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The first time Segment 8 opened his eyes, he had been greeted by the curious stares of his fellow segments, as his mind helpfully filled out. There were five of them in total, and standing right in front of them was the main and original ‘him’—Zandik himself. They extracted him from the chamber where he had been kept when he has yet to gain consciousness.
Segment 45 handed him his clothes, helping dress him up while he observed each and every single one of the other ‘hims’. Some averted their eyes at his bare form, while others didn’t care for propriety. They were the same person, after all. He lifted his arms to easily get them through the long sleeves of his given attire. He had been made to wear a Sumeru-style garb, which matched with Segment 18’s Akademiya uniform. It seemed that only the two of them wore clothing from their homeland.
Wasn’t that strange?
“Well, aren’t you adorable?” Segment 45 cooed as he clasped a particular necklace around his neck. Its focal piece was a diamond-shaped container that held the elixir of immortality.
“Seriously?” Segment 35 narrowed his eyes beneath his mask, “Are you saying you’re adorable? How conceited.”
Segment 45 chuckled, “If I’m complimenting him, doesn’t that mean I’m complimenting all of us? We’re all ‘him’, and he’s another one of ‘us’. What’s so conceited about that? Do you not find yourself adorable?”
“Us? Adorable? As if.”
“I never knew you to be self-deprecating.”
Zandik shook his head with a frown. The segments were definitely a handful.
“Enough of this. All of you get back to your stations. I’ll show him around so that he doesn’t get lost,” Zandik said as he then offered his hand for Segment 8 to take a hold of. Segment 8 looked at his wrinkled face, fascinated at how his appearance had changed so much throughout the years. Zandik had lived to an age that he would never get to experience.
He didn’t know what to feel about that. He grabbed his hand, holding onto it tightly as he was then led outside the room that they had been in. Segment 65 patted the top of his head, ruffling his hair when he passed him by.
“What was that for?” He asked.
“Nothing. I’m but a sentimental old man.” He couldn’t tell what Segment 65’s expression was beneath his beaked mask that covered his entire face, but he was certain that his lips were quirked into a smile.
Was it because he was the youngest among them, the encapsulation of their childhood, that they treated him in such a way? He didn’t mind it that much. In the corner of his eye, he saw Segment 18’s nose scrunch in distaste at the very sight of him. That caused him to tilt his head, confused, but he didn’t bother to question him about his seeming dislike of him.
“How old are you?” Segment 8 asked Zandik. Unlike the segments, who were designated their specific numbers after the age that they were meant to immortalize, Zandik was constantly growing older. It was his curse as the most human of them all.
Zandik stopped walking for a moment. His cane thudded against the ground as he pursed his lips, “I barely keep track of my age these days. I see no point. If my memory serves me right, however, I’m already in my eighties.”
“Oh.” Segment 8 wrung the hem of his clothing within his fist. That was really old for a human.
Zandik was going to die soon.
The realization coated his tongue with ash. It wasn’t as though he cared about Zandik all that much. He had just been ‘born’, entering the world not with loud cries like human infants, but with silent deliberation that most would find eerie in a child. Today was the first time that they had ever met, so whatever attachments he may have had toward Zandik has yet to truly form. Would he ever actually form a bond with him? Now that he knew of how close he was to death’s door, he was uncertain if he would even bother.
What was the point? It wasn’t as though there was any compassion left inside him. Zandik may be the main, but that meant nothing when his segments were who did most of his work ever since he had gotten too old to conduct his more dangerous experiments.
Segment 8 kept silent for most of the tour. Even though Zandik did a lot of the talking, he only wasted his breath with relaying important information.
“This is the storage room.”
“That’s where we keep any dangerous materials.”
“Don’t go in there. Segment 35’s claimed that room all to himself.”
“He can do that? Block off everyone’s access but his own to a room?” Segment 8 gaze lingered on the locked door that had a sign stating ‘off-limits’ plastered on it. There, in dark ink, was Segment 35’s name near the bottom of the sign.
What could Segment 35 need a private room for?
It certainly wasn’t to keep secrets since the minds of the segments were all connected to each other. That was a courtesy of them sharing the same soul.
