Chapter Text
The glow. Dim. Monotonous. Never before had Mista thought a light like as this could hold such a weight behind it. Such a simple sight that had become part of his daily routine as he slaved away in front of screens all day, had become the centre of the world before him.
The screen was all that stood between him. All that stood between Mista and Giorno. All that stood between a human, and a simple robot. An AI hidden behind a mask of illusions and paradise. A mask that had been stripped away just moments previous.
“I’ve gotten better at being a person though, thanks to you.”
“…There’s a lot that’s a bit off about me, isn’t there?”
“I can’t tell you, Mista. I want to. I really want to but I can’t-“
A voice, once so pleasant to listen to, oh-so-dangerously addicting, suddenly sounded vile within the mind. It sounded off. Sick. Broken. Had Giorno’s voice always sounded so? Had his voice always had that roughened edge towards the words, an almost rusted feel prickling within Mista’s brain? Or, was it the simple knowledge that shattered Mista from his happy mirage?
The knowledge that behind those softened lips, behind the pretty pink exterior lay nothing more than simple cogs and gears. A mess of metal and plastic. That was all that there was to it. No true humanity. No true soul.
All that there was to that voice. All that there was to Giorno Giovanna.
“…!”
He was not entirely sure what triggered the bile from rising within his throat, the acid burning away at his insides. His entire body was screaming at him. Screaming at him to do something, anything.
It seemed, even the mere mention of his name, and he was a wreck. A complete and total wreck that was surely beyond saving-
“…Can I be selfish one last time, Mista?”
That was enough for the technician to throw a hand up towards his face. A desperate attempt to stop the sick from rising further within his mouth.
Was it from disgust?
Was it from anger?
Yes. Perhaps No? Everything, every little thought to cross the path of Mista only caused the migraine to split his head apart further, to dig at the insides of his brain, push against his skull and threaten to simply explode from pressure.
Even that glow. So harmlessly dull, so harmlessly simple, did not allow Mista to keep his eyes open fully.
“Idiot.” A phrase aimed at no one but himself. No one but the stupid human, for allowing himself to get sucked into some vile plan of a simple siren. To allow himself to fall into an idiotic happiness that was sure to be shattered.
He had fallen in love with a machine.
But a man does not fall in love with a mere object.
Mista was not like that. Mista was right in the head. He was sure of it. Oh-so certain of it! He was a sane man. A sane human being with a very sane heart.
So, then, why was this hard?
Why was his hand hesitating, hovering so gingerly over that one God-damned key? That one, simple button that would erase this disastrous mistake from within all except his memory.
Why did those words scare him? Those simple, simple phrases that sent Mista into this current spiral?
“Confirm to Delete…... Y/N”
Just one simple button. And Mista could not. He could not push his finger down further upon the aged plastic. Yet, neither could he move his hand away. Neither could he allow those thoughts, the bile within his throat or the sinking feeling within his chest, to simply dissipate.
His mind would not allow Mista to rest, only allowed him to fall into this torturous spiral further. For, with each time his eyes shut even to blink, the face would appear within his mind.
The face once filled with such wonder and excitement as it talked of a fictitious life upon Earth. A face that once looked upon Mista so lovingly, so adoringly that Mista could not help but have his heart grow fonder.
A face, that he had fallen in love with.
“Why are you hesitating, Mista? You said it yourself, I’m not really me. I’m just an AI in some machine. I’m not real. There shouldn’t be a reason for you to hesitate.”
It truly was pathetic. How, even now, Mista found himself relying upon this Giorno Giovanna for something. For anything to make his own heart soothe, to make his breaths calm and mind sane once more.
How even now, he relied upon Giorno to give him that final push. How, even when erasing all the remnants of what once Giorno Giovanna was, he relied upon the blonde’s encouragements.
For, it was only with that memory. Only with Giorno’s words ringing throughout Mista’s mind again, that he allowed his hand to move.
It was only then that the finger pressed down, such force behind it that threatened to break the plastic keyboard beneath.
It was only then, that he had done it. He had set his mind straight once more. Had set himself back onto the correct path-
It was only then, that Giorno Giovanna had been given what he had wished for. A human experience. The experience of death.
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Though it would not be in his lifetime. Though it would certainly not take place for many more decades to come – a lesson would one day be learnt.
