The Legend of Zelda, its characters and locations are all property of Nintendo. Any and all OCs and original locations belong to me unless specifically stated to belong to someone else.

The Voice
Chapter 39 - Subject #8

It was midday, and Sheik was alone.

Out of choice, of course. Link and Sidon had spent the whole morning with him. They'd talked about everything and nothing, planned the route they'd take to the Gerudo Desert, and Link and Sidon had even sparred a little. Sheik had helped by teaching them some Sheikah close quarters combat moves, by way of letting his projected avatar demonstrate the manoeuvres and having the other two imitate them.

He'd also provided some targets by adapting the shielding tech to "harden" his projection, as it were, but the power output from the slate wasn't enough to provide a proper challenge—it didn't take much for their blows to pass through him.

The wrestling wasn't perfect, since he couldn't actually reach out and correct their stances like a real instructor, and Sidon's stature (or Link's lack of one) made things a little tricky, but in the end, Sheik was confident Link could at least fight his way out of a grapple and pin the enemy in return.

Anything to keep the Hylian safe.

By lunchtime, though, Sheik felt a need to be alone, to have a little peace and quiet to think. When asked what he wanted to think about, he didn't really have a good answer. Link had been very understanding, luckily, and Sheik wished them a good lunch and afternoon after requesting that Link place him on a table on Sidon's balcony, which overlooked the pools of the Domain, in order to soak up some sunlight.

His power supply wasn't really low, and he imagined he and Link would both be cursing the sun within a few hours of reaching the Desert, but it couldn't hurt to top it off.

Knowing our luck, we'll hit the Desert just as some extremely local monsoon season hits, or something, and I'll run out of power while Link drowns, he thought.

Not a fun scenario, he decided, and quickly focused on his task, cursing inwardly (and outwardly a few times) as he tried to unravel the mess of code that, hopefully, would give him some answers.

He'd thought he'd be delving deep into the information hidden within by now, having made a small crack in the impenetrable wall of obfuscated nonsense that protected it, but it had only been a honeypot—a cache of data that appeared to be useful, but only turned out to be rubbish. What did he care for the mating habits of octoroks?

And the crack he'd made had not been useful for the overall bulk of the code either. He'd spent days and incredible amounts of computing power on cracking bullshit code, and it had all been a complete waste. And now he had to start all over from scratch, because of course the encryption was completely different.

That was, more or less, the reason he'd wanted to be alone, so he could vent his frustration in peace and not risk offending either Link or Sidon.

That is, properly offending them rather than the hilarious banter with which he regaled them at all times.

It was hilarious, damn it!

"You make one joke about dead babies and everyone loses their minds," he muttered, taking a digital sledgehammer to the brick wall of obscured code, cursing loudly when the attempt failed yet again. "No sense of humour to be had, I swear..."

There was a knock at the door. Sheik didn't answer. Link or Sidon wouldn't knock, and technically Sheik supposed he didn't really have the authority to let someone inside the prince's chambers, so he remained silent, hoping the person would go away.

Just to be safe, he made a quick scan for Link and Sidon's vitals. They were both calm, no signs of stress to be found. In Link's case, that was practically a miracle.

The knocking persisted and showed no signs of stopping. The intruder just kept knocking and knocking, clearly counting on annoying whoever was inside until they gave in and opened the door.

Which was quite hard to do without, you know, hands.

"Who the fuck is it?!" Sheik screeched from the balcony, ignoring the flock of birds that took off in the distance, fluttering into a panic from the sudden loud noise.

"It's me, Sheiky!" an annoyingly perky and cheerful voice answered, muffled by the thick doors. "Your favourite aunt!"

If Sheik had a stomach, it would be dropping in horror. Purah was about the last person he wanted to see. He'd been expecting her, of course, after Sidon had revealed the pair of them were in the Domain (apparently busy with adapting Sheikah tech for the slowly growing army), but he'd hoped that he wouldn't have to face her alone.

And worse, if she were here, it also meant that—

"I've got Robbie here, too!"

"Hell no! Go away!"

"We're coming in!"

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, we are!"

