fire and not listening to the protests behind him, but he balked at the loosening sensation on his joint. His blue eyes watched in shock as the lower half of his arm simply toppled to the ground with the missile launcher rendered useless; in its place, an array of loose circuits could be seen. The android stared at the joint for a moment with his mouth hanging open. Then, Xenon's eyes directed to the white haired boy's hand; he was spinning a tool in it as he focused his attention away from the android.
A wrench.
"Checky, what is this thing? Is it the android you told me about?" The white haired teen exclaimed excitedly, picking up the arm and missile launcher to examine the now visible circuitry. "This is amazing technology. I'm sorry I couldn't come back sooner. I was pretty busy over in Ereve."
"Please give me back my arm." Xenon said steadily. The boy looked up curiously, then laughed jovially.
"Oh, I'll be damned! It talks too!" The white haired boy slapped his upper leg, as if he was amused; Xenon could only watch in awkward confusion. What was this…thing he was watching? Why was no one angry? Was he a Blackwing? If he wasn't, why had he broken down the wall? What was going on? "That's amazing. But something tells me you didn't exactly magic this up on your own, Checky. What's up with this thing?"
"Thin—" Xenon began, but Claudine interrupted him sharply.
"This is Xenon, Aidan. He's an ol….he's Blackwings technology, in a way. Gelimer manufactured him via the combined use of machinery and alchemy." Claudine said, cutting herself off as the android sent her a look. "Xenon, these two are Aidan and Luka. Aidan is Checky's top mechanic student and helps him with most of the upgrades on the fighting mechs. Luka is Brighton's student and one of our most valued spies."
"Nice to meet you." Aidan said cheekily, extending a hand. The android did not take it, instead choosing to roughly shake the hand of the redhead standing next to the other boy. The action didn't seem to faze the mechanic at all; the broad, arrogant smile seemed to stay permanently pasted onto his face. "Sorry about the wall. Luka and I were have a practice match and it looks like things went a little too far. I'll have some of the minibots fix it up for you tonight, Claudine."
"See that you do. And see that next time, you don't knock down my wall." Claudine groaned. "Somehow you two ALWAYS manage to do this every time you show up back at this headquarters. Sometimes I think you two do more damage to this place than the actual enemy does."
"Yeah, but you keep us around because we're just so good at what we do." Aidan supplied an answer to the unasked questioned and his leader provided him with an annoyed look. She received naught by a cheeky grin as the mechanic grabbed Xenon by his remaining upper arm; the robot's eyes widened considerably at the sudden contact as the other boy dragged him over to the platform and laid him down on his side.
"What do you think you are doing." Xenon said steadily. Aidan waved the loose arm in the android's face.
"Reattaching this. I'm sure you have plenty of use outside of just a missile launching arm but I'm also sure the Resistance would rather you be fully functional." Aidan said bluntly as he matched up the cords that had undone themselves. With practiced ease he clipped the lower arm back on and the missile launcher folder back into the skin cover; Xenon stretched the appendage slightly to test it. It seemed to work fine…
"I did not expect anyone to be able to handle Gelimer's work."
"Please. Don't flatter. I couldn't build and object like you, but fixing it isn't any trouble at all." Aidan yawned, stretched out. He ignored the hardened glare that the android was now sending at him. "Sorry about that, by the way. I just figured it was the easiest way to avoid getting a missile to the face."
"I am not an object."
"Hmm?" Aidan gave a curious smile to the robot, as if daring Xenon to continue.
"I am not…an object." The android said steadily, tone firm. Aidan stared at the machine for a moment, then smiled softly….deceptively.
"…Sure. You don't think you are. You're programmed to not think you are. I can tell from your expressions and your attitude that you've been given a basic behavior modulation chip, that mimics emotions and human behavior. It's very popular in theories regarding android mechanics, though I've never seen one in motion." Aidan replied, his eyes lidded as his lips curved into a smarmy smile. Claudine's eyes darted between the mechanic and the machine—she looked ready to step in between the two at any given time but Checky had his hand on her shoulder. "You receive emotion, and your programming translates it, and then your programming tells you how to feel. But beyond that, you are an object—a machine made for a purpose. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a fancier version of my mech."
But that's not how my emotions work.
I don't understand my emotions.
If it's just my programming, then why…
…why do I not always understand these things that I feel?
"Because I'm not an object." Xenon whispered morosely. The mechanic chuckled and patted the android on the head.
"Alright. You believe that. Good luck with your arm. It should be fully functional by now." Aidan replied as he stood up, wiping droplets of oil off onto his shirt. Xenon's hands balled up into fists against his black legging, his blue eyes concentrating on the patterns traced across his suit. "Claudine, I'll be around for this month. I want to work on updates on my mech using Checky's lab. I have some new stuff that I picked up from—"
"I am not an object." Xenon hissed through gritted teeth, interrupting the white haired mechanic and rising to his feet. Red eyes immediately diverted to the android; the smarmy grin had been replaced by an uninterested expression of annoyance. Xenon poked a finger into the other boy's chest defiantly. "And I will prove it to you."
