First | https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1265366621/ Prev | https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1267645481/ Next | https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1269271340/ Author's note ||| JHKBNAKBF MIND NOOOOOOOOOOO :(((( SOMEONE HELP HIM :(((( IM SOS ADHDHDANKJSFS DNOOOOO The door slammed open, the light almost blinding in the dark room. He couldn’t see what happened, but before he knew it, he felt something warm lay on top of him and someone gently grabbing his hand. The hands were soft, almost uncalloused, The Heart? He still heard the morse code in his ears, clearly audible to the people in his room as well. He felt someone tap on his knee once. Then again. Another small pattern of taps and grazes against his knee. It was another series of Morse code. Do they have a guide? It was slow, and uncertain, but he could make it out. O-K? N. The beeps responded. He couldn’t breathe, of course he wasn’t okay. But there was more tapping on his knee, more of that stupid code. B-R-E-A-T-H? N. Another response of his own. He heard the door close, the warmth covering him adjusted a bit. T-R-Y? The taps asked. There was a hand holding his shoulder. It was the same feeling as the one holding his hand. There was a hand placed on his chest, carefully pressing against the wool sweater, providing a gentle pressure. He heard exaggerated breathing, not quite putting his finger on where it was coming from. He tried to replicate it. G-O-O-D. The taps replied against his knee. P-A-I-N? The taps continued, the hand on his chest was calmly stroking his collarbone with the thumb, likely there to feel his chest rising and falling. Y. Finally, something other than N. However, it wasn’t too good, at least oxygen levels were increasing. W-H-E-R-E? M-I-N-D. The Mind replied, which was true for the most part, his head was screaming at him. He felt sick mostly, but everything dulled for a few minutes. The hand holding his shoulder seemed to now move to the back of his head, running a hand through his hair. O-K. The tapping replied once more. He felt a wing wrap around his shoulder. W-H-O? He beeped as a question, his shoulders still shaking, but at least some clarity in his head. S-O-U-L. H-E-A-R-T. He didn’t respond. He felt the hand on his knee, the hand on his chest, the hand on the back of his head, the hand holding his, the wing wrapped around him, the heat from the external layer, the gaze of one of the brothers, the other blind, but still seeing strife. The Mind’s grip tightened on his brother’s hand. After a moment of silence, allowing his synthetic lungs to catch up with his main system, his shoulders relaxed a bit. The hand on his chest calmed a moment. “Apollo?” A soft voice asked, The Heart. “Are you breathing?” Y, The Mind messaged, shoulders heaving with breaths he didn’t even know he could take. He felt a small pat on the back, the hand was no longer on his chest and for a moment, he couldn’t tell what the hell had just happened. He wasn’t real, sure, but does it matter? He was made for not being “real”, made for numbers. “What got you so twisted?” The Soul’s tired voice asked, The Mind heard a can opening. There was another, unnoticeable heave in his shoulders, gears finally whirring at the pace they were supposed to. “Is there a malfunction up there I missed last time?” The automaton didn’t answer, the coolant streaked like tears. Maybe they were tears, just his own twisted version of them. “I am aware I may have accidentally used pathos. I apologize for my incident that appeared out of character.” He finally deadpanned, taking another deep breath through synthetic lungs. “No, it’s fine to show emotion.” The Heart chirped softly, lending one of his wings to The Mind. “It makes us human. Real.” “I am afraid to inform you, Resident Heart, that I am not real.” The Mind cautiously ran his hand over the middle brother’s wing, the feathers ran through his fingers. “I am but a simple machine.” “That little episode you had suggests otherwise.” The Soul rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall he sat against. The entity played with a pen between his fingers, twirling it around absentmindedly. “Like- Jesus Christ, dude. What was that even over? I know I fixed you relatively well, I didn’t think there would be a bug that big.”
“I had a minute episode of derealization, nothing to make a behavioral report on.” The Mind looked up from his knees. The coolant stained the grey jeans, likely. There were going to be tear marks on his jeans for a bit… Great, he thought, what a way to show weakness. “Much less than The Heart’s inaudible wails.” The Heart scoffed, pulling his wings away. The automaton didn’t understand what he had done wrong. He was simply following protocol after he had accidentally broken it, simple as that. The mechanical man scolded himself internally, practically smacking the AI inside him senseless. It hurt, yes, but he strayed. He was growing soft. The Mind stood up, brushing himself off. “But of course, I am sure the chicken you dubbed ‘Darrell’ would appreciate your assistance. I heard him clucking.” The corners of his lips teased a smile, blue lipstick contorting a bit. “Possibly hungry.” “Darrell clucks all the time, aint out of the normal.” The Soul sighed, rubbing his temples. “But this isn’t normal, Apollo.” “Please refrain from calling me that, brother.” A soft hum from the automation, tone bright and cheery. At least way too cheery from someone who had just realized that they will never be as real as their brothers. “I am not Apollo; I am The Mind, and that will remain my alias.” “You let Heart do it.” The Soul snapped, glaring almost. “Because he seems to miss anything I tell him. He is a stubborn man, resident Soul.” The Mind put his hands behind his back, straightening his posture. “You should know. You saw the incident.” “CAN WE NOT TALK ABOUT THAT PLEASE?!” The Heart finally squawked, feathers ruffling up either with anger or embarrassment. “And I am NOT stubborn.” A ghost of a cynical chuckle from The Mind. “Affirmative.” And the automaton paced from the room, his room, oddly enough. “Damn it.” The Soul sneered, eyes narrowing at the open door. “What?” The Heart tilted his head, The Soul could imagine the wide, innocent eyes behind the blindfold. The Soul stood up, scoffing at the entire ordeal. “Pathos my rear.” Then he stormed out, with no other information other than ‘pathos my rear’. This confused The Heart, he was living to humor The Mind in his logical adventures, but The Soul, being the hothead he is, was storming out at what? The Mind seeing emotion? But he was lying to himself, The Heart knew that he was telling himself wrong. The angel knew The Mind would refuse to see things emotionally. The Heart followed, because deep down he knew why the eldest brother was upset. The angel knew the spring wouldn’t last.