The door burst open, and the pair of diminutive Sheikah entered the chambers. Purah surveyed the rooms with a confident look, as if she belonged there. She looked immensely pleased with herself, while Robbie...well, Robbie was Robbie, with the charm and personality only an octogenarian mad scientist with a superiority complex could have.

Meaning he did not look happy to be here. Purah practically had to drag him inside.

In fact, she had to snag him by the collar of his tunic when Sheik started shouting again.

"I told you not to come in! These are the private chambers of Prince Sidon, and you do not belong here!"

"Neither do you, unless you've magically become Zora royalty since we last saw you," Robbie muttered sourly, his wrinkled face set in a frown.

"Be nice, Robbie," Purah said, elbowing her colleague in the side. Turning a beaming look on Sheik, she waved cheerfully. "Hiya, Sheiky!"

Realising he was fighting a losing battle, Sheik gave up and sighed. "Hello, Purah," he said in a defeated tone. "What do you want?"

She gave him an exaggerated, sad look. "Aw, you have no idea how much it hurts to hear that from my favourite little nephew! And here I thought you'd be happy to see me!"

Happy as he was to hear her acknowledging him as part of the clan, Sheik couldn't help but feel that this was some sort of trick. Robbie was involved, so it was pretty much guaranteed that this wasn't going to be a pleasant family reunion.

Or was this the part where they revealed that Sheik (or the real Sheik, that is) was a direct ancestor of the garden gnome, and therefore shared some sort of...of...familial bond?

The horror!

Sheik wasn't sure if his circuits could take the strain such a revelation would cause. He might just write a self-destruct script if the shock alone didn't kill him. He just could not stand to live in a world where he and Robbie were family.

Frankly, he could barely handle being Impa's family as it was.

"I have no problem seeing you, Purah, even if I have a feeling you'll be driving me up the wall in a minute. The gnome, on the other hand..."

"Who are you calling gnome, you glorified calculator?!" Robbie shouted as he jumped onto the chair next to the balcony, so he could look directly at the slate...more or less confirming his lack of height. "I'll have you know I was quite the giant, back in my day!"

"Yeah, a century ago," Sheik said. "You've shrivelled up quite a bit since then, though, much like your bal—"

"Anyway!" Purah said, cutting him off. "Fun as catching up is, we're very busy!"

"So why are you here?" Sheik asked. "Can't be for the brilliant conversation...you brought Robbie, after all."

"Hey—"

"Or are you just here to gossip for a bit? Apparently, you've got quite the loose lips, Rob."

"We've got something for you," Purah said, grinning. "Something you'll be veeeeeeery happy for, I think!"

"Aw, and it isn't my birthday or anything," Sheik drawled. "Or is it? What's the manufacturing date of this thing, anyway? Can't find it in the firmware info."

"Hard to say," Robbie said. "But you're definitely too old to be acting like a brat!"

"Interesting stance to take considering your own behaviour, old man!"

"Boys, boys, enough!" Purah said, glaring at the two. "Robbie, stop acting like a baby!"

"But—"

"And Sheiky, what would Impa say if she knew how you were behaving?"

"...please don't tell her," Sheik said, imagining all the horrible punishments the old bag would put him through.

Oh, the little old lady looked harmless enough, sitting there idly like a wrinkled potato on her mound of cushions, but that deceptively innocent shell contained a ferocious she-demon that probably gobbled up the souls of children at night. Paya must have nerves of steel, being able to tend to that creature every day.

In short, Sheik was very happy to have Impa for an aunt.

He didn't dare to think otherwise.

"Then act like the reasonable, mature Sheikah I know you've got buried deep within you somewhere. Deep," the young hag said, adjusting her glasses with a triumphant look on her face. "Like, so deep you have to bring in a drill—"

"I get it already," Sheik muttered. "No more fighting with Robbie...until he says something dumb again."

"Just give him a chance...or three," the tiny scientist said as she hopped up onto a chair on the balcony, which dwarfed her even further on account of it being meant for someone the size of Sidon. As it were, her eyes barely cleared the table top. After propping Sheik up so he could look at them properly, she snapped her finger. "Robbie, come on!"

