HAGANE
The world is full of metal and wires, of electronic beats and small sirens that hurt his ears. Sora winces as an electric shock is sent through his entire body, lighting up every part of him. His eternal organs burn and his heart protests, but it's not enough to make him scream. He's used to the minor shocks, the twitches and tremors that accompany the shocks, and the low buzzing collar that irritates his neck and produces the shocks.
A tall, limber woman walks up to him. He glances at her nonchalantly, taking in her glass eyes and the metal wires protruding from her arms like tiny veins. He knows that no blood flows through them, only the low hum of electricity and oil.
She passes him a single, apathetic glance before speaking. Her tone is just as metallic and unfeeling as her body. "It's time." She pushes bleach-white strands of hair out of her face and back into the tight bun held together by wire.
Sora nods slowly, standing. His body barely fills out his white shirt and pants and he follows her on skinny legs, tripping every so often on the tiled, sleek floor. The lights in the room behind him dim and the hallway starts to brighten instead, creating sharp neon blue lights that sting his eyes. He blinks away the pain, forcing himself to get used to the different frequencies. He didn't live in a metal cell for seven years to flinch at a few flourescent lights.
He then turns to stare at his escort for an event he's known only as Hagane. Her pale skin reflects the neon lights, making her look as if she's covered in a shiny sheen of sweat. He laughs at himself inwardly. After all, robots can't sweat.
She notices him staring and her pupils turn skinny like a cat's, making her grey iris' stand out against white, unflinching skin. "You are prepared for battle?" In her flat voice it sounds more like a statement.
Sora nods. "Yes, I am." As ready as I'll ever be.
She turns, looking straight ahead and stops in front of two chrome doors. Sora stands beside her, waiting for her to unlock the doors. After a few minutes of reflection gazing, he raises an eyebrow. "Um, Larxene? We need to make it before they burn the iron."
She says nothing, facing the doors with a firm line for a mouth and unthinking eyes. She lowers her head, the jarring motion sending her neck into an angle not possible for any mere mortal. "You're the last one."
Sora gives her a small smile. "Yes. You told me that before."
Her eyes turn orange briefly before settling back into grey. She repeats the statement just as flatly as before. "You're the last one." Her eyes flash again.
"I understand, and I'm ready." Sora squares his thin arms and cracks his knuckles. "Let's go give them a show."
Eve bends her head down, still looking at him from the corner of her eyes. "You do not understand. There should be no indication of any positive force of energy in your system."
Sora chuckles. "There's nothing wrong with being happy."
"No. But this situation doesn't call for happiness. It is, dare I say, inappropriate." Her body shakes in one single spasm and she turns abruptly. Her arm shoots forward and a slide reveals a square hole where the doorknob should have been located. She types in the code rapidly, then the door opens. Larxene frowns.
Sora shrugs, walking in front of her now. "Like I said before, iron burning."
She catches up to him in a second. "Your signals do not seem to show any increases in adrenaline."
"Yes. I guess that would make sense. After all, I am not afraid." They reach an elevator and Sora goes in first, pressing the combination that will take them to Twilight Stadium.
Larxene stares at him for a long moment, then looks at the wall. "Why?" She asks.
Sora gives her an even wider smile than before. She almost sounded human that time. "Larxene . . . it's time."
"That is your final answer?"
"Yes."
Larxene emits a sound that sounds like static, her version of a sigh. "Very well."
It's silent after that as the elevator continues to rise. Just before they reach the tenth floor Sora grabs Larxene's hand, squeezing. It takes five good seconds, but Larxene squeezes back just as the their entrance slides open. They walk out together, neither disturbed by the rough cheers blasting them in the face as they step into Twilight Stadium.
The cheers rise in volume, as the challenger and his escort enter the arena. However, if one took a good look at the audience one would have noticed that none of the people were opening their mouths to cheer. Just as the 'people' weren't really people, the cheers were also fabricated. Sora searches and finds four speakers in plain sight. He knows that others are probably surrounding the stadium within the stands.
When they reach the main platform, Larxene let's go of his hand. Sora stares at her for a moment, eyes watering slightly. Then he smiles and hugs her. "Thank you, for everything."
