"I don't like you being involved with this."

Doctor Hikari glanced up at the sound of his wife's voice. For a moment, his eyes strained as he tried to see her from across the room; the area was lit only by a dim, blue glow from the specialized lights on the walls. Once he'd managed to focus enough to make out her form hovering in the doorway, he sighed—a long, deep sigh that spoke an eternity of his mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion.

"Haruka," he said, smiling weakly over his shoulder. His voice was rough and low. "Hi."

Haruka shivered slightly and took a few steps further into the lab, her long brown hair brushing lightly against her cheeks. "You did hear me, right?"

"I heard."

Haruka tightened her lips and took a long look around the room. Her warm, cinnamon-colored eyes reflected the objects around her as she gazed about—the lights, the cluttered workbenches that lined all four of the walls, and the rows of sophisticated desks and control panels scattered throughout the space. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the large, clear glass cylinder that stood in the center of the floor. Inside, a few tiny bits of shapeless, iridescent light spiraled around hypnotically.

"Remind me again why you keep it so dark in here?" she asked.

"The electromagnetic energy interferes with the experiments," he said. "I can only use a certain frequency of light, and only at low power."

"The experiment, you mean. ...Experiment, as in singular." Haruka turned her eyes back to her husband.

Doctor Hikari grimaced. He knew what he must look like—brown hair unkempt, cheeks rough with stubble, white lab coat rumpled and hanging crookedly over more rumpled clothes. He probably had dark shadows beneath his eyes, too, though it would be difficult to see them in this light. A little uncomfortably, he straightened his glasses, looking back down at his notes and the small array of miniature holographic displays sitting next to them.

Haruka's gaze continued to linger on him even after he had turned away. "I don't want you involved in this," she repeated, in a softer voice.

Doctor Hikari closed his eyes. Amazing, how piercing a sweet voice like hers could be.

Light footsteps from behind let him know that Haruka had walked forward and was now standing directly behind his chair. A gentle hand reached out and rested itself on his shoulder, tenderly pausing there a moment before it began to move across his back, massaging his tight, aching muscles.

"When are you going to come home?" Haruka asked. "You do know what time it is, don't you?"

Doctor Hikari shook his head, his eyes still closed. "I hit another dead end today. I can't leave until I figure out some other possibility that might actually stand a chance."

"You need sleep."

"I'll come home soon. I promise."

Haruka tried another tactic. Her voice was still soft, but now it had a new edge of solemnity to it that hadn't been there before. "Netto and Saito missed you today."

Doctor Hikari hesitated, guilt flooding through his insides. He hadn't seen the boys even once today. He hadn't seen them much at all, over the last few weeks. "How are they doing?"

"Fine. As well as could be expected, anyway, for our own little troublemaking twin tornadoes. I asked one of the neighbors to watch them while I came to pick you up." Her hand slowed its soothing motion across Doctor Hikari's back, and then came to rest near the base of his neck. "They're only seven, Yuichiro," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "They need their dad."

The words, spoken gently, wrapped themselves around Yuichiro's heart like cords of iron. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, staring ahead into the darkness. There was still so much work to be done. So much work, and possibly too much. It made his temples ache just to think about it, and he didn't dare to imagine what would happen if he failed. How could he possibly afford to waste even one of his precious, limited seconds?

But still…

He took a long, deep breath that was almost a sigh, and turned to look his wife in the eyes. "Let me make a few last notes and set everything up for tomorrow. It won't take more than a couple minutes, and then we'll go out to the car."

Haruka smiled briefly, a tired sort of relief filling her eyes. She stepped back as Doctor Hikari pushed his chair away from his desk and moved over to one of the room's many control panels in order to shut down some of the equipment. Her eyes continued to watch him as his hands flew deftly across the keyboard, but after a moment, her gaze shifted once again to the cylinder in the center of the room.

"Is that it?" she asked, her voice filled with a hesitant kind of wonder. "Is that… him?"

"Not yet," he said, looking up at the spiraling bits of light. "…And if things keep going the way they're going, then it won't be anything for a while."

