#I guess kinda? because the narrative mentions it overtly in a more sorta collective context

[pe4nutastic]

Happiness

After two months away (due to at least two separate issues that required A LOT of my attention), I've felt the spark of inspiration to write a little drabble upon returning here. In the interest of keeping things short, this drabble features Giegue and a little in-between from when he got the mission he tries to complete in Mother 1, but before he actually starts it.

Happiness.  Noun.  The state of being happy.

The experience of having all the empty spaces filled with something warm, bright, and positive.

A nebulous thing that seems small yet fills every darkened corner, nook, and cranny to ever exist, even ones that had until that point, escaped the notice of its physically-embedded origin.

Something that many life-forms spend eons chasing with feverish ambition, desperation clawing away at any misgivings or loss of will that occurs in-between, and in turn propels them forward towards that ever-distant effervescent light.

A lofty notion.  A foolish endeavor.  A lie perpetuated by the chaotic and disorganized nature of life-forms not ingrained with purposes that members of the Psion species are, long before energy is expended to create one.

And as a Psion, he has direction and purpose.  He is useful.  And thus, he is fulfilled.  The emptiness which had once perpetuated his being, decades prior at the termination of the experiment, has been completely wiped away and replaced by his conviction and dedication to fulfilling his predetermined purpose in Psion society.

As such, surely that must mean that he is happy.

In his own way, as a Psion and thus lacking much in the way of emotions, he must have achieved true happiness.

Or at least… that is what he would like to believe, as he rather mechanically walks down the characteristically smooth, monochromatic, and deceptively featureless hallways of Psion infrastructure, in the moments following his latest issued mission.  

The one which had always been ‘in the cards’ since that human man… George… had escaped with classified knowledge.  The day when retribution would finally be dispensed.  The moment when his own… –the mistakes of the past would finally be rectified.  The final trial through which he would undergo to finally ascertain that he is now capable and clear-minded–emptied of all erroneous attachment and so-called ‘feelings’–enough to be fully trusted with anything and everything as a high-ranking military operative.  To prove to himself that he is okay and never needed things like ‘kindness’, ‘caring’, ‘love’, or ‘emotional support’ (and by extension others) to begin with.

Those are the telltale markings of someone that is weak and dependent.

And he is certainly not weak or dependent.  Every single bit of blood, sweat, and ‘tears’ sacrificed to becoming what he has always been meant to be, is proof of that.  All his hard work over the course of decades has been to prepare himself for the opportunity in which he could, at long last, overturn what had happened before.  Correct the hideous mistakes of the past and in doing so, put it behind him entirely.  He had always known about this mission and what it would mean when the time came to properly enact it.  It had never been a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when’ and yet… all the same, the very moment he had been given his orders during that quick meeting with the Psion superiors… something in him had frozen over completely.

A cold numbness had filled the shell of his exoskeleton, cleaving his data (a constitution of ‘self’) clean from its forced physicality and in its place attached cheap strings to maneuver his body instead as he continues down the seemingly endless hallway, one mechanical and perfectly-executed step at a time.  Like clockwork, he had hesitated none in accepting the mission before turning around and leaving the minimalistic yet oddly spacious meeting room–as monochromatic and featureless as the hallways of this building–but it was all a practiced lie.  A reaction sequence so ingrained that it came automatically, even as his focus fell and an odd static-riddled silence assaulted his auditory senses in the place of whatever else (if anything at all) the Psion superiors may have said.

And as he continues to walk, inching closer and closer towards the teleportation pad serving as the exit out the otherwise impenetrable building--battered and severed from completely participating in reality by that piercing static--that sense of cold numbness and vague disorientation erodes away at his convictions like an especially unsightly disease or poison. Eroding away, bit-by-bit, until it brings him to a screeeeeeching halt just before the teleportation pad, a neat and concise circle etched in the gentle glow of white light overtop the smooth grey floors.  Stuck in place and unable to will himself, for the time-being, to do more than simply stare down the teleportation circle etched into the floor as it truly hits him, posture tensing even further in its hunched (unsightly) state and pale hands curling into especially tight fists at his sides, rat-like tail swishing uneasily overtop the cold floor in as a barely constrained something dangerously bubbles beneath the fragile surface in all its inscrutable and toxic glory.

He had always known this day would come.

He had always known that he would be the one to exterminate humanity and siphon the Earth’s remaining resources afterwards.

If he is to believe in such a frivolous thing… he would certainly regard it as his ‘destiny’.  

But it had always seemed distant.

A thing that he would not need to concern himself with for a very long time.  Something that he could neatly isolate from the rest of his mind and instead focus on literally anything else.  Something he could bury with the work he had thrown himself into once he had accepted that he had been abandoned by the ones which had introduced the irrational concept of ‘love’ to him; unable to sustain ‘love’ when his inborn defects had become especially prominent to them.  This mission had been a function of the distant future, but before he could even grasp the passage of time, it had elapsed; decades blurring into a single note, from then (a child) to now (in the adult phase of life, his second and final form).  And now it’s here.

