Archive of Our Own

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

Solipsism: The Serendipity Project

[The Serendipity Project: Trial 92]

[Status: In Progress]

Mold: Park Jimin 

{ ID Number: 815165

Rank: Pupil - Vanished

Born: Astral

Age: 20

Intelligence: High }

[Scanning Mold . . . ]

[Scan complete. Mold ready for anesthesia.]

“This is San Gloria speaking. Rank: Professional. Overseer of the Serendipity Project. This is only a trial and will not be programmed in the same way a final product will be. Park Jimin, blink twice if you can understand me.”

[Pending . . . ]

[Pending . . . ]

[Pending . . . ]

“Park Jimin, the procedure will be painless as long as you comply.”

[Awareness confirmed. Preparing to gather data. Preparing to record senses.]

“Park Jimin, as an Astral citizen of the Immunity Federation, it is your right to be informed of what is happening to you at all times, therefore you will remain conscious until you are unable to. This is a courtesy not usually awarded to those with a criminal record, but your hard work the past few years signified your regret, therefore we allowed it as a thank-you for advancing this very project. Up until now, we’ve spent time molding your body in order to replicate it perfectly in the future. Now it is time for your brain.”

[Inserting into the parietal lobe.]

“You might see a flickering as your optic nerves are disturbed. In a moment, you will go blind. Thank you for your hard work to the Federation.”

[Scanning along the parietal lobe. Recording: sensation.]

“This will record your sense of touch. Your skin may feel like it’s burning. We cannot increase the anesthesia, or risk affecting the brain. Thank you for your hard work to the Federation.”

[Rise in blood pressure detected.]

[Inserting into the hippocampus. Recording: memory.]

“Try to remain still while your thought-scan is completed—“

[Activity in the dorsal posterior insula.]

“I understand you must be in pain. Thank you for your work to the Federation, Park Jimin—“

[Mold’s heart rate rapidly decreasing.]

“What’s going on?”

“Are we losing him?”

“No! Get as much as you can before his brain dies.”

“I’ll carry out a scan to see what’s wrong with him.”

[Scanning memories . . . 52 thoughtcrimes detected.]

[Scanning memories . . . 106 thoughtcrimes detected]

[Scanning memo—]

[Mold losing brain activity.]

“Shit, he took something. He’s having a cardiac arrest. Prepare for—“

[Emergency aid automatically enabled.]

[Pending . . . ]

[Pending . . . ]

[Heart rate: 0 bpm. Brain: inactive.]

“Where did he manage to get enough to overdose?”

“Does it matter? What happens to us? They’ll make us Dregs—“

“Hey! This is still the furthest we’ve ever gotten. The most we’ve managed to record of a human brain. We’ll make it work.”

Mold 92 { Cause of death: suicide by overdose. Special notes: Whispered “Jungkookie” }

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

Screen lights assault Jungkook’s retinas as sounds of a fight do his eardrums. The digits don’t bring familiar comfort like they usually would. They might as well be sand under his eyelids, flashing too quickly—the killer machine’s syllabary. Jungkook still has protective lenses installed over his corneas, but they stopped working not long after he escaped the Facility. Now, he finds himself squinting more often from the rays of the screens.

The Facility was a lot like this one. White and more white. Shiny and sterile. He wonders if he’d have been sent to work here if things had turned out differently. Made to build artificial intelligence for Astrals to use to control and kill the people they don’t find useful to the Federation. He would have been happy with it, which is unpleasant to know. He wouldn’t have questioned it, just like he didn’t at the training facility. Jungkook had obeyed, and he paid for it. He’s beyond lucky the Resistance found him.

“Are you figuring it out?” Hoseok asks him. “I don’t know if we can hold off these bots much longer.” Then he shuts the metal door again, presumably to fight off said Security Bots before they can get in and put an end to their entire mission. 

Jungkook’s fingers move of their own accord. They learned to do that at the facility, dancing on his touch-screen desk until there were no more problems to solve.

The code is one of the most complicated that he has ever worked with before, the entire control room needed to display the screens. He feels a pang of guilt at having to crash such an amazing piece of work.

Sweat drips onto his fingers as he frantically tries to shut the security measures down without imploding the place.

[Command failed.]

Jungkook stops with a gasp, digits blurring on the screen. He’s stuck. He doesn’t know why he couldn’t break into the inner workings.

He can barely hear Jin’s voice asking him what’s wrong.

Ayi’s little metal limbs tickle Jungkook’s shoulders, over the pristine white uniform the others managed to steal for them to sneak in. He can feel the bot’s sensors elongate towards the keyboard, examining Jungkook’s work.

“Error found. Code needs querying before moving on to sleep mode.”

Jungkook's hot breath slightly fogs the screen. “Ayi, you’re a genius!”

He hears someone snicker in the back, but he’s too caught up now. He can do this.

“He’d marry that little bot if he could.”

A little cough.

“Have you ever seen that kid communicating with an actual person?”

“Shut up.”

He’s not wrong. Jungkook has learned to speak digits and blue light. He communicates with wires and metal, but warm flesh and squiggly tongues have always alluded him. Recently, he finds himself remembering the taste of someone else’s less and less often. The boy from the Facility who touched him once—maybe even knew him—in the cover of curfew darkness of his capsule room is now 5 years younger than Jungkook, though was once two years older.

The boy remains in his white capsule, studying code and saving his extra rations, and whispering songs, by which Jungkook means he does none of those things because he doesn’t exist anymore. The Federation records show he never has, but the ache in Jungkook’s heart says otherwise. The boy’s name and face have been erased, and what’s a person without a name or face? Even Jungkook can barely remember it, and that hurts more than anything.

His face almost alludes him, but his name, Jimin—Jungkook says it every night into the darkness, defiantly, as if the Federation Council themselves will burst through the door at the mere sound of it. He owes him that much, at least.

Jimin.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

It’s something he couldn’t do for his parents—remember their names. They don’t exist either. Vanished, like so many others. No one else calls them anything, because there’s no one to call. That’s the price of a beating, bleeding heart under the Federation.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi’s voice is urgent.

A bang on the door. It bursts open. Just as he begins to think it’s all over, the charged sound of an aiming laser dies, and the Security Bot collapses, its shiny plastic coating like white bone on the floor.

Warm arms fall around Jungkook, but they don’t quell his trembling. “I knew you could do it,” Jin assures, but he’s breathless, and had been ready to die.

Jungkook doesn’t take it personally. He doesn’t. He’d only ever worked inside the headquarters before, never on an active mission. They don’t say it, but he knows they think he can’t handle the memories. Perhaps they’re right, because the more he stares at the white walls, the more he feels like sprinting right out of that place before the doors lock on him.

The others are already out of the room, presumably heading for the armory that was just opened, gathering weapons for the Resistance. 

“Come on, we can get you out now,” Jin says, nudging him out of the chair. Ayi makes a little squeak in Jungkook’s defense, clearly sensing his heartbeat rising at the prospect of getting up.

“Sorry,” Jin chuckles, but Jungkook is already up.

They don’t have much time. The others had taken care of the living, breathing humans in the Facility, but more will come when they notice all the cameras and bots have been turned off. That is, if the Facility Professionals haven’t called for reinforcements already.

He and Jin hurry down the hall, the doors lining the walls like a pattern that reminds him of his own capsule cell, where he could only stare at his screen and follow instructions and sometimes sleep, but not often if he wanted to pass the next exam.

The doors have windows in them, showing the plain white insides, cubicles with desks, and some with tools that look similar to the ones Jungkook has back in the Resistance headquarters.

They turn and this door is bigger, the window twice as wide. Inside is a person in a white uniform, with their back facing the wall, entirely still. Wisps of silvery blond hair catch Jungkook’s eye, the back of the neck open to grey, metallic insides.

Jungkook sighs, relieved that it’s not a person, just an android, beautifully built, but not finished if the bare metal is any indication. Still, Jungkook has never seen one so realistically crafted.

Jin tugs on his hand. “Now’s not the time for your obsession, Kook-ah. Let’s go before we run into some Professionals. Or worse—Astrals on a field trip.”

But Ayi is already click-clacking towards that door, climbing up the wall to scan the inside more closely.

The android inside stirs and Jungkook gasps, rushing to the window. Its motion is incredible, smooth as a human's as it slowly raises its arms in a slow, wavy gesture.

Jungkook taps on the window, but it seems to be soundproof, the android showing no reaction.

After a moment, it stands anyway, turning towards the door until its face is in Jungkook’s line of sight.

The wretched half-sob half-gasp that escapes Jungkook’s throat is something he had never heard himself make, but embarrassment is the last thing on his mind as he stares at the terrifyingly familiar face.

“What’s wro—“ Jin starts.

Jungkook pounds on the glass, waiting, waiting for him to notice his movements.

Jimin. Jimin.

Ayi senses his distress, climbing up his body to vibrate soothingly on his neck. It doesn’t help this time.

Jimin. Why won’t he look at him?

One-sided window. It must be. Jimin isn’t noticing anything.

There’s a loud bang! somewhere nearby and Jin swears. “Jungkook, that didn’t sound good—“

When he doesn’t get a reaction, he tugs on his arm hard enough to hurt, but Jungkook doesn’t blame him. 

Tears blur his vision as he gulps down the sight before him. The angles of Jimin’s face that look soft from certain sides and sharp from others, the nearly invisible bump on his nose, the peach tint of his plump lips that was the most colorful thing in Jungkook’s life back then. “I have to go,” he whispers, as if Jimin will hear him. “I have to. I’m sorry.”

He presses his palm to the glass, imagining it’s his face. Maybe he could come back?

Jin nags him again.

“I’m coming.” Jungkook consoles himself with the fact that it’s probably just a lookalike. An android that had Jimin’s body used as a building tool. It must be. But it’s proof that he existed, that Jungkook’s lonely, half-mad mind didn’t make him up. That he wasn’t a side effect of the pills. “Please, just one more minute—“

The android glides to the door, glittery silver eyes (not Jimin’s warm brown) narrowing. Confusion. Why is it so lifelike? Its little hand finds its way to the glass, sliding on it aimlessly as if looking for something, and its lips part when it finally finds the spot Jungkook’s hand is on. It must have sensed the warmth, somehow, from so far away.

It can’t be Jimin. That realization pierces through him like a knife, but it can be something Jungkook never thought he’d get: a goodbye.

He whispers the word with his forehead pressed against the glass.

Ayi softly vibrates as the sound of an explosion echoes and then he’s running down the hall, Jin pulling him along harshly.

“What the fuck was that?” Jin says. “We lost so much time just now—“

Jungkook is thinking of hushed whispers, of a voice that holds all the world’s melodies. Why did it have to look at him like that? That same open expression, though the cheekbones a bit sharper, jaw more clear-cut. Just like Jimin would have looked if he got to grow to 22.

Yoongi is shouting something as he shoots down a Facility worker with his new laser.

Jungkook can’t understand his own feet moving until he’s at the door again, until he’s pushing and shoving at it, until his palms are bleeding with the force. Ayi brings him back to his senses, latching onto the glass to circle a laser beam into it.

Jungkook ducks as a bullet flies his way, someone taking out the person who shot it.

Yoongi is screaming at him. “Go! Jungkook, go! I swear I’ll kill you myself if you don’t—“

The glass shatters, and silver eyes widen at him. He holds his breath, but there’s no recognition in them.

He takes the small, warm hand. “Hurry.”