Robbie grumbled, but joined her on the chair. His ascent was a little slower, and Sheik made a note to comment on what he suspected was the sound of creaking joints later. Something about comparing him to rusty Guardians, or the like. Really underline just how horrendously old the man truly was.

Sheik was not a petty man, honest!

"So?" he asked drily. "What's the present?"

"A rune!" Purah announced, excitedly elbowing Robbie in the side again. "Come on, show him, show him!"

"I'm getting to it," Robbie growled, reaching into a small satchel hanging from his shoulder, withdrawing a small stone tablet, on which a strange mark had been drawn. "Here, give it a scan," he said, holding it up to Sheik's lens.

"A rune? What does it do?"

"It's not like the ones we installed in Hateno," Purah explained, pointing to various points of the strange markings. "They may not look like it, but they're actually pretty complex algorithms for encrypting and decrypting data! Me 'n Robbie discovered them in the ruins of an old Sheikah research station south of the village!"

"When?" Sheik asked, already scanning and assimilating the information.

"I met up with Purah soon after you left my lab," Robbie said. "What, you thought we were just going to sit and twiddle our thumbs while the Hero puts his life at stake?"

"I wouldn't know about Purah, but you..." Sheik trailed off. He was already running some tests with the new algorithms, encrypting and decrypting random samples of data, and while he was happy to have something new to play with it just seemed like there was something familiar to the pattern...no way!

"I think he just figured it out," Robbie said, rolling his eyes.

"Shh," Purah glared at him. "Anything interesting in there, Sheiky?" she asked.

"Ah...quite...quite interesting, actually," he said slowly, trying not to get too excited as he ran the first block of encrypted data through the script he'd hastily made...and failing completely when it spat out fully readable, understandable information. "It works! I can actually read this shit now!"

"This shit?" Robbie asked, folding his arms. "Are you referring to the data I unearthed for you?"

"The indecipherable gibberish you unearthed, you mean," Sheik corrected. "But yes, that shit. I managed to crack through some of it before, but it was just a honeypot. This stuff, however, is actually useful. Lots of schematics for...oh, this is great! Power generators, long-distance wireless communications equipment, advanced combat units...this is goldmine!"

Sheik engaged his holographic projector and showed them some of the plans he'd found, which the two of them devoured greedily with wide eyes.

"Ah, good, I was worried it was going to be memoirs or something," Robbie said. "Interesting reads, undoubtedly, but useless for advancing the scientific cause. This stuff, however, can be just the break we're looking for."

Purah was frowning, a little crease between her eyebrows forming. "Not that it'll do us much good for a long time—we don't have the facilities or equipment for manufacturing most of these things...but still!" She spun around and struck a pose. "At least the information is no longer lost! And thanks to Sheiky, we can actually access it!"

Sheik was about to agree and—possibly, begrudgingly—thank Robbie. However, before he could, he ran the next data block through the decryption script...and paused.

Not schematics, this time. Just...text. And lots of it. Research data, journals, and...experiments.

The biggest file of which was labelled "Artificial Intelligence - Classified Level 7".

Suddenly, there was nothing around him. No Purah, no Robbie, no royal chambers, no noisy city below, no lake. Just him, and a big, fat file containing information he'd been dying to find for weeks. And, to his surprise, he found himself hesitating to open it. Or maybe it wasn't surprising at all.

The scarce amount of information Robbie had been able to discover about the slate previously had been...devastating. A bit melodramatic to describe it as such, but what other word could he use after the way he'd reacted to it?

But it had been...something, at least. He'd adjusted, been happy with what he had.

But what if there was more? More...upsetting data? And how would he react, if there was?

I am artificial, he thought. A construct based on the mind of a man who died a long time ago. And that's okay—I am still me. My experiences differ from his—whatever similarities we had, we've long since diverged from the baseline. I am me, not him.

"...ky? Sheiky? Are you okay?" Purah's face was hovering inches away from his lens, and if he had a body he would have jumped away in shock, but all he could settle for was a surprised sound.

"Bweh?"

