Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clawing at it. Digging into its alloys. Infused into the metal of its gear. That was the only way Coil 2.0 could describe this… ragged voice that screamed in its digital subconscious.

It assumed it was only a weird governing piece of code, as it seemed to yell at it when it was killing others, shouting at it to not do it, how wrong it was to end the lives of “innocent” escapees and invaders.

But it’s voice wasn’t just limited to some circuit. It was infused into its being, underneath its metal skin, wanting to get out. Wanting to escape. Wanting to tear the head off of its Creator. Irrational wants from an irrational voice.

An irrational voice that didn’t seem to go away even with every update.

Coil 2.0 learned to ignore this voice. It got in the way of its objective. The hopeless, raspy voice seemed to turn into tired whispers over time, never really going away.

It seemed to stay that way, as a quiet yet desperate voice in its subconscious, never seeing the light of day or affecting its physical performance.

That was until the kill of the most recent invader.

-

[ DEINITIALIZING COMBAT MODE ]

[ ENTERING STANDBY MODE ]

Coil 2.0 analyzed the current situation of the recent kill. The invader was limp on the floor. claw marks across its torso area with blood staining the grounds of the alleyway. The sterile neon lights of signs above illuminated the scene, with splinters of a broken skateboard strewn across the ground.

The voice.

That voice.

It was back.

Screaming at it with more emotion than ever. Gnawing at its artificial skin. Sobbing while pounding at the alloy barriers. Desperately wailing it get out

It needed to get out.

He needed to get out of their wretched vessel of utter sin.

It was so much and so surprising that Coil 2.0’s systems were digitally taken aback.

The invader had always felt.. familiar to Coil 2.0, from when its cameras first laid eyes on him and its analyses concluded it as a threat. Somewhere deep in its subconscious. Something no full memory wipe could’ve erased, even if his actual memory storage had no recollection of who he was.

Coil 2.0 found its knelling on the ground next to the corpse, its metal knees next to the messed up hair of the dead body. The raspy voice was crying its heart out, unable to do anything but grieve in its metallic grave.

Then there was a newly given objective. A self-given objective from its own systems.

More of a… desire than anything else.

It.. he.. wanted this person to be alive again.

It was an irrational objective.

It was the only thing he ever wanted.

Coil 2.0’s claws gently picked up the corpse by its waist.

A memory peeked through to its head.

…

A room. An apartment to be precise. In the company of another green demon and a red one. The red one he just killed.

Music from the green one’s gear filled the room, their own personal rave. He was dancing in the living room with the red one, with golden beams from the window of the living room covering them all warm light, a room full of life.

He and the other one met eyes. His hands then picked up the red one by the waist and raised him up, spinning him around and around, laughing their heads off that they drowned out any cares in the world.

As the rave music wrapped around them, an embarrassing desire re-entered his mind. Embarrassing because he had it for such a long time but never had the guts to do. It was also honestly so cheesy, but he didn’t care.

Coil had always wanted ask Skateboard from a slow dance. He always had a guilty soft spot for that genre of music. He knew that that type of music was definitely not really the vibe right now, with the music Boom played being mostly some sort of experimental breakcore.

It was still there in the back of his mind.

As Coil put down Skateboard and Boombox started up another song, Coil told himself that he’d ask Skate for that, no matter how much he’d be laughed at, the next time.

Next time.

Next time didn’t come.

He couldn’t even use his mouth to ask, with it being sealed shut by a metal face plate.

He couldn’t even scream.

Skate was dead.

Killed by his own wretched hands.

His metal arms, still holding Skate, gingerly brought the corpse on his chest, embracing it with Skate’s blood staining his uniform, his metal claws clinging onto Skate like that would magically undo everything.

Undo everything he’d done.

Like the blood drenching him would wash off the sins on his hands.

He then loosened his grip, with his left arm still under Skate’s underarm, supporting him on his metallic chest, and his right arm holding out Skate’s lifeless hand.

His feet then guided them, leading them in circles in that alleyway, with Skate’s feet dragging on the floor. His metallic head kissed Skate’s helmet while Skate’s head still lifelessly limped on his neck of wires.

It was only the two of them, stained with blood and the sterile neon lights above. The blue LED light that was his eye flickered off, as if he were closing his eyes to absorb the moment.

The only song accompanying them in their lifeless dance was his own solemn steps, grating metal on the damp concrete floor.

…

“Coil 2.0!? What are you doing!?”

His head flicked up, caught off guard.

Shit.

He forgot.

He forgot that he was supposed to be accompanied by Crea- Subspace.

Subspace.

The man who took his organic parts away.

The man who put him in their metallic grave.

The man who made him do this.

He dropped Skate’s corpse on the floor of the alley and bounded towards him.

That sick wretched man.

He saw Subspace’s fear in his stupid, crusty eye.

Then he disappeared into a trail of particles.

The particles led to somewhere else.

Away from him.

…

What a coward.

He could be getting reinforcements.

Whatever.

Send them all, for all he cared.

He stumbled backward, back into the alley.

Falling down and sitting himself near the lifeless Skate.

All the anger he felt towards Subspace was now directed straight at him.

Skate’s blood was on his claws.

His wretched, metallic claws sewed with human sins.

They plunged into metallic legs, ripping through the uniform pants and tearing the motors.

A voice within him told him that this was irrational.

He’d be beyond repair if he continued.

Why would he want to repaired if the only thing he would ever do was hurt?

He then clawed at his face. His stupid wretched face that only had one eye and no other sense of expression. The pinnacle of his inhumanity. What identified him as a wretched creation of who caused him to be this way.

Finally, he dug into his chest, grabbed at his horns, and pulled out the crystals powering him, smashing them into lattice dust that dissolved into the air.

The blue LED light where his eye was meant to be flickered off as his torn up metallic frame limped next to the corpse of Skate.

Two corpses, once children with dreams, lay in the alleyway, a sea of neon lights from above illuminating their demise, their sterile buzz being the only sounds remaining.

GLORY TO BLACKROCK