Larxene raises a hand to his back and gives him two pats. "I'm sure that Miss Namine will be happy to see you."
Sora nods, not bothering to hide the tears in his eyes now. "She will be, I'm sure of it."
Two metal guards with steel spears come towards the duo. Sora lets go of Larxene reluctantly, then follows the guards to the main platform. Once they all set foot on the corner of a square it rises, glowing blue from the fire sending it upward from the base. It eventually forms with a cage that floats in the sky. Cameras are located at each corner in the top, and when Sora looks down from the caged ceiling he sees his opponent.
The reveal, despite how prepared he was, is shocking. The metallic being before him is different from the other robots, that much he knew. But it was not the realistic skin, or the fleshy legs and arms, evident by multiple small cuts. No, it was his eyes, a bright neon blue shaded only by the bright brown hair that shoots out in spikes. Data Sora completes his reveal with a small smile, though it is devoid of life.
Sora narrows his own eyes. So, that's a Cyborg. He . . . he looks just like me. A clone. Is that who I'm supposed to fight? Sora gulps as the announcer speaks from an intercom that blasts through the speakers.
[Twilight Stadium proudly presents HAGANE. A tradition that has stemmed through five generations, we present to you a new and improved experiment that will test the boundaries between two natures, one of steel and one of flesh.]
The guards step back from Sora after removing the metal collar around his neck. After they've reached a distance of ten feet a blue, criss-cross shield separates him from the bars connected to the platform. Probably so we can't jump through the holes, Sora muses before slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
[As many of you have received within your databases, this will be our final Hagane experiment. The subject, Sora, is the last specimen of use. Therefore, this fight will stay confined within the rules of hand-to-hand combat.]
Sora blushes, takes in a deep breath, and pulls down his pants. He then takes off his shirt and underwear, leaving him completely bare and vulnerable. Data Sora does the same, and his pink skin almost convinces Sora.
Almost. But he will never confuse the physical wonder with life.
[Before we start, we will begin this event the same way we progress through every solar cycle. The Iron Burning.]
Sora squints his eyes and tries to resist the urge to cover his nose as the guards around him slowly set fire to balls of oil that have been placed on top of their spears. He hates the smell, hates how the scent clouds his nostrils and presses against his exposed body. He blinks away the stench and stands tall, shifting his feet against the cold platform. If he had looked at his Cyborg he would have seen a similar expression on his clone's face.
[As you can see, both subjects have presented themselves in their natural forms. This, my fellow brethren, is the mark of true humility, true sacrifice. Now, the battle shall commence.]
Sora closes his eyes. Wait, for me, Namine. I'll be there soon.
But first I will fight. For you, for all of us.
He opens his eyes and is met with his clone's fist.
The sound of his knuckles connecting with real human flesh surprises Data Sora. He had never trained with the specimens before, never saw a real human up close since his three month wire check up.
But here was life, here was human spirit in the flesh. The last of it's kind. And it was all for Data Sora, all for his glory. As the new prototype, he would set the ground for the new generation models, a new kind of robot combined with human ingenuity and form.
This Hagane had to be nothing short of excellent. Therefore, he would draw it out. It was a common strategy for many fighters, as the human specimens grew weak over time as they held these battles.
But this one has a different presence. Sora is different, and not just because he is the last.
Data Sora vows to find the difference. He runs towards the specimen again, punching him in the stomach this time. As the human falls to the floor, Data Sora lifts his hand, viewing his fleshy knuckles (he liked the word, "fleshy," for it indicated that his skin was created from the stem cells of past specimens). Crimson liquid runs in between his fingers. Ah, it was blood. The blood of the human.
He lifts his hand to his mouth, tasting it so that his internal computers can identify it. He wants to see if there really was iron concentrated in the liquid, as the older generation models had told him time and time again. He allows himself a small, human-like smile when his system registers the iron. "You are bleeding."
Sora doesn't say anything, hunched over on the floor. What poor judgement. It's a shame he didn't take advantage of my opening. Data Sora walks toward the human slowly, attempting to create another opportunity for his opponent to attack. However, the specimen remains still. The animal must be roused. "So, you're the last one, huh?"
