Disclaimer: They're all yours, Pete Docter; use them well.
Author's note: When I wrote this first semi-chapter, I felt far too strongly about the central philosophic point involved to waste time with setup, so the story begins about as in medias res as a story can. (Indeed, at the time, I wasn't at all sure that I would ever expand on it even to the extent that I now have.) So here's the background: An accident on the hockey rink sends Riley into a coma (causing a power surge in the console that sends Anger, who happened to be steering at the time, into the infirmary). In a desperate attempt to find out what's going on, the emotions work out a system of long-range communication with Dream Production and Sensory Input, and manage to get a setup cobbled together that allows them to at least take in auditory data - just in time to overhear the doctor and Riley's parents seriously discussing withdrawing life support. Which leads us to…
"What – no!" Joy exclaimed. "They can't pull the plug! We're still in here! Riley could still pull through! They have to keep her going!"
"I don't know, Joy," Sadness said slowly. "She's pretty much gone already; maybe it would be better just to get it over with."
With an effort, Joy swallowed the sharp retort she wanted to make. She and Sadness had gone through a great deal in order to understand each other; she didn't want to throw that away now. Instead, with all the gentle reasonableness she could muster, she said, "Sadness, ple-e-e-ease don't talk that way. I get where you're coming from, but it's really not what we want right now."
"Oh," said Sadness. "Okay."
Then, after a moment's thought: "Why not?"
"Because this isn't just about Riley feeling one thing or another," said Joy. "It's about whether she'll ever feel anything after Saturday. So long as her heart keeps beating, there's a chance of that – so we've all got to hope for that, or…"
"Oh, give it a rest, Joy," said a tart voice from behind them.
Joy and Sadness slowly turned around, and their eyes met those of the green emotion leaning apathetically against the idea wall. "Excuse me?" Joy demanded.
"You heard me," said Disgust. "I'll hope for anything you want, but for Pete's sake stop acting like it's this big, important thing."
"Disgust, what are you saying?" said Fear. "Of course it's important! This is Riley we're talking about!"
"My point exactly," said Disgust. "What's so important about Riley?"
The other emotions exchanged glances. "Disgust, are you sure that surge missed you?" said Joy.
"I'm not crazy, Joy," Disgust retorted. "I know we've always pretended that making Riley's life come out right is the most important thing there is. We've pretended that she's a real person, with a heart and mind that need protecting."
"Well, isn't she?" said Sadness.
"What do you think?" said Disgust. "Look at that!" She pointed to the console. "We've spent fifteen years dictating her every action with that thing; her identity's powered by memories that you and Joy made; we even decide what ideas she has." (Here she pulled an idea off the shelf behind her and held it up for emphasis.) "If she were a person, do you think we could do all that? People have their own ideas, pick their own actions; that's what makes them people."
She saw realization dawning in her colleagues' shell-shocked faces, and pushed forward ruthlessly. "Riley's a toy, you guys. That's all she's ever been; it's all any of them are – big, complicated action figures, waiting for us to play our little games of Quintuple Delectation with them. It's only because we're so obsessed with that game that we ever thought she was anything more."
She sighed, and slumped back against the wall, looking suddenly dull and withered. "And I'm not saying I'm any different," she said. "I care about Riley's flourishing more than anything; it's all I've ever existed for, after all. But, after what's happened, I'm sick of pretending that it makes sense."