Cross-posted on tumblr.

I don't own DMMd

There was always some kind of movement in his field of vision. Be it a flicker of light or a flash of something the mechanics in his eyes recognised as blond, it was there. A bowed head? he once pondered, but then that begged the question why and his circuitry just wasn't able to keep up.

A muted noise filled the background and he just could never quite discern what it was. It wasn't Dye Music. No, that long and painful sound had been another time ago. It was a whirring noise, just above his right temple and it came crashing through as he would suppose a human would compare to being hit by a ton of bricks. Not that he could really compare the sensation as he had been hit by a ton of bricks, but the comparison still stood.

There were no eyelids to help him sleep, but he tried. He wanted to flex his fingers, move his legs - start the auto repair system up once more and try again. What was he doing in the first place? Could he remember?

White lines passed over his field of vision as he tried desperately to remember the last few hours. Was it hours or days? Maybe months? The interface he so regularly relied on was gone, and he just didn't know.

Is this what humans feel like when they're scared of the unknown? It was a heavy feeling, and his throat constricted. But it shouldn't have. There is no need to breathe for someone the likes of him. Why was he trying to force air down his throat when it wasn't a necessity? If anything that made him more concerned. He knew what he was so why was he trying to act like a human?

A heat suddenly developed somewhere deep in him, and if there had been a sensation of limbs it was soon gone. All noises stopped and that light finally left his eyes. Freedom, he thought. But it was hot. Like he was being swallowed alive by flames (which had almost happened too, he did remember).

And then there was pressure. Like being prodded and pricked back at the lab, fully conscious. He wanted to tell whoever it was to stop the intrusion. That feeling of being back with those men and their sick ways terrified him in a way his system couldn't handle and he was blanching, trying to move limbs that weren't there.

Why weren't his limbs there? A scream tried to force it's way out of his vocal box but he found it was removed. Where had it gone? Who removed it?

Why why why

All these question begged more and he wasn't able to use any to find an answer. There was nothing in him that tried to whittle it down to something most likely and for once, he felt like a human. A scared, little human, unable to hear and see.

It was disgusting and terrifying and finally he felt something in him react. He couldn't tell if it was a hand or a leg or even just moving his neck he was able to move. That light went back on in front of his eyes and something dark and ugly passed underneath it.

A human, he realised, and he just wanted to kick and scream, for how dare that human touch him. They did nothing since the incident, except returned to their original duties of looking after Platinum Jail. Residents left them alone and in turn they did the same. Who was this person and why had they done this?

"-, looks like it's gonna - fix your face -" A voice, distinctly masculine and (as his brain whorled to catch up) containing a barely noticeable foreign accent, swam in and out of his ears. Had he left Japan? Where had this person taken him?

"Might just - take it off - heat might melt the -"

Was he awake? Was this truly reality? Maybe they had a forced simulation still buried in their otherwise dormant files and it had activated. How should he react? He couldn't, could he? There were no hands, no feet. Pushing whatever remained of his eyes to the edge, there was nothing but leaking joints. Should he cry? He felt like he should. After all, this was the end.

"Just another moment, - fixed right up -"

The human was just mumbling to himself now, and slowly but surely he was only catching a few phrases, a few words, a few sounds. And then there was silence. Nothing. He heard nothing but the own silence in his head and his thoughts and it truly was the end. Why was he deluding himself?

If he had lips he would've given the human a scathing smile. Might have even congratulated on bringing one of them down. It was not a feat many could claim, after all. Deciding to close off whatever systems before that human could get his dirty hands on his eyes, he simply released what he hoped sounded like a sigh.

And then he died.

Beside the alpha, linked with wires and tubes, was another. An older version whose chest expanded with air, before falling back in time with that gentle rhythm. It's hardwire deemed it more human, and it rejected the foreign consciousness of the newer alpha. It was a silly, trivial thing in the long run, but the old model tried to speak with the new before it made that final decision. Tried to make it understand that there was no harm. That it would be safe if only it was allowed to look. See the world since it had last had functioning eyes.

In what it deemed to be a heart, the old model knew that the alpha would never have agreed. With skin now feeling and eyes now working, it felt that fluid supposed to resemble tears out the corners of its eyes, and run towards his ears. A strange and abnormal feeling, that although it was sad that the other was gone, it thanked him. Thanked that young alpha who didn't want to die.

Maybe the human will try to remake you too, it thought, as rough hands ran along his cheeks and an aggressive voice wondered if he wired something wrong.

One day, maybe, it mused, and finally lifted those heavy lids to see a different kind of world.