Haruka's gaze hardened, moving back to Doctor Hikari. "I don't like this, Yuichiro. I really, really don't like this."

A mild sort of confusion crept into Doctor Hikari's mind, like a cat treading intently over a polished, wooden floor. Haruka's voice had been unusually stern.

"I'm sorry," he said, flicking his eyes in Haruka's direction without turning his head. His heart twisted under the weight of the iron cords still fastened there. "I promise I'm trying to be there for you and the kids, but things have just—…"

"This isn't about the boys," Haruka interrupted, the stiff lines of worry and subtle anger appearing in her eyes and face. "...And this isn't about me. It's about your experiment, Yuu—it's dangerous! You're messing around with things that ought to be left alone!"

Doctor Hikari stopped in the middle of reconfirming the "pause experiment" command code for the main computer. "I'm what?"

Haruka started to say something, but looked away awkwardly instead, her neck and shoulders tight with stress.

"I don't like this," she muttered again.

"We've established that," Doctor Hikari said quietly. He studied her for a moment before continuing, letting one arm fall back to his side. "You're holding back, aren't you? You have been for a while."

Haruka fidgeted for a moment, avoiding his gaze. "I don't… Never mind. Just finish things up so that we can go ho—…"

"Answer, Haruka," Doctor Hikari said, cutting her off. For the first time that evening, he set his jaw and straightened his back, looking ahead with a severity that he almost never used.

Haruka paused, looking up. Her cheeks flushed so deeply that the change in color was noticeable even in the dim light. When she spoke, her voice started out low, but it rose in volume as she continued, gathering heat like a flame spreading over a log. "You want me to answer?" she said. "You want the truth? Fine. Fine! I'll tell you the truth! You've gone crazy, Yuichiro! You're obsessed, and you're turning into something that's starting to scare me! This stupid project of yours—it's eating away your life, and it's something that neither you nor anyone else should have ever even considered laying a finger on! What in the world are you thinking?"

Doctor Hikari's throat felt tight, and a strange, hollow sensation was spreading throughout his chest. "I'll admit I'm obsessed," he said slowly, struggling to keep his voice calm. "…But I don't understand. Why does this particular project make me insane?"

"It's human life, Yuichiro!" Haruka cried. "Do you understand that? Human life! You're not just manipulating data, or toying around with programming. You're creating an actual, living… thing! Like Frankenstein in his lab! What on earth could possibly have driven you to start a project like this?"

Doctor Hikari stared. His total shock must have registered on his face, because the angry gleam in Haruka's eyes soon faded into a look of confusion, sorrow, and honest pity. Still blushing, she looked down at the floor, twining her hands together silently as she waited for his response.

"Like Frankenstein," he muttered under his breath. If that was what Haruka thought, then he had failed entirely—not just as a scientist, but as a husband, as well. Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward and moved over next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a soft embrace. For one brief instant, Haruka hesitated, but she soon closed her eyes and accepted the gesture, melting into his chest.

"I'm surprised that you waited this long to say something," Doctor Hikari said.

Haruka sighed. "I trusted you. I still do. I figured that there had to be something I was missing… but…"

"…But I was so wrapped up in my own work that somehow, I forgot to explain," Doctor Hikari finished. He closed his eyes in self-disgust. He ran one hand through Haruka's silk-soft hair, taking comfort in her warmth and in the fact that apparently, he had married the most patient woman in the entire world.

"How much have I told you about this experiment?" Doctor Hikari asked. He honestly didn't know.

"Not much," Haruka said. "I know you're making a netnavi, and that you're trying to make it come to life, with feelings and a mind of its own, and…" she paused, her voice growing quieter. "…and a soul. A human spirit."

Doctor Hikari nodded, his heart twisting at the uncertainty in Haruka's voice. "Do you know why?"

Haruka frowned. "You were upset about something. It had to do with netnavi manufacturing, or… or something like that."

Taking a step back, Doctor Hikari rested his hands on Haruka's shoulders. "You've been in the dark long enough," he said, gesturing to his right with a jerk of his head. "Come over here, and I'll explain everything."