"…Fine. You have fun with that. I have work to do. Luka, come on, let's spar again. I think I might need to recalibrate the left arm cannon." Aidan snorted hair out of his face, turning on his heel to exit through the hole he and his friend had created. The redhead cast a second glance back at the robot but followed after his friend. Thus, Xenon was left standing in the Resistance main hall with the three instructors.
"…Xenon…" Claudine lightly grasped the android's arm. "Don't let him bother you. If…if he knew, then he wouldn't be making these kind of claims. You're not an object, you're just like me and Brighton and Checky—"
"And I do not need a sob story to prove it." Xenon interrupted swiftly. Claudine stepped back slightly to examine her friend. "What makes me not an object…is my conscious, my perchance to feel emotions and freely make my own decisions. That is what allows me to prove what I am, not what happened in my past. What I am now, not what I was then."
"…You intend to prove your point to Aidan."
"Yes."
…Very well. I won't stop you. But he's stubborn when it comes to his mechanics. I'll warn you of that, at the very least." Claudine sighed.
The leader hadn't lied. Aidan proved to be entirely unwilling to listen to what Xenon had to say about emotions—the android was told his personality was simply a product of programming, and nothing more. Weeks went past were a certain animosity was built up between the mechanic and the machine. Aidan began to tire of listening and Xenon began to tire of having to prove his existence to someone who wasn't going to listen to him. Many times, the android was told to give up.
Why haven't you?
I do not know. It is important to me.
To prove to him that you are real, that you have emotions? That you are angry at him for treating you like you have no right but the right to be an object?
Or are you upset at being told that your personality boils down to programming, what you have been told to do and be? That you will never be anything more than what Gelimer told you to be?
What you have been told to do and be…by Gelimer.
"If I am nothing more than Gelimer's personality, engineered into a chip, then why do I frequently disobey his wishes and fight against him?"
It was a brisk afternoon outside, but deep inside the Resistance base it was dark and damp—especially down here in Checky's lab, full of machine parts. This lab had always made Xenon feel a slight bit uncomfortable. But he had come down here today anyways, on the last day that Aidan and Luka would be in town, to speak to the mechanic and try to reason with the other boy for the last time. The white haired boy looked up from the circuit chip in his hands with bemused red eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"You stated…that my personality is nothing but a program made to please and serve my creators. But that program…has done nothing but disadvantage and hurt my creator, Gelimer." Xenon said as he sat down next to the white haired boy. "I will consent that there is programming within me…but I will not consent that all emotion is controlled by me, for it my emotion and my emotion alone that told me to betray my programming and my creator. It is my emotion and need to find my memory that told me to do the opposite of what Gelimer, the man who made my programming, said."
"…And yet you have stated you have difficulty understanding human customs and emotions. You said this to me yourself." Aidan said quietly, tinkering with the casing of his mech. Xenon closed his eyes quietly; he had indeed disclosed this information to the white haired mechanic in a particularly heated discussion on Xenon's status as an object. "Why is this so?"
"…For the majority of the time I have been active, Gelimer had me wear a headset that gave him a certain amount of control over me." Xenon admitted. The white haired mechanic twitched a bit. "It repressed those things—understanding of human customs, and understanding of human emotions, because Gelimer does not seem to want the Xenoroids to be hampered down by such things. Gelimer does not want us to have emotions, yet we do."
"Wait." Aidan held up his hand but didn't look at the other. "Your creator…he purposely tried to program you to be without emotions?"
"Yes."
"But you clearly possess them."
"Yes."
"Can I see your personality chip?"
"I do not know where it is."
Aidan looked shocked now. "But—"
"I do not have it, I believe. I simply became a personality. It's from what I absorbed around me, the people I met, and the customs I saw. And the emotions I encountered. Emotions that I later learned were longing, and hope, and other such things." Xenon vaguely recounted—he was not interested in getting too specific about his journey around Maple, especially not with this mechanic. "I felt these things…and Gelimer did not want me to."
"Emotions…even though you weren't intended to."
"Yes." Xenon's eyes flashed brightly. "Because I am not an object. I live."
"…I'm not sure what you are. Some sort of marvel of bioengineering, and machinery, and alchemy…something that hasn't ever been seen before. I'm not sure what Gelimer even did to produce something like you but…" Aidan hesitated. "For you to learn like that, as well as be prompted with emotions like that…it's entirely possible, yes. That you're not just an object, I mean."
"You will not say more?"
"Hey, I'm a pseudo-scientist, I guess." Aidan snorted derisively. "We don't like saying we're wrong. We like saying that something went wrong in our experiments. Y'know?"
"Ah…"
"You seem to be more than object, Xenon." Aidan interrupted. "I don't know what, but…it's very interesting, to say the least. A combination of metal and emotion, pure power and the beginning blossoms of emotions. It's unique, to say the least. If I ever have the chance to drop by again, I'd like to talk to you some more. To study you, I guess. If that would be okay with you, of course…seeing as I'm pretty much admitting you're a living thing and not an object, I'd kind of need your permission to do stuff to you now."
"Ah…well, talking is fine." Xenon replied simply, for once lost for words.
"Yeah? Alright. Talking is fine."
For that is something a living, breathing creature can do.
Speak, be, live, and feel.
For I am not an object.