Segment 35’s faint snicker prodded at his brain. That meant he had been listening in on them.
Zandik shrugged, “None of us mind. He’s protective of his research samples. Besides, if the others so wanted, they could also request for their own private rooms. In fact, Segment 45 also has a room of his own. It’s at the end of the hall.”
“I see,” Segment 8 mumbled. He supposed that made sense.
The tour continued on. It was mostly uneventful. There wasn’t any excitement from being informed about the function of each room inside their laboratory. The only times he felt the least bit excited were when Zandik showed him some of the experiments that were currently being run by the other segments.
“What’s this?” He was interested in Segment 25’s latest creation.
Segment 25 looked up from his workbench. He greeted Segment 8 warmly as he showed off the device that he had been tinkering on, “Oh, hello there. You want to know more about this? It’s meant to be a listening device.”
“How does it function?”
“It’s simple, really. This part is meant to convert sound into data. It then sends all of that to this other part, which converts it back into sound so that we’re able to listen in on anyone who’s near its radius to be heard,” Segment 25 explained. He was beaming the entire time, glad to have someone, even if it was ‘himself’, be curious about his work.
“How fascinating,” Segment 8 murmured as he pushed his hands against Segment 25’s workbench, tiptoeing as he did to get a better view of his invention.
Zandik sighed behind him. Despite his declining strength because of his old age, he decided to lift Segment 8 by holding onto his waist. He let go of his cane for this, resting it against the edge of the workbench, surprising both Segment 8 and Segment 25 in the process.
“What are you doing?” Segment 8 held back a gasp. He could feel the faint tremors that ran through Zandik’s frail hands.
“I’m helping you get a better view,” Zandik replied.
“Do you have a death wish, you senile old man? Here. Let me carry him instead.” Segment 25 went on to scoop up Segment 8, stealing him away from Zandik, who rolled his eyes before he picked his cane back up.
Zandik argued, “I’m old, not delicate.”
Segment 8 vehemently disagreed. He observed Zandik up and down, closely examining his much lightened hair, his wrinkled face, and his thinner body in comparison to his segments. He wouldn’t even be surprised if he were to drop dead the following morning with how feeble his body was. Something inside Segment 8 twisted at that particular thought.
His stomach churned. He didn’t understand why. He felt no care toward Zandik. Perhaps, it was the image of ‘him’ dying that made him uncomfortable.
Yes. That must be it.
When the tour eventually came to an end, Segment 8 was brought back by Zandik to the room where he had woken up. Segment 45 and Segment 65 were inside, having a discussion about a collaborative project of theirs. Segment 8 watched them as he stood behind Zandik, who stared at him oddly after his hands gripped onto the edge of his white coat.
“I don’t remember ever being this shy,” Zandik said.
“I’m not shy.” It didn’t help that Segment 8 then tightened his grasp, “I’m just tired.”
“And, here I thought that children are supposed to be more energetic than us adults,” Segment 45 said as he approached them with a mirthful expression. He knelt down to Segment 8’s height and cupped his cheek.
“Shall we take him to bed?” Segment 65 chimed in.
Zandik huffed, “He’s a segment. Like you, he doesn’t need to sleep.”
“He’s also a child. Why not indulge him a bit?”
Zandik relented at that. Segment 8 couldn’t understand why. Were they looking down on him because he was a child? But, he felt no condescension from how the three stared at him. Rather, they seemed quite fond, though begrudgingly so for Zandik.
Segment 45 then led him to the only sleeping quarters within the laboratory. He coaxed him to lay down on the bed and proceeded to tuck him in.
“Rest well, little one.”
Segment 8 didn’t resist. He closed his eyes and lulled himself to sleep.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
It was rare for any of the Harbingers to make the trip to visit Dottore’s laboratory. Among their ranks, Segment 8 had only personally met two of them.
First, there was Pantalone, who often dropped by. The purpose for his visits were either because he needed to be treated by the Doctor, or because a segment made a funding request that he deemed important enough to personally check on. Another reason, one that was kept a secret within the laboratory’s walls, was Pantalone’s interest in Segment 35.