He guided her over to a small, freestanding control panel that was almost directly in front of the mysterious cylinder. There were three or four professional-looking chairs on either side of the panel, but the space in front of it was empty for several yards.

"And this is…?" Haruka said, eyeing the panel with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

"The controls to one of my larger holographic projectors," he said. "So long as we have it, I thought that we could use a visual aid." He turned a dial and flicked his fingers over series of buttons on the touchscreen, and in a matter of seconds, a beam of blue-green light shot down from the ceiling and the life-sized image of a humanoid figure appeared in front of them.

"I'll start off by asking you an easy question," Doctor Hikari said. "What is this a picture of?"

"A netnavi," Haruka replied.

"What kind of netnavi?"

"I don't know, it's…" Haruka paused, studying the image. It looked almost like a human dressed in the odd combination of a sleek, grey jumpsuit and a rounded helmet, but it was smoother and simpler, with bolder lines, neater angles, and strangely-colored skin. …And there was something about the eyes, which were a single, solid color—those eyes were obviously lifeless, making the image appear more like a statue than anything else. "It's a regular, standard model," she finished. "No fancy gadgets, no special features. I'd say that it's probably pretty old."

"The first model of netnavi ever made," Doctor Hikari confirmed. "A type NOR-3-M7, also known as a 'normal navi,' or 'normnav,' for short. They were made at about the same time that the World Cyber Network was invented. As you know, the Network is an enormous cyberspace that exists alongside our physical world, linking most of today's electronics together in a way that is simple, reliable, and extremely convenient."

Haruka nodded. "If something's wrong with an appliance, then all you have to do is take a look at the cyberworld in that area, and you can fix the problem in a heartbeat."

"That's how it works when we have netnavis to help us, anyway," Doctor Hikari corrected. "…Which is why they were invented. Each of them was programmed to serve as a sort of bridge between our world and the cyberworld—that way, you can use the Net to your full advantage without learning how to manipulate raw data with your mind.

" …Now," he continued, turning back to the control panel and pressing a couple more keys. "Can you tell me what this is?" Another, similar image appeared to replace the first one. The projection was still that of a lone figure dressed in a jumpsuit, but this time, the clothing was more brightly colored and the proportions were a bit more accurate. The biggest difference was that while the normnav had been gender neutral, this one was obviously supposed to look like a girl.

"It's a custom netnavi," Haruka answered promptly. "Though it's less elaborate than most."

"That's right. It seems like a pretty obvious step up from the normnav, doesn't it? Same basic purpose, but a little better looking with a couple of extra features. By the time these were made, navis were being used for more specialized tasks—operating a certain type of computer system, or defending against viruses, for example. Naturally, the navis themselves were given some specialized improvements to fit the different jobs."

"Makes sense," Haruka agreed.

Doctor Hikari turned back to the control panel, intending to input the command that would take them on to the next image in line. When he raised his hand, however, he hesitated, clenching his fist so tightly that his nails bit into his palm. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, and he found that he was fighting the urge to pace.

"Are you alright?" Haruka asked after he stood there for several seconds without moving.

Doctor Hikari swallowed before answering. "I'm fine." Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to open his hand and punch the new command into the touchscreen.

The hologram flickered, and Doctor Hikari watched as a third image came up to replace the previous one—another netnavi, similar to the last but more detailed. This time, the jumpsuit sported a sleek-looking design on the front, and the netnavi's proportions, stance, and facial expression made it seem far more lifelike than either of the others. The eyes, too, had been altered to look more realistic, though there was still something plasticky and fake about them.

"What can you tell me about this image?"

"Another generation of netnavi. These ones are more common nowadays; I think that mine is one of this model."

"Right again." Doctor Hikari's mouth tightened. "Now, what differences do you think there are between this one and the last one, programming-wise?"

"Programming-wise?" Haruka blinked. "Well… not too long ago, everyone started using this kind of navi, and since personalizing them was part of the fun, I guess they're even more specialized now than they—…"

"Still right," Doctor Hikari said, cutting her off, "…but missing the point." There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he turned away from the projector in agitation, unable to hold still any longer. He snapped his fingers, massaged his hands, folded and unfolded his arms, and fidgeted with the sleeves of his lab coat. It took a good amount of willpower for him to resist the urge to go back to his notes and read through them yet again.

