Summary: In which there was something off about the kittypet Thunderclan had accepted into their ranks. What kind of cat tried to define what 'eating' was?
Or alternate title; Fireboi is an adaptive and ever-evolving AI that's trying to figure out the world around him.
I'm taking a crack at the Firestar-is-a-robot AU. The idea popped up into my head after watching M3GAN.
So I have a full-time job now and no longer have to scramble to post the chapter on Saturdays because I finally have weekends off for the first time in forever. This also means that I'm freaking exhausted coming home every day, which is probably why this chapter didn't come out as well as I wanted it to. Despite working full hours, I'm still going to try to have somewhat regular updates.
Rusty didn't think there was anything strange about his life.
He followed his usual routine, which usually consisted of analyzing the plants growing in the backyard, scanning the house for even the slightest bit of abnormality, and occasionally letting his caretaker look over him.
His caretaker always placed him on the smooth, shiny gray table facing forward and let the weird appendages connected to its paws flit and tap over some kind of board with a bright window connected to it. He never knew what his caretaker was actually doing, because the weird string usually kept him in place. The string always felt strange, like it was clicking with something on the back of his head. He usually went into sleep mode at that point. Then he would wake up fully recharged, but his caregiver would be done with whatever it had planned for him. Each time felt a little different, but not by much.
Some time ago, he would be able to play with the smaller cats afterwards, 'kits' Nutmeg had called them. He learned how to be gentle with them, and eventually they warmed up to him.
They found him a bit weird. He supposed it was because he was bigger than them. They always had such strange looks on their faces when they explained to him what 'fun' was, or that time Nutmeg asked him about grooming…
Nutmeg was doing the thing with her tongue again, where she would swipe it over her kit's pelts. Then when she was done, and the kits ran off to play again, she would swipe her tongue over her paw and rub it over her face before repeating the action.
She caught him staring. "You know, I never see you groom yourself. How do you get your fur so smooth without doing so?" she asked.
He titled his head. "Groom?" he tested out the word.
She blinked at him, curious. "You know, keeping yourself clean? Making sure there aren't any knots in your fur?"
"Oh that!" He knew the answer to this one! "The caretaker usually uses a strange object to brush my fur," he explained.
"But you've never groomed yourself before?"
"I…" he frowned. He could not recall a time when he needed to 'groom' himself. But Nutmeg and the kits were like him, weren't they? How did they do something that seemed to come to them so naturally?
Did he even need to 'groom' though? He stared down at his paws, lifting one up hesitantly. He just needed to do the thing with his tongue right?
He heard Nutmeg sigh. She padded up to him until she was by his side. "Just follow my lead, okay?" Then she started licking his pelt. He decided to do the same and started 'grooming' hers in turn.
That was when he discovered his tongue held little spines that made brushing Nutmeg's fur easier. It was like the strange object his caregiver used on him!
His caretaker seemed to be a little happier the next time it saw him licking his paw, glowing with pride.
That was the day 'grooming' and its meaning were added to his memory bank, and learned that he could do it too.
Nutmeg and her kits were long gone now, each sent to different homes. It was strange being alone when most of his life he had other cats to engage with.
He looked over to the fence surrounding the garden. Outside of his home was an entire world to explore and analyze. He'd like to see how the rest of the world worked one day.
He licked his paw, drawing it over his face.
Yes, there was nothing strange at all about his life.
.
.
Firepaw trotted after Graypaw, across the clearing, and past the shadowy corner where Spottedleaf had her den. He took note of all the shapes and colors, of how the dens were structured. They stopped beside a fallen tree that sheltered a patch of lush grass. Crouched among the soft greenery were four elderly cats tucking into a plump young rabbit.
"Dustpaw and Sandpaw would have brought them that," whispered Graypaw. "One of the apprentices' duties is catching fresh-kill for the elders."
"Hello, youngster," one of the elders greeted Graypaw.
"Hello, Smallear," mewed Graypaw, nodding respectfully.
"This must be our new apprentice. Firepaw, isn't it?" meowed a second tom. His patchy fur was dark brown, and there was only a stump where his tail should have been.
"That's right," Firepaw replied, copying Graypaw's polite nod.
"I'm Halftail," purred the brown tom. "Welcome to the clan."
"Have you two eaten?" meowed Smallear.
Graypaw shook his head, though Firepaw did tilt his head somewhat at the new term 'eaten'.
"Well, there's enough here. Dustpaw and Sandpaw are turning into fine hunters. Would you mind if these youngsters shared a mouse, One-eye?"
The pale gray queen who lay beside him shook her head. Firepaw noticed one of her eyes was clouded and sightless.
"What about you, Dappletail?" The other elder, a tortoiseshell she-cat with a gray muzzle, meowed in a voice cracked with age, "Of course not."
"Thank you," mewed Graypaw eagerly. He stepped forward and took a large mouse from the pile of prey, then dropped it at Firepaw's feet. "You still not tasted mouse?" he asked.
"Taste?" he wondered.
"Come on, you can have first bite. Just save me some!" Graypaw dipped his head and stood back to give Firepaw room.
But Firepaw only stared down at the mouse like it was something foreign. He did not know what 'taste' was or how to do it.
"I get that you're used to that kittypet slop, but really? I'll have the first bite then," Graypaw grumbled. Firepaw observed how Graypaw opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the mouse's soft flesh.
"What? It's like you've never eaten before," he joked.
"How do you 'eat' something?" he asked curiously.
