Chapter Text
Subspace’s noticed something... off, about Zeta, in the previous five or so days. Or at least, he thinks there’s something off.
It isn’t anything wrong with his system or anything; Gods know he’s checked it fifty-seven times since he first started acting funny. Although, maybe that fifty-eighth time would’ve made a difference…!!
Or maybe he’s just crazy. Well. Crazier. Maybe it was that ray gun he’s been working on, maybe it scrambled his mind up when he was testing it.
Or maybe it was the unnatural levels of radiation that he used to make it!
Or maybe–
Shaking his head to clear up that thought process before it spiraled, he decides to just up and ask Zeta about his concerns as he’s shuffling off to go on a patrol.
“Hey, Zeta,” he says suddenly, skirting in front of him and nearly colliding into the wall with the poorly planned attempt.
“WHAT IS IT?” Zeta asks in that obvious monotone, robotic voice. Although there seems to be something more, but Subspace knows that’s impossible. It has to be impossible. He wishes it was possible, of course, but–
Offtopic again.
“Are you doing alright?” He tries, tilting his head to get a closer look at the biograft in front of him.
“I AM IN WORKING ORDER,” Zeta notes, maneuvering both swords to one hand and flexing the other one as if to test it. Afterwards, he looks expectantly to where Subspace is blocking the door; waiting for him to move so he can go on with his patrol.
“Well, what I mean is.. are you feeling okay?” Subspace says, putting emphasis on the ‘feeling’ as he shifts excitedly– anxiously– (excitiously, his brain decides on) from foot to foot.
Zeta seems to process (ponder, is what Subspace’s brain decides to use instead) the question for a moment more before replying, “I AM NOT DAMAGED. EVERYTHING IS AS IT SHOULD BE, CREATOR.”
It feels strained. To Subspace, at least! He can’t be the only guy who feels that it’s strained!
“Are you sure?” He asks, somewhat desperately. He’s sure there’s a crazed look in his eye but when is there not?
Zeta looks him over, seeming at least a tiny bit concerned.
“..I ASSURE YOU. NOTHING IS THE MATTER,” he replies at last.
“Come on!! You can tell me, obviously, since I’m–“
“..CREATOR,” Zeta says flatly, and it seems even more so despite the usual monotone.
“Ye-es?” Subspace says with a joyous expression. He leans forward with his hands clasped in front of himself, excitedly awaiting Zeta’s response.
“I WILL BE LATE FOR MY PATROL IF I STAY FOR MUCH LONGER.”
He instantly deflates at the biograft’s polite attempt at getting him to leave, hands going back to his sides as he steps out of the way, “Right, yes, of course! Duh, how silly of me!! Well, don’t let me hold you back any longer! I’ll see you when you’re done–“
The biograft hardly waits for him to finish as he marches through the doorway, and Subspace relents with a sigh. (A sigh of defeat? Disappointment? Who knows, but it’s certainly not him who does.)
He waits for Zeta’s footsteps to fade, and when the clank clanking finally subsides, he storms back to his desk with a huff.
He whizzes past one poor lab assistant, scattering their papers everywhere in a flurry, and yet he doesn’t look back. He’s SUBSPACE!! He’s the greatest scientist and inventor of his time, Blackrock’s most prestigious… guy there! He doesn’t have time to care about anyone.
And yet…
Nope! No! Nuh-uh! He isn’t worried about Zeta. He doesn’t care about Zeta. He’s a merciless, non-sentient killing machine. He doesn’t need anyone to worry about him!
He makes it back to his desk and all but slams down into his chair. He looks over all of the papers strewn across his desk in disdain; half of them are legitimate, albeit messy, plans for new ways he could better Blackrock. The other half are… well. He doesn’t know what they are. Random, chicken scratch lines… doodles of stars inside of circles, really, just random unproductive ways to pass the time.
He throws all of the unproductive papers into an already overflowing wastebasket, filled with many, many others of their kind.
He just… he just wants to talk to Zeta.