"Yuichiro?" Haruka said, sounding concerned. She took a small, worried step toward him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, his voice rough. "Now think, Haruka. There was one major difference between this style of navi and the last one—something that the designers did to make them more marketable and appealing. What was it?"

Haruka thought for a moment, turning back to look at the hologram. All at once, something clicked, and she turned back to him with narrowed, hesitant eyes. "The enhanced 'user interaction,'" she said. "The designers improved their artificial intelligence so that it seemed like they almost had personalities. They're polite, obedient, patient… And one or two of them was programmed a little deeper, with a sense of humor or a sense of honor."

"Bingo." Doctor Hikari closed his eyes and forced his hands to be still. Turning back to the control panel for one last time, he selected a hologram and brought it up on the projector. Even before he had completely finished entering the command, however, he began to step away, turning his back so that he wouldn't have to see the final image. He knew what he would find, and couldn't bring himself to look. If he saw it now, he knew that he would be unable to make himself do anything but continue work on his experiment.

Beside him, Haruka caught her breath as she gazed up at the image. Her face was pale as chalk, and Doctor Hikari knew that it wasn't just a trick of the dim, blue light.

His voice came out in a whisper. "Can you tell me what this is?

"It's…" Haruka began, and then laughed nervously. "No. It can't be. For a second, I thought… But no. I must be imagining things."

"What do you see?"

"I'm imagining things. Netnavis are like robots! There's no possible way that… that…"

"…That this one is alive?" Doctor Hikari finished for her.

Haruka was silent, staring at the image with eyes that were opened wide in a mixture of realization, wonder, and horror. "Impossible," she said again. …In her voice, though, Doctor Hikari could hear a tremor of doubt. She had seen it. He had known she would. Sweet, smart, perceptive Haruka had seen in an instant what hundreds of programmers had failed to notice, blinded by either their pre-formed, "scientific" opinions, or by the allure of money.

There was a subtle, and yet enormously critical difference between this netnavi and each of the previous generations. There was a new, intelligent gleam in her eyes, and something in her gaze that seemed almost… pained.

"There was a report…" Haruka whispered. She stopped to swallow when her voice caught in her throat. "A report on the news. About a netnavi that went rogue and attacked its owner. They said that there was just a flaw in the programming, but…"

"There was no flaw in the programming," Doctor Hikari said. "The only thing that was wrong with him was that his real personality—the personality of his soul—was in contrast to the fake personality that his body was programmed with. He just couldn't handle the strain."

Haruka's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, her shoulders heaving as her breathing devolved into ragged, broken gasps. "That's…" She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, unable to complete the sentence.

Doctor Hikari put a hand on her shoulder, switching off the projector as he did so. Silently, he pushed Haruka over to one of the nearby chairs, and she sank into it weakly, pinching her lips shut as she stared at the ground.

"Fortunately enough, that seems to be a very extreme scenario," Doctor Hikari said after a moment had passed. "Most netnavis of this particular generation—and I've talked with a lot of them, as part of my research—just seem to live with a subtle sense that something is wrong. It's sad and it's horrible, but they aren't being… torn apart, like that one on the news."

Haruka planted her hands on her knees, her eyes clamped shut against the burning of tears. When she had finally gained enough breath to speak, she said, "What have we done?"

"What have we done?" Doctor Hikari repeated harshly, unable to fight back a bitter, sardonic laugh. "We've been bringing children into the world, programming their bodies to make them more appealing to us, and then selling them, like slaves. Our society has, on complete accident, committed what I can only describe as the grossest atrocity against humanity that our world has ever seen."

Haruka trembled, still staring at the place where the hologram had been. "What happens to them, Yuu?" she gasped. "What happens when you try to… to reprogram a soul?"

Doctor Hikari stiffened at the question. Firmly, he took both of Haruka's hands in his own, turning to face her with a solemn, serious expression. "You can't," he said, his voice low. "It's impossible, thank the Heavens above."

