Nick stops cold in the doorway, the familiar sight of the headquarters ahead of him; however, it's not the building that has him paralyzed.
Limits to your memory, Safronov's words echo in his head. He should have realized it sooner -- it's all obvious in hindsight, no matter how much he'd like to deny it. The times he called himself an old bot, said his warranty expired, that they didn't make them like him anymore -- all those idioms about obsolete technology ring painfully true to a degree he'd never even considered, his perceived humanity blinding him to the more harrowing complications of being more machine than man. If the busted terminals of the Commonwealth could only hold so much information, why did he think he could do any better? Because he feels human sometimes?
And worse are the implications of what that means for the future. If this limit on his memory is why he can't remember his brother, their escape, and his demise, what else has he lost over the years? And what more will he inevitably lose? It's not that the human memory is a flawless system, but at least the living tend to lose their sharpness as they age, as things wear down and they meet their natural death. He's not alive: he'll keep running until his parts wear down, or until something finally breaks him permanently. It might be another month, might be another century.
And if what Safronov is saying is true, he might not be capable of remembering the beginning of his synthetic life by the time he reaches the end of it.
Hell, he already doesn't. How long has it been since he escaped the Institute? Nick realizes now that he couldn't put an accurate date on it if he tried, years simply erased without his ever knowing due to some programming in the hardware. How many lies has he told himself, holes has he filled in with conjecture where his memory failed him? He wasn't tossed into the trash, after all -- he escaped, and he wasn't alone. He only thought he was because he couldn't remember.
And if he stays in Hadriel long enough, there might come a time when he can't remember the Commonwealth at all. Not Diamond City, not Ellie, not the people he's helped and the people who helped him by treating him like a human being for the very first time. And what about Jenny? Will her memory be put to rest not with justice for her murder, but with some computer error that erases her completely? What about Rey?
Nick's shoulders tense, shaking as he considers his damnation to this artificial purgatory, unable to retain memories of those who have truly made him who he is. He might feel human from time to time, but that's just because of the behaviors copied into him. He's ultimately no better off than a Mr. Handy, save for the fact that he has enough cognizance to mourn what he's missing now that he's aware of it.
He remains at the doorway of the headquarters; despite everything, his mind is still on Rey, fixated on the thought of what would happen if they did manage to make a home for themselves after all this, either in Hadriel or elsewhere. She doesn't need to watch him forget like that -- or worse, be forgotten.
Finally, Nick's feet move and he crosses the threshold, heading into this latest memory. His predicament will wait. If there's something they can do, they can figure it out together. No sense in worrying about what trouble may crop up down the road when he doesn't have her back. He hasn't forgotten her yet.
no subject
Limits to your memory, Safronov's words echo in his head. He should have realized it sooner -- it's all obvious in hindsight, no matter how much he'd like to deny it. The times he called himself an old bot, said his warranty expired, that they didn't make them like him anymore -- all those idioms about obsolete technology ring painfully true to a degree he'd never even considered, his perceived humanity blinding him to the more harrowing complications of being more machine than man. If the busted terminals of the Commonwealth could only hold so much information, why did he think he could do any better? Because he feels human sometimes?
And worse are the implications of what that means for the future. If this limit on his memory is why he can't remember his brother, their escape, and his demise, what else has he lost over the years? And what more will he inevitably lose? It's not that the human memory is a flawless system, but at least the living tend to lose their sharpness as they age, as things wear down and they meet their natural death. He's not alive: he'll keep running until his parts wear down, or until something finally breaks him permanently. It might be another month, might be another century.
And if what Safronov is saying is true, he might not be capable of remembering the beginning of his synthetic life by the time he reaches the end of it.
Hell, he already doesn't. How long has it been since he escaped the Institute? Nick realizes now that he couldn't put an accurate date on it if he tried, years simply erased without his ever knowing due to some programming in the hardware. How many lies has he told himself, holes has he filled in with conjecture where his memory failed him? He wasn't tossed into the trash, after all -- he escaped, and he wasn't alone. He only thought he was because he couldn't remember.
And if he stays in Hadriel long enough, there might come a time when he can't remember the Commonwealth at all. Not Diamond City, not Ellie, not the people he's helped and the people who helped him by treating him like a human being for the very first time. And what about Jenny? Will her memory be put to rest not with justice for her murder, but with some computer error that erases her completely? What about Rey?
Nick's shoulders tense, shaking as he considers his damnation to this artificial purgatory, unable to retain memories of those who have truly made him who he is. He might feel human from time to time, but that's just because of the behaviors copied into him. He's ultimately no better off than a Mr. Handy, save for the fact that he has enough cognizance to mourn what he's missing now that he's aware of it.
He remains at the doorway of the headquarters; despite everything, his mind is still on Rey, fixated on the thought of what would happen if they did manage to make a home for themselves after all this, either in Hadriel or elsewhere. She doesn't need to watch him forget like that -- or worse, be forgotten.
Finally, Nick's feet move and he crosses the threshold, heading into this latest memory. His predicament will wait. If there's something they can do, they can figure it out together. No sense in worrying about what trouble may crop up down the road when he doesn't have her back. He hasn't forgotten her yet.