Sora sits up, spitting blood, before getting on his knees. "Yes, I am. But, you already knew that I'm sure."
"I did know." Fifteen, brown hair, blue eyes, big smiles, divorced parents, one sister . . . "I know everything."
Sora smirks, then runs up and performs a leg sweep. Data Sora jumps but fails to notice the fist aimed for his face. "Then you should have known that was coming."
Data Sora shakes his head, rubbing the left side of his cheek. He feels the metal plating underneath the torn skin and this makes him frown. "Seems I underestimated you."
"All robots do." Sora ends the sentence with another strike to the face, this time using his knee.
Data Sora rolls on the ground, then stops himself by digging his heels into the platform. He gets up, brushes a few flakes of peeling skin off then smiles again. He wasn't expecting this much power from the specimen. He knew the battle would go differently because this was the last one after all (and human sentiment obviously called for retribution). He now desires to see the human at its full potential.
Data Sora produces a fake giggle and lifts his peeling hand. "I think most of this is your sister's skin," He says, flexing his fingers. When Sora doesn't move he starts walking around him. "I like your skin better though. Are your organs just as nice?"
Sora's eyes narrow. "Tell me how he did it."
"Did what?" Data Sora smirks.
"Tell me how your master killed Namine."
"Your sister, the second to last human . . . " Data Sora crosses his arms. "Do I receive body payment for this?" Data Sora offers himself a mental pat on the back for the request. "Body Payment" hadn't been used since the tenth Hagane, and he was sure the significance of the fight would go up now because of this suggestion. Only the tough specimens could withstand performing this transaction, and in reward for the payment the robot would always share whatever information the human had asked for.
Sora tilts his head. Finally, after shuddering, he nods. "Alright."
"You'll have to pay first."
"Which part do you want?"
Data Sora holds his hand out. "Since you are the last human, I will allow you to choose."
Sora takes a deep breath, body rigid from the tension. Data Sora appreciates the view, of seeing every muscle coil, every part become firm. He would never admit this to his master, but Sora's calm demeanor had bothered him earlier.
Finally, Sora raises his own hand. He trembles and shakes before bringing it up to his left eye, fingers curling close to his eyelid. Data Sora gasps as the specimen starts screaming.
He didn't know that the cost of knowing would be so high, but if he had been told Sora probably would have just kept fighting to the death.
Now he fights to control his moaning, to stop the tremors rolling throughout his entire body. He tries not to think about the unseeing hole, or the smugness in Data Sora's voice as he describes Sora's 'payment' in full detail for the audience. Apparantly, Sora had very healthy eyes.
How am I even still awake? How could I withstand this much pain? "It's true . . . isn't it?" Sora asks, voice shaky with pain and agitation.
"Yes?"
"It's true that life is prolonged here."
"Why yes. The platform exudes a special substance that allows humans to have a higher threshold of pain. But that is not the information you wanted to hear."
Sora shuts his one good eye, grimacing and covering his wound. "Please, tell me the truth about what happened to Namine." He shivers as he feels his clone touch his bloody hand.
"Namine was a clumsy specimen. Reckless and unsure of herself, Eraqus simply could not find anymore uses for her. My very first assignment was to finish her off for him."
"Y-You killed her?"
"Yes, at the seven-age mark of system formatting according to human biology, I appeared with experimental skins in your form and dismembered her."
Sora shakes. "Dismembered . . . "
"Yes. It was quite simple. She had very delicate bones." Sora gasps as the Cyborg trails his hands down, cold fingers tracing patterns along Sora's arm. "Very frail and light. All I had to do was break her ankles." A low chuckle blasts into Sora's ears and he winces. "Her scream sounded so beautiful. The vibrations coming from her throat were very intriguing. It was interesting seeing the frequency change as I cut into her legs."
Images course through Sora and he remembers all the propaganda videos that his various escorts have shown him in the past. Of people being forced to run through mazes, electrocuted every time for stopping. Of people having certain bones broken while machines record their reactions and heartbeats. Of people watching their family fight each other and write about the fight in a journal so that their robot handlers can use it to analyze human emotions.