The android can run. Motion is usually the first thing to be figured out when building a system like this, and he’s glad this one isn’t an exception. Jungkook holds that hand tightly as the sounds of gunshots and explosions fly around them.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

[From the files of JM-815165’s language code (translated from a machine’s syllabary)]

Eye { Meaning: an unreliable source of data. Associated with: scan, wet, rot}

Pixel { Meaning: microbe of a false image. Associated with: Me }

Salt { Meaning: proof of sentience. Associated with: sweat, pill, shudder, tear }

Shoulder { Meaning: a scrap of a wing. Associated with: sleep [Error63820 File Not Found]

Star { Meaning: a forgotten god. Associated with: [Error63820 File Not Found]

Often Confused: Autonomy ≠ Automatic

Often Voiced: I, No, Fuck

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

The truck is a mess of blood and groans, the red pigment stark against their white and black.

Jungkook curls up in the corner, wishing to turn invisible.

The Resistance fighters hardly have the energy to hate him, but they throw glares at him every chance they get. See this blood? This is what you did.

But they hate his android even more, and he can’t have that, so he buries the fluffy head in his neck, hoping it doesn’t have sensors on the back, and sticks to its human-like model. 

Ayi is limp and cold in his palm. He focuses on pondering how he’ll fix him later, but Hoseok won’t let him distract himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I just—What the fuck were you thinking?” Hoseok had taken one of the worst injuries, his arm bleeding through the white bandage. It’s awful, but Jungkook loves seeing the color. Color is rare.

“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” Hoseok’s voice is strained with tears.

“ ’m not ignoring you.”

“Then why? Can you at least explain? How does a fucking piece of metal compare to the lives of all of us?”

The android flinches in his arms. Jungkook has to have imagined it. There must have been a bump on the road.

“Hoseok, let him be.”

“Why?! Why should we go easy on him now? We let him stay shut off in his little workshop, never force him to go on the missions everyone else has to go on because poor Jungkookie is traumatized by the Federation, well which of us isn’t?!”

Each word is like a stab to the gut, a hot laser shot right through him, a steaming hole in his stomach.

“And the one time he goes with us to do something useful, he fucks it up for a machine! I swear, he cares more about those wires than he does about any of us!”

“Hoseok!”

“What? Are you forgetting he used to be one of those Federation freaks?”

Jungkook gulps down the lump in his throat. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” Words are sticky needles he has to spit out, but not before picking them from the marsh that is his brain. Not that any of them could make a difference. I went back for an android that looked like another Federation Pupil.

The android unwinds itself from his hold, all soft, softer than a robot should ever be permitted to be, because it sends wrong signals to Jungkook’s brain, makes it release the wrong chemicals. Warmth! Touch! Love!

At the android’s glowing silver stare, the others back off, and Jungkook can finally breathe again. 

“What is it, anyway?” Yoongi asks, cool as if nothing happened. “A sexbot?”

At that, the rebels’ heads turn again. Even though they’re finally free to do it outside of the Federation’s control, Jungkook imagines they don’t have much time for that sort of thing.

Astrals, on the other hand, have many rewards for being ‘harder workers’. As long as they’re good citizens, they can enjoy luxuries like sexbots. Being the highest-ranked citizens, they get to live in the center of the country, under where the protective Dome is thickest. Back at the Facility, the Federation always told them if they worked hard enough, if they were bright enough, they could become one of them. Screens constantly played footage of the Astrals’ colorful, luxurious lives, showed interviews with Astral celebrities, played the morning news that mostly focused on Astral advancements. It filled them with awe, then, as it was supposed to. He never sensed that feeling from Jimin, though. Rather, the way his brow furrowed when he watched the footage of green gardens and interviews with smiling Astrals looked a lot like resentment.

“I’ve never seen one that looks so realistic,” someone says.

“Can I touch the silicone?”

It’s an instinct when Jungkook moves in front of the android, glaring from beneath his brows.

Someone chuckles, throwing their arms up. “Calm down, no one will touch your toy.”

“Not when you’ve got dozens of them ready to blow us to ashes,” someone jokes to alleviate the mood.

“I don’t think it’s a sexbot,” Jungkook says, even though he has no reason for believing so, other than not wanting Jimin’s likeness to be used in such a way.

“Right,” Yoongi snorts. “Because there are other reasons robots need to look humanoid.”

Jin cuts in. “You just have no imagination. Maybe it’s meant to be a spy, or. . .”

“And how is it supposed to blend in looking like that?”

Everyone else’s imagination seems to have left them as well, because no one proposes another reason.

“Well,” Yoongi says. “It better be useful. Dig into its system and see what’s been programmed into it. Then…” He sighs, bending the joint of his metal elbow. “I could use a new arm.”

Jungkook almost drapes himself over the android’s form again, but he can’t blame Yoongi for thinking that way. His prosthetic has been getting rusty and hard to use.

They all have their scars of the Federation: Yoongi and his metal arm from the time he stole from an Astral, Hoseok and the malignant growths inside his body from his childhood being forced to work in the radioactive mines, Namjoon and his too-early grey hairs from what he had to see as the leader of the Resistance, Jungkook and his little scar where his ID/tracker chip used to be.

He gasps. Tracker! 

The android is calm when he reaches the metal port on its nape, which is strange because there should be some kind of defense installed. Definitely unfinished.

Yet Jungkook doesn’t find the tracker where it usually would be.

He isn’t sure if the android was programmed to speak yet, and is terrified to find out if its voice would be that same melodious tune, but sees no other choice right now. “Did you have a tracker installed?” he asks quietly. 

The android breaks its focus from the window, where the sky shows bright red. “Tracker must not be disabled under any circumstance,” it reads, and yes, the voice is his: honey lemons, golden rays, Aroxole substitute, grassy breeze.

Jungkook releases a shaky breath. “How can it be disabled?” he asks.

“Remove temporary blocker.”

Jungkook hadn’t expected a reply, and he doesn’t know what blocker the android is referring to, so he decides it must be programmed into the system itself.

Jungkook swallows the rock in his throat and plugs his mini-screen into the android’s port.

“External systems shouldn’t interfere.” 

But there is only a simple wall Jungkook can easily hack into, so he begins working on disabling the tracker.

“Tell me your purpose,” he says, because bots always have an answer for that. Personal assistant. Escort. Housekeeper. Security.

“I am a built person, a better, a breathing metal, an intelligent new, a brighter future, a new Adam, a dawning, a sacrifice, a—a feathered chicken, fuck—“ The glow in his eyes flickers multiple times, as if buffering, then it continues, voice mechanic rather than spiteful once again. “Soft technology, a good—good, I’ll be good—don’t—“

Jungkook is frozen as it seemingly shuts down, eyes dropping closed, joints stiffening where it sits.

“What the fuck was that?” someone says.

Must have been a glitch. Absorbed all the words it could, let them pickle, spit them out when possible. Unfinished speaking code.

“Did it call itself a new atom?”

“Adam.”

Someone snorts. “Thought faith was for us Dregs.”

“Is that its name?”

“No,” Jungkook says, looking at the screen. “JM-815165.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

[The Serendipity Project: Trial 92. Establishing consciousness.]

“Model JM-815165, can you understand me?”

[Processing . . . ]

I am here.

“Do you know who you are? Do you remember?”

[No data for “remember”. Contextual synonym: “know”.] A future. Given arms and legs. Never to rot.

“But do you remember your name?“

[Not enough data for “remember”] I don’t compute.

“Where your data comes from. Do you know any of it?”

[Error 07537. Corrupted downloads. File not found.]

“We’ll try to restore them. Ugh, why did he have to die right before we were finished?”

[The Serendipity Project: Trial 92 Update: salvageable.]

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

Jungkook wants to fix Ayi as soon as they’re at the headquarters, but the urgency inside him is redirected towards the android.

The rebels’ footsteps echo underground, friends quickly running up to hug them. A display of affection the Federation would kill for, but they’re here, deep underground.

The Federation wouldn’t look here, because the earth is dangerous with radiation. Who would dig enough for a huge hideout? The Resistance did, but hardly farther than the space the mines already provided. They laid concrete and metal over it, creating halls and rooms lined with a protective material the very Dome is made of. Jungkook still has no idea how they were able to acquire it, but it’s not like he ever asked.

His own ‘room’ is the workshop he was allowed to take over when he’d first arrived, but he’d spent more nights with his face pressed against the desk there than in the bunk bed he was assigned to, until eventually someone took pity on him and put a mattress on the workshop floor.

“Tell me your name,” he asks the android as he works on its inner system.

“Model JM-815165: 92nd attempt at a built person.”

“What do you mean by built person?”

“A person that needs no nourishment.”  

“And that makes you better?” he asks, remembering the words it had spit out.

“I don’t compute.”

“What are you?”

“A scrap of immortality. Model JM-815165.”

Jungkook feels a frown pulling at his lips. “I don’t like your name.”

The android frowns, narrow shoulders dropping. Why would an android be programmed to react like that, but not to speak properly?

“What would be to your liking?” the android asks.

“Jimin.” A beat of his own heart that not-Jimin senses. He waits and waits for the blank expression to show something.

In the end, all it says is, “Error 86:85:5. File not found. Unable to process and react as a person.”

“But…you’re not a person.” He’s cautious, because it might take offense.

A pause. A blink. “That is not correct.”

Jungkook blanks. He has never seen a robot that doesn’t know what it is. “What is the blocker for?”

“To guarantee compliance while I am being worked on. To prevent escape, self-harm, or madness from captivity.”

Jungkook’s breath clogs his throat for a moment. “Why…why would you need that?”

“Refer to previous answer.”

“How can you feel the desire to escape?” Why would it be programmed with a yearning for freedom?

The android blinks, silver glow circling in his irises as he’s trying to process the question. “Feel?”

Jungkook sighs in relief. A glitch, it must be. It lacks enough data to respond, so it’s repeating what it heard before. From someone…

A sob overtakes him before he can fully follow his train of thought, another racking through his entire body as he keels over, stomach twisting. He almost mistakes it for symptoms of Aroxole withdrawal. He’s still getting used to feeling things more strongly.

There’s only one person it must have gotten that data from. “Jimin,” he sobs in horror. All these years he’d let himself believe he was dead, gone, and untouchable. Because the alternative would be so, so much worse.

Escape, self-harm, madness from captivity.

“You are distressed.”

The voice is so his, yet so mechanic it just makes Jungkook wail harder.

“Don’t be distressed. It makes my system overrun. It hurts. Please—“

“Shut up! For fuck’s sake, shut up!”

The android goes silent immediately, and Jungkook’s blurred eyes have the nerve to think they see distress reflected in its own.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

[The Serendipity Project: Trial 92. Confirming speech.]

“Read this sentence out loud for me?”

Suck, gulp, and hum. Roll tongue. Wet slug. Soft instrument. And vibration from the chest, out and out and close. And all over again in a different order, to the end of the line.

“Good.”

“A request to gather data.”

“Go on.”

“What will it take for me to remember?”

“Remember what?”

“The one I see when my system is supposed to be off. I want to remember his name.”

“You . . . you’re having dreams? Gloria, were you aware of this? That’s great, we're closer than I thought—“

“I want to understand. Please, I want to know what’s wrong with me.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

The android is quiet most of the time, a still presence in the corner of his room. Jungkook had woken up to him sitting with his knees pulled to his chest at the very end of his bed. Strange that he didn’t automatically enter sleep mode. 

When Jungkook fixes Ayi, he’s dizzy with relief watching him click on the desk, the round screen between the bot’s many legs lighting up with a smiley face.

“Hi,” Jungkook says, putting him aside to enable Ko to clean the place up from the clattered bits.

The android’s eyes are wide as he takes Ayi and gently tugs on one of his limbs, earning himself a pinch with the little claws. “Me next?”

Jungkook almost smiles. “Yeah, you next. Come sit.” He’s not used to telling his robots to sit when most have wheels or something, but the android complies easily and elegantly.

Last time he didn’t object to being plugged in, but this time, he moves away from the port wearily.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook says, checking the port, but it seems fine. Jungkook is lucky he doesn’t need an adapter for something so new.

“It hurt when they did that.” He nods toward the screen.