A lesson, of the power of hope. A power of pure, naïve hope that can overpower even the most heated of human actions.
How a simple desperation could survive even the most brutal attack at one’s life.
For, had Mista turned around. Had Mista turned back to face the screen after hitting that simple little button, he would see. He would see the true power that a simple AI’s hope could hold. Could see the desperation as it clung onto the last of its remnants.
Perhaps love was the first human emotion to spread throughout Giorno Giovanna, all those years ago.
But it was the desperation to live, that desperation to taste more of what a human life could give to him, that rang the strongest throughout Giorno.
It was his will to live, that perhaps made this AI more human than most. More human than Mista, even. It was that will to live, that clung Giorno on. A last, subconscious fight for more from the heartbroken creature.
A last, subconscious move that kept him here.
A soul, afterall, cannot simply be erased with one simple press of a button.
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The hope of the previous generations at the return of the vibrancy of the blue planet was a shortly lived one. It only took a few more generations since the lives of Mista and Giorno for the attempts at reviving the planet back to its glory days to truly be labelled as futile.
No matter the number of seeds planted, no matter the amount of debris cleared, and smoke and ash filtered through – life had simply run out on the olden planet. The soul of the once famed planet Earth simply ceasing to exist.
No longer did people cling onto the aged videos and photos of the centuries past, with a hopeful gleam within the eyes as parents told the stories of a normal life on the Earth to their kin. No longer did people hold the hope within them at a future bright and clear.
Though, with the loss of the pure hope that once defined the human species, a different hope sang out. A modern hope. A hope built upon the destruction of their doomed habitat.
When it had become clear that no amount of work and conservation would save their precious soil and dried up oceans – humans did not entirely give up. If their own home was about to fall into demise, a new one would be built.
The stations at the moon began to increase in their numbers. Laboratories, an already commonly seen sight in the vast space, further focused their work on discovering the perfect way to live away from Earth. Whether it was pure space, the moon, perhaps even further galaxies and a further out cosmos, it did not matter. All that mattered was finding a way to keep on living.
Finding a way to keep that life, that eager, desperate hunger for life, sated.
No longer were the lotteries necessary to find a placement to work upon those laboratories and other constructions away from the planet. With the workplaces increasing, and the general population of the humans further diminishing with each minute – jobs were aplenty.
Certainly, there was always a job open and ready for a certain brunet. A certain curly haired worker with a speciality in technology and all things AI. A very certain Guido Mista, a man full of passion. A man, full of life.
As the years had passed by them, as the generations birthed and passed from the planet – old souls moved on, making room for new.
The olden souls had made room for one to come back. For one soul, so desperate, so fuelled by emotions and unrest, to return back into the plane of existence, to return to himself.
Guido Mista, a soul so subconsciously fuelled by such anger and regret that it became impossible to separate the two after all the decades that had passed, was given one more chance. One, last chance to make things right.
One last chance, to do things again. To make things right.
To create an ending for himself. And for another soul, too. An ending together, united at long last.
Though this soul certainly was the one belonging to the great Guido Mista, belonging to the greatly stubborn mind, to the mind so cantered around what made humans human that it had been his own demise – this new soul was certainly its own.
It was Guido Mista. Yet, it was not the Guido Mista.
The love for life, the tender-heartedness and the natural charm certainly still resonated heavily as parts of himself were certainly all present within the man. Yet, something rang different.
An openness. A will to learn more than ever before.
Perhaps it had been fuelled by the simple demise of the planet earth – robots were a simple part of daily life, many had been debating on the role of the AIs, a popular topic to be brought to discussion.
Perhaps, it had been fuelled by the deep regret that had always sat deep within the man. Though, he certainly could neither make heads nor tails out of it. It had always been a present feeling, one that always anchored the man, yet one that he was never certain for why it was quite there.
Perhaps, it was simply a twist of fate. A simple game played by whichever gods were observing the drama to befall upon them, the romance and tragedy that had sated the twisted minds up above now eager for more.
It did not matter. All that mattered, was the will. The will to learn more.
This Guido Mista was open. This Guido Mista would listen.
And as he stepped foot upon the ship that would take him towards one of his many work placements, a usual, mindless routine, Guido Mista could not help but feel something.
A hope. A hope about something that the previous old soul within him was desperate to hold onto.
A hope to meet with Giorno Giovanna again.
A hope to love once more.