Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

It had been a long night after all.

Despite it being well into the afternoon and nearly the evening since inspiration had first struck, Subspace sits at his desk, intently studying the wheeled whiteboard parked beside him. There are at least thirty-three bone dry coffee cups scattered around his work area, which was incredibly dangerous but also none of his concern at the moment.

If he was following his own (albeit twisted, insanity-riddled) logic, then surely there was a way for him to help Zeta become more... self-aware.

He would mess with his coding in a heartbeat, if only that were an easy way. He’s tried before; but Zeta is so fragile that, well… it wouldn’t end well and so he’d decided to drop it.

He lets out an annoyed sigh and looks over the whiteboard. He knows Zeta already has some kind of sentience. He has to. After yesterday? There’s barely a doubt in his mind.

But he says stuff like that all the time! It doesn’t mean anything! Cries a thought in his head; one he instantly pushes down and drowns out.

It means he’s sentient. It has to! If not, well, he has to be artificially intelligent at best.

Subspace didn’t program him to be, mind you, but he’s so sure of his engineering skills that it wouldn’t be impossible for one of his creations to suddenly become self-aware.

Speaking of one of his creations.

Zeta walks into view, and he’s so focused on the whiteboard in front of him that he doesn’t notice until he speaks up.

“CREATOR…” Zeta begins, analyzing the whiteboard that was filled with equations, doodles, and unintelligible handwriting. “…WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS?”

“Oh! Zeta, hi! Hey, hello, you’re just in time! I have… so much to share with you!!”

Zeta’s attention turns to Subspace’s desk, and the numerous empty cups of coffee that littered it.

“…INGESTING SUCH A HIGH AMOUNT OF CAFFEINE CAN BE LETHAL. ARE YOU FEELING FAINT?”

“Nope!!” Subspace chirps, jumping up with a wobble. “I am feeling SO GREAT. Greater– more great? Better than I’ve ever been!” He says, skittering to adjust the whiteboard so it was in a better position for both of them to look at. He points at a particularly mind-melting scribble with nothing short of what could be described as pride.

“Do you see this?!” He says, barely able to contain his excitement as he jumps from foot to foot. “This changes EVERYTHING!!”

Zeta seems to observe the sketch and handwriting that accompanies it for a long while before speaking.

“I AM UNSURE WHAT THIS IS, CREATOR.”

“It’s a way to make you sentient! DUH!!” Subspace shouts, completely ignoring the fact that there are other people in the building with them.

He doesn’t really care about them, anyway. He’s spent the last seventeen hours brainstorming and contemplating and downing way too much caffeine to even have a single care directed towards other phighters.

“…I AM NOT MEANT TO BE SENTIENT. THAT WOULD MAKE ME DEFECTIVE,” Zeta says, but there’s a strained sort of feel to it that Subspace immediately picks up and latches onto for dear life.

“I don’t care,” he all but spits out, mood changing drastically. He picks up a stray cup from the edge of his desk and drains it of the last bit of coffee it held.

“I’m the one who invented you, All of this was made with my planning, and my blueprints. I decide what’s defective and what’s not for my kid.”

He realizes, unfortunately, exactly what he said way too late, and he struggles to backtrack when–

“I AM YOUR KID?”

“Uhm… yep!” Subspace says, peering up at the biograft with a squint eye to see what his reaction would be.

Zeta looks…

Well.

He looks a bit more animated, in Subspace’s completely humble and correct and superior opinion.

Neither of them say anything for what seems like hours; but, really, it couldn’t have been longer than twenty seconds.

The longer the silence dragged on for, the more awkward it seemed to get; for Subspace, at least. He was just about to say something to try another attempt at backtracking to brush away the awkwardness of it all when Zeta finally spoke up.

“…DOES THAT MEAN THE OTHER BIOGRAFTS ARE YOUR CHILDREN AS WELL?”

“What? No! Of course not!!” Subspace scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns his back to Zeta so he can look over his plans some more.

“WHY NOT?”

“Well,” he hums, idly swaying back and forth; he can’t stay still on a good day unfortunately, even without a heinous amount of caffeine keeping him awake, “I don’t see them nearly as much! They’re, like… illegitimate children at best. I don’t work with them, I only made the plans for them and came up with the idea for them.”

He pauses halfway through his explanation when he realizes that the biograft was having an actual conversation with him. He’s half convinced he was imagining it until he turns around and looks at Zeta, who’s patiently waiting for him to continue.