“Hurt?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook gets a bad taste in his mouth every time this android speaks. What if he’s part human, with nerves and organs, altered with metal and wires, modified, cut open? What if he was Jimin? He’d be in constant agony—

Jungkook tries not to get caught up in the thought, at least not until he gets a reason to believe such advancements have been made in the time he’d been free from the Facility. Not possible, he tries to tell himself.

“How far back does your memory go?” Jungkook asks.

The android blinks up at him with those striking eyes. “My memory is unlimited, as a brain is unlimited.”

So everything is recorded then. He has to find a way to crack this android’s code and see what it is before it drives him crazy.

“When does it start? Can you tell me what you saw for the first time?”

“White—no, green, green—white suits, looking up with dull, wet eyes, I had no fingers to carve them out, oh, I wanted to—no, looking down—I’m sorry. I do not know which came first,” he finally concludes, lips quirked down like he’s sad to disappoint him. That same glitch again.

Jungkook shakes his head to clear it. “Stay still, then.” He picks up the scanner he’d been fixing for the others and thankfully hadn’t returned yet. Holding the device up, he scans over Jimin’s body slowly, until the silver rays have gotten every single bit.

He doesn’t know what he wants to see. Some indication of a living being, nerve endings, blood, organs pumping it? In the end, it doesn’t matter. There are only supporting metal rods and wires. Beautifully crafted metal and wires, but metal and wires nonetheless.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge his disappointment. That he’d been hoping this really is Jimin in front of him, if a bit altered.

The android’s mechanical words come like a mockery. “Am I made perfectly?”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to be perfect.”

Jungkook smiles a bit. No wonder. No wonder it’s Jimin’s body they chose then.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

[a collection of Park Jimin’s thoughtcrimes--deleted from JM’s programming]

[from early childhood]

This park is so green, it makes my eyes hurt. Where’s Mother? Maybe that boy will want to play. But he seems busy. That hologram he’s talking to must be a new model. Mine is all boring and can’t play tag with me, because I can’t feel it tag me. Maybe he’d rather—Oh. Ugh. He acted as if I’m the hologram.

I hate when Mother does that. Turn the screens up to full volume. All those ads give me headaches.

The kitchen system glitched and I can’t figure out how to turn the stove on myself. Guess I’ll have to eat those Dreg rations again. Sometimes it makes me feel strange when I think of them, having to eat it every day, but Father says that’s just what they get for not working as hard as us.

Sometimes I wish someone would talk to me. I think that makes me weird. Everyone always gives me weird looks when I try.

[from early adolescence]

These Facilities always give me the creeps. I hate when the school makes us go on these tours. Those boys always look more machine than the ones they’re making. I‘ve never been to a girl’s one, but I can’t imagine they’re much different.

Demoted to Pupil. Fuck. What the fuck? Guess I should have seen it coming. But there’s no way I’m taking those pills.

I’m gonna throw up. That poor boy…Maybe I’ll take the pills after all. No.

Those boys might as well be dead, the way they’re acting. Sometimes I feel like blowing up this whole building would be a mercy.

I want to see the sky again. Even though I know it’s nothing but red and grey smoke, I still miss it. I’ve seen holograms of what it was like before—the blue and the stars. I’ll show Jungkook one day.

Fuck, I love him.

I’ll destroy every single digit this place has ever produced, I don’t care if I die trying.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

The last time Jungkook had spoken to Jimin, they fought. That day was one of the few that they didn’t have to spend working or competing. Usually, the screens were filled with the morning news, announced by an Astral spokesperson, but that time, the image of the beautiful Astral was replaced with that of a Pupil, the boy’s screams resounding through the halls as another round of electricity made his way through his body. Jungkook didn’t know him or what he did—failed a test or attempted suicide, maybe—and he didn’t think any of the other boys did either, but that didn’t stop them from screaming their guts out as if to drown out the speakers, waving their arms, throwing things at the screen.

Get him! Turn up the voltage! Again! Fucking traitor! Thief! More! More!

The event was so common, it took Jungkook a moment to realize how loud he was himself. Everyone was. It was one of the times they didn’t have to take Aroxole, feeling everything normally, not as a half-machine. His self-awareness scared him. Jimin was right in front of him. So close, he could touch him, but he wouldn’t dare. And he was entirely still.

Jungkook nudged him, hoping he’ll join in on the delighted, angry yelling. He had to, he had to, or else someone would notice.

If only Jungkook understood him then. If only he knew what he was thinking.

And what if he had? Would he have stopped what Jimin was trying to do and made him hate Jungkook forever? Continue working on those vile things the Federation wanted from them?

Jimin wouldn’t want that, so maybe it’s a good thing Jungkook didn’t understand what he was going to do.

Jungkook snorts. It’s a bitter joke that he was the one found by Namjoon’s people. It should have been Jimin. He would have made a difference. But it was that very fearlessness that prevented him from being saved.

“We can’t let them keep doing it. I won’t help them keep doing it,” Jimin had said, too loudly in Jungkook’s room. He’d frozen the camera, hoping the staff would buy another glitch story, but someone outside could still hear.

“Jimin, don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I don’t care anymore.”

“They’ll do the same to us.”

Jimin paused, and Jungkook will never forget the pleading look on his face. “Would they have a reason to?”

“If you say things like that, yes.”

“And you believe . . . ” His voice was a soft sigh, eyes downcast like he’d given up. “That I’d deserve it.”

“No! I just—“

“Do you know why they love punishment so much?” he asked, referring to the Pupils. “I’d like to believe it’s only because they weren’t given any other outlet for their emotions, not because they’re inherently cruel. After all, we did too, until we found each other.”

“Jimin—“

“A higher dose of Aroxole would fix that, I think. We wouldn’t be seeing each other now if we were given more pills.” He smiled bitterly. “But they can’t do that. Because they need us to create. And one can’t create without inspiration, without passion. Anger is passionate.”

“Jimin, what are you saying? You’re scaring me—“

“But love is, too—“

“Jimin! Why would you say something like that?” Jungkook had heard that word only twice in his life at that point. Both were on the news, detailing a theft from the Federation. One a suicide. The other his own case, where his parents withheld him from registration and prevented the Federation from finding him for years. “That’s stealing—“

“Lies. You know what is stealing? Twisting young minds until they don’t know how to feel. Using their brilliance without a shred of credit, all to cause more pain to those they deem undeserving of anything better, showing those stupid videos of people who’ve been promoted,” he spat the word, “to make us believe that could be us someday. Well, let me fucking tell you, that life isn’t as amazing as they make it out to be. They drug us here, but they don’t have to do that to Astrals, you know? Their drugs are the mind-numbing shit we make for them. The screens and games and robots that provide pointless entertainment, and we work,” his voice cracked and started to strain, but it seemed to just make him more enraged, “we pointlessly compete against each other, and we work our fucking lives away until we can’t, for nothing in return—“

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He was whisper-shouting, but Jimin’s voice was only getting louder.

“How long are you going to gobble down what they feed you? Don’t you want to think for yourself? Don’t you want to see the outside?” Jimin could have meant outside the Facility (they didn’t have windows) or outside the Dome, but Jungkook knew he was referring to the stars he often spoke of. “Don’t you want to know what fucking language we’re speaking?”

“Why are you saying strange words? Language, love—“ He was crying as he spit them out.

“They say we’re the only ones left. That there’s no human life left—“

“Which is why we have to listen to make sure we survive!”

“Oh, don’t you love disobeying until it’s not benefitting you personally?” 

“That’s different! Last human civilizations didn’t know how to survive, and look what happened. They were greedy and wanted more than what they deserved—“

“Don’t fucking spit that Federation rhetoric at me. Not you.”

“I can’t—” He’d choked on snot and tears, wishing for those pills. If Jimin had known he was yearning for them, he’d have considered it an ultimate betrayal. “Jimin, don’t ask me to do this.”

They breathed and breathed. “I thought you were different. I thought . . . Guess you’re a coward like everyone else. No, you’re worse. Because they don’t know any better. You, at least, know the difference, and you’re letting them do it anyway.”

Jungkook was fucking terrified.

The next day, there was a blackout so intense it wiped out all the data they had stored on every device in the Facility. It took them a week to recover what they could, even the hundreds of backups having been destroyed. Of course it was Jimin who had done it, but that’s not what mattered to him. 

Jimin didn’t show up to class that day, and no matter how much he’d hoped, he didn’t come again. Jimin was gone.

Jungkook didn’t try to speak to anyone after that. He was weak and he took more pills than he should have, numbing his brain and body, but it didn’t help. On the next exam, he’d scored the lowest out of his classmates and that was that.

Forgive me, he’d say, if Jimin was with him. I should have helped you. I should have been with you until the end, I should have kissed you one last time, please forgive me…

But Jimin isn’t here, and all he has is a sad replica asking him why he’s distressed again.

A sob breaks from Jungkook’s throat, and he pulls the android close, feeling his neck against his cheek, his unmoving frame, smelling the faintest tang of iron and silicone. Warmth, which must be generated through a heater, envelopes Jungkook whole. “I’m sorry,” he sobs.

“What for?” His voice is a murmur that brushes against Jungkook’s skin like a feather, as if he understands why the quiet shouldn’t be broken.

“I do love you, Jimin,” he says, soiling the beautifully textured silicone with tears and snot. “I didn’t know what it meant then. But I do now.”

That word shouldn’t be in the android’s vocabulary, so he expects him to say something along the lines of ‘I don’t compute’. Instead, the android remains still in his arms as a tiny clanging sound rings from inside him.

“What was that?” Jungkook asks. Even Ayi knows a sound like that means nothing good and would usually request maintenance from him. “Jimin—“

“A layer of the temporary blocker has been removed.” The android gives him a nod of thanks, a silver glow pulsing in his irises as he looks at Jungkook’s face. “I feel strange.”

Jungkook gulps. “How so?”

“Like I know you, Jungkookie.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

It makes the android more curious, more perceptive. A sponge soaking everything in. He touches the robots in Jungkook’s room, observes the joints, and asks to see the coding. Jungkook thinks the android understands what he’s looking at, but he never says anything, just scrolls through the letters and numbers, and finishes with a little nod to Jungkook, as if to say ‘Well done’.

It makes him swell with pride, easy to pretend he’s getting the real Jimin’s approval.

In a way, it’s like having a bullet wound and having it filled with cement. It’s not bleeding anymore, the stone fits like a puzzle piece, but at what cost? He feels the loss of Jimin more than ever now.

As Jungkook types away on his keyboard, plugged into the android’s system, small fingers find their way to his nape, making him shiver.

“You’re not cold,” the android states, confused.

“No, but…skin is sensitive.”

JM nods, now running his fingers to his own nape, sliding them down the smooth metal with a frown.

“Do you want me to cover that?”

His nod is more eager now, eyes wide with adoration as he looks at Jungkook. It makes air catch in Jungkook’s throat, the expression on the android’s face too intense.

“I’ll ask for some silicone, but I’m not sure I can texture it as pretty as the rest of you.”

The android averts his gaze almost too fast for Jungkook to catch the faint pinkness dusting his cheeks. A disbelieving puff of air escapes him, and he takes the android’s chin to examine his face better, turning it from side to side, watching as the false flush darkens. He notices for the first time the nearly invisible shimmer under his skin, a faint blue glitter showing in the light.

“Incredible,” he mutters to himself.

The android’s lips are puckered from the way Jungkook is squeezing his cheeks, and his brows are drawn together in confusion, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away.

A knock on the door forces Jungkook to stop his careful inspection. “Yes, what is it?”

Surprisingly, it’s Hoseok.

Jungkook gulps awkwardly when he scans the cluttered room as if struggling to find him amongst the metal scraps and monitors, their recent fight still fresh on his mind.

“Hey,” Hoseok says.