And then the images morph and he sees his sister being killed by a seven-year old imposter that looks like himself.
Sora sits up, still shaking but this time with rage. He lunges, slamming his clone into the ground, punching him repeatedly in the chest. Then, with a growl, he pulls with his bare, bloody hands. A single snap followed by snarling pops jump out from Data Sora's left arm. The entire stadium is given an exemplary view from a huge screen above, allowing the robotic crowd to watch the metallic wires sparkle and spew bits of oil from within the mechanical veins.
Data Sora manages to fight with one arm, though his actions are less stable and precise. He worries now that he will not defeat the specimen, a failure so jarring and final for a prototype. He had been careless, he had pushed this human too far.
Now this was Hagane, the roughest Hagane his fellow metal brethren had seen in nearly a decade. Fuel from anger and rage allows Sora to gain. Would it be even possible to catch up?
The source, I must attack the source. Data Sora jumps out of the way of another brutal fist only to get slammed into the ground by another kick. Before he can move Sora straddles, holding him down with one hand and shooting another hand towards his neck. The source of his power, a chip that carried all his information.
If he breaks my neck I will shut down. A strange, tingling sensation runs down Data Sora's spine. The feeling distracts him to the point where he almost doesn't feel Sora's hand grip his throat. Data Sora's neon eyes flicker, a warning. He looks up at the human that's about to do the impossible, looks him straight in the eye. It's out of respect and reverence. If this is how it ends, perhaps it's not a bad thing. That only speaks to this human's true potential, which means the experiment would have been a success. At long last.
But . . . I never did find out what was so different about him. Sora squeezes his neck harder and he feels his vision flash, briefly turning into static. He coughs and the raw oder of the oil hits him. He wishes for the smell of blood, at least it brings more significance to the energy draining away from him. Wait, what is he thinking?
The pressure in his neck intensifies and he forgets the queer thought. He can feel different parts of his body shutting down, falling limp. He opens his eyes, grimacing at the assortment of colors that are slowly fading into a field of white and blacks. He can barely make out Sora, but when he gets his eyes to focus he can see the boy's face twist in agony as water falls from his one good eye. Why would he produce a . . . negative response? He's doing the unthinkable . . . this is . . . good, right? Life is conquering man-made volition.
Data Sora blinks, taking in Sora's body. He wants to see it, something full of life one more time. Sora's body looks like it's shining, tainted only by specks of blood and oil. Wait, shining? Skin doesn't shine. Ah, my cognition is slipping. . .
With the acknowledgement of his ultimate demise, he looks down Sora's chest, avoiding the human's gaze so that he can give him the privacy to end it. As he stares at Sora's naked form he feels strange sparks of intuition spinning in his databases. He feels conflicted, confused, and surprised. He gasps as Sora's body shifts against him, hips brushing against hips, and his eyes open wide as the sensation rolls up his spine. What was that?
The feeling swims through his metallic insides and he shivers. Then everything goes numb. Except for the tightening force around his neck, but . . . was it lighter now? Why was he still aware of his surroundings? Data Sora blinks as Sora lets go of his throat. "I can't do it, I can't do it," Sora mutters.
Now that the pressure from his neck is gone, he can feel his body slowly turn back on. His toes twitch and his one good arm goes into a spasm. But his injuries don't distract him. His mind is in a daze but he still remembers that one feeling, that one sensation before. His network slowly routes up, giving him directions, orders, information. He's supposed to be fighting, but right now curiosity holds the reigns. How can he reproduce that sensation he had experienced earlier?
Something splashes on him, light and quick, in the shape of a pin. Data Sora blinks once and stares directly in Sora's face. Ah, he's . . . leaking again. Sora continues washing him with tears while leaning closer, face pressed into the cyborg's chest. Data Sora feels the spasm rock through his metallic organs, this time settling near his hips. Oh, I remember now. That one feeling before . . .
In a move both human-like and of the intensity that only comes with a metal core, Data Sora sucks in air and thrusts against Sora. It's an awkward motion, metal encased in skin rubbing against other skin. But the feeling it produces . . .