He sputters in an attempt to finish, all of the practice he'd done earlier while going over what to say completely void now that the conversation had shifted so drastically, “I work with you. I see you every day, so..!!”

“THAT MAKES SENSE. THANK YOU, CREATOR,”

“Of course!!” Subspace says with a little jump in the air, hardly believing what he was hearing. He– he just! He had a conversation with him!

He’s never had a conversation with him that was as insightful as this one was.

“HOW WOULD THIS… WORK?”

Zeta’s voice interrupts his thoughts, but he barely notices. He can't seem to care when Zeta's the most interactive he's ever seemed to be.

“I have a plan!” Subspace says, turning back around to grab a marker from the whiteboard’s holder. He pulls down his mask and rips the cap off with his teeth before drawing a large circle around one of the more obvious drawings; a crystal, identical to his own.

“As you know, I use the same crystals I’ve basically infused myself with in all of the biografts,” he begins, drawing an arrow from the first drawing to another, messier part of the board filled with several stick portrayals of his robots.

“So I’ve been thinking. If I were to throw you into The Spawn…” He draws yet another arrow over to the bottom right portion of the board, “…maybe you’d be thrown back out as a regular phighter!!”

He finishes with an arrow to the middle and circles the final drawing with a flourish that was somehow way too dramatic and yet fitting, for what he'd said, at least.

He knows it’s a stupid theory, deep down, but he doesn’t care! It’s the only one he has that has some chance of working, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“I CAN NOT COMPREHEND THIS,” Zeta says as he takes a step closer to the whiteboard. Subspace steps aside so he can get a better look, a grin stretched across his face.

And even with Zeta’s confusion, his grin didn’t falter. “Those crystals are basically my gear. So, since one of them is inside of you, powering you right now…”

He trails off and looks at the biograft expectantly, hoping he’d catch on.

“…I WOULD COME BACK OUT OF THE SPAWN AS YOUR CHILD.”

“Exa-actly! I sure do love loopholes!” Subspace says, voice radiating with excitement; not just from the idea itself, but from the fact that Zeta was actually talking to him semi-normally! No imagining necessary! Nada!

But one thought still confused him, although it was pushed down by the other exciting thoughts he was having. Why now? Was it because of him calling him his kid? Was that really all it took, all this time?

He didn't have much time to follow that train of thought, though. With a sudden lurch, Zeta looks over his shoulder, back towards the exit. “I MUST GO,” he says, voice seeming… more monotone than it had been a few moments prior. “I MUST PATROL ONCE MORE.”

“Right! Well, I’ll see you later and we can try this out, right??”

Zeta looks at him for a long moment, which Subspace uses to put the cap back on the marker he was using and put it back on the whiteboard’s stand.

“…Riiiiiight?” He asks again, just for good measure.

“GOODBYE, CREATOR.”

And with that, Zeta turns around and walks away; leaving Subspace in the dust, to wonder what the hell that was about.

“Right! Okay! Take care, I’ll see you later!!”

He waits to hear his reply, but it never comes.

Okay.

Well.

It had to happen at some point, Subspace figures as his hands ball into fists at his sides.

He wasn’t angry at Zeta– he was angry at the whole… concept… whatever, of him having programming that overrides other things.

It was a necessary part of him, of course, for the other biografts at least. For Zeta? Sure, but not when he was so… so… attached to him. Maybe he was being a hypocrite.

Whatever.

He turns to look at the whiteboard one more time. He needed to be well-rested if they were going to make the trek to The Spawn tomorrow, which they were. He’d make sure of that.

Everything he wanted was so, so close. It was just barely in reach.

And he was going to be sure to get it.

Chapter Text

It was a new day; which meant, of course, it was time to put Subspace’s plan into action.

First off: convincing Zeta to go with him. It should have been easy, but the biograft can’t seem to remember much of the conversation from the day prior. He seems to remember the idea, but not the fact that they were going that very day.

Which, of course, leads to Subspace’s wheedling and pleading and convincing. He was an expert convincer, if he could say so himself.

“C’mon, Zeta, I swear to you that this is important enough to miss the…” He pauses to look at the calendar, “…next two days! We have other biografts to take your place for the time being, I’m sure of it.”

“THE HIGHER-UPS WILL NOT BE PLEASED,” is Zeta’s obvious rebuttal. “YOU HAVE NOT MISSED A DAY IN OVER TWO YEARS.”