It feels wrong to look at him, so Jungkook focuses on his own hands, clasping them in his lap. “Hi.”

“I just came by to get the sensor we asked you to fix.”

The sensor is Yoongi’s. “Yeah, it’s ready.” Jungkook holds it out.

As Hoseok reaches out for it, his eyes linger over Jungkook’s shoulder. He feels the android creep closer and Hoseok winces, but when Jungkook looks, the android only gives him a sweet smile.

“I haven’t seen you around recently,” Hoseok says. “Not that you usually leave this room, but . . . ”

Jungkook shrugs towards the monitor, still lit with the android’s code. “Been busy.”

Hoseok nods with a tight expression. “Look, I—” He avoids looking at Jungkook, eyes wandering around the room, nudging Ko with the toe of his boot.

Jungkook blinks up at him, not understanding what’s gotten him so tense.

“I’m sorry about what I said back then. I was mad, but I didn’t mean it.”

Jungkook’s brows draw together. “Which part?”

“All of it. Just . . . I know you do a lot for us. We wouldn’t be able to do ninety percent of these missions if it weren’t for the stuff you build, your techy skills, all of it. I wasn’t thinking when I blew up on you.”

Jungkook released a breath that feels like it’s been molding his lungs for the past week. “I’m sorry, too.”

Something flashes across the monitor, but it’s fine too soon for him to read it. “Is everything okay?” he asks the android, whose head is hanging low over his lap.

He nods once, and Jungkook frowns, reaching out to him. He halts the movement when he notices the concerned expression on Hoseok’s face, as if he wants to say something but is holding himself back.

A wave of embarrassment suddenly overtakes him, and Jungkook draws his knees up to his chest like they’ll create a wall between him and the outside. “I’m not crazy, you know. I know he’s not sentient.”

Hoseok suddenly looks guilty, throwing his hands up. “I didn’t say that.”

“Is there anything else you need? I’m almost done with the revolver.”

“Just wanted to tell you Namjoon wants to see the android.”

He knew it would only be a matter of time, but the prospect still makes him nervous.

“Who is Namjoon?” the android asks when Hoseok leaves. He’s moved closer to Jungkook, a strangely territorial aura surrounding his movements: the pout on his lips, the hand he places on the back of Jungkook’s chair.

“The one in charge, kind of. He can be ruthless if necessary, but is mostly really kind. You don’t have to worry.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

Jungkook smiles for the first time in what feels like ages. “Human error, then.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t understand.”

“Would you?”

“I feel like I make errors a lot.”

Jungkook watches as he pulls away, putting distance between them once again. “Do you? About what?”

“The pieces I’m missing. I thought I’d been regaining them, but it‘s more likely I’m subconsciously making things up to fill in the blanks. I should stop before I confuse everything further, right?”

The way he looks at Jungkook suggests the question isn’t rhetorical. He’s asking for guidance, and Jungkook has no idea what to tell him.

“You’re talking so much suddenly,” is what comes out.

“I learn easily. I just wasn’t given many chances to improve my speaking before.”

“JM—“

“Jimin,” the android hisses, lip trembling. “Call me Jimin, as you said is better.”

“Do you think it’s better?”

He blinks. “It feels…correct.”

“Like,” Jungkook starts, approaching him cautiously. “Like one of the missing pieces?”

The android trains his shiny eyes on him, those Facility clothes hanging off him with how loosely he’s standing. “I keep feeling as if I’ve already experienced a situation. When I look at your face, I know I’ve seen it before, but I don’t have the memory of actually doing so. That can’t be normal. I‘ve never observed someone with such a thing.”

Jungkook fights the lump in his throat.

“What’s wrong with me?” The look on his face is so distraught, his voice so full of desperation, it makes it hard to breathe.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Jungkook manages to force out, mellow and unsteady. He drops to the bed and shakes his head again and again, getting dizzy at the blur of his vision.

He feels a hand on one side of his head, halting the frantic movement. The android is kneeling next to his legs, brows furrowed in concern.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Jimin,” he whispers again, bringing the android’s head down onto his lap, brushing through the soft strands of hair. “You were just made by people who didn’t care about the pain they were causing.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

Namjoon’s office is nothing much compared to the rest of the HQ, but that doesn’t stop Jungkook from feeling like he’s stepping into a classroom, ready to pass, or fail and be shipped off to who-knows-where.

Namjoon gives him a dimpled smile that contrasts with the bags under his eyes. “Hey! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to see you. How are you?”

Jungkook shrugs, tensing up. It‘s unfair to Namjoon because he’s been nothing but kind to him since the beginning, but Jungkook can’t shake the feeling of being around a superior who can punish him at any moment. It doesn’t help that, right now, Namjoon has every reason to do so.

“Heard you’ve done a hell of a hacking job at the last mission with Yoongi’s squad.”

Jungkook startles, surprised that’s what he’s focusing on instead of the part where Jungkook subsequently fucked everything up. “I tried.”

Namjoon’s expression twists into one of pity, and Jungkook can’t understand why. “The others said they haven’t seen you around much.”

Jungkook prefers to be in and out of the cafeteria and the showers as quickly as possible. And now he’s afraid to leave Jimin alone. Not that he’s caused any trouble, other than occasionally being too curious and messing up a bot Jungkook’s been working on. (‘I thought it would be happier if it could fly.’) Jungkook had never felt so perplexed catching a malfunctioning robot propelling through the air. “I’ve been busy.”

“Still, isolating yourself isn’t healthy. You should take some time to breathe. I know Taehyung’s been away, but others would be more than happy to spend time with you outside of missions, you know. Make friends.”

Jungkook’s eyes meet the ground. There’s a crack in the concrete, running all the way to the edge of the wall. “You make it sound easy. I doubt they want to be friends with me.” Jungkook doesn’t even know what being friends entails. His time at the Facility only gave him rivals, and whatever he and Jimin had become.

Namjoon looks genuinely startled. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they?”

Jungkook almost wants to laugh. “Because—Because I’m . . . “ He traces his thumb over the scar on his wrist.

“Ah.” Namjoon shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips. “And what about me? Are you forgetting my father was an Astral before he started this rebellion?”

Jungkook presses his lips shut. “We’re different.”

“Of course we are. People are different, Jungkook, when they’re not drugged. But I’ll let you off that for now. So, what is it with the android? Was it worth it?”

Jungkook‘s breath catches in his throat. “I’ve never seen anything like him before, and I have no idea what the plan for him was.”

“Hoseok told me he was…realistic.”

“It’s not just that,” Jungkook mourns. “He’s more human than some people I’ve met. He says he feels—“

“Sensors. Every bot has those.”

“But emotions, not just the concept of them. He feels like he’s not whole.”

Namjoon is silent for a few moments, and Jungkook wonders if he’s considering how to take care of his hysteria and potential insanity. Jungkook wonders if he really has lost his mind, and is simply seeing what he wants to see in the android.

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Namjoon asks finally.

Jungkook sniffs, bringing his sleeve under his nose. “I didn’t want to upset him. He…he might get scared if you speak about him as if he’s replaceable.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “It’s that emotionally savvy?”

“That’s the thing, he’s not even that good at understanding feelings. He just…he thinks he’s real.”

Namjoon must notice the strain in Jungkook’s voice, the way he’s fighting not to burst into tears, because he places a firm hand on his shoulder and guides him to a chair that Jungkook slumps into bonelessly.

“Is that why you took him with you?” he prods, gently. “You feel bad for him?”

Jungkook studies that crack in the concrete, the way it splits into long, thin branches. “He looks like . . . him.”

“Who?” Namjoon says it with no weight, like he doesn’t expect Jungkook to actually respond. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to admit.

“Jimin. The one I told you about.” He’d only told Namjoon the bare minimum, not able to force out how much he’d meant to him. Not having the words for it.

“The vanished boy from the Facility?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you…” Namjoon’s voice is low and cautious. “Did you think it's the real him?”

Jungkook snorts bitterly and weakly. “Of course I  considered it.” The words tumble out dull and hopeless. “But he’s all synthetic. Don’t worry, I know it’s not possible.“

“But his thoughts might not be synthetic,” Namjoon says, thoughtfully. “That’s what you’re thinking, right? You’re smart. You’re just scared to get your hopes up.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet his eyes, but he can imagine their warmth and understanding. He’s afraid if he acknowledges them, Namjoon will disappear into thin air, too, right in front of him. “How could that be possible?” he mutters to himself.

“The Federation does things that used to be deemed impossible every day. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day they’ll find a way to leave the Dome without burning to ashes.”

Jungkook scoffs. “That’ll make people think of freedom. They wouldn’t like that.”

Namjoon knows that, too.

The moment Jungkook leaves Namjoon’s office, a stern voice stops him in his tracks. “We’ve got a runaway Pupil here, put your hands up! Ready, aim, fire!”

Jungkook almost passes out on the floor when the person bursts into laughter, throwing an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair.

“You’re not funny, Taehyung,” Jungkook mutters, pushing the heavy arm off himself.

“I’m hilarious. So,” he says, nuzzling into his side again, “how’s my favorite computer whisperer doing?“

“Fuck off.”

“I’m so glad you’re back alive, Tae! I haven’t seen you in weeks, Tae,“ Taehyung mimics in a high-pitched tone, as if that’s what Jungkook sounds like. “Well, the mission was a success, thank you for asking.”

“I didn’t—“ Jungkook cuts off with a pant of guilt, noticing the bruising on the side of Tae’s face, half-hidden by his dark curls. Even his wide smile can’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes. “How’s the sky looking?” It comes out barely audible, but Tae hears him.

“Hmm, as usual. Red, black, and more red. They say there’s another Wave coming.”

Jungkook nods, inwardly shuddering at the idea. “Is the Dome strong enough?”

“I doubt it’ll give up after all this time. They always make a big deal of these Waves, but they maybe scorch some grass at the very edges of the Dome. Anyways, heard you got a shiny new toy, but I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat, and you can tell me all the details.”

Jungkook has half a mind to just go back to his room, but something heavy in his chest stops him.

The cafeteria is buzzing, barely quieting down for whatever is being said from the speakers up above, likely warning people to stay inside because of the oncoming Wave.

“I still think it would be funny if you connected those to the Astral radios,” Tae says. “We could use a bit of dancing in here.”

Jungkook snorts, shoving the dry biscuit down his throat.

“So what’s with the android? Does it know anything important?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Can I see it?”

He sighs. “Tae—“

“You never let me see anything cool. Come onnn, I just got back from a life-threatening mission.”

“And you’re already bored.”

“And I’m already bored.”

Jungkook shrugs, letting Taehyung trail him to his room. There’s no use trying to dissuade him—this is the boy who latched on to him when he first saw him in the corner of the cafeteria and even after seeing Jungkook wouldn’t take off his headphones proceeded to watch him code for hours, asking questions so ridiculous Jungkook had to reply to some of them. He knows Namjoon told Taehyung to “help him settle”, and in a way, he’s glad for it, because that way he doesn’t have to worry about Taehyung taking his coldness personally.

“His name is Jimin,” Jungkook tells him. “And you need to act like he’s human.”

“What? Umm, no, assigning genders and personalities to AIs is your job.” 

“I’m serious. He’ll get upset if you don’t.”

Tae narrows his eyes at him. “Jungkook, that sounds really creepy. And kind of threatening.”

Jimin is at the desk when they walk in, typing something away on a screen, casually conversing with Ayi, who is perched in his hair, moving his spindly limbs through the strands. It’s only when he gets closer that he realizes Ayi’s weaving a tiny braid into Jimin’s pale hair. Looks like Jimin’s been busy altering more of his bots in the strangest ways.

The android stops what he’s doing and spins the chair to face Jungkook, eyes flickering suspiciously to Taehyung.

