Disclaimer: If these characters were mine, I would have had Masaki doing a lot more than sitting around on rooftops acting mysterious in the manga by now. But alas - they belong to Aoki and Ayamine, who have at least recently shown signs that manga!Masaki may soon do more than sit on a rooftop acting mysterious.

Notes: Seeing as Masaki's done next to nothing in the manga, this is anime-verse, and has great big spoilers for the last arc. A bit of dialogue is taken directly from a fansub of episode 48, in fact. If you fear spoilers, turn back now.
Also inspired by events in an RP in which I played Masaki, wherein he and MakubeX had a dynamic I liked an awful lot. Missing that dynamic is probably why I wrote this.

Masterpiece

It has been noted that one does not necessarily need to be able to play an instrument, or even carry a tune, to live a life defined by music. Likewise, a person who cannot draw a straight line may be profoundly affected by the skillfully relayed passions laid out on canvas through the paintings of others - and who could tell an avid reader that their lives were somehow not as affected by literature as those who actually wrote the books they devoured so eagerly?

Kurusu Masaki had a rudimentary understanding of how these things worked. It would have been absurd if he did not, given that he was to rule in such a land. He had spent time in laboratories, dimmer and less sterile than most in Babylon City, surrounded by figures hunched over terminals, their gazes flickering back and forth between a monitor of text and a preview window. They did not pay much attention to Masaki himself, for they were what some would call "obsessive techies", or even "geeks".

The boy, however, changed his mind. Like the one who created the boy, many of them were artists.

He hadn't recognized it at first, because those above were contracted to do the work, to create whatever they were told to create. Of course they had side projects from time to time, just for fun; who wouldn't give in to the desire to attempt their own idea of perfection? Some recreated long-lost civilizations, or what they imagined such civilizations would be like. For the AI specialists, the attempt at perfection often took the form of a woman or man who would do anything they asked. Masaki sometimes wondered just how many real people were walking around in Babylon City, and how many existed there to fulfill someone else's desires. Some such people were not even virtual.

They dealt in false beauty. The things that Brain Trust's computers produced might be impressive to look upon, but only because they were created to be.

Masaki had not come to Brain Trust until some time after Makube had finished his most well-known piece. He had not looked upon it until it looked upon him with large turquoise eyes that seemed to see much deeper than most, despite the young appearance. Not unrealistically so, which was what impressed him the most.

The childish eyes closed as MakubeX smiled at Ginji-san's somewhat older friend and advisor. Very lifelike. Masaki tried not to stare as he smiled back, welcoming the boy to Volts.

Masaki had been trained as a soldier, a warrior. It was only fitting, given his particularly unusual abilities regarding light. Or perhaps they had made it more fitting through their guidance and training, finding ways to utilize it as a weapon. He couldn't imagine what other purpose it might have in his life, though, aside from never needing to replace a light bulb.

Fuyuki Shido and Fuuchoin Kazuki had also been trained as warriors, brought up in such a way, and they formed an easy bond with each other, a partnership that Masaki dared not form with any of the members of Volts. He knew who he worked for, and who the eventual winner of the conflict would be. It was best not to get attached to anyone, and his position between two opposing sides made him reluctant to fight. He would without hesitation if it were necessary, but he tried to manipulate things in such a way that it was not.

While the two closest Kings worked together, as was often the case, sometimes Masaki worked on his own. Sometimes he worked with Raitei, also a fighter and the one he had kept watch over since before the days of Volts. Sometimes, as they had learned that he preferred not to fight, and as they had found him to have interesting insights - though they didn't know why - he had stayed with MakubeX to protect and to brainstorm. MakubeX was not a fighter in any traditional sort of way. Far from helpless, but his strength was not in physical characteristics or unnatural powers, and he was young besides.

They talked, even while they worked at calculations and probabilities. Masaki related that he had met Ginji when he was a child, before he was Raitei, through Teshimine Takeru. MakubeX told Masaki of his grandfather Gen, who was not his grandfather at all. Masaki had heard of Gen; in fact, Masaki liked the man. He hoped Gen would keep his mouth shut. Upon being told that Masaki came from outside (at least, that he did not come from Lower Town), MakubeX wanted to know everything about the world outside Mugenjou, and Masaki told him about trips as a child to foreign lands - the broken coliseums of Greece, Mayan pyramids in the Central American jungles, the great cliffs and spectacular sunsets of the Grand Canyon.