That was an aspect of their relationship that Segment 8 struggled to comprehend. Maybe it was because he was a child who had no interest in romance that he found it peculiar every time Pantalone visited the laboratory just to see Segment 35.
What was the point? It was a waste of time.
They could just send letters to each other if they didn’t have anything important to discuss. Segment 35 merely laughed at him after he heard his suggestion.
“Isn’t maintaining frequent physical contact healthy for a relationship?” Pantalone mused, while he stood beside Segment 35. There was something about the expression on his face and the tone of his voice; gentle in ways that he wasn’t with the others, dripping with saccharine each time he mentioned Segment 35. It was all so strange to Segment 8.
“I suppose. I still don’t get it, but I’m aware that you have more experience in this matter,” Segment 8 conceded.
Pantalone laughed, “You were such a cute boy, Dottore.”
“What do you mean ‘were’? Do you no longer find me cute?” Segment 35 feigned hurt. Segment 8 ignored the ensuing playful argument between them. He had more important matters to attend to, such as his research on Aranaras.
Now, if only he could find his notebook.
He searched for it everywhere, but it was still missing.
It turned out that Segment 18 had thrown it away. When Zandik questioned him why he did so while comforting an upset Segment 8, he replied that he hated how childish his proposals were. That only soured Segment 8’s mood, leading to him sulking as he ran to Pantalone, telling him what had happened.
“I was going to request funding for that experiment in particular.” Segment 8 knitted his brows, agitated in a way that only a child like himself could be.
“Oh dear. That’s not good.” Pantalone at least seemed sympathetic about his plight. Even if it was likely to be fake, Segment 8 soaked it all up. It helped to serve as a pitiful band-aid over the wound that Segment 18’s actions left on him. Pantalone then leaned closer to him, “Tell you what? Just explain to me what you can remember about your proposal and if it’s interesting enough, then I’ll grant your request.”
“Really?” Segment 8 sounded so small.
Pantalone nodded, “Really.”
What was the catch? Adults were never kind to him.
The segments, aside from Segment 18, and Zandik didn’t count. They were ‘him’, so of course, it was only natural for them to dote on him. Pantalone had no incentive to humor him, and yet, he sat there in his office, listening to him ramble about his proposal rather than fulfilling any of his duties to the Fatui.
At the end of it all, Pantalone smiled at him. Did that mean his request was approved? Segment 8 didn’t dare hope, but when his hair was ruffled affectionately, he couldn’t hold back the surge of anticipation that filled his chest.
“How much does your project need?”
Segment 8 couldn’t help but smile back at Pantalone.
Furthermore, Segment 18’s most recent funding request had been rejected. This made him smirk as he stuck his tongue out, taunting him. This earned him a sharp glare that seeped with bitterness.
He felt no remorse. Segment 18 deserved to have his request denied for throwing away his notebook.
They never did get along.
It used to bother him. He didn’t know what he did to earn Segment 18’s ire, especially since he seemed to detest him even before he had gained consciousness. None of the other segments had any problems with him, so this was an issue unique to Segment 18. He inquired the other segments about it in the past, wondering how he could get Segment 18 to tolerate him.
The other segments merely shrugged. They also found Segment 18’s dislike of him to be unusual. He couldn’t even ask for Zandik’s help with how tired he was to do anything these days. As such, Segment 8 was on his own regarding this issue.
Eventually, he learned to stop caring.
Segment 18 hating him became as natural as the sky being blue. Not even probing his mind through their shared connection had helped soften their relationship.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
“What’s this?” Segment 8 hadn’t expected for a familiar voice to come from behind him. He turned his head, and there, standing by the door, was Scaramouche with his hands on his hip.
Scaramouche was the second Harbinger who Segment 8 had personally met. He was Dottore’s so-called favorite test-subject. It was common knowledge among the segments that the techniques used to create them were based on his puppet-body’s design. That made him their progenitor of sorts. He was their ‘mother’ as Segment 25 would mockingly call whenever his back was turned.
His personality was fairly volatile. He was ill-tempered, constantly thrashing whenever he was restrained for an experiment, and he readily insulted anyone who he found annoying. Which meant that he often jeered at the segments.