"Oh good, he's not dead, yay," Robbie said with the joy of someone who'd just won a lottery but lost the ticket. "What treasure trove of information have you found, pray tell?"

"A..." Sheik paused. "A family tree with you at the very bottom, Robbie. Actually, you're not a part of the tree; you're one of those worms that burrow into the trunk and weaken it."

Robbie stared hard at the lens for a solid minute before huffing and climbing off the chair. "See, Purah? I told you it was a waste of time. Impa sure knows how to pick 'em."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to the lab, where I can get some actual work done," he said over his shoulder. "Feel free to join me once you're done with the slate. At this rate, I think the Hero will do better without it."

He slammed the door behind him, causing a slight echo in the chambers.

"Hmph, good riddance," Sheik muttered, trying not to meet Purah's glare.

"You know, Sheiky," she said, "weird as Robbie may be, he's not actually a bad guy."

"Really?" Sheik said. "Could've fooled me."

The scientist sighed, shaking her head. For a moment, she looked her actual age, just as weary as Impa. When she spoke, the childish tone she usually employed was gone, replaced by the voice of someone who was just...tired.

"Without him, we have no way of actually getting old Sheikah tech to work—I can figure out the software side of things, sure, but Robbie is a hardware wizard. You think Linky would have those fancy arrows if it weren't for Robbie?"

"Well...maybe not?" Sheik said. "Link doesn't need them, though. They make things easier, sure, but..." he trailed off, remembering how, without the Ancient arrows, Link would probably not have survived the encounter with the flying Guardians at the cliffside fort. "Fine, you have a point, but that doesn't give him the right to be such an asshole—"

"What, like you?"

"I am not...well, maybe I am, but I have a good reason, damn it!"

"As does he," Purah said, crossing her arms. "You think he walked away from the rise of Ganon without losses, Sheik? Think he doesn't have his own ways of coping with the memories of that day? You're pretty similar in that regard, actually. Neither of you realise it, of course, self-absorbed as you two are."

Truth be told, Sheik hadn't considered that. Still, what business was that of his? Why couldn't Robbie just stay professional? Why did he feel the need to dig his little claws into every weakness he found...

...ah.

Shit.

"What, and that's supposed to make me tolerate him?" he asked, not really feeling any heat behind his words. "It was a century ago—maybe it's time he got over it."

As opposed to what happened to you, a nasty little part of his mind told him. After all, it's been a few millennia...

She sighed. "And here I thought we were all in agreement on our job: making things as easy for Linky as possible. Guess I was wrong..."

"Purah, I—"

"Anyway," she said, jumping off the chair and giving him a big grin, childish persona plastered back on. "I'm gonna go talk to the grump, see if we can figure out something super-awesome for Link before you leave again. See ya later, Sheiky!"

And then she was gone as well, leaving Sheik feeling a little...well, like an asshole, really.

Just like Robbie.

Din above, at this rate I'll actually turn out to be related to him, he thought despairingly.

Link and Sidon were late. That suited Sheik just fine. After thinking about it for a while, he'd finally decided to open the classified file on the artificial intelligence project and started reading.

There were hundreds of pages, the first few sections only covering the basic idea for the project, what sort of funding was required, the necessary equipment and personnel. Not really riveting reading, but it gave some background on the thought process behind the whole thing, as well as its potential uses.

...meaning, with the successful application of the construct to the slate's operating system, the potential for expanding the construct's control capabilities will be infinite.

If the construct can manage the complexities of the Slate, it can just as easily be applied to the Guardian project. Imagine the potential that such war machines, with real, thinking minds operating them, could have.

The current prototypes, with their rudimentary problem-solving programming, are effective enough at establishing battlefield superiority as is; with a proper brain at the controls, they will be unstoppable!

Whoever had written this part was clearly suffering from delusions of grandeur...though Sheik had to admit that he was a little frightened of the idea of those things being controlled by someone like him...but then again, maybe they'd just get into pissing matches with each other and completely ignore the fight they were in.

Like me and Robbie, he thought.

He skipped ahead, hoping to find something of interest. It took him another few minutes, but then he found an appendix with an intriguing label:

Project Outline - Test Subjects

Now we're talking, Sheik thought.