Sora lets out a startled sound, a cross between a yelp and a moan. Data Sora tilts his head to the side, then thrusts again. Sora moans even louder and his entire body shakes. It's not hard to see the source of the agitation, the heart throbbing faster as if singing along with the boy in streams of anxiety. Wait, the source! That's it!
With his mind clear and fully powered up, Data Sora brings his hand up out of Sora's shaky grasp and stabs metal fingers straight through Sora's chest, gripping the heart. Somehow the wound strikes both fighters as personal and impersonal at the same time, a crass boundary spilling over from both savagery and privacy.
I'm killing him. The realization hits Data Sora with brutal force. It's a gruesome thought to acknowledge, but what's even more strange is the slight sparks of negative emotions battering inside his injured network. Is this what the other challengers meant? Is this what it means to regret?
The air is tense with the smell of copper, sweat, and blood. Pulling back his hand would be futile at this point, but Data Sora thinks of doing it all the same, of giving back the fluids of life that had intrigued him earlier. His wishes lay unanswered in the tense space between them. Then, Sora shatters the silence with bloody tears and a smile. "You really do have a heart of steel."
The classic parting line, the acknowledgement of defeat. Data Sora nods once in respect and out of tradition before saying his crucial lines. "As you really do carry the source of all enigmas. All life." Then he forms his hand into a fist, feeling the life seep out of his fingers and into the air, towards the sky past their cage of virtue and science. He imagines Sora's soul, sees it flying above the cage with the other white spirits away to some place that exudes life. Unlike here, where everything is mechanical and built for only one purpose. Recreating that sense of life.
Data Sora slowly pulls his hand out, viewing the unmoving heart up close. Perhaps it was a good thing Sora had left this world now. The thoughts were strange and foreign in his head, but he was beginning to feel like his kind didn't deserve the source, the sensations.
And maybe . . . maybe that was why he had been destined to fight the last human.
"Codename: 346287172878. Subject's name: D.A.T.A. S.O.R.A. Copy back?"
He blinks once as they strap something cold to his shoulder stump. Ever since the fight he's lost all feeling in his entire body, not that this surprises him. Many robots before him had spoken of the aftermath. Guess a few human parts added in wouldn't change that.
"Copy back. Subject has sustained minor injuries, one fatal."
The sparks of metal clashing against metal as they attach a new arm to him actually brings some feeling back. He blinks again, letting his eyes wander until they freeze on one single robot. "Master?" He says lightly, not wanting to strain his vocal system since his neck is still a sore spot.
Eraqus comes up to Data Sora, ruffling his hair. "I knew you were more than just a prototype, you changed the world today."
Data Sora nods. "I was truly honored that the board picked me to represent the Cyborgs."
"Yes, very fortunate indeed." Eraqus rubs Data Sora's reconstructed arm with oil. "Did you like the feel of the skins?"
"Yes, I was slightly unsatisfied with their level of durability though."
"Ah, yes. Skin is very fragile." Eraqus tilts head, then hands Data Sora a grey shirt and grew sweatpants. The robot doctors step back, allowing Data Sora to change. "I just received a briefing from Aurora. She has the body ready for you to dismember."
Data Sora nods then walks to the transporter. It sends him to the preservation station and he sees Aurora, a tight-lipped older generation model. She was the highest ranking expert on dead specimens. "You are here for Sora, correct," she says, her voice a perfect monotone.
"Yes."
Aurora lifts a black blanket, revealing a very pale looking specimen. The brown hair had been bleached white while the skin had been coated in a special substance so that it could keep it's unique texture. Data Sora stares at the stitching on Sora's chest. "He looks very different," He says, lifting one hand to finger the bleach-filled hole where Sora had gauged out the body payment.
"Yes. His body took well to the process. I think he is the best in our inventory when compared to our last couple of specimens."
Data Sora frowns. "That's . . . I didn't mean that."
Aurora stares at him, then she gives him a slow nod. "Ah, yes. The difference between life and death can be interesting, no?"
"The difference is what matters the most." He frowns. "I didn't think this fight would affect me this way."
"He did injure your chip. You were nearly powered down, it's normal to think in negative loops and chains. I suggest you consider conditioning."