The bond they had would have been a strange one no matter what, seeing as MakubeX was half Masaki's age. Masaki could hardly remember being so young and curious - but he did, just enough that it was confusing to know MakubeX's true nature. He seemed much like any other preadolescent boy with a propensity towards thoughtfulness, aside from being more perceptive to the flows of data both electronic and otherwise. Masaki could tell early on that even as a child, he rivaled those who called themselves gods. Masaki could tell, because MakubeX seemed able to think circles around even him.

He wondered, when he remembered that this was Makube's masterpiece, if the boy was capable of more, perhaps as much as the programs used above - but designed in such a way as to hold back. Though those above would strive for it in their work, perfection was not natural, and MakubeX came off as more natural than perfect.

Makube had indeed been quite the artist.

Perhaps Makube had designed the boy to be imperfect solely so that he was unable to realize right away that he had been designed rather than born. Perhaps this was Makube being merciful, Masaki thought upon reviewing the records for the IL incident - or perhaps it was self-preservation. No one had ever been able to tell Masaki what had happened to Makube, whether he had retired, defected, died, or acquired a new identity.

Masaki wondered if Makube was still alive, if he knew what he'd created. This project of his had been official, funded by the company - would he have been frustrated or pleased that his masterpiece had been so realistically human as to take up arms against those responsible for its creation? Was it all a matter of business for him, and this a bug that must be corrected? Or would it thrill his soul to know that the story he'd put in motion had spun off into an epic that could affect the course of history? Was this boy with such a human heart Makube's revenge on an organization that had lost theirs?

The organization, not the individual. The things Masaki had done had hardened his heart, or so he thought - but there was a dull ache, a sort of phantom pain, when he confined MakubeX's data within the Archive. It was kinder than deletion - or at least he hoped it was.

"When did you find out?" His voice was just as calm as it had been years ago, discussing coliseums and canyons.

"That I was just data that didn't really exist?" MakubeX was surprisingly calm for this conversation as well. "I was prepared for it. If I said that I wasn't shocked, I would be lying, but... it doesn't matter to me now. Because I know there's something more important."

More important than his own existence, more important than the nature of that existence. It was precisely that very human attitude - the ability to look out for one's friends over looking out for one's own self - that made the last piece fall into place in Masaki's mind. Viruses cared only about replicating themselves. Programs cared only for what they were programmed to care about.

Perhaps, Masaki thought as he turned away from MakubeX's pleas, he himself was more akin to a program, output by a virus that called itself Brain Trust. He did what was asked of him, regardless of how he might feel about it. MakubeX was more human than he could ever be, now that Masaki's course had been set.

Isolated from the host program, a file used by a mere subroutine is useless. In the days immediately following his liberation from Brain Trust, Masaki found himself spending a great deal of time holed up in a small apartment in Lower Town. The location had been chosen due to the proximity to a liquor store, as well as the fact that a large portion of the upper floor was one of the virtual hotspots.

MakubeX had helped him with the networking, which was not his area of expertise, and given him pointers of how to get started. Now half of the floor of the small apartment was covered with scavenged computers full of tangled, spliced wires that spilled out from the caseless frames, linked together to optimize speed and memory. In the center, around the primary terminal, was a lopsided circle of assorted empty liquor bottles, some standing and some left where they'd fallen onto their sides and rolled. It somewhat reminded Masaki of Stonehenge, which he'd also visited once. It had held a strange attraction for him. Perhaps he'd make it here - he had no better ideas.

He was not having much luck; not only was he not a programmer, but even when sober, he wasn't a particularly fast typist. And even if he had been the most talented of programmers, he would only be recreating someone else's work - it would be their masterpiece, not his own. It was a starting point, though.

The Stonehenge of whiskey and vodka gradually gained a second concentric circle. This he approved of.

Well-trained as he was, the soft footfalls of someone in the hallway made him pause, but only long enough to confirm that it was who he thought it was. The creak of the door opening a few moments later gave him no pause at all, nor the voice that spoke. "Kanou is convinced that I've been hiding you from him."

This made Masaki chuckle under his breath, just for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Teshimine-san asked after you as well, albeit with less threats of violence."

The statement was really a question, but Masaki did not answer. He was busy trying to make the grass in his virtual world just the right mixture of green and brown and grey - perfection was not natural. Stonehenge did not have chemical-treated, evenly cut, lush green lawns surrounding it.

Behind him, his visitor shifted. It was no wonder that MakubeX might feel uneasy in his presence. "Why are you hiding even from him? He's been worried about you."

"I'm not hiding from anyone." Anyone in particular, anyway.