The Earth.  Humans.  George.

Maria.

A sharp and almost indiscernible pang, tail whipping off to the side where it then remains frozen, no longer daring even a tiny 'step' out of place; something he can neither grasp or comprehend in full beyond its physical impact.

After this mission, there would be no more of that.  A complete closure on that chapter of his life to its fullest.

No more Earth.

No more humans.

No more trouble over the… selfish… actions of that self-absorbed human man.

Nothing of hers left any longer.  Any reminders of what was or could have been will effectively be extinguished in full.

No more.  Everything will be gone; wiped off the plane of existence and repurposed for a greater cause.  Never to return or be experienced again by anyone else.

Complete finality.  His life had been defined by this and now he would be properly disentangled from it all and finally be ‘normal’.

There is no reason not to want this.  To even hesitate at all.  All he had ever wanted was to be normal.  And even then, there are plenty of logical reasons why humanity cannot simply be left to their own devices.

If left to their own devices, humanity would only ever waste the stolen knowledge before eventually going on to destroy themselves, courtesy of their collectively self-serving, overly audacious and determined, and short-sighted nature.  If permitted to evolve to a sufficient degree in psionic prowess and technology, they could cause quite a bit of harm to the universe at large and in turn, effectively take others down with them.  They are doomed as a species either way.  And so, exterminating them before any of this has a chance to happen, will not only effectively spare them from the ‘suffering’ that otherwise permitting for them to continue existing would entail, but it will also put them and their planet to better use this way.

As such, if anything… exterminating them is a ‘kindness’ in a way.  A kindness to humanity itself and the universe at large.

A nod to himself, almost too enthused and desperate in its motion, sharp teeth grinding from behind the flat line of his mouth ever-so-slightly while the tight fists balled at his sides clench and unclench at regular intervals.

Yes.  It’s better this way.  Of course.  There is no reason to do anything but simply step into the teleportation circle because this is the best possible outcome to this entire mess.  The only way this particular thread in his story could ever end.  But, something stalls him nonetheless.  Keeps him frozen to the spot.  A patchworked and mismatched jigsaw of thoughts swirling from beneath his more coherent thoughts, a dangerous and unexpectedly influential undercurrent that he cannot entirely parse, disconnected as he is in his current state.  Cannot entirely parse… save for perhaps one thing that comes through and loops back to his original train of thought, with an exceptionally ugly spin to it. A twist from being a support to his conviction, pride, and duty as Psion to sowing the embittered seeds of something he had not experienced in a very long time.

His entire life post-experiment… everything he has done up to this point… everything he has done throughout his life to become the seemingly infallible and invincible military commander that he is now… does it make him happy?

A sharp pang of doubt, tipped in something foreboding and dark.

Does being a cog in Psion society make him feel truly fulfilled?  Or is it more akin to a distraction from the emptiness he had initially experienced many decades prior?

Is it enough to simply fulfill his duty to the Psion species, forever more?

Is he happy?  Could Giegue himself say that he is happy?

……….

………………………………………

Inconsequential and irrelevant.  He is a Psion.

That pang is promptly erased, forced to the back of his mind alongside anything else afflicting him, just as he had done so many times prior; the well-practiced strategy through which he had overcome his flawed beginnings. A chaotic and jumbled thing forcibly (by the ironclad strength of his renewed spurt of willpower) supplanted by pride, duty, conviction, and ultimately loyalty to the Psion species above all else.  There is no longer any room for anything but that because he is a Psion.  And ‘happiness’ is not an inherent function of Psions nor is it built into their predetermined purposes.

He forces himself to move a step forward, his mind clearing up and more properly reconnecting to concrete reality as he does so.  One foot in the teleportation circle.

He is a Psion.  And he was literally ‘born’ to serve.  To support the overarching ideologies and goals of the Psion superiors by fulfilling his function as a military cog.

Another foot is promptly set down within the teleportation circle and the rest of his body with it, posture untensing and his fists uncurling into idle positions by their respective sides.

Nothing more and nothing less.  He does not need anything else.  He does not want anything else.  He is not meant for anything else.

And that is okay. He is fine. There is nothing left inside to say otherwise because he is a Psion and Psions do not have things like 'feelings' or 'sentimentality'; only their predetermined role through which to guide themselves.

The teleportation pad’s gentle luminosity increases to a more blinding display of white, Giegue’s body slowly beginning to fade from behind its intensity.

He is a Psion.  And as a Psion, he will fulfill his mission no matter what.

He disappears in a flash, little star-like twinkles of white light hanging overlong from within the teleportation circle before too fading away into nothingness.