"Conditioning." A process that would wipe his database, a restart switch. All functions returned to the base of operations, a new body perhaps.
And no memories of the Hagane. "I'll pass."
Aurora raises one eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Data Sora walks over to the counter, viewing the internal organs set on the counter in perfect display. He picks up the one under the label Heart. "Yes."
Aurora sighs. "I respect your opinion, after all you did fight in the last Hagane, but still . . . "
"Data Sora will be fine," A flat voice utters before Larxene walks in, hands on her hard metal hips. "His database is still functioning properly. Despite the twisted encoding in his chip, I do not sense any dangerous activity in his network." Larxene eyes widen briefly, probably scanning Data Sora to support her claim. "I assure you, he does not pose a danger to the other Cyborgs."
Aurora tilts her head, eyes distant. "I see . . . very well. However, if I notice any suspicious behavior, Sora, I will have to report you."
Data Sora blinks. "I beg your pardon, Aurora, but that is not my full title."
She smiles lightly at him. "You must have sustained more damage than Eraqus realized. Surely you remember that the winner of the Hagane takes the loser's name. From now on, you will be addressed as such."
He squeezed Sora's heart lightly, feeling the dead muscle sag in his hands. "Right."
"Excuse me, Miss Larxene?"
She turns, eyes dull. "Sora . . . what do you want?"
The hostility in her tone surprises him almost as much as the new name. "I just wanted to say thank you. If you hadn't said anything, well . . . I would probably be getting conditioned right about now." Sora (he's still trying to get used to it) bows politely in front of her. The fact that she is an older generation model, and an escort at that, doesn't stop him from performing the symbolic gesture of honor.
Larxene smiles but it looks forced. "Don't thank me. I'm on my way to get conditioned right now, as I have done for every human I've trained for these ceremonies."
He nods. "You grow attached to them."
Her eyes narrow. "Not attached. I pity them. This is not what life means, I don't know why we insist on these experiments. We will never find the secret to the human soul. Perhaps, it was never for us to discover in the first place." She lowers her gaze, eyeing the black bag he carries. "It seems you have grown attached as well, hmmm?"
Sora blinks then looks at his hand. "It's just his heart."
Larxene tilts her head, eyes glowing brightly. "You cremated it."
"Yes." He raises an eyebrow. "Do you want it?"
Larxene laughs. "Why would I want the rotten dregs of a useless muscle?"
"It's not useless. It was his source. It's what mattered the most." He rips off a part of his shirt, making small knots. He then opens his bag and pours some of the contents into his shirt. He hands it to her wordlessly.
A spark of interest flashes through her eyes, but then she turns away. "Don't you think it would be odd for any robot to carry something like that around? We have no use for it."
Sora frowns. "Maybe we don't need a use. Just the act of carrying it . . . well, it has to mean something."
"It doesn't change the fact that Sora is dead."
He brings his hand down back towards his own chest, squeezing the contents tightly. "You're right, it doesn't. But . . . isn't remembering enough?"
Larxene stares at him for one long moment, then she holds up a small white piece of metal and hooks it to her own wrist. "Not for me." She sends him one last nod of acknowledgement, then she disappears behind a corner, leaving him with his own memories.
He's still gripping the heart tightly as he sits in his own room beside a container full of a special salve for the new skin that's recently been placed over his arms. His legs are hard and grey, a stark contrast to the fake sense of human life his arms represent. He blinks then looks out the window.
He blinks again. And again. "Odd," he mutters before opening the window, allowing for full view of the strange phenomenon in front of him.
Hundreds of floating white people. They flutter in the wind, lingering near the opaque rooftops, all staring at him with a sad expression. Data Sora (he's taken to using that name in private, especially now) has the sudden urge to look away. The way the white spirits stare at him . . . only shame can follow such sharp expressions.
Except for one. "Sora?" He asks, tilting his head.
The spirits part, forming an invisible line, allowing Sora to glide over to the window. His translucent body shimmers lightly in the breeze and his face is guant. Yet, he alone isn't staring at him with a sad countenance. "They call you Sora now, yes?"
