Snips and Snails, and Puppy-Dogs' Tails [255]
Title: Snips and Snails, and Puppy-Dogs' Tails
Challenge: #255, tabula rasa
Rating: PG
Word Count: 600
Spoilers: for Twilight Town, I suppose, but nothing past KH2.
Notes: DiZ explains how to make a good little boy, to the consternation of his accomplice.
“This design is not acceptable.”
I paced the room and looked around. The programming seemed tight - there were no objects interposing each other, and my feet were meeting the floor correctly, which were the two easiest mistakes to make when programming a virtual space. “I don’t see the problem.”
“The code is written well enough,” DiZ admitted. “But placing our subject in this environment will produce rebellious, dominating, and anti-social behavior.”
I had to smirk. “Maybe after a few years, it would,” I said, laughing inside. “But I still don’t see the problem - weren’t you saying you could give him a new personality?”
“I did not mean I could reprogram him. The subject is a real…” I watched, disturbed, as DiZ tried to explain what he meant without using the words person, human, heart, or boy. “A real entity,” he finished. “A being from the physical world, however incomplete. He cannot simply be edited.”
I folded my arms. “Then what did you mean?”
“With no heart, and with his memories removed, the subject’s personality will be shaped entirely by his environment. Hence,” he gestured out the window, at the copy-pasted skyline of Twilight Town, “the supportive social structure, the physical territory, and so on. The subject will collaborate in his own imprisonment, by… belonging to the virtual world.” I nodded - he’d explained all that already.
“This room will be his very first experience here. A cramped, dim, and unadorned space.” I frowned. It wasn’t that bad. “Bereft of any decorations but the handmade - by the subject himself, judging by their quality, or his ‘friends.’” I had spent some time adapting the mobile and the picture frames, shaping them out of pinecones and wood instead of shells and sea glass. It would be… frustrating, to throw away that code. “It implies poverty - or worse, emotionally negligent parents. When our subject opens his eyes - for the first time, and on every morning thereafter - he will find the world to be unsatisfying, drab: to be escaped.” Oh, yes. “He will see little value in himself: anyone who claims friendship with him will be more important to him than his own well-being.” Of course. Why commit this horror, if friends weren’t worth more than oneself? “He will not trust. He will claw for power and recognition, having none in his own home. With so little to lose, his every deed will be audacious, and he will take desperate measures far too quickly.” I didn’t believe a bedroom could do all that. But there was nothing in it I could argue with. Nothing at all. “How did you even conceive of such an unsuitable design?”
“It was… the first thing that came to mind.” Came, and then wouldn't go away. Through this whole project, I’d thought constantly of being on the beach with my friends, of fighting battles that were childish and stupid and fun. Of being home. But I could never go back there, after this. “How should I change it?”
“More curves,” DiZ said, “and more color. Store bought decorations. The window should be down there, by the bed. Make it bigger. Make everything bigger.” He folded his arms. “And for light’s sake, put in some books. What kind of boy doesn’t own any books?” With a jerk of his chin, DiZ executed an Exit command, and vanished.
I leaned against the wall, rubbing my eyes. Maybe DiZ was right. It wasn’t like I’d been happy in this room. Why did I want to inflict a copy of it on someone else?
I raised my hand, to build Roxas a more cheerful cage.
Challenge: #255, tabula rasa
Rating: PG
Word Count: 600
Spoilers: for Twilight Town, I suppose, but nothing past KH2.
Notes: DiZ explains how to make a good little boy, to the consternation of his accomplice.
“This design is not acceptable.”
I paced the room and looked around. The programming seemed tight - there were no objects interposing each other, and my feet were meeting the floor correctly, which were the two easiest mistakes to make when programming a virtual space. “I don’t see the problem.”
“The code is written well enough,” DiZ admitted. “But placing our subject in this environment will produce rebellious, dominating, and anti-social behavior.”
I had to smirk. “Maybe after a few years, it would,” I said, laughing inside. “But I still don’t see the problem - weren’t you saying you could give him a new personality?”
“I did not mean I could reprogram him. The subject is a real…” I watched, disturbed, as DiZ tried to explain what he meant without using the words person, human, heart, or boy. “A real entity,” he finished. “A being from the physical world, however incomplete. He cannot simply be edited.”
I folded my arms. “Then what did you mean?”
“With no heart, and with his memories removed, the subject’s personality will be shaped entirely by his environment. Hence,” he gestured out the window, at the copy-pasted skyline of Twilight Town, “the supportive social structure, the physical territory, and so on. The subject will collaborate in his own imprisonment, by… belonging to the virtual world.” I nodded - he’d explained all that already.
“This room will be his very first experience here. A cramped, dim, and unadorned space.” I frowned. It wasn’t that bad. “Bereft of any decorations but the handmade - by the subject himself, judging by their quality, or his ‘friends.’” I had spent some time adapting the mobile and the picture frames, shaping them out of pinecones and wood instead of shells and sea glass. It would be… frustrating, to throw away that code. “It implies poverty - or worse, emotionally negligent parents. When our subject opens his eyes - for the first time, and on every morning thereafter - he will find the world to be unsatisfying, drab: to be escaped.” Oh, yes. “He will see little value in himself: anyone who claims friendship with him will be more important to him than his own well-being.” Of course. Why commit this horror, if friends weren’t worth more than oneself? “He will not trust. He will claw for power and recognition, having none in his own home. With so little to lose, his every deed will be audacious, and he will take desperate measures far too quickly.” I didn’t believe a bedroom could do all that. But there was nothing in it I could argue with. Nothing at all. “How did you even conceive of such an unsuitable design?”
“It was… the first thing that came to mind.” Came, and then wouldn't go away. Through this whole project, I’d thought constantly of being on the beach with my friends, of fighting battles that were childish and stupid and fun. Of being home. But I could never go back there, after this. “How should I change it?”
“More curves,” DiZ said, “and more color. Store bought decorations. The window should be down there, by the bed. Make it bigger. Make everything bigger.” He folded his arms. “And for light’s sake, put in some books. What kind of boy doesn’t own any books?” With a jerk of his chin, DiZ executed an Exit command, and vanished.
I leaned against the wall, rubbing my eyes. Maybe DiZ was right. It wasn’t like I’d been happy in this room. Why did I want to inflict a copy of it on someone else?
I raised my hand, to build Roxas a more cheerful cage.