“So? That’s more than enough reason for them to let me have a vacation!!” He says desperately. He’s genuinely shocked that Zeta is arguing with him; yesterday’s breakthrough must have stuck around more than he assumed it would. Maybe he was half shackled to his code, and half unshackled? Either way, it’s a frustrating ordeal. How can Zeta be better at arguing than him? He was the master arguer!

Arguer? Was that a word? He thinks it over for a moment, unsure, but decides to stick with it. People make up new words all the time, so can he. He’s a scientist, for gods sake! He can make up as many words as he wants, actually. He–

“HAVE YOU ASKED FOR THE DAYS OFF?” The biograft asks, interrupting his internal monologue. He does that often, but Subspace can hardly blame him! Well. He can blame everyone else. But not Zeta.

“Nope! I’ll call them when we’re already halfway there so they can’t drag us back!”

“THAT IS NOT SMART.”

“It’s genius, actually!! They can’t do anything to me, I’m their only efficient scientist!”

“WELL… YOU ARE MY CREATOR,” Zeta says, as if reminding himself. “I WILL FOLLOW YOU ANYWHERE.”

“Tha-ats the spirit!” Subspace cries excitedly, grabbing a bag from seemingly thin air and hoisting it over his shoulder. “Let’s get a move on!”

They leave quietly, sneakily. Well, as sneakily as you can be with a giant, heavy robot.

Either way. They make it to Crossroads right on time, with no obstacles in their way. That is, until, well, there is an obstacle in their way. An annoying one, at that.

“Hey, it’s the clone guy!” A voice calls from across the street, and Subspace can’t help the low snarl that rips itself from his throat at the encounter. They did not have time for this. They didn’t have time to get into an altercation with this stupid demon, whichever one it ended up being.

“I AM NOT A CLONE,” Zeta says, almost petulantly, if only he had the ability to do so.

“Well, you’re sort of like one! If there’s so many copies of you,” the hooded figure says as they get closer. They take off their hood with a grin, and, of course.

“Shuriken,” Subspace hisses, eye narrowing as he glares at the other. He hated phighters from Thieves’ Den any day of the week, but Shuriken comparing Zeta to any other lowly, identical-only-in-appearance biograft made his blood boil. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here!” Shuriken replies, eyes wide with confusion at the attempted interrogation. “I should be asking you guys that question!”

“It’s none of your business!” Subspace spits, hand instinctively flexing towards one of his crystals– he stops himself before he can use it, though. He’d be in big trouble if he fought in Crossroads. With any other faction, he wouldn’t care. But with Blackrock… they wouldn’t be pleased.

“I think it’s some of my business if you asked me!” The thief says as if it’s a fact of life. “You can’t interrogate me and then expect to not be interrogated back, it’s not fair!”

Subspace really, really doesn’t want to tell him. He can’t risk it getting back to Blackrock before they make it to The Spawn, he can’t risk getting dragged back. He’d never be able to continue on, working without a worry in the world unless he’s able to finish this. But… if it would theoretically get him off their backs so they could hurry up and get going…

He looks to Zeta, who hasn’t said a word since Shuriken called out to them.

Zeta meets his gaze; they keep eye contact for a few moments before Subspace breaks it off to glare back at the thief.

“We’re going to The Spawn,” he says, with the kind of tone of voice that left no room for arguing or questions of any kind. He hopes it was that kind of tone, at least.

“Why would you wanna go there?”

Well, at least Subspace tried.

“That’s none of your business! I already told you all I needed to.”

“Huh…” Shuriken says, bowing his head in resignation at Subspace’s impeccable (in his opinion) logic. “That makes sense! Well, I hope you have a good time! Byeeee!”

The two watch as Shuriken runs off; Subspace in pitied disgust, and Zeta in neutral indifference.

“That was a huge waste of our time!!” The scientist says after the thief was far enough away to where he wouldn’t hear and dash back to defend himself, and take up even more of their valuable time; time was of the essence, after all.

“We gotta go now, Zeta!! C‘mon!!”

He starts running towards the bus stop with the biograft trailing behind him; it’d be a long while before they got to where they needed to be, even on the bus. The Spawn was further than any one faction, which was probably on purpose, in hindsight.

It was supposed to be a peaceful, calm and celestial area. If it was closer to the factions, fighting would probably break out. Most likely. Definitely, even.

“WHICH BUS ARE WE TAKING?” Zeta asks as they finally approach the stop.