The question carries in the wind and Data Sora performs the first single, human-like action unwillingly. He shivers. "Yes. It's not my rightful name, but I am called that now."
Sora's answering smile looks almost caustic, but then he tilts his head, mimicing Data Sora's actions earlier. "You carry a piece of me. Why?"
Data Sora looks down, bringing the black bag up. His hand trembles and he looks away from the evidence. "I don't know."
Silence hangs in the air and all he can do is feel the stares of the apparitions, the weight of all humanity's sorrows resting on his fake shoulders. It's all too much for him, not right for him. Not worth the fight, not even worth the action to carry the bag.
Then he feels something warm by his shoulder. He blinks and is somehow not surprised to see Sora in front of him, face a few centimeters away. Sora blinks as well, black eyes devoid of emotion. "I'd like to be free now."
Data Sora lifts the bag up wordlessly and the ghost simply nods. Internal computers question the logic, demand an explanation, can't process what any of it means. Yet, a part of Data Sora is aware, a part is able to acknowledge the loss as he opens up the bag outside his window, watching the beautiful black dust swim in the air. One by one the spirits vanish, creating small puffs of white light that lift the black dust into the air, accompanying it.
Data Sora turns, facing Sora. "It's done."
Sora's body glows faintly. His lips pull up into a smile, almost dismissing the sad shape his face has taken. "Thanks."
He disappears then and then the world submits to silence. Data Sora sits back on his bed in the same position he had been in before the onslaught of spirits. It's all the same . . . and at the same time everything is different. He doesn't like the difference, doesn't like the sense of emptiness that coats his entire core now.
But he's not really surprised. Something as precious as a heart, even a dead one, was something he was not even worthy of. He is steel, he is Hagane. Pure and simple, an answer his database works out in the span of five sluggish minutes. But the strange drops of oil leaking from his eyes speaks of something more.
A full cycle has passed. Time for the iron burning and the ceremony.
Data Sora sits up precisely at the crack of dawn. He will have to make himself presentable. Clean up the oil from his body and face, download acceptable mannerisms and data concerning Hagane facts. He has to represent something after all, show that he is indeed a survivor (and not in need of conditioning. Absolutely no conditioning).
But . . . his eyes are still leaking. Not much, but it is an annoyance.
Data Sora narrows his eyes, trying to command the oilworks to stop, but the dirty tears keep coming. Pathetic. He brings his hands up, shielding his face and decides that he will remain in a stable position and setting until his body releases the stress. Remain calm, still. Release the stress.
But something is disrupting it. What is it?
Data Sora frowns, touching his chest. Pounding. Something in his chest is pounding. Something is jumping out of his chest. What is wrong with his chest?
Still pounding. Why won't it stop? "Why?" he asks, but his internal computers come up blank. They can't trace it, can't find it. It shouldn't be happening, what is happening?
Pound. Pound. POUND!
Wait, not pound. That description dissatisfies him. It doesn't quite fit. What word fits?
Bash? No.
Bang? No.
Pound? He already used that one. Screw my chip, he thinks, blinking once in anger. The oil is leaking out of his eyes even faster now. This is going to ruin everything.
Yet, it sounds . . . not bad. Nice even. Sort of carries a . . . beat? "Like a heart beat," he sates dully.
Heart. Beat. His eyes widen. His chest is shaking, his hands are pressed firm against his own chest, he's starting to make strange noises, air is moving out of his chest in intervals, the oil is still draining but it looks clear . . . no, that is not oil, his arms are aching, his spine is tingling, his hips twitch with anticipation, his chest is thriving, his heart-
His . . . heart.
Sound.
Heart.
Life.
Data Sora's eyes are open as wide as they can go, and he freezes, looking out the window as the realization finally dawns on him, bringing in the light just as the computers in his head freeze completely.
Data Sora has a heartbeat.
Well, that was . . . I don't know what to call it.
Very intriguing, interesting, and . . . uh, weird. But cool, also cool.
Criticism would be much appreciated as this is one of my first major attempts in the Science-Fiction realm. Thank you for reading and have a great day.
Um, and if you hadn't guessed already, you should all know that I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Seriously . . .
Well, enjoy the rest of your weekend.
Justice