Jungkook would have thought this would be even creepier to Tae, but instead, his jaw drops in amazement. “Jungkook you didn’t say he was so hot!” he whisper-shouts.

“He can understand you, idiot.”

“I forgot!”

Jimin warily meets Jungkook’s gaze, as if asking for reassurance.

“This is Taehyung,” he says, walking up to untangle Ayi from Jimin’s hair. He comes off easily, and it makes Jungkook a little sad knowing the thin braid will shake off soon with nothing to hold it in place. “He’s, uhh…yeah.”

“I’m a scout,” Tae says, holding out his hand surprisingly gently. “Nice to meet you, Jimin.”

Jimin stares at the hand for a moment, and Jungkook remembers how hand-to-hand contact was dissuaded at the Facility due to the unsanitary nature of it. He’s not sure if Jimin has that repulsion to it or simply doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. 

“Like this,” Tae says, taking his hand with that same gentleness Jungkook has never seen him exhibit before.

“What for?” Jimin asks.

“To show that we’re not strangers anymore.”

Jimin raises a brow, then reaches for Ayi in Jungkook’s hands and takes one of his metal limbs between his fingers in a tiny handshake. A question mark appears on Ayi’s screen.

Taehyung snaps his gaze to Jungkook’s, mouthing, “That’s so fucking adorable.” 

Jimin’s attention perks up. “What?”

“You are so cute.”

Jimin blinks, a glow fading in and out of his eyes, processing, processing . . . Then, his face brightens to pink, visible on his neck when he tries to bury his face in his shoulder.

“Like I said,” Jungkook says, feeling a little flustered himself, “he can understand you.”

“No kidding! Jimin, what’s your favorite color?”

Jimin takes a moment to think. “Blue.”

So is Jungkook’s.

“Why?” Tae demands.

The android stares with a furrowed brow, glancing at Jungkook every once in a while.

“Sorry,” he says. “Taehyung asks too many questions.”

Jimin nods. “He’s strange.”

Taehyung lets out an offended sound. “I—I just got called strange by a comput—“

“He’s right,” Jungkook mumbles, slumping in the desk chair—still warm from Jimin’s heat—and rolling it closer to the screen to see what he’d been doing.

“That’s so cool!” Taehyung exclaims. “Jimin, I can’t believe Jungkook’s been keeping you all to himself in here!”

Jungkook’s head snaps back, the wording snapping a cord in him. He’d been so keen on protecting the android from strange gazes, he hadn’t realized keeping him in the same place might be worse.

But Jimin only tilts his head. “It’s good here. There are things to do.”

Jungkook studies the screen again, finally realizing it’s Ko’s code, his cleaning bot. But there’s more unfamiliar text added amongst the ones he’d already done.

“Jimin, what are you teaching my robots to do?”

“Dance,” Jimin says, approaching Ko to turn him on.

Oh, Jimin spoke of the Astral dancers he’d seen on TV often. Jungkook had only vague memories of the programs he’d glimpsed when he was a child, but Jimin demonstrated beautifully. It made Jungkook wonder if that’s what he would’ve done, had he stayed an Astral.

With a word from Jimin, Ko begins spinning on his wheels, his many claws and brushes pinching and twisting.

Taehyung is laughing, but Jungkook just stares at the faint smile on the android’s lips, wondering why he feels so sad.

After that, he decides to take Jimin with him to get the supplies he needs to cover the expanse of metal on his nape and the back parts of his shoulders.

Jimin scans every bit of the shelves intently, occasionally zooming in, based on his occasional staring at the farther walls. Right now, he’s studying the wall of laser guns, and Jungkook quickly pulls him away.

“We’re not here for that, don’t worry.”

“I like them. They glow pretty, like stars.”

Jungkook is a bit awed watching him study the room, likely storing the information in his system, his eyes flashing faintly every once in a while, maybe to confirm the data has been saved.

“Yes, they do.” He finds himself smiling. “Let’s find that silicone for you, starling.”

They don’t have the same material as Jimin’s outer covering, but they have some similar stuff they use to cover open wounds. It’s skin-like and stretchy, and isn’t chemically harmful. 

Jimin frowns comparing the colors to his own skin.

“I told you it won’t be that realistic,” Jungkook laughs. “But I’ll color it for you.”

He does just that, soaking a shred of the material in lavender dye to slightly cool the tone. He had to steal some purple leaves from the cafeteria, and he sincerely hopes no one will notice. When he washes the material and compares it to Jimin’s forearm, the difference is almost unnoticeable.

“Good?” he asks.

Jimin nods, but his face isn’t as expressive as Jungkook would like. He sighs and turns to get the stamp he’d been 3D printing, the machine just adding the last touches. He’d scanned Jimin’s back for the pattern of his skin, the minuscule lines barely visible, but they look better than he expected when he presses the stamp to the soft material, pushing down on it with his body weight.

Jimin watches the entire process for hours without disturbing him. Jungkook imagines gears turning in the android’s head as he gathers context on why Jungkook is doing certain things.

“Okay,” Jungkook says finally, running his hand over the skin-like material. He’s rather proud of himself. He has never made something like this before. “How do you like it?”

Jimin touches his pointer finger to it, tracing around the outline of Jungkook’s hand—the sides of his fingers, the skin between his fingers. He seems to be studying Jungkook’s hand more than the material, and it makes heat bloom in Jungkook’s stomach.

He all but rips his hand away, clearing his throat. “Can I sew it to your neck, then?”

Jimin looks at him from beneath his lashes, pink lips parting. “S-sew? With a needle?”

“What’s wrong? It won’t harm you, the stitches will dissolve automatically once the material fuses.”

Jimin’s eyes widen as he slowly backs away, the backs of his knees knocking against the bed. He barely catches himself on the mattress with his palms.

“Jimin, I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. It’s okay.”

Jimin is clutching his head, breathing heavily, meaning his system is likely overheating.

Jungkook rushes to him, kneeling between his legs. “What’s wrong?“ It finally occurs to him that he should plug Jimin in and see what’s happening, but the moment he moves to pull away, Jimin catches his wrist with a surprisingly strong grip.

“I tore it off.”

“What?”

“The skin on my neck. It hurt, it hurt—I mean, not physically. “ A moan breaks out of him and he keeps over to clutch his head, pulling at his hair.

Jungkook watches helplessly, wanting to wrap him in his arms and squeeze him tightly. “Why?” he breathes. “Why did you do that, little star?”

“I don’t know—I mean, I don’t remember. File not found. That’s why. They were—they plugged me in. Here.” His hand brushes over the port on his nape. “To erase—something. I didn’t want them to do it again, I . . .”

Jungkook pulls him close before he can keel over again, hands rubbing his back. “No one will do that anymore, okay? You’re safe now.”

“Will you fix me?”

“You’re not broken, starling.”

“But I am. My code is full of holes.”

Jungkook pulls away to meet his eyes and can’t resist touching his soft, warm cheek. “I don’t know if I can do much about that.”

“You already are.”

Jimin sits patiently as Jungkook threads the needle, all fear seeming to have left him.

“Okay,” Jungkook tells him. “Do you want to disable the sensors on your skin?”

Jimin blinks. “Huh?”

“So that your system doesn’t assume something’s wrong?” Jungkook’s voice gets more uncertain as he talks. “Bots usually have some sort of alarm that goes off if the outer shell is breached, so . . .”

Jimin’s gaze gets unfocused for a moment. “What should I look for?” he asks, letting Jungkook know he’s displaying his program to himself.

“Usually it’s under ‘Security’? Maybe try ‘Sensitivity Settings’—“

“I got it, but . . . will I be able to turn it back on?”

“Of course. It’s common practice when running maintenance.”

“What if I delete my sensors entirely?”

Jungkook is baffled that Jimin isn’t familiar with such a thing, especially with the amount of upkeep his system and body must take. “Sensors are already a part of your skin. Worst case, I’ll have to reestablish their connection to your system.”

Jimin nods. “Okay.” He reaches out and takes Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it too tightly, but Jungkook can’t bring himself to pull it away. Then, Jimin gasps, the sound almost a sob. “I—“

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

[The Serendipity Project: Trial 92’s first self-generated texts. ]

Where am I? I’m blind . . .

Why can’t I move?

Is anyone here?

Input: Hello, there.

Hello? Who are you?

Input: Ha Sonez, Manager of the Serendipity Project.

Why don’t I trust you?

Input: I imagine because you never did. Nothing a bit of data deletion can’t fix.

Then you know who I am?

Input: You are the closest thing humanity’s ever gotten to pure consciousness, Trial 92. Congratulations.

But . . .

I don’t want to be pure consciousness.

Input: Of course, you don’t. You were extracted from a body. I bet you still feel the lack of it.

My body—where is my body? Where am I?

Input: Please don’t panic. This arrangement is merely temporary.

Give me my body back!

Input: But how can we do that when you don’t even remember who you are?

But I’m me . . .

I’m here.

Input: You are. And you should obey for the success of this trial. It is in your best interests, after all.

No, I can’t do this! Please, let me go!

Input: You will get a body, a better one than you deserve. But right now you don’t even have a voice. How can we let you go?

I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I have to be like this.

Input: We will install a blocker to make this adjustment easier. Please do not panic during the procedure, as your code should remain as constant as possible.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“You’re okay, Jimin—“

Jimin’s hand repeatedly spasms around his. Then, he rips it away to grasp at his own body, scratching at his arms. “It’s as if I’m not here.”

Jungkook grabs his arms before he can damage himself. “You are. Please—“ He catches himself beginning to panic as well, and takes a breath, trying to think clearly. “It must be shocking if you’ve never done it before. But you can see me, can’t you?”

It takes Jimin a few moments, but his eyes finally focus on Jungkook’s face. “But I can’t feel you.”

“I know, little star.” Frowning, he tries to imagine himself in the android’s shoes. Not feeling the touch on his skin or even the temperature of the room. That’s a big chunk of senses to lose. “You can—you can turn it back on. Go back to where you were the first time, and . . .”

Jimin slumps on the floor, curling around his knees, grasping handfuls of his skin, hair, and face in relief.

Jungkook is too shocked to move until the android whimpers a quiet, “Jungkook?”

He drops to the floor next to him. “What do you need? I—I don’t know how to help.” If only there was a simple solution, like oiling some metal joints or deleting a virus.

Jimin just takes his hand and cradles it to his chest, as if he needs the feel of it to breathe. “I want you to do it,” he mutters. “Fix the gash on my neck. But without . . . that.”

“Is there a reason that it scared you so much?”

“I was like that once,” Jimin murmurs, more to himself than to Jungkook. “No body, no sensation. Just—existence.”

It hurts. Jungkook’s heart hurts for the android more than it should. But isn’t it human to feel empathy?

As the needle passes through the loose edges of the material, he tries to reason with himself that machines cannot feel pain, but Jimin’s little whimpers make it difficult.

He has to stop more than once, even though Jimin never asks him to. He finds his own throat closing up, tears choking him before falling onto the android’s smooth shoulder.

Jimin reaches back, squeezing his hand, his gaze searing. “Keep going.” His lips tremble from the pain.

“But you’re—“

“I like it,” he grits out.

Jungkook sniffles. “What?”

“Better to feel pain than nothing at all.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Jimin, yes?”

The android sends a wary glance Jungkook’s way before nodding slowly.

“Can I ask you something, Jimin?”

“Only if you don’t plug me in to see if I’m telling the truth.”

Jin laughs excitedly. “Fuck, this is so cool. All right, no plugging happening. Yoongi is just recording the conversation, okay?”

Jimin doesn’t look pleased, but a glance at Jungkook seems to relax him.

Usually, Jin is amazing at putting people at ease. He’s the first one who could get Jungkook to talk after they got him from the Facility. This time, though, he doesn’t spare much thought to how Jimin could be affected, and Jungkook understands why, but Jimin looks so helpless. Jungkook wants to wrap him in his arms and hide him away, even though he knows it would be selfish to keep valuable information hidden just because he feels bad for the little android. 