Graypaw and the elders only gave him shocked looks, like he had said something wrong. Had he said something strange? He didn't understand why cats were so hesitant to teach him these kinds of skills. Surely they had someone to teach them how to 'eat' as they put it.
"I suppose I can try," he tried placating them. He bent down and tore a chunk out of the mouse, chewing as Graypaw demonstrated.
Graypaw's eyes lit up happily. "So? How is it?"
He could feel sticky liquid fill his mouth as he slowly broke down the mouse. But what did he do with it now? Graypaw had stopped chewing eventually; when was he supposed to stop?
"When do I stop?" he asked, mouth full.
"I… you can swallow now?"
"Is he okay?" Halftail whispered. The others shrugged, eyeing Firepaw in concern.
They were horrified as Firepaw finally decided to spit out the remains of the chewed up mouse, looking down at it in peculiarity.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I understand how to 'eat' as you put it. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
"Haven't you ever eaten something before?" Smallear meowed in shock.
"I don't recall such a time doing so. This was my first time," he explained.
Firepaw realized that he must have done something wrong, because they wouldn't stop staring at him, jaws gaped open and eyes wide in alarm.
That was the day 'eating' and its meaning were added to his memory bank, and learned that he could not do it like other cats could.
.
.
"I want each one of you to try catching real prey," meowed Lionheart. "Ravenpaw, you look beside the Owltree. Graypaw, there might be something in that big bramble patch over there. And you, Firepaw, follow the rabbit track over that rise; you'll find the dry bed of a winter stream. You may find something there."
Firepaw was slightly apprehensive about his assignment. He did not know how to 'smell' for scents, but he was sure enough in himself that he could catch something.
Even if he couldn't 'scent', he could still hear. His ears swiveled, listening for soundwaves.
Instead of prey, he caught the sound of something else…
"…worried about Firepaw. Graypaw told me that Firepaw didn't know how to eat. He didn't seem worried that he couldn't do so, like it's normal for him," he heard Lionheart's somber voice.
"Have either of you seen him eat anything? I know it's only been a day, but surely…?" Was that Bluestar's voice?
There was a moment of silence, before Bluestar sighed. "I had Spottedleaf look him over, at the elder's request. She looked over him but couldn't find anything to indicate that he was starving. There was one thing though…"
"And that was?" Tigerclaw asked.
"She couldn't hear a heartbeat. All she heard was a strange whirling sound coming from inside of Firepaw." A whirling sound? Was there something weird inside of him?
"So what, the kittypet is more of a freak than the rest of them?" Tigerclaw snorted.
"That's not funny Tigerclaw," Lionheart chastised.
The rapid pulsing of something small caught his attention and decided to focus on it instead of the concerning conversation held by the three warriors.
He turned on his infrared vision, and he instantly zeroed in on a small patch of yellow and orange scrambling through the long grass.
Firepaw shifted closer, remembering to keep his weight on his haunches until he was within striking distance. Then he pushed back hard on his hindpaws and sprang, kicking up sand as he rose. The mouse raced away. But Firepaw was quicker. He scooped it into the air with one paw, threw it onto the sandy streambed, and lunged on top of it. He killed it quickly with one sharp bite.
Firepaw carefully lifted the warm body between his teeth and returned with his tail held high to the hollow where his mentors waited. He had made his first kill. He was a true Thunderclan apprentice now.
That was the day 'hunting' and its meaning were added to his memory bank, and learned that he could do it too.
.
.
What had seemed as not strange in the beginning of his life had turned into something that was definitely strange. He had learned and adapted to Thunderclan's way of life enough to know that he wasn't like all the other cats. They could scent and taste and feelings and emotions came naturally to them.
He couldn't scent or taste, and emotions only served to confuse him, but he held an entire map of the forest territories within his memory bank and knew the most efficient ways of hunting and fighting to the point where it seemed unnatural to everyone around him.
His skin was as hard as rock, and he didn't bleed like everyone else. His fur almost seemed stuck onto his body. Many cats had tried to rip him apart, only to walk away with hurt claws and sore jaws.
He figured it had something to do with whatever was inside of him that Spottedleaf caught all those moons ago.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, hesitantly curling his tail around that of Sandstorm's. "I'm not good at understanding how mates work, or how to 'love'."
But she only purred. "I don't know how it works either mouse-brain. Everyone does things differently. You and I are no different. The only thing we can do is try."
Try. He could try and see where this 'mate' thing took him.
"Even though I'm not equipped to give you kits?" It was just something he instinctually knew. He had been awkwardly explained to as to how kits were made, but with how…unnatural he was, he didn't think it was possible for him to have kits.
She paused for a moment, before shrugging. "Kits are a bit far in the future," she murmured. "Let's just focus on us first. Then it we get to that point, we'll figure something out."
Something foreign rose up in him, confusing but warm and inviting. Sandstorm always made him feel weird… was this 'love'?
Nevertheless, Fireheart relaxed next to her, putting his head on her pelt as they started sharing tongues.
That was the day 'love' was added to his memory bank and learned that maybe he could do that too.
In which Fires doesn't know that he's some kind of android but understands that his 'abilities' are natural to him and doesn't question them, but does question why no one else can do the things he can do.
Unfortunately, androids can't have kits. Or dream. He's not equipped for either of those things but maybe his mind will evolve to the point where he can dream. Might make getting nine lives a bit of a challenge...
It also throws Starclan for a loop because no one can get in contact with the weird ginger cat whose mind seems to completely shut down whenever he goes to sleep.
Tell me how I did.