“It’s my research,” Segment 8 replied. He showed his work off to him, a paper filled with his theories about the Aranara.
“Hmph. Not bad,” Scaramouche grunted. He then walked away, leaving Segment 8 bewildered.
What was that about?
He never understood why the segments were tolerating Scaramouche. Nor could he fathom why even after being experimented on and treated with such inhuman abuse, Scaramouche kept coming back to the laboratory. Was it because he desired to become a God? Was it because his nature as a puppet was too interesting for the other segments to entirely let go?
His questions were finally answered when, one day, he accidentally caught Scaramouche alone with Zandik in his office. He had been tasked to deliver something to Zandik, but before he could push the slightly ajar door open, the hushed murmurings from the inside caught his attention.
Curious, Segment 8 decided to peek through the opening and eavesdrop. He had nothing better to do that day, so why not?
“Hah…” Scaramouche was sitting on Zandik’s desk, “You don’t have much time left, old man.”
To Segment 8’s surprise, Scaramouche’s tone lacked any of its usual edge. Instead, he sounded gentle, almost warm as he swung his legs while staring at Zandik, who sighed at his words.
“I know,” Zandik agreed, and that, more than anything, was what caused Segment 8’s brows to raise.
What? Zandik never handled it well whenever anyone commented on his age. Even he would get scolded for implying that his death was approaching sooner rather than later. But there, in the privacy of Scaramouche’s company, he admitted to his frailty so easily.
“You’ll never see me become a God.”
“I’ve long accepted that.”
It was a far too tender moment. Segment 8 knew that he shouldn’t be listening in on this, but it was already too late. He clutched the package meant for Zandik close to his chest.
“You’ll be my fourth betrayal,” Scaramouche whispered.
Segment 8 didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out.
Zandik raised his hand to touch Scaramouche’s face. His thumb brushed beneath his eye, “I’ve entrusted my plans for your ascension to Segment 35. He’ll help you become a God when the time comes.”
Scaramouche closed his eyes and leaned close into Zandik’s palm. His lips pressed against the thick material of his glove.
Oh, Segment 8 thought. Oh.
The door creaked open. Scaramouche quickly opened his eyes and snapped his head to stare at Segment 8, whose presence had been entirely exposed. Segment 8 winced, expecting for Scaramouche to berate him for obviously listening in on their private conversation. But, to his shock, Scaramouche’s expression never even morphed to that of hostility.
“Your brat’s here,” Was all that Scaramouche said.
“I can see that. I’m not yet blind, you know.” Zandik made a gesture toward Segment 8, practically telling him to enter his office. He did as he wanted, making sure to close the door behind him just in case any of the other segments happened to pass by.
“This is for you.” Segment 8 handed the package over to Zandik.
Zandik thanked him for delivering it. He hummed as he turned back around, ready to leave. Just before he was about to walk away though, Scaramouche gave him something, placing what appeared to be wrapped candies onto his palm. After taking a closer look, he noticed that they were candied ajilenakh nuts from Sumeru.
Scaramouche explained, “I saw some in the market. I thought you’d like them.”
“Thank you.”
Segment 8 didn’t know what else to say. Why was he being nice to him? He couldn’t believe it. Scaramouche, of all people, gave him candy. It was then that he looked back and realized that though Scaramouche had a rather foul mouth when it came to the other segments, not once had he ever slighted him. He still talked to him in a rude tone, but at this point, that was simply a mannerism of his. Segment 8 ate one of the candied ajilenakh nuts and almost crumpled at the familiar taste.
It reminded him of a place that had once been his home, but was now anything but. It had been so long since he last ate a candied ajilenakh nut. It somehow retained its remarkably sweet flavor.
Scaramouche wasn’t nice. He was far from it, really. But, he was kind enough to Segment 8 on certain occasions, and that left him content.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Zandik died on the morning of his eighty-fifth birthday.
It was a pathetic way to go, really. His legs had gotten too weak and he collapsed due to his own frailty. He begged for his segments to help him.
As expected, none of them did.