"But…"

"We're programming their bodies, Haruka," Doctor Hikari said before she had a chance to interrupt. He squeezed her hands once before letting them go. "We've been giving them natural tendencies and desires that they have to fight against in order to maintain their actual selves. It's like we've been giving them mental or emotional disabilities that they have to cope with. I'm not worried about the integrity of their souls."

Haruka took a shaky breath, closing her eyes in relief. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I possibly can be." There was no evidence, of course. There was no actual, presentable proof that the netnavis were even alive in the first place. Still, there was something inside of Doctor Hikari that just… knew.

The ghost of a smile graced his lips. "Actually," he amended, "I'm positive. One-hundred percent positive."

"How in the world has no one noticed?" Haruka still sounded as if she were being strangled, but a bit of strength had come back into her eyes, and she met Doctor Hikari's gaze with a determined look of her own. "I know that this generation of netnavi is fairly new, so not many people have one, but… but surely someone must have seen by now that their new 'product' was more than just bits of data!"

"You're right," Doctor Hikari confirmed. "Our world is far from perfect, but we aren't completely blind. In fact, I've spoken with a handful of owners who've developed a two-way bond with their netnavis. The problem, though, is that at this place in time, no one else can do anything about it." His eyes darkened. "I'm the only one with access to a lab and the training to use it. I'm the only scientist out there who believes that a gut feeling is worth a second glace. And the only one who's crazy enough to delve into something so controversial."

Haruka's eyes wandered back to the tall, gleaming cylinder in front of them. The swirling data gleamed importantly. "I knew that there was something," she muttered. "Something I didn't understand about your project, and why you would go to such lengths." She relaxed back into her chair, a small degree of newfound peace stealing into her face. "So… how exactly does your experiment tie into all of this?"

For the first time in too long, Doctor Hikari felt his shoulders relax. He smiled. "Well, to get things to change, then I need to convince people listen to me. And to make people listen, I need to prove that a netnavi is capable of life. That's why I'm creating a netnavi of my own. The logic is simple, really."

"But…" Haruka shook her head. "Netcorp and the other companies make living netnavis all the time. How can you prove that yours is actually alive?"

"You're right," Doctor Hikari said. "You're perfectly right. The manufacturers bring their little programmed products to life, accidentally, every day." He took a moment to grimace in distaste, but it wasn't long before a glimmer of confidence, and maybe even excitement, kindled in his eye. "…My netnavi, though, is going to have one major difference—he won't have any personality programming at all."

Haruka turned back toward her husband at the words. She looked slightly confused at first, but then her eyes widened as she realized the implications. If he could make a netnavi that had a real, honest personality without a scrap of programming…

"That's…" she paused, searching for words. "Incredible. It seems like the obvious course of action now I've heard of it, but it's genius, too." A little uncomfortably, she shifted in her chair, her eyes darting back to the cylinder as if she was unsure of where to look. "But… isn't that essentially what a normnav is? A navi without personality programming? How are you going to make sure that you don't just end up with a highly advanced sort of normnav?"

Abruptly, Doctor Hikari's small moment of peace drew to a close. Somewhere deep inside him, a gnawing sense of unease began to claw away at his heart, and his brow furrowed back into its now familiar look of frustration. Unable to continue sitting calmly and helplessly next to his hopeful wife, he stood, striding forward until he was only a few feet from the cylinder and its pitifully lifeless contents.

"That's just the problem," he said. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Even though he couldn't see her, the slightly disappointed but still-hopeful note in Haruka's voice made Doctor Hikari squirm. "You must at least have some idea. You've been at this project for months!"

Somehow, Doctor Hikari couldn't help but think that the lights in the room were a little dimmer than they had been before.

Seconds ticked by. No matter how hard he tried to speak, Doctor Hikari couldn't bring himself to answer. …Apparently, though, the heavy silence was all the answer that Haruka needed. For the second time that day, Doctor Hikari heard her light footsteps come up behind him, and soon her reflection was just visible in the cylinder's smooth glass to his left. The look on her face was pained, but sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," Doctor Hikari murmured. "Things have been… difficult. I'm dealing with an entirely new branch of science, here. Cyberbiology didn't exist until I invented it."