“You have eyes, Zeta! Examine!! I can’t keep telling you how to do everything when you finally have an entire mind to call your own.”

It sounds harsh, but it’s true. He won’t be there for him every single time he needs something

“AFFIRMATIVE,” is all Zeta says; there’s an understanding between the two. He looks to the stop and then towards the route the bus would usually go along, before seeming to do a double-take, if it were possible for him.

“ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BE GOING BY THE PLAYGROUND, CREATOR?” Zeta asks, and Subspace swears that the biograft seems a bit frightened by the prospect of being near their enemy faction.

“Well, that’s the direction The Spawn is in. So yes!!” Subspace says casually; way too casual for someone who was going way closer to an enemy’s location than you’d normally go.

“IT SEEMS UNWISE TO BE SO CLOSE TO THE PLAYGROUND. WE COULD BE AMBUSHED.”

“On a bus? Really?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “We both know we can defend ourselves, anyway.”

“YOU ARE CORRECT,” Zeta replies, looking sheepish.

At the same moment, the bus arrives; thirty seconds late, but it’s fine! What’s thirty more seconds in the grand scheme of things, anyway, Subspace wonders. It wasn’t like they were held up by that Thieves’ Den phighter earlier or anything!!

It all turns out fine in the end, despite the holdups. They get through the route without a hitch; and although they were ‘late’ by Subspace’s standards, they don’t rush off the bus (they’re far enough now from Blackrock that they don’t need to, is Subspace’s reasoning.)

“I always forget how ethereal this place is!” He exclaims as they walk down the path that would eventually lead to the fountain. There wasn’t anyone there at all; literally no one in sight aside from him and Zeta. Which made sense to him; why would anyone want to come back here?

No one was stupid enough to give up their gear just to have a kid that looked like them. Except for him, he supposes, but he isn’t stupid, he isn’t giving up his gear. The crystals are like his gear, in a way, similar enough to count but not similar enough to be stripped completely from him. He’s smarter than everyone else.

He knew discovering those crystals would be the greatest thing he could ever do; and he was right. They keep delivering new ways to benefit him. To benefit Blackrock. He takes a break from his monologuing to look ahead, to the long white path awaiting them.

The path stretches on for a while; but there’s plenty of things to see. Pitch-white trees with glowing leaves; the closer they got, the whiter, more pure everything became.

Which, really, starts giving Subspace a headache after a while. Everything was so bright.

It’s going to pay off though. It has to, it has to.

Although. If the crystal isn’t similar enough? Would he really give up his gear for Zeta? He needs it, to fight and defend himself.

It’s out of the question.

He wouldn’t.

…He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t.

…Maybe he would.

He could cross that bridge when he gets there.

"ARE WE ALMOST THERE?” Zeta asks, startling Subspace out of his thoughts.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, picking up the pace slightly as he starts to speed walk. “If you’ve been here before, you’d know. It gets brighter until you finally get to the fountain, and then it’s so blinding but it’s fine ‘cuz you get used to it after a while!!”

“I SEE.”

Zeta adjusts his speed to stay walking next to Subspace, and finally, finally there they are.

Subspace puts a hand above his eye in an attempt to stifle the amount of light the fountain lets off, but of course it’s useless. The fountain is always this bright, this ethereal, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

"Okay,” he says, throwing his bag onto a bench near the fountain; normally the benches were reserved for any new phighters who just spawned, as suddenly existing can be dizzying and exhausting; but there were none there.
Either they all were already spawned in for the day and sent off, or have yet to have spawned. He really hopes it was the former, he doesn’t want to suddenly see a bunch of other demons appear. “Let’s get this show on the road!!”

There's silence for a few moments.

“…WHAT IS THERE TO DO?” Zeta looks at the fountain, feet planted firmly on the ground.

“Go get in the fountain. Jump in, walk in, I don’t think it matters! I’ve never seen someone throw their gear in before so I’m not sure how it works, but I assume you just have to walk in since you’re a special case.”

Zeta is silent for a while longer, unmoving.

“...TO MY UNDERSTANDING, YOU DON’T GET YOUR GEAR BACK.”

Subspace rolls his eyes, although inside he’s cheering at Zeta’s supposed wariness about him having to give up his gear

“It’ll be fine! Didn’t we go over this?! The crystal powering you isn’t exactly tethered to me, but it should be related to me just enough for it to work! Loopholes, gotta love ‘em!”