MakubeX never argued with him, which Masaki appreciated. Instead, seeing that Masaki was not going to offer any further information, he stepped closer, into the outermost circle of bottles. "Have you at least been making progress?"

"Some," Masaki replied, still slowly and painstakingly editing variables. This was easier to talk about. "Topography is difficult. The so-called randomization for the forest isn't random enough to look right, just as you told me. I've found the right base shade of green for the grass, at least - so if I can get it to blend properly, that's one..."

"I didn't mean with your virtual environment." MakubeX took a step closer, into the innermost circle. His sacred place. Masaki looked up at large turquoise eyes which were no longer very childish at all. "Why are you working so hard on this?"

"Why does it matter to you?" Masaki countered.

MakubeX played the same games he did, sometimes, and was good at them. "Why do you think you shouldn't matter to me?"

Masaki's eyes narrowed, though his glare was a bit half-hearted; he'd added another whiskey bottle to Stonehenge not long ago. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

MakubeX sat down, crosslegged, at his side. "Why have you always treated me like a real person, when you knew all along that I wasn't?"

It seemed that his eyes were not those of a grown man, either, now that Masaki was getting a closer look. Beneath the calm, MakubeX was still scared by what he'd learned about himself, confused. Though there had to be a dozen questions at least that Masaki could counter with, he discovered that he wanted to answer that one. He might be the only one who could.

"...Because you're more real than many people I've known," he replied. "I'm not referring to those who were created in the same way that you are - plenty of people are only what their environment has programmed them to be, whether they were born from a woman or from a hard drive. You go beyond that. You're imperfect and imprecise, you make mistakes - some of them serious ones - and that seems to indicate that you are something other than simply what you were intended to be."

There was a pause, a moment's uncertain hesitation, then Masaki stiffened as MakubeX reached out to take his hand, holding it between his own with a small smile that made it unnecessary for him to speak his gratitude aloud. Also, Masaki noted to himself silently, he could easily forget that MakubeX was virtual. He felt as real as anyone else.

"That's why I'm not afraid of you," MakubeX told him, drawing Masaki's hand almost into his lap. "That's why your wellbeing matters to me. So will you answer the first question?"

The puzzled look in his eyes must have reflected that Masaki was having trouble keeping track, for MakubeX's smile turned to one of mild amusement. "Why you're so intent on making a virtual environment," he reminded the older man.

Oh, yes. He didn't want to explain all of it, but perhaps a little. "I've... spent so much time destroying things, or helping to put things into place that... that are not... good." That wasn't the best way to word it, but the whiskey did not make it easy to find better words. "I want to make something positive."

Something aesthetically beautiful, that served no purpose aside from speaking to the heart. He wanted to make something he could look at as proof that he was more than what Brain Trust had programmed him to be. He wanted to have hard evidence that he still had a soul, stained as it might be.

Apparently someone believed it, because suddenly he found MakubeX leaning his head upon his shoulder with a tired sigh, having scooted closer while Masaki was lost in thought. "So we're both imperfect and imprecise," he murmured. "The two fallen Kings..."

Masaki just nodded. He was too confused and too drunk to think that perhaps he should be wary of the touch. "I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for what I've done."

MakubeX shook his head against Masaki's shoulder. "But I was the one you wronged the most, wasn't I? And I've already forgiven you. I believe you too are more than... how did you say it? More than what your environment programmed you to be."

Masaki closed his eyes. There was a long silence before MakubeX spoke again, having given him some time to let it sink in. "Will you help with Volts again? I don't believe you have so many sins that need to be redeemed, but if you still do..."

There was more intricacy and compelling realism in MakubeX than in any classical work, Masaki thought. Through the search for a digital soul and another long abandoned, they seemed to be proving to each other that they each had one.

Eventually, Stonehenge was left unfinished - both of them. As for the bottles, Masaki found over time that there were better things to do. His knowledge of Babylon City and Brain Trust provided any number of variables that MakubeX had left out of his calculations, and so their operations went more smoothly when working together.

As for the virtual version, his time was seldom spent in the apartment. When it was, Masaki had begun work on a different environment, one that was his alone.

When MakubeX first opened the door and stepped inside to see what Masaki had been doing and offer some advice, he was greeted by a strong gust of wind and stormy purple skies. Drenched by a sudden downpour, he laughed. "This was not what I was expecting, for a leisure time project."

Masaki smiled slightly - it felt a bit like old times, the happiest times of his life, though those times too had been colored by hardship. "I decided a perfect world would not be plausible - so sometimes it rains."

Rather, it was the unexpected flaws that made the unlikely into a masterpiece.