"It's going to take some time," Haruka said softly, slipping her hand into his. "That' okay. So long as you're doing everything you can do, I'm sure that everything will be okay."

A hard, solid lump wedged itself in Doctor Hikari's throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't force it through. Giving Haruka's hand a squeeze to reassure himself, he took a step back from the gently glowing experiment and then turned his back to the cylinder and walked over to the main control panel for the room. He finished inputting the commands to temporarily freeze the experiment, Haruka watching over his shoulder.

"I just need to pick up a few papers at the front desk, and then we can go," Doctor Hikari said, turning off a small collection of displays and holograms that he had gathered on his desk. As Haruka passed him, heading for the door, he caught her arm and pulled her into an embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.

Once the embrace had ended, Haruka looked up at him, surprised. "For what?"

"For listening."

Haruka gave him a small smile and a kiss on the cheek in response.

Wearily, Doctor Hikari returned his wife's smile and then headed for the door. He looked back over to the cylinder for one last time before he left, fighting the persistent longing for action that had consumed him over the last few months. He knew that he had to go, and he wasn't about to argue. He needed food. He needed rest. And his family needed him. Still, there was something about tearing his eyes away from the gently glowing bits of data that made him feel like he was tearing off his own limb. The small handful of steps that it took to go through the door may as well have been a hundred-mile trek through an arctic storm.

"Haruka?" he said as they moved down a short, dark hallway that separated the lab from the rest of the building. "I need to ask you a favor."

"Oh?" Haruka sounded puzzled. "What is it?"

"Nothing much. Just… remind me that I need to talk to you again. There's something else I need to tell you, and I don't want to forget."

Haruka blinked in surprise, and then her mouth turned down in worry. "Why don't you just tell me now?"

The lump in Doctor Hikari's throat hardened and grew. He swallowed once and cleared his throat, but was only able to croak the words: "I can't. …Not yet. I'm sorry."

He had been battling against hopelessness, all day every day, for more than a week now—ever since he had heard the news. Because the latest line of navis had a true personality inside of them along with their programming, many of them were refusing to follow orders or acting in other unexpected ways. Complaints had mounted. Upon consideration and a bit of research, the netnavi production companies had decided that the navis must have been having problems because of some sort of glitch. As a group, they had decided to halt production until a solution could be found.

Originally, Doctor Hikari had been thrilled. Immediately, he had contacted the heads of each of the largest companies, hoping that he had found an opportunity to make them listen to him at last. The bureaucrats, however, didn't want him to be right. His impossible-sounding ideas threatened to rob them not only of their power, but also of everything else that their worlds were built on—their jobs, their reputations, their honor, and even their self-respect. He had been rebuffed, mocked, and criticized at every turn.

The experience had been frustrating, to say the least, but Doctor Hikari would have been fine with it, seeing as how he was still being allowed to continue his research. He had returned to his lab that night with dashed hopes but a renewed energy. He had thought, as Haruka did now, that he would eventually find the proof his theory needed, and that everything would turn out okay.

Less than twenty-four hours later, he had been proven wrong.

The company owners had found a solution—a harsher, stricter form of programming that would be deeply integrated with the navi's frame. The programming would no longer resemble a disability. Now, there was nothing in the world that it could be compared to except for mind control.

The one thing that gave Doctor Hikari a shred of hope was that there were still details with the structure of the new programming that needed to be worked out. Once those details had been finalized, however, the manufacturing would resume, and hundreds of netnavis would have their "personalities" reinstalled. Thousands more would be created with the programming already in place. According to the latest news that Doctor Hikari had heard, there were less than two months left before the horrid project was put into motion.

Two months.

Doctor Hikari had less than two months to stop humanity from making the worst mistake of its entire history.


A/N: I know that this story involves some darker, somewhat unique ideas about the Mega Man franchise, so be sure to let me know what you think. Did I do a good job with these aspects, or did it give the story an uncomfortable feel? Hopefully, it turned out well—it was fun to write, in any case. I'm always open to comments and criticism, though, so don't be afraid to tell me how I could improve!