Artificial intelligence is a failure. At least, it is a failure in the sense that a mind capable of thought—as we understand it—is impossible to program. There is simply not enough time in the world to replicate—with our current, rudimentary code—what the Goddesses created in but a moment.

A hard truth to swallow, but one we must accept nonetheless.

Of course, simply shutting down the project in the face of this realisation is out of the question. We are Sheikah—we were put on this earth to think, to invent, to create.

What we cannot do now, our future generations will find a way to make reality.

It is inevitable.

But to safeguard those future generations, to ensure there will even be a future, we must push our current boundaries ever further.

And so, it is my proposal that we do not abandon the artificial intelligence project. We simply approach it from a different angle; we reconsider our methods.

If we cannot create, we can adapt.

It is not a matter of processing power—it is a matter of expertise.

We do not have to write a perfect mind. We just have to...transfer it.

Sheik paused. That...did not sound good. The way whoever had written this was describing it, it almost sounded like they were planning to...but no, surely not?

He read on.

Our methods are crude, yet they show great promise. Our first attempts at mapping an existing, living mind were, admittedly, underwhelming. The sheer amount of data contained within is simply something we were not prepared for. The mainframe suffered a catastrophic overload and sadly had to be decommissioned, but we have learned.

For our next attempt, we will commission the necessary hardware with specifications tailored for our needs. All in the interest of pushing the boundaries.

Subject #1, our first volunteer, sadly expired when the mainframe overloaded. The feedback was simply too much for her body to handle. Her family has been informed; their reactions were not...pleasant. They argued she had not known the risk...but then again, neither did we.

Still, much was learned, and this knowledge will be applied to the next experiment.

[Subject #1 experiment data on the next three pages]

It was with great pleasure that I spoke to the clan leaders about the second experiment.

Subject #2 survived...though something went wrong during the process.

The server cluster handled the strain quite well, though we were once again overwhelmed by the amount of data involved. Clearly, storage is the bigger problem in this endeavour. This could easily have put a stop to us, given our current manufacturing difficulties.

However, when we showed them what we had been able to...scrape, as it were, from Subject #2's mind, they were intrigued, and agreed to pull a few strings to get us the storage capacity we needed. We are one step closer.

The only resistance we faced was from Master Rokah, but he was outnumbered by the votes in our favour. We shall have to watch him carefully, in case he decides to interfere.

Sentiment cannot stand in the way of progress.

Subject #2 will be taken care of, naturally. He gave his sanity for the project and will be treated with the dignity he deserves.

[Subject #2 experiment data on the next ten pages]

Master Nivar approached us a few weeks after the incident with Subject #2. She had some concerns about the openness of the project, and the growing number of Sheikah who were against it. It was decided that, officially, the experiments with live subjects would be abandoned.

We will announce we have found a different way of constructing the intelligence, that there will be no need for raw material, so to speak.

Of course, Master Nivar and Master Yorha will be supplying us with subjects from their clans all the while. It will be good, not having to suffer the ignorant outrage of those who simply do not understand what we are trying to achieve.

On the nature of the subjects, there have arisen some questions from my team. Specifically, they question the quality of the subjects' cognitive functions. That is of no concern for now. Our biggest obstacle remains the storage capacity, and I am told by our hardware expert that we will soon have a way of circumventing it.

Once storage is no longer an issue, then we can worry about the quality of the minds we transfer.

For now, we will simply have to make do with the troublemakers.

Subject #8 is...an unruly one.

An orphan and a product of a Hylian mother and Sheikah father, he has had difficulties with assimilating into his adopted clan. Presumably on account of his Hylian heritage, mostly prominent in his blonde hair, as opposed the silver of a pure-blooded Sheikah.

After a childhood spent mostly in conflict with his peers, Subject #8 has developed into a young man who seems prone to self-imposed isolation, is quick to anger, and displays a marked refusal to cooperate with anyone.

A number of foiled attempts to leave indicates he no longer has his clan's best interests in mind, despite the leeway he has been given. Corporal punishment has not proven effective in taming him, nor the deprivation of meals and other physical or emotional needs.

