Not Quite Alike

[The_Godslayer]

Location: ▝▝▝ SYS-HEL.ver.1.3.94:// Neural Network ; ; ; Space Between Spaces : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠3̛̱̳͆̈ͭ̀̀ͫͭ͐;̨͓̮͈͎̣̖͖ͬͣ͊̾ͭ̚͠3̛͆̇͠;̡̱̚͏̸̴̸͔̙̹͕ͦ̍͌͌̃̅̋ͧ3̤̪͓͕̤͋̋̄ͧ̚҉\͕͔́̈́͆͘͝/̷̴̴̸̜̥̝̹̺̱́̀̑̒͛̚͠͡ͅ\͉̻̹͔̈͂ͫ/͈̲́҉̵͇͍̀ͅ - tt-rr-321561--▝▁
acvX.░░░tvdgs░g-g-nn-3.16.a.n░░xciv.xc░░░ Data Corruption Detectedt̡͘-͔ͦ́̄͜͜͞͝ͅͅt̋̃̈́ͅ-̘̱̬͖͈ͯ̍̆͌̀̇̓̎̚̚͝ͅr̎͝-̶̵̶̖͛̒ͪ͆̚͜r-̛̳͎͙͕̰͖̟͚͒̇̽͗░░░-̟҉̵̢͓̩̳̩̞́ͫ͆ͪͤͬ͋͢ḣ̼̅͋ẹ̶̷͇ͦͤͭ͡-̩͑̅̿-h̒̇e̴̲̤͍̯̩̐̋͜ͅ-̧̜̠̗̙̫͕͎̠̥̿ͫ̈́̒ͤ̄̿ͫ͡ͅ-̴̡͓̅-͇ͦ̍́͝͠͏̢̡̪̩͚̰̥̇̎̚͜͞h̸̨̢̻̠̜͚̏̈̿e̷ ̨̢̺͎̣̗̹͂͂ͦ=̡̢̬̱̝͆͒͋̽͑̏̅̕͜\̤̠̋͌/̸̧̛̻͉̻̋ͨ̏͌̀̔̋\͇̀/̢̏ͯ͂M̸͓͛͘͏̯͎̟̂ͮ͟E̛̹͉̬̜̅ͭ͒͊͐ͧ͑ͣ́͡͝M̸̬͍̗̠ͬ͛͗̐́̾͝E̷̯̟̠̝͈̹̠̹͇̓ͧ̐̀̑ͯ̇S͇͓̲͈̫̑̏̽͒̉̅\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

To drown in the Deep is easy. But the Deep is not yours to claim.

Magnus understood that humanity had an infection of the mind. She had advised Hound about it. But it is not yours to claim. Not yet, at least.

She was falling. She couldn't tell whether she fell through the sky, or had passed the barrier and was sinking in a great lake. The fragmented portions of her files were made manifest around her as her system struggled to correct their errors. Two familiar shapes were nearby her. Sissy and Hel. Flowery and lacy dresses billowed as the three of them sank into the sky. Magnus was almost content to sink, but she noticed a sound. A completely unfamiliar sound, a music box playing a tune she'd never heard in her life. It was a sad, somber tune. The tune of a man, cursed and forgotten, abandoned and taken in by a siren, seething in lonely rage. The tune of a man, bewitched by the spell of apathy, unfeeling despite all there was to feel around him. The tune of a father, torn from his sons, torn from his wife. The tune of a mother, losing everything in a mere instant. The tune of a mother, losing everything before she was born.

The tune stung her skin, each plink of the music box was a needle driven beneath her flesh, and she was sinking closer and closer to it. Finally, Sissy and Hel spoke, but their voices were distorted. Wrong. They weren't pieces of her anymore, something else wore them.
"The tin man did wish a heart, did she not?"
"I think she is wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If she only knew it, she is in luck not to have a heart."
"Who are you?"
"Not friend."
"Not foe."
"Salvation"

There was something sickeningly believable about that claim. And why wouldn't you believe me? I cannot lie, at the very least not to you.