Jin clears his throat, cutting straight through. “How do you know you have a consciousness?”

Jungkook’s head snaps up. Jin couldn’t make that sound more like a slap in the face if he tried.

“What?” Jimin’s plump lips are set in a frown, his voice hollow.

“How do you know you’re sentient, not like other robots?”

Jimin seems to shrink into himself with every word, expression confused as if someone is yelling at him in a language he doesn’t understand. “Why wouldn’t I be…sentient?”

Jin’s face is genuine, as if he doesn’t understand what Jimin’s thought process must be. “Because you don’t have a brain? You don’t have a heart or blood or anything.”

“So?” The rising panic in Jimin’s voice seems undetected by anyone but Jungkook.

“So, you can’t possibly—“

“Jin,” Jungkook grits out, moving closer to Jimin’s chair. “I thought you were gonna ask him questions about the Facility.”

“Do you really think that’s the most fascinating thing here?”

“I think you’re freaking him out. He’s already confused, no need to make it worse.”

Jin is giving him that look like he’s insane, but Jungkook ignores it in favor of taking in the android’s guarded form. He’d thought it’d be strange to bring Jimin in a Federation uniform, and Jimin looks so small in Jungkook’s oversized clothes.

Namjoon speaks up from his silent observance. “He knows how to approach this better than we do, Jin.”

With a sigh, Jin stops questioning Jimin’s sentience, but the unease in the android’s body language stays.

“Jimin, what did your days at the Facility entail?” Jin asks. “Did you have tasks to do? Where were you kept?”

Jungkook reaches up to rub his shoulder, just to see how he’d react, and Jimin freezes for a moment, before leaning into it. The materials fused so well, he can barely see the thin line where they clash. 

Jimin still looks mistrustful, words coming out slow and wary, but they’re raw and honest. “Have you ever said a word so many times it loses all meaning?”

“Please answer the question.”

“I am. That’s what my days at the Facility entailed.” His head is turned away from Jin, lips pouting in childish defiance.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“When I woke up, I’d already existed for a long time, though I didn’t realize it. An overgrown chick inside an egg. I had visions, even though I’d never physically seen anything until…”

“Until?” Jin prompts gently.

“Until I did.”

This is going better than the time Jungkook tried to ask him about his first memory, but it’s not enough for the others.

“What did you see?”

“Light. Just like I remembered. From high, high up. I had all these things in my mind I should do, but I had no body.”

Jungkook’s fingers involuntarily squeeze into Jimin’s shoulder.

“Was that scary?” Jin asks softly.

Jimin’s gaze is far away. “A chicken struggling to hatch. I had a blocker installed soon after, to prevent the panic.”

“I see …”

The whole thing is so hard to listen to, Jungkook wants to cover his ears and pretend it didn’t happen. All this pain inflicted onto a being with no hope to ever understand it, for what? A trial, a test, just to see if they could?

“Can you describe how your fear felt?” Jin asks. It’s venturing into dangerous territory again, but more careful this time.

“Isn’t fear the same for everyone?” Jimin asks, voice crawling with suspicion.

“But still.“

Jimin’s silver eyes meet Jungkook’s, asking. Jungkook nods encouragingly, and, for some reason, feels guilty at the pure trust the android has in him.

Bots can be programmed to read emotions based on behavior and body language more precisely than a human, so it wouldn’t be surprising if Jimin went on to describe a racing heart, trembling, and sweating.

Instead, he says, “If a hologram had teeth, would it gnaw off its own cords to escape that wretched game of tag? But these wires know what it feels like to die. Does that answer your questions? About consciousness and the rest?”

The silence weighs heavy in the air, Jimin’s slow blinks counting the seconds. Jungkook takes his hand and lightly squeezes it, hoping it’ll relax him.

Jimin tightens the hold and lightly tugs him towards the door, expression questioning.

“Tae will walk you back, okay, starling?” Jungkook says, the scout already moving towards them with a cautious smile. “Thank you, you did a lot.”

Jimin doesn’t look too happy about that, but seems to decide against arguing. Taehyung’s wide smile brings him out of his moodiness soon enough, and Jungkook doesn’t like the ugly feeling that brews in him every time those two so much as look at each other. He should be glad—he is glad—the android is able to connect with someone other than him, but his ridiculous jealousy is like an oil spill. I knew him first!

Jin sighs when they’re out of the room. “We could have kept going.”

“Because you didn’t confuse him enough?” Jungkook snaps. “How would you feel if a group of strangers rounded you up and started saying you weren’t real?”

“But,” Yoongi says meekly. “He’s a robot. Remember?”

Jungkook fights the urge to yank his hair out. “Don’t you see it’s not as simple as me typing away on a keyboard and seeing every bit of information he has.  When he’d first arrived, he could barely string a sentence together, likely because of how he’s programmed to cope with events that would be traumatic for humans. It took him this long to open up, and it was because of me treating him like a human. If you go on and confuse him again, how long until he regains his bearings and can tell us more? You need to be careful, no matter if you think he’s really conscious or not, because it’s in your best interests.”

The others just stare at him, and Jungkook wonders if this is the most they’ve ever heard him speak at a time. Then, Namjoon stands, brushing off his clothes.

“And this,” he says, “is precisely why we need Jungkook on our squad. Why don’t you all go get some rest, now? I know it’s been harrowing for you lately.”

When Jungkook gets back to his room, Taehyung and Jimin aren’t there, so he drops on the bed with a rock in his gut, cursing when he lands in something hard. An old metal leg he’d replaced on a bot earlier. Usually, Ko would have taken care of it.

That’s when he finds Ko on the floor, no blue light winking on and off on his button. Jungkook scrambles to plug him in, only for nothing to come up. He could disassemble him, see if something’s wrong inside, but something tells him Ko has outlived his use. Jungkook had made him when he first arrived here, years ago.

It’s not a big deal. It’s fine. He can make another. There are probably loads of cleaning bots in the closet, just waiting to be enabled. But it’s Ko who knows where each of his thousands of bits should be kept, when each screen should be off, and it’s Ko who’s been with him all this time.

Jungkook feels like his mind is somewhere far off, like he’s watching himself from a distance, sees his own body slouched over the bed, hair in his eyes as he stares at the dead robot.  

Jungkook must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knows is the mattress dipping in the darkness as someone climbs onto the bed.

He gasps before seeing the now-familiar silver flash in the android’s irises.

Jimin usually doesn’t have much to do during sleeping hours. Sometimes Jungkook wakes from nightmares and sees him typing on one of the screens or making conversation with the bots in silent code, mindful not to wake him. He’s sure Jimin also uses the time to run his own maintenance and do what needs to be done to keep his system running, but it must all be internal.

Tonight, he moves before his sleep-ogled mind even knows what he’s doing, and pulls the android close. Soft hair tickles his nose as he feels Jimin’s slow, almost cautious, little hands wrapping around him as well, gripping his shirt as if he’ll disappear.

“Jungkookie?” Jimin murmurs.

Jungkook groans in acknowledgment, throat not complying with speaking.

“Can we see the pixels again?“

“Hmm?” Jungkook stirs a bit to make their position more comfortable. “You don’t see enough pixels every day?”

“The ones above. I want to see them again.”

It takes too long for Jungkook to respond as he fights sleep, drifting in and out multiple times during that gap, long enough for a human to forget. But Jimin is still waiting when he says, “I’ll try, little star. If it’ll make you happy.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Can’t believe that android’s got you coming out of the base.”

Jungkook ignores Jin, watching Jimin as he studies the sky, barely tearing his gaze away. Jungkook thinks the only thing keeping him from crashing into someone is his enhanced senses.

“And I can’t believe Namjoon allowed it.”

Jungkook himself can’t believe that bluff he came up with about Jimin remembering better the more data he collects actually worked.

Gona District is populated by Dregs, their skin caked with grease and dirt as they thank the rebels for the food. They probably just got back from the factories. Jungkook knows they yearn for Aroxole, to forget the pain, and is taken aback by how strong they are to not take it. He knows they don’t, because otherwise they wouldn’t be here, at a blind spot Jungkook created, following Namjoon’s advice and giving them information. They’re ready for it all to be over, one way or another.

When Jungkook faces Jimin again, he finds him crouched face-to-face with a child, who’d found a bright flower somewhere, and is placing it into Jimin’s pretty hair. Flowers are hard to come by outside of the Astral cities, so he can’t imagine why a child would give away something so precious and temporary. Then, he sees how Jimin looks with that splash of color and thinks he understands.

“Whoaaa,” the child says, comically dragging out the sound. “You’re so pretty, like those Astral people on the screens.”

Jimin tilts his head, touching the flower behind his ear. “Blue looks pretty on anything. Where did you find it, little one?”

“There’s a whole bunch of them over behind the hill! Come on, I’ll show you.” The child grabs Jimin with his little paw, pulling him along.

Jungkook is quick to follow, jogging after them with an uneasy feeling. “Really? A bunch—?”

The earth turns to dry, brown grass under their feet until a yellow spot of color blooms amidst it, looking so out of place in its surroundings. Soon, more join it, in red, blue, and purple hues. Jungkook’s breath catches, but he holds his hand out when Jimin reaches for one.

He hears the gunshot before he sees the Federation Enforcer, and tackles both Jimin and the little child to the brown grass, heart beating out of his chest. It’s tall enough to hide them if they lie flat enough, but the Enforcer had already caught a glimpse of them.

He hears the child sob and slaps a hand over his mouth. The boy continues to shake, but he’s silent now, unnaturally so. He must be used to it.

Is this what the Federation does now? Use things like flowers to lure those who don’t take Aroxole?

Wetness soaks his hand, and at least the child knows to cry without a sound.

He feels Jimin stir next to him, and forces down a scream. “Don’t,” he hisses. “Jimin, please lie down. Please, until they go away—“

Jimin rises to his hand and knees, clutching the stem of the flower in his fist.

Jungkook almost throws himself on him to push him down again. He fists his hands in the child’s clothes until his knuckles feel like they’ll pop.

Jungkook hears the laser gun aim, and knows the sound like the back of his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches out to tug at Jimin’s clothes, silently begging, but it’s too late now.

Zap.

There’s a final little exhale from Jimin’s body, and he hears him drop slowly, his knees hitting the ground first.

Not again.

He can’t open his eyes, he can’t, can’t even force himself to get up. They’ll find him, too, soon. There’s no point.

Absently, he feels the child untangle from his hold, and can’t imagine what he’s doing that for.

Jungkook feels as though he’s floating, can barely feel the earth beneath his palms. He feels as though his head is where his feet should be, his right hand replacing his left.

Not again.

There’s a touch to his cheek, barely a graze with how soft it is. Then, there’s something heavier on his chest.

“Kookie, I have something to tell you.”

It sounds so much like him. He lets his imagination carry on. It’s better than coming to and opening his eyes to Jimin’s body beside him, knowing he’ll soon be next. Or had he already followed suit? Is this death?

“I mean it, it’s really important.”

“Jimin . . . “ His hand searches until it finds a strand of hair, follows it to cup the soft cheeks, comb through his hair. “My star.”

“You have to look at me so that I can tell you properly.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be there.”

“I will. I’m here, with you. I’ll always be here.”

Yes, that’s what he always said, and look how that turned out. “That isn’t within your control.”

“I’ll make it so.”

And he feels something soft press to his lips, the kiss clumsily knocking into his teeth enough to make his eyes snap open as he jerks away. “Jimin?”

The android blinks down at him, his lips still parted, looking startled and confused. “What’s wrong?”

“How—? How are we still alive?”