Talk. Actually, genuinely, talk to him. He wants to go do stuff with him. He wants to, Gods, go out back behind the lab and play catch with him in the mountains, as ridiculous as that sounds.
It takes Subspace just a moment to realize what that means, and he’s angry at himself for wanting it.
Zeta is, as if to remind himself, a killing machine. One of his design. He wasn’t programmed to be sentient. He wasn’t built to be a son.
So why does he feel like one? Why does Subspace want him to be one?
It’s stupid. That’s what that thought is. It’s stupid, and unproductive, and so un… un… unscience-like of him. He needs to stop having that thought IMMEDIATELY!!
And yet.
After a moment of focus.
He can’t.
He can’t stop worrying about Zeta. He can’t stop caring about Zeta. He can’t stop… he just can’t stop.
He should be overseeing biograft productions, or coming up with new concepts for inventions and even more ways to use the biografts for handiwork for Blackrock.
And here he was. Obsessing over something he could never have, obsessing over a non-sentient robot. And, well, actually: what if he was sentient? Even just a little bit?
He sure seems to be. Sometimes.
Maybe.
He was just about to go down another rabbithole of his own insanity when, of course–
“CREATOR,” Zeta says from where he was looming in front of his desk, startling Subspace out of his thoughts with a strangled yelp. Had time passed that quickly?
“Zeta!!” Subspace says excitedly, a little too excitedly and he’s sure Zeta picked up on it and that he’s going to point it out but it’s fine, “did the patrol go well? Are you doing okay?? How’s your joints, I know you’ve been having trouble with those for a bit so if you need me to work on them I can–“
“THE PATROL WAS UNEVENTFUL YET SUCCESSFUL,” Zeta cuts him off, and right, Subspace forgot he can’t process that much information at once. He was stupid for talking to him like he’s a regular person.
“I AM ALSO IN WORKING ORDER.”
“That’s great!!” Subspace crows, eye shining. He’s happy his patrol went well, and also… proud… but that’s silly.
“IS THERE ANYTHING YOU NEED ME TO DO BEFORE I SHUT DOWN FOR THE REST OF THE DAY?” Zeta asks, looking a bit embarrassed yet happy from the praise Subspace offered.
“Let’s just talk,” Subspace suggests, scooting forward in his chair to the point where he was right up against his desk.
“TALK…” Zeta ponders, “WHAT IS THERE TO TALK OVER, CREATOR?”
“Well… your patrol! What all happened!?”
There’s a long pause; Subspace swears he can see the biograft looking very concentrated as he thinks.
“..I AM NOT SURE,” he says at last. “I DO NOT STORE INFORMATION REGARDING MY ASSIGNED PATROLS UNLESS THERE IS SOMETHING EVENTFUL TO TAKE NOTE OF.”
“..of course!” Subspace says, his smile growing so wide and strained it would have been considered ‘manic’ and ‘horrifying’ to anyone else, if they could see it. He should have known, considering he was the one to program him. But is it so wrong to hope that, maybe, Zeta would go against his programming just once?
“IS THAT ALL YOU NEED OF ME?”
“Yes, of course, go on now! Take care!!” He says, waving him off.
There’s another long pause, and then, as soon as Subspace thinks Zeta is going to just walk off without saying anything:
“..YOU AS WELL, CREATOR. TAKE CARE.”
It’s so shocking, so sudden, that Subspace can do nothing but stare after him as Zeta marches off.
He…
Zeta has to have some sentience, then. This proves it, he’s… he’s learning. Evolving.
Although, Subspace could also be crazy. Crazier. And he’s sure he is. But not… not about this. There’s… there’s hope, then. That maybe… he could gain sentience? If not… maybe there’s something he can do with Zeta and The Spawn… the possibilities are endless. There are so many. So many possibilities… with the crystals… and The Spawn…
He immediately gets up and runs off towards the break room to get coffee while the thoughts were still fresh and racing around in his mind: there was a long, long night ahead of him.
Hopefully it would be a productive one.