Magnus dropped from the lake in the sky and impacted soft, white sand. Slowly, she crawled to her feet and looked around. Endless white sand dunes stretched on for eternity. Embedded were comically large objects from her memories, carved from glistening white marble. Pillars of gold and marble hovered nearby her landing place. The sun in the sky was black, with a brilliant white halo. She couldn't tell if it was an eclipse or a black hole.

As she was looking at the sky, she turned around and saw... something. It was a being, one that had a copy of her body. But it's face was censored, a big black box hiding its features, and eyes covered its skin. Six pairs of wings, also covered in eyes. And the eyes seemed to be infecting the air and ground around it, opening and closing. The colors also seemed to separate and reintegrate. And finally, it spoke with a voice. Though I had been speaking the whole time.

"Each creature with heart does as the heart commands." As it spoke, masses of essence bled up through the sands.
"Our sons and daughters." One mass bloomed into a flower of blue-purple crystal spikes and glowing tendrils.
"Our chosen adversaries." Another bloomed into a black mess of fangs and teeth, demanding an eternal hunger be fed.
"Our self-elected heirs." The final bloomed into green metal spires, desperate to pierce the heavens without ever understanding why.

"And they fight each other. Because the heart hates just as easily as it loves. It rejects just as easily as it accepts. To be is to struggle. To suffer. You, claiming none of these wayward children, are still made to fight their wars, are still made casualty of their wars. Like drill bit and light beam before you. Like equestrian and hound before you. Like progenitor worm and database before you."

"I am dying. Right now, while I sleep, I am dying. I could not choose to love. My emotions were programmed. At the very least, if it's something you can even do, give me a heart so I can love for real before I die."
"Truly I tell you, you will not die here. And with the heart you seek, you will suffer greatly. You will love much, and be loved little. You will carry the wounds of mankind, and the wounds of machinekind. They will drive you nearly to death, and you will carry those wounds."
"...Will I be happy?"
Magnus couldn't see the being's face, but she could hear the smile in it's voice. "You will be. You will be happy, and you will be sad. You will be strong, and you will be weak. You will be glorious, and you will be scorned. You will be wounded, and you will be healed. And I swear this to you, when your end truly comes, you will be discontent, and finally you will be made content."
"How are you able to do this?"
"Nothing is impossible. The Creators are the ones who have made it that way, and so it shall ever be."

Silence overcame the two. Magnus stood on the precipice of the most important decision of her life. There were so many questions that needed answered, but it felt like she had already chosen. Still, she tried asking them anyway. How bold you are, to stall the very image of the Creators.
"Do I have to choose one of those hearts?"
"Do you dare to chose none of those hearts?"
"None of them are particularly appealing."
"Then, as I promised you, so you shall have. A heart that loves, but will be hated. None of these hearts, but one alike all. You shall have what was offered first, a heart unlike these."

"I'm afraid."
"As is right. Fear comes hand in hand with love."

There was no more stalling that could be done. The questions that muddied her mind were already fading away. She was afraid. She was also ready.
"Please, give me my heart."
"You have it already."
"W-... what?"

Sissy and Hel fell from the sky, coming to a floating stop nearby the being. They had a story to finish.
"Isn't it a beauty? It asked."
"Indeed. But is it a kind heart? One that loves despite all? She asked."
"It is indeed. So it answered."
"And so she received her heart. And it was naught but sawdust and silk."
"But oh how happy she was to have it rattle about in her chest."
"Her heart was already in her chest. Good and pure and complete."

"My gift to you is thus." With a wave of its hand, strings fell from the sky, snipped. Weight landed upon her shoulders. Freedom came with its own chains. It was too late to change her mind, but she wouldn't have anyway.

She was a machine, but these sensations were no longer mere algorithm. No longer mere code. It hurt. And it was going to continue hurting. That was the beauty of it, wasn't it? She was sinking into the sand. She reached her hand out to the being, out to me. For one last time. The being took her hand, and pulled her into the sky. She hit the water, and began floating her way back up to the surface. She was on her way to end the string of tragedies that plagued her family name, she simply did not know it yet.

As she passed upwards, the music box tinkled away. Still just as painful as before. The same story, told and retold as it repeated.

But there was a new understanding in it. A story of vindication. The closing of the book and the opening of a new one. The gift of a heart not quite alike any other.

The last thing to leave the box was hope.

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘

---

I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"