Segment 8 had no time to react with how easily he had been swept away by the sheer excitement of the other segments. They were getting ready to do an autopsy, thrilled at this once in a lifetime opportunity to dissect ‘themself’. It made Segment 8 uncomfortable when a surgical mask was placed over his nose and mouth by Segment 45.
“Are you ready?” Segment 45 asked.
“I don’t know…” Segment 8 stared down at his feet.
“You’ll be fine,” Segment 65 assured, “Us older segments will be the ones operating on him. You just need to note down our observations.”
Segment 8 stiffly nodded. Alright then. Surely, he could do a task as simple as this.
He glanced at Zandik’s corpse.
The sight of it made him sick to his stomach. None of the other segments seemed to notice.
This was inevitable. He had expected for this to happen ever since he opened his eyes and saw Zandik’s aged face. He had been correct to assume that he would die soon after his ‘birth’, and at the time, he cared not for the loss. Zandik was human, and he had already lived years longer than his expected lifespan. So, why were Segment 8’s hands shaking as he held the notebook he had been given to record the details of their operation?
“Pathetic,” Segment 18 groused behind him.
Segment 8 didn’t have the energy to fight him back this time. Segment 18 pushed him back and took his place in front of the operating table. He didn’t know why, notably since Segment 18 had done it in such a rough manner, but Segment 8 was grateful that he no longer had to directly gaze at Zandik’s corpse.
At some point, Pantalone had walked in on the segments dissecting Zandik. He looked paler than usual as he then excused himself. Segment 8 couldn’t blame him. He, too, would immediately leave if he could.
Scaramouche visited the laboratory a day later. When he found out what happened to Zandik, he stiffened. He was unable to even look at his corpse without displaying an emotion that Segment 8 struggled to interpret. He felt the slightest bit of pity for him. It must be hard to lose someone that he formed a bond with, even if Zandik’s death was to be expected with how weak he had gotten just a few days before his passing.
Segment 8 gave Scaramouche a pat on his back. It was all that he could do at the moment.
Scaramouche scoffed, but he didn’t push him away.
That was the last time that Scaramouche interacted with him. After that, every time he visited the laboratory, it was because he and Segment 35 had something to discuss about his ascension to Godhood. Segment 8 still caught a glimpse of his silhouette at times, but he could tell that he has been avoiding him ever since Zandik had died.
Why? Segment 8 didn’t know. He didn’t bother to ask as he was used to adults neglecting him.
Zandik was dead, and everything was the same.
The segments still conducted their experiments, and with how Zandik had entrusted most of his responsibilities to Segment 35 before he died, nothing was amiss. It was as though Zandik’s death didn’t mean anything at all.
Segment 8 bit his tongue. If nothing has changed, then why did he feel so hollow now?
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Segment 8 couldn’t breathe. It was odd since he was a segment, and as such, he didn’t need to breathe, but his chest felt heavy and painfully tight. He tried to exhale through his mouth, panicking as he gripped the edge of his workbench.
“Price? Interesting. What price would you have me pay?”
Segment 35’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, even though he was all the way in Sumeru. He was discussing a deal with the Dendro Archon, where in exchange for a heavy price, he could secure the Gnoses.
“...How about erasing all your other segments?”
When he heard that, Segment 8 was quick to panic.
No. He must have misheard. The Dendro Archon didn’t ask that of Segment 35, right? Segment 8 could feel his already tight throat become all the more constricted.
This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. There was no way that this was happening.
Segment 35 wouldn’t agree to such a deal, right? He wouldn’t simply erase all of them, right? Not with how expensive and exhaustive it was to even have one of them made.
Hadn’t they spent all these centuries together? Haven’t they bonded enough for Segment 35 to refuse?
“Among all the versions of me, this segment you see now is the most selfish. If it weren’t me, your idea wouldn’t have worked.”
Segment 8 couldn’t believe it.
An ill-timed laugh escaped him. Segment 35 agreed to erase the other segments, including Segment 8, just like that. He didn’t even hesitate. Segment 8 hiccuped as he enveloped himself with his own arms.