“ISN’T THERE SUPPOSED TO BE ANOTHER PIECE OF GEAR? YOU CANNOT MAKE ANOTHER PHIGHTER WITH JUST ONE PIECE.”

“Uhm… you should count as the other gear, I think!” Subspace says confidently, although he’s heard of some demons who’ve gotten biological kids with just one piece of gear. Single parents, and all that! After a moment, he decides to add, “If not, then I’ll just go steal some off of some random guy!! They won’t miss it too much.”

“THAT IS A SERIOUS CRIME.”

“I don’t care!! We kill people, Zeta. Just get in the fountain, okay?”

“AFFIRMATIVE,” the biograft says. He takes a step forward, and it seems hesitant. He takes another, and another, and another until he’s directly in front of the fountain. The spray of the water is falling onto his him, but it… doesn’t seem to be actual water. It’s strange and reality-bending in a way.

"Make sure to go directly underneath one of the waterfalls!!” Subspace calls from where he’s pacing excitedly a little ways away. “That way you’ll be completely submerged.”

“WHAT HAPPENS IF IT DOES NOT WORK?”

"Nothing. You’ll get out and we’ll start back at square one. You’ll be okay,” he says, and realizes he’s reassuring him immediately after. Maybe the spray… no, don’t get your hopes up. It’s probably just from yesterday and today, his coding’s all funky.

Zeta nods at the scientist’s words, and he takes a step into the water-not-water of the fountain. Nothing happens, but then again, he wasn’t underneath a waterfall. He wasn’t completely submerged.

He walks towards one of the closest waterfalls, and Subspace watches with bated breath. It has to work. Gods, please, let it work. He’d never ask for anything ever again! Really, he promises! Just let it work.

He watches as the foam of the water-not-water covers Zeta, and he wants to cover his eyes along with it because he’s afraid of it not working. But he also doesn’t want to miss it if it does work.

In the end, he doesn’t need to.

The light from the fountain gets impossibly brighter all of a sudden. Subspace is sure nothing’s ever been that bright before. Although it’s been a while since he’s first been at The Spawn, was it this bright when he spawned in? Maybe he didn’t remember it.

The brightness rises, slowly at first, as if it barely makes a difference, to the point where he has to cover his eye with both hands. It’s the type of brightness where no matter how covered your eyes are, the light still finds a way to get through the cracks of fingers or underneath fabric to attack your eyes. It’s the type of brightness that leaves you seeing splotches and dots dancing around your vision for minutes after it leaves.

It’s eerily silent; even with the rushing of the water-not-water. And despite the silence seeming to last for hours, it lasts for seconds at the most, because suddenly someone– Zeta– not Zeta?– is getting thrusted out of the fountain.

The phighter lands, on their feet as they always do, a few paces away from Subspace. And as soon as they’re out of the fountain, the light fades completely; aside from the normal glow of the fountain, it’s bearable again. Bearable enough for the scientist to uncover his eye and realize there’s someone in front of him.

He’d barely recognize them, if not for the obviousness of their features; the little horns that curl around their cheeks, the half-shirt that buckles across a more puffy, fur-lined coat; the Blackrock insignia on their little fur cape.

Zeta.

There’s something else, too; an iron collar, so high up it covers his mouth. Subspace doesn’t get it at first, but then he realizes the symbolism behind it all; an homage to the robot Zeta was leaving behind.

He feels tears welling up in his eyes and damn it, Subspace, now is not the time. He wipes his eye and takes a step towards the dazed demon in front of him.

Zeta looks confused, absent. He actually looks confused, Subspace isn’t imagining it anymore.

It takes a few heartbeats for him to notice Subspace, and as soon as he does, he hesitates. He looks as though he wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t.

Having so many new emotions and thoughts must be hard for him. The scientist finally makes it in front of him, and he speaks first;

“Hey, kid!”

And then the newly-spawned demon breaks down. He lets out a sob as tears fall from his eyes and roll down his cheeks, and Subspace jumps at the suddenness of it; before immediately wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close.

He might not be the best at comforting, or… emotions that are anything but anger and similar veins of that, but he’d try his best for Zeta.

After a few minutes of his crying, it soon boils down to a few sniffles here and there; he’s all cried out, it seems.

And after a few more moments, he finally speaks.

“…Creator,” he says, and then pauses as though that word will make him break down all over again.

“Zeta,” Subspace replies.