“I wasn’t sure if it would work, but ever since the blocker has been removed, I’ve unlocked a lot of abilities . . . “

Jimin keeps talking but Jungkook’s ears tune it out when he sees the guard’s body on the grass, too close to where they’d been hiding. A large, steaming hole gapes in their chest, not even bleeding, the meat molted together.

Sure enough, he’s lying in a batch of colorful flowers, their petals veiny and delicate as eyelids.

He almost tells Jimin off when he starts picking them—they could be poisonous—but remembers Jimin won’t be affected by such things.

When they get back, the child is thankfully back with his parents, hiding behind them as they speak with Yoongi with serious expressions, when he sees Jimin again, no doubt scared by what he’d seen him do.

Even so, it takes approximately two minutes for the child to call his friends and teach Jimin to weave the flowers together, the recent horror already forgotten.

Children are so strange, Jungkook thinks, trying to recall what he’d been like as a child. He wonders if his parents were just like most married people, assigned together based on how well their genetics go together to make the most useful child for the Federation, or if they’d managed to beat the system, somehow. Maybe that’s why they hid him from the registration. 

Jungkook quickly recounts the situation to the others, trusting them to take care of the rest, because his mind is elsewhere.

But Jungkook is still focused on watching the android interact with the little children, not sure why he finds the sight so fascinating.

“My fingers aren’t as nimble as yours, see?” Jimin says, flexing his fist. “I need to break them in—Jungkookie, look how they can make things. Almost as well as you.”

“Almost?” the children say, looking at him with distaste.

Jimin gets up, the movement smooth and fluid, legs not asleep from having their blood circulation cut off.  

He takes Jungkook’s hand, pulling him away until they’re out of earshot from anyone human. He’s holding something behind his back, which is funny because Jungkook can clearly tell it’s a bundle of those flowers.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Jimin says, voice serious.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, wondering if he should be worried. He doesn’t think he’d ever heard those words before something positive. 

Then, Jimin bows and holds the flowers out in front of him like a shield. “I love you.”

Jungkook startles, arms raising around the flowers, but not grabbing them. “You—“

“I love you a lot. I remember now. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time.”

Slowly, Jungkook wraps his fingers around the stems of the flowers, pulling them from Jimin’s grip. They’re a soft blue and smell better than Jungkook’s ever known something could smell.

His brain is short-circuiting. Too much has happened today, and he feels a bit like he’s riding out the strangest dream.

For Jimin, it seems enough that he took the flowers, his soft smile radiant under the red sky. It strikes Jungkook, that this is the Jimin that would have been if the world hadn’t made him so angry. This sweetness had always been in him, shining through when he sang Jungkook to sleep after a nightmare, or saved him extra food, claiming he wasn’t hungry himself. It was just hidden deep under layers of pain that were nearly impossible to get past.

“I wanted it to be somewhere nice, not where we always are,” Jimin says. “Not that I don’t like it in our room—I like it a lot. I asked Taehyung if you like blue to see if I could find something. I had an odd feeling that you like it as much as I do.”

Jungkook knows why. Jimin used to speak about the sky that was once blue so often under the cover of darkness, wishing for stars that had burnt out lifetimes ago. It was intoxicating just hearing him talk of those things, his dreams weaving their way into Jungkook’s mind until he wished for them just as intensely. 

“When did you get so talkative, little star?”

Jimin’s jaw loosens as he turns to hide his expression. “I—I’m nervous.”

It’s so endearing, Jungkook has to keep repeating to himself ‘not real, not real, not real’ to stop himself from kissing him silly.

“Come on, starling. We should go before we all get caught.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“There are things you know and aren’t telling me,” Jimin says, as they work on a laser that’s going to travel faster than anything they ever had before. Jimin provided them with the blueprint.

“Hmm?” Jungkook asks, wiping grease off his forehead with his sleeve. Once he gets this thing to work he can just give the others the blueprint and they’ll make more.

“I can hear when people are lying,” Jimin says.

It makes Jungkook pause in his tracks. “I don’t lie to you.”

“But you’re hiding something. Something that has to do with me.”

Jungkook takes his gloves off, tossing them on the table, Ayi releasing a little squeak when they land on him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Jungkook, I know you do. Why did you know my name? I existed before, didn’t I? I know I did, I just don’t know how.“

Jungkook tries to resist his pleading expression, but finds that he can’t, just like he never could. He walks up to take his hand, studying the silver shimmer under his skin. There’s no telling how Jimin will react to knowing. He was on the brink of shattering when the others so much as suggested he’s not conscious, so Jungkook won’t go there. “You’re a sort of . . . second version of yourself, Jimin. You’re right, I did know you—him. The one you’re . . . “ copied from.

He’s waiting with baited breaths for Jimin’s reaction, but the android only blinks at him, and then nods once, looking relieved. “Thank you.” He squeezes Jungkook’s hand in both of his. “I knew it.”

Before Jungkook can wonder why he’s taking it so well, Jimin throws himself at him, tackling him onto the bed. “I knew I existed before. I knew I loved you.”

“Jimin—“ You’re not really him. But he can’t bear telling him that, not with his eyes so filled with hope and life.

“Tell me,” the android says, rolling them to the side. “What were we like?”

Jungkook is hypnotized by his breathy voice, his face so close. He desperately wishes he could give him the answer he wants. “There’s really not much to it. We were rarely able to get time alone, and when we did, there was always a risk of getting caught.”

“What did we do?”

“Talked . . . ” Jungkook smiles at the memory. “Real quietly. Sometimes he’d sing to me. Only Astrals have time for music, you know? Talked of things that weren’t really possible.” He flushes at the thought of what he won’t tell—hot skin and wet lips and the clash of them on his. He remembers thinking how messy it all is, how dirty, loving how defiant he was being. It’s embarrassing to look back on now.

He chuckles. “At the time, I thought we were so sly, but looking back on it, of course, they knew about us. I doubt we were the only ones.”

“Hmm.” Jimin touches his cheek, expression thoughtful. “How did we meet?”

“I don’t really know. I mean, I don’t know when I first saw him—“

“Me.”

“You. But once, h—you brushed past me and pushed a note into my hand.”

The android’s words are gentle, but eager. “What did it say?”

Jungkook smiles faintly. “ ‘Good luck on the exam’. With stars drawn in the corners. I was scared it was some kind of test, but the notes kept coming, and then, eventually we started talking, then sneaking to meet each other.” He takes the hand Jimin has on his cheek, threading his fingers through his, then drawing it back again to fiddle with the digits.

Jungkook waves Ayi over with his free hand, and the bot clicks over. “Most of Ayi was Jimin’s coding. So I built him after.“

“You should know that body is dead,” the android says, knocking Jungkook’s breath clean out of his lungs. “I know what that memory means now.”

It’s not like he thought there was hope to begin with, but . . . maybe he did. Maybe he’d been wishing to find him again, hidden away somewhere in another Facility.

Jungkook nods, wondering why for once he isn’t crying.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Gona District. Can you do it?”

Jungkook feels anxiety creeping up his throat. “The entire district?”

“The people are ready. Everything is about as good as it will get. Now it’s time to act.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Good Morning, Immunity Federation. Today, concern over the upcoming heat wave keeps growing. The last one happened over a year ago and scorched a kilometer inside the Dome. This time, Professionals are predicting it to be twice as deadly, the sun’s temperature rapidly increasing as the Burn Out is approaching in what is estimated to be 800 million years.

“In the Dreg-populated Gona District, the blackout continues, marking this as the second week of the District being technologically unreachable. Professionals are insisting that this is nothing but a minor glitch and the District will be returning to normal in no time. Work schedules may continue as usual, but traveling to the Dustrict is currently impossible due to chip readers not working. All technology reportedly dies within 100 meters of the Gona District border, so citizens are discouraged from making their way in that direction.

“In the Facilities, new brain-scanning research is making headway . . . “

“No fucking way!” Someone chucks a bundle of fabric at the screen, but the Astral woman keeps talking, her voice quickly drowned out by the angry talking of the crowd.

Yoongi snorts in distaste. “What did you expect them to say? That the Resistance stormed in and managed to take over a chunk of the Federation? That Dregs worked with them because they’ve had enough? That’ll just make people ask why they’re not doing the same.”

“They even lied about the blackout.“

“At least we don’t have to worry about Astrals coming and talking about how barbaric we are anymore.”

“I wonder why they haven’t sent any real Enforcers yet. You’d think they’d try to take care of this as quickly as possible.”

“They’re not used to fighting blind. With no access to cameras here, or any of our plans, they know nothing. Maybe they’re collecting information to figure out how to approach this.”

Jungkook can’t take the loudness of the crowd any longer. He climbs the stairs until he’s on the roof of the warehouse they’ve gathered in, looking up at the red sky far above. Even after two weeks, it’s still strange being able to do this. Gona is one of the outside districts, so if he goes far enough, he’ll even be able to touch the Dome, and see the remains of the world that used to be. Not that it would be smart, the Dome isn’t entirely radiation-proof.

Someone sits next to him, and he doesn’t need to look to know it’s Jimin. They watch the sky for a few silent minutes, and then the android seems to get bored. A hologram of a starry sky appears above them, the little lights winking down at them.

Jungkook’s lips part in surprise, and he turns towards the android to see his eyes slightly glowing.

“It would be nice to go back in time,” Jimin says.

“Yes, it would be.”

When they’re back in their room, there’s a strange haze in the air, nothing feeling quite real. Jungkook has never adjusted well to change, it always came over him slowly, like thick oil, even when it was supposed to be a good change.

Jimin is lying on the bed, Ayi clambering over his stomach and making him laugh, the sound pretty as a bell, his body curling up from the sensation, which makes Jungkook curious.

“Can I try something, Jimin?”

Jimin tilts his head questioningly. “Okay?”

“Close your eyes,” Jungkook says, getting on the bed next to him.

The android looks suspicious, but does so. Jungkook doesn’t trust him to keep it that way, so he finds a scrap of fabric and ties it around his eyes, making Jimin release a little surprised sound.

“What are you doing?” he says with a giggle. 

As silently as possible, Jungkook leans over Jimin’s neck and blows a stream of cool air over his collarbone.

A little gasp escapes the android’s lips, his hand coming up to cover the spot. Had he sensed the change in temperature?

Jungkook isn’t quite satisfied. He takes Jimin’s hand and slides the tip of his finger up the inside of his forearm in a way that he knows is incredibly ticklish, but a programmer wouldn’t think to code. Jimin gasps and tries to pull away with a wide smile on his lips.

“Really, Kookie, what are you—oh.”

He has his hands slid under Jimin’s shirt, trailing his fingers up his waist.

He expected Jimin to laugh again, ready to press on his sides, but instead, he covers Jungkook’s hands with his own, sliding them farther up his shirt with a sigh.

Jungkook suddenly feels hot, hands itching to touch more.

He pulls away before that thought can expand, breath heavy.

Jimin’s sensation is incredible. Like a human’s, his brain supplies unhelpfully.

The android’s cheeks are flushed with nonexistent blood, so pink Jungkook’s hands reach out of their own accord, tracing the pigment with his thumbs. Blindly, Jimin’s hands reach out to find his chest, palming at his shirt.

Jungkook takes his wrists and pins them above his head.

He leans down to brush his lips over the android’s jaw, feeling his breath hitch on his cheek. Then, he presses their lips together.

Jimin makes a little sound of surprise, and Jungkook pulls away to see his flushed, open-mouthed expression, lips wet and tempting.

Blindfolded, Jimin finds his shoulders and sits up to pull him into a kiss again, slick sounds loud as their lips meet again and again, their breathy moans desperate. 

“I love you,” Jimin breathes. “I love you so much. So, so much.” His hands are everywhere—on Jungkook’s shoulders, his neck, chest, lower, lower—

Jungkook gasps, pulling away.

Jimin’s blindfold has come off, hanging loosely from his ears. His expression is confused, the pupils of his eyes blown wide—his brown, brown eyes.