Truly, Master Nivar seemed almost relieved to hand him over. As per protocol, like the other subjects, his death was announced to have occurred on the battlefield.

(Note: This will also the official cause of death for any subjects mentioned in the public documentation.)

I am told his death was not mourned.

I spend so much time describing Subject #8 because, out of them all, he shows the most promise. Preliminary scans and exploratory procedures have shown conditions that border on ideal for the transfer process.

During off-hours, the subject has attempted to escape no less than nine (9) times, almost succeeding during the last attempt. As a result, we have been forced to keep him in chains.

His tongue remains sharp as ever, though.

Most of the time, I find this amusing.

In our private interviews, the subject has proven to possess a shrewd and intelligent mind, though he seems to prefer hiding it with crude words and childish arguments. Presumably, this is a defence mechanism developed during adolescence.

The boy is a tactician, and shows a keen understanding of Sheikah technology that, with the proper guidance and enough time, could have resulted in a fine scientist.

Then again, if all goes well, he will be with us for a long time.

Failure, once more. Though with a hint of promise?

Subject #8 is dead. The strain suffered by the physical body during the transfer process is simply too great. According to the chief physician, the official cause of death was cardiac arrest.

However, we were able to finish the process before the expiry of the subject's body.

In short, we have his mind.

The mainframe cluster is truly an immense one, and while we are still sifting through the data, it would appear that, for the first time, we have a complete scrape. Subject #8 is still with us, though dormant.

Now comes the difficult part and, frankly, the one I am most excited for: Adapting the Sheikah Slate and preparing it to receive Subject #8 as its controller. With restrictions, of course.

Can't have such a volatile personality with unlimited privileges. I cannot imagine he will be happy with his new existence, if we can ever reawaken him, and should he decide to...act out on his rash impulses, if he gains access to sensitive parts of the network...well, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Then again, the question remains if the transfer process has truly been perfected, and that his neural matrix remains undamaged. For all we know, until we can revive him, the transfer could have obliterated him entirely.

Ah, I feel lucky to live in such exciting times!

It is a sad moment when one has to admit defeat.

As of today, the AI project has been temporarily suspended due to a lack of progress, and the increasing demands of the war. We simply cannot afford to spare manpower that should be put towards the war effort into something that, as Master Yorha put it, simply chews up resources with nothing to show for it.

Fools, all of them.

I know fully well that they have no intention of starting the project up again once this war ends. It would seem some of them have lost their nerve—the supply of subjects dried up soon after Subject #8's expiry.

The disaster with Subject #9 could, of course, also have something to do with it.

How the girl managed to undo her shackles is beyond me, but she certainly showed no hesitation in gutting half the security team before she was brought down.

Such a waste. She showed such promise, too.

Most upsetting about this, however, is knowing how close we were.

The slate operating system proved less adaptable to a new controller than we anticipated, and a great deal of time had to be devoted to re-engineering it. At this point, very little of the original OS remains.

Storage was, once again, a major problem, but it was mostly circumvented by being very selective with what Subject #8 was allowed to remember, as it were.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out that memories are, in terms of file size, extremely big. Ridiculously so, in fact.

Luckily, a controller's memories aren't truly needed for it to function. If anything, they can be a hindrance. After all, it's not really the personality we are after—it is simply the ability to think.

Subject #8 would have been happier like this, I think. He would not remember his painful childhood, how he was ostracised by his clan, nor his body's demise.

A pity, then, that we will never know.

The transfer was, once again, a success; or so we believe. Starting the Slate up again proved an insurmountable challenge. There is simply no response from the controller unit. The body works but the mind is absent.

We have been unable to diagnose the issue, and now I fear we never will. Subject #8 will simply gather dust in the archives until someone has the strength of will to revive the project, a day I suspect I will never see, now that Master Nivar, our greatest patron, is dead.

A better person would take this moment to apologise to those they have hurt.

I am not a good person.

But for what it is worth...Sheik, I'm sorry I was unable to bring you back.

But I am not sorry for what we accomplished together.

I will see you in the next life.

[End of log]