Work Text:
I'm sitting in the lounge, rewatching Worldhoppers, as ART's consciousness wraps around me like a blanket, watching my emotional reactions. It doesn't really need to, we've seen this show together enough times that it's learned about as much as it can from my reactions, but I let it anyways.
As the familiar title card plays once again, my mind wanders. I think about what my life used to be like, compared to how it is now. Things aren't necessarily easier, I still have a group of thankfully-not-quite-idiot humans to keep safe, and there are plenty of things out there that want them dead, but some of the tension that I assumed I would have as long as I was alive has faded.
Some sort of feeling floods my brain. It's too slippery to pin down, a nebulous sort of thing that doesn't fit neatly into any of the usual parameters.
I pause the show, not sure how to react. ART experiences emotions differently, it's fully code, with no organic parts, and something tells me this is coming from my organic parts, but it's still better than asking one of the humans. "ART, I'm detecting an unusual..." I don't know what to call it. Not quite a sensation, but more intense than what I've come to know as feelings. "An anomaly. In my brain. Could you run a diagnostic?"
ART pauses for less than a second, but I don't miss it's flash of nervousness that leaks out into the feed. I can feel it rummage around in my code, and pull up the necessary info. "I'm not detecting anything unusual, could you elaborate on what you're experiencing?"
It's my turn to pause as I try to find words for it. Creativity has never been my strong point, I don't even think I have a module for it, but this seems too far from the norm to be described by my usual perfunctory language. "It's like how I feel when I watch sanctuary moon. But more." I shake my head at that, dismissing it as a failed attempt. "It's like the difference between the minimum oxygen I need to function, and human level life support. It feels like I can breathe." Even that feels like a woefully incomplete description, but I think it's the best I can do.
I feel ART pull closer around me, brushing up against my exposed code. Its emotional data bleeds through the feed, and I can sense a sort of smugness, as well as other things that I dare not name. "SecUnit, I think you're happy."