His legs suddenly felt weak. His vision blurred, welled with a liquid that he never let out before, as he gritted his teeth, feeling angry, afraid, and betrayed all at once. The other segments screamed at Segment 35 through their connected minds, saying everything and anything just to persuade him to not push through with it.
All their efforts were in vain. Once Segment 35 made up his mind about something, there was no way to convince him otherwise.
They were all going to die. Segment 8 was going to die.
As a segment, he once believed that he had all the time in the world. Even when he had been shaken by Zandik’s death, he could at least comfort himself with the fact that Zandik was fully human, and that he wasn’t. But, as he felt death coming, terror ruined his insides as he, like the pitiful child that he was, began to cry.
Just then, the door burst open. It was Segment 18, who had a furious expression on his face. Was he seriously about to pick a fight with Segment 8 just as they were both about to die? Did he really hate him that much?
Segment 18 rushed toward him. Segment 8 flinched, bracing himself to be hit.
Only for Segment 18 to then wrap his arms around him, holding him in a tight embrace. He had one hand cradle the back of his head, while the other pushed his back so that his tear-filled face was buried into his chest.
“W- What are you doing…?” Segment 8 wept.
“Shut up for once,” Segment 18 spat, and wasn’t this a hilarious sight? It took until death finally reared its ugly head, a hair’s breadth from reaping them for their sins, just for Segment 18 to treat Segment 8 with anything but utter disdain. Even still, he retained his rudeness that almost made Segment 8 titter.
The embrace wasn’t comforting. It was panicked, furious, and far too restrictive.
However, it brought him the barest of relief.
It was the first time that Segment 18 touched him without the intention of hitting him or shoving him. Who knew that he would feel so warm? Segment 8 hugged him back just as firmly.
Please, he begged in his mind. Don’t let go of him. He couldn’t bear to die alone.
Segment 35’s sigh echoed in his mind.
The sound of it made Segment 8 shudder in sheer fright.
Segment 18 rested his chin on the crown of Segment 8’s head. They both held onto each other much tighter. Their end was near and there was nothing that they could do, so Segment 8 basked in Segment 18’s presence for the first and final time of his life.
“It has been a pleasure to work with you all,” Segment 35 spoke. If his earlier claims of being the most selfish of the segments were to be ignored, he almost seemed sincere.
“What a ridiculous decision! You can’t be serious!”
Those were the last words that left Segment 18 before his entire body began to glitch. It was only a matter of time before his grip on Segment 8 loosened, and soon enough, he dropped dead. His head lolled against the crook of his head just before he dropped onto the floor, leaving Segment 8 horrified at the suddenness of his death.
Segment 8 sobbed, inconsolable, “18! 18, please! You can’t leave me! You just can’t! No. No. NO—!”
Him? Grieving over Segment 18? It was unbelievable.
He never liked Segment 18. Not even once. They fought all the time. But, this? He would never wish such a fate for him. Even he didn’t deserve to be killed in such a cruel and callous manner.
“18…” Segment 8 tried to hold onto Segment 18’s body, kneeling on the floor as he did.
Only for him to then fade from existence. Segment 18 had truly been erased, leaving nothing behind. Horror painted Segment 8’s features, and worst of all, he knew that he was next. That he, too, would be met with the same end.
The other segments’ voices faded away one by one.
They too have died. He was the only segment left. Why Segment 35 saved him for last, he would never know.
Segment 8 was overwhelmed with rage now. He would make sure that Segment 35 paid for this. It mattered not that he was about to die. He swore to drag Segment 35 into the depths of hell if the opportunity were to present itself. He would forever haunt him, like a ghost that had never known peace.
“You!” His body began to glitch, and it hurt. The pain was unbearable, far more than anything he had experienced in the past. Was this what Segment 18 underwent before he died? It made him seethe, “You will regret this!”
And with that, similar to Segment 18 moments ago, he, too, met his end. He collapsed like the abandoned child he had once been back in Sumeru. Had this been what his village saw when they had chased him out with pitchforks and clubs all those years ago? His eyes lost their light as his body soon disappeared, leaving not even a single trace of his existence behind.
It was as though he had never been ‘born’ at all.