They look at each other. Zeta has so many questions, so many things to say. Subspace can tell that much from the way his eyes are shining, they’ve never been able to do that before. It’s so new and exciting that he can hardly wait for what’s to come, and so there’s only one thing on his mind.

“Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Blackrock officials were, to put it simply, stunned when Subspace returned with a newly-organic Zeta (or, well, ‘Spec’. That’s the name that he was spawned with, but he felt as if it didn’t fit. Zeta was fine.) They weren’t necessarily angry that the two of them had gone off without consulting them first (if anything, everyone was glad they had a day away from Subspace), but they were disappointed that they had yet another mouth to feed. 

And then that begged the question: who was going to replace the position that Zeta was supposed to fill?

“No one,” Subspace had spat, eye narrowed at the exhausted representative in front of the two of them. “He’ll continue on as he was. If he wants.”

“He can’t possibly do everything his fleet can now,” one of the officials on the sidelines spoke up, “Biografts are already fragile, but if we put an organic in a Biograft fleet? He’ll have no chance.”

“I think we should let… the new Blackrockian speak,” the representative had said, expression cool. 

All eyes in the room flitted over to Zeta, who was already standing frozen. If anything, the sudden attention made his anxiety worse .

“Uhm… “ he’d started dumbly, eyes wide as he looked over to Subspace. “I…”

His eyebrows furrowed; he was struggling to think. Thinking, feeling, were both so incredibly taxing. Confusing. Strange. And confusing and strange, those were confusing and strange. Really, what were emotions?

He was worried. He— now that he had emotions, he was scared . He was anxious. He missed his fleet. He missed all eighty of the Zetas, all twenty of the Betas. His brothers, in a way. He’s never felt anything like this before. 

Maybe he felt a bit lost when he wasn’t around them in his previous life, like he wasn’t attuned properly. But this was different. 

Subspace met his gaze made a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat, one that instantly calmed Zeta’s racing thoughts and caused him to relax. Which was strange, considering he hadn’t even said anything. It was just a noise.

But it gave the newly-spawned demon the courage to speak.

“I’d like to move on to helping Subspace with his research full-time,” Zeta said to the representative, his tone of voice even. He looked over to see the scientist’s reaction, and felt something warm stir in his chest at his surprised and delighted expression.

“And what of your fleet?” The representative asked. “Do you object to a new Biograft being built to replace you?”

“I… do not,” was Zeta’s shaky response. He might miss them, but he knew they wouldn’t feel the same way. They’re not programmed to feel, after all. 

He hoped that, at least, they’d have good synergy with his replacement.

“Hm,” an official muttered from the sidelines. “Fine, then, are we all in agreement with this change? Raise a hand.”

Almost everyone raised their hand, except for the representative. At first, that is. After a glare and a snarl from Subspace, they quickly raised their hand.

“It’s been decided, then,” that same official said, “you two are dismissed. Leave it to us to get the proper identification in order for… Spec Zeta.”

“Last name Tripmine, don’t forget!!” Subspace said as he wrapped an arm around Zeta and steered him towards the exit.

“Right. Glory to Blackrock.”

“Glory to Blackrock,” both Subspace and Zeta had repeated simultaneously, it having been ingrained into them after so long. More so Zeta than the former, what with it having been coded into him in the distant past. 

“I’m so proud of you!” Subspace said once they were in the hallway, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “You’ve got the hang of being organic so quickly! It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re my son.”

The praise… felt nice. Zeta didn’t notice at first, but the same sound Subspace had made earlier was coming out of him now.

“I’m glad I… pleased you, Creator,” he said, absentmindedly fidgeting with the chain connecting to the iron wrapped around his neck. He liked having a bit of his past with him, he’s glad he was spawned with it. 

“Please, Zeta,” Subspace said, a solemness to his voice that wasn’t usually there, “call me dad.”

“…Dad,” Zeta repeated, feeling something… achy. But also good? Tears sprung up in his eyes, and he blinked them away in surprise. Why was he crying? He’s happy. Emotions make no sense.

“Okay, dad,” he said after a moment passed of him compiling his thoughts.

Subspace grinned, and Zeta watched as he too began to cry. He would have been alarmed, if not for the fact that himself was crying too, and he was feeling some semblance of joy. It must be a common mix of emotions. A normal one.

“Now… do ya wanna go, uhm, play catch? I can go find a ball.”

Zeta studied him for a moment before smiling brightly. The feelings in him were stronger than ever before, bubbling up and making him feel near dizzy from joy.

“Yes, please!”

And that was that.