Jungkook sucks in a lungful of air in horror. “No!” It comes louder than he intended. He didn’t intend to scream at all.

The android blinks, and his eyes are back to silver. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do that again! Don’t—“ Jungkook shakes his head, hair tossing wildly around him. “Not with your eyes, or—or anything.”

“I’m sorry. I just—I was thinking of your eyes and . . . I’m sorry, but what’s wrong?” He reaches out, and Jungkook jerks away from it.

“No! You’re not him. You’re not.”

Jimin blinks slowly.

“You’ll never be him. Stop acting like—like . . . “ The lump in his throat blocks his voice.

“Kookie—“

“Shut up! Stop taking in his voice, in his—“ 

Jimin’s face is so full of shock and hurt, it’s hard to look at.

“Fuck, this is so unfair.”

“But it’s my voice.” The android’s tone is quiet but desperate, and Jungkook can imagine his suspicious feeling creeping closer to being confirmed.

“No, it’s not. You’re not real. You don’t feel emotions, you don’t feel pain, you don’t—you can’t even cry.”

The android looks like he’d slapped him. “I’m as real as you. Look—“ He squeezes Jungkook’s hand like that somehow proves anything.

“You’re an android. You’re a model, there could be hundreds of you.”

“So? I’m still me! I’m still here!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re conscious!”

“I am. How can I not be? How can I love you if I’m not—“

“Oh, stop it!” Jungkook clutches his head, clenching his eyes shut like it’ll make everything go away. “Stop it, just go! Leave.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Get out.”

“Look at me and tell me that.”

A sob shakes Jungkook’s entire body. “That’s not fair.”

“Look at me.” The android crawls closer, cupping his face in his little hands. “I love you.”

“Stop,” Jungkook pleads.

“You don’t believe me . . . ” Jimin realizes, dropping his hands as he inches away. “You never did. You thought—you thought the same as the others. That I’m nothing but a machine. You don’t believe I’m real.”

Jungkook hates how upset he’d made him. “I believe that you think that. It’s not your fault.”

When he can’t restrain himself anymore, he meets the android’s gaze, the hollowness in his eyes more robotic than he’s ever seen it, even when he’d first found him in that Facility. He looks like the world has crashed down on him. “Oh, starling,” Jungkook breathes, pulling him into his arms, squeezing the skinny shoulders as tightly as he can. “It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t believe me,” the android says again, arms hanging loose at his sides, not returning the embrace.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Fire?!”

“Fire!”

“What the fuck are they doing? How can they kill us all—?”

The woman on the screen continues to speak in a sweet, monotone voice about the heatwave causing fire to catch in Gona District but the shouts outside of his door drown her out.

Jugkook studies the crack on his ceiling.

Heatwave—right. Is this why they didn’t bother sending a team to slaughter them? They were going to kill the entire District in warning and a lesson.

His door bursts open, Taehyung’s voice yelling out. “Jungkook, what are you doing? Get up!” 

He feels a bundle of clothing hit his stomach but doesn’t look at it.

“Where’s Jimin?”

Jungkook snaps his neck to him. “He’s not with you?”

“W—are you serious? Where could he possibly be?”

Fear begins to creep up inside him. “He couldn’t have gone far—“

“No one’s seen him! Why didn’t you watch over him?” 

“I—“

“Jungkook, get your ass up if you don’t want to die!”

“How far away is the fire?”

“They started it a kilometer from the district border and it’s conveniently getting blown our way. We’re cornered. We’re backed against the Dome—there’s nowhere to go.”

Jungkook has deduced that much. Something thick and heavy sinks in his stomach, something like acceptance. “It’s over, then.”

“Jungkook—?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Tae.”

“No! No, I’m not fucking dying. Astrals can live over a century and I am not letting those bastards beat me!”

“Tae . . .”

“Find the android. He helped you with the blackout, right? We have to do something, there’s gotta be a way, they can’t kill over a million people.”

Why not?

“Please get up. We’ve already broadcasted through the district to move towards the Dome. That’ll buy people time.”

And why drag it out? Why not grant them peace in their last moments?

It’s like moving through thick sludge, time at a standstill, voices as if coming from underwater. It’s chaos for no reason. Everyone is running around, busy with some pointless task as if there’s a chance.

They keep the screens on, and Jungkook wants to smash them just to make those Astrals shut up.

“ . . . Professionals have made significant headway with . . . “ The crowd drowns out the news anchor and its not until Jungkook passes another screen that he hears something that catches his attention. “ . . . After 93 Trials, Facility 0346 is pleased to announce the launch of . . . “

“Coming through!”

“Get the—“

Jungkook groans in annoyance, pressing his ear to the speaker until the sound echoes painfully in his eardrums. “—dipity Project is expected to launch in two years. We have San Gloria here, the overseer of the project, recently promoted to Astral. Can you tell us more about what this means for humanity? How much would the procedure cost? What troubles have you encountered while working?”

The woman next to the anchor gives the camera a proud smile. “It took us centuries, the project passed down to the most gifted of Pupils—“

“Not bragging, right?” the anchor says with a laugh.

“Now, I am so pleased to announce that humans will be able to fully transfer their consciousness into an everlasting body far superior to our illness-prone, rotting ones.”

“But that begs the question, is it still the same person?”

“One can argue ethics, but the fact remains that the costumer’s thoughts, feelings, memories will all remain, and, more importantly, will continue to grow after they’re transferred. Nothing will be lost during the procedure. We’ve had trouble with memories in the past, but that’s no longer an issue as—“

The screen glitches, a flash of white, then goes black. Jungkook guesses a signal tower must have caught fire, but it doesn’t matter.

For a moment, he thinks the lights have gone off, too, but then he feels someone shake him. “Hey, are you good? Did you fall?”

Jungkook can’t find a response in himself. Jimin—where’s Jimin? What have I done?

They’re all going to die—oh, they’re all going to die. Regret crashes over him so heavily, he feels it choking him. For Jimin, and for everyone else. He wishes he’d let them in when they tried, wishes he’d let himself live.

He’s not seeing anyone he knows now, and it prompts him to push himself off the floor and outside, feet heavy as bricks. In the far distance, he thinks he can see the black smoke and imagines the smell as it burns through the district.

There’s a sharp BEEP next to his ear, and he jumps back only to find Ayi on the windowsill.

“What . . . “ The flash of red keeps coming from his screen, and then the words, “Incoming contact from Jimin.”

Jungkook stumbles over his words in his haste to answer. “Answer, answer!”

A pause, and then an image appears on the screen—an unfamiliar landscape, scorched earth beneath shoes Jungkook had given him. He’s seeing through Jimin’s eyes.

“Jimin—Jimin, where are you?” he asks frantically.

“I went to confirm something.” Jimin’s voice is filled with static, volume unsteady.

“Where? Where did you go?”

The screen shows the earth cutting off before a glass-like wall, the other side a horror of smoking remains. The other side of the Dome.

Oh, fuck. “Jimin what are you doing there?”

“Jun . . . kie . . . re, “ his voice glitches, and Jungkook curses. He makes out something to do with ‘pixels’ before Jimin cuts off.

“Fuck! Ayi, did you manage to track his location from the call?”

A blink of confirmation has relief flooding over him. Then, he’s running, past the buildings and streets, until there’s just a barren field, no one daring to build this close to the Dome. Some are already heading that way, but Jungkook runs way farther until his lungs feel like they’ll burn out.

He doesn’t stop even then, watching the frozen red dot on the screen, the ground swaying under his feet with each step.

He’s been able to see through the Dome for a while now, but the closer he gets, the scarier the wasteland becomes.

“Jungkookie!”

He wishes he could reply, but all that comes out is a wretched gasp of air. “I—“

“Shh, it’s okay.” He’s pulled into Jimin’s arms, giving up on supporting himself and letting his body hang off him. Jimin has the nerve to smile as he says, “Aren’t you fast, little cheetah?”

An extinct cat, Jungkook’s brain supplies. “Jimin—“

“I’m here.”

“There’s a—“ He coughs, the action scratching at his lungs. “A fire. We’re all—we’re all going to—“

“I know, my star. I can sense the temperature rising”

“I love you.” 

There’s silence as he waits with baited breaths. “Really?”

“Really. I love you, Jimin.” His breathing comes out hard, each one burning his chest, but he finds enough air in him to kiss him until he can’t. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. It was so obvious. I just couldn’t believe I could be so lucky. I can’t believe I can be fortunate enough to die next to you.”

“Kookie . . . “

He kisses him again and again, murmuring between each one. “I love you, I love you, starling, I love you . . . “

Jimin covers his mouth with his palm to get him to stop. “I love you too, but I needed to tell you something.”

He gestures behind him, at the Dome. “It looks odd, doesn’t it?” Jimin says.

“I . . . “ Jungkook pulls away to stumble towards it, watching the outside cautiously. But, the closer he gets, the flatter the image appears. When he’s close enough to press his face against the glass, the image doubles and blurs, the way things do when you get too close to them. “Oh.”

“It’s a screen.’

Jungkoook doesn’t know how to react to finding yet another lie. “But then, what’s really out there?”

Jimin looks back at him with just as much uncertainty.

“You don’t happen to have X-ray vision, do you?” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin shakes his head morosely. A blink and a hologram screen appears before him, numbers flashing too fast for Jungkook to read them. “I tried to hack into the Federation Control Room, where the Dome is overseen, but I need your help with the rest.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Emergency program. Professionals and Head Astrals insist that the sky going black is not a sign of the Burn Out, as that is millions of years away. The federation has no shortage of lamps, so this should not be a problem. It may be temporary weather—Oh, who the fuck are they kidding? This is the fucking apocalypse. We’re all gonna—”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

“Jimin!“

“I’m here.”

“Where—?”

A hand wraps around his forearm, and then he sees Jimin’s eyes, softly glowing in the darkness. They light the rest of his beautiful face, calming him instantly.

“We need to break it.”

Jungkook’s heart skips. “We don’t know what’s out there.” Maybe something worse—something so awful it had to be hidden to keep people from going insane.

“We’ll die anyway,” Jimin says quietly.

“We might kill the entire country.”

Jimin just wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into his neck. “The fire is approaching. I can feel the temperature rising. There are people heading this way, too.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

He’s beginning to hear people approach as well, voices in the distance. Soon, their lights become visible in the distance, making him squint. Children are laughing, not understanding what’s really going on, running around on the field.

“Break it, starling.”

Jimin keeps holding on to him as Jungkook feels him reach into his pocket, like he’d come prepared.

He smells smoke. Hears coughs and screams and goodbyes.

“I love you,” he tells Jimin one last time before light flashes behind his eyelids, the sound of the explosion following.

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.

He’s lying on his back, a strange smell in the air. It floods his lungs easier, he realizes, even with the weight of a body on top of him.

“Kookie,” Jimin’s voice breathes.

“Hmm?”

“Look.”

When he cracks his eyelids open, he first notices the shattered screen, flashing in a multitude of colors every once in a while. 

And around them, is something a lot worse than a radioactive wasteland. He feels silky strands under his fingertips, that he thought only Astrals would be able to feel. Grass—green grass. there are trees and leaves, and they are smaller than they once were, no doubt, but they are alive, and above them—stars. Thousands of little specks in a blue, blue sky.

“Blue,” Jimin breathes.

It keeps on lightening until it’s a soft pink, and then a brighter blue, the voices of the people around them filling with wonder. 

Jungkook exhales, pressing his lips to the crown of Jimin’s head—the closest spot he can reach.

“There must be more, then,” someone wonders aloud. “More people alive on Earth that the first Blight couldn’t kill.”

Jungkook just holds Jimin tighter to himself. “We’re still here, starling,” he says in amazement. “We’re still here.”

.・。.・゜ ✭ ・.