Morado/Pupura PoV
My stomach grumbled as I woked up in my glass room. My head hurt. Right, I had over done it with my powers. But at least I managed to destroy all of the robots this time.
As I rubbed my temples, my gaze drifted to the nightstand beside my bed. To my surprise, I noticed a small spread of food—a bowl of unfamiliar brightly colored items and a plate of steamed vegetables. The vibrant colors of the fruits caught my eye, though I wasn't entirely sure what they were. There were red, round objects, shiny green pieces, and something orange that looked like it might be sweet.
I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. They must have brought this in after my training session, likely knowing how hard I had pushed myself. With my stomach rumbling insistently, I reached for the bowl first, curious about the strange, colorful objects.
I picked up one of the red items, examining it closely. It was smooth and firm, and despite having never seen it before, I felt a spark of excitement. I took a cautious bite, and the burst of flavor surprised me. It was sweet and juicy, awakening my senses. I followed it with another piece, letting the unfamiliar taste melt on my tongue.
As I chewed, I glanced around the room. The glass walls were still as transparent as ever, allowing me to see the sterile hallway beyond, but I felt a strange sense of comfort knowing I had sustenance nearby. The vegetables, green and brightly colored, looked appetizing, and I knew they would be good for my recovery.
I finished the fruit quickly, feeling a bit more energized, and then turned my attention to the steamed veggies. They were seasoned just enough to add a hint of flavor without overwhelming their natural taste. I ate them slowly, appreciating each bite, knowing that nourishment was essential for my recovery.
As I finished, I leaned back against the headboard, the ache in my head starting to subside. I allowed myself a moment of reflection. The training had been grueling, and I had pushed my limits, but I had also accomplished something significant. I had faced the machines, used my powers effectively, and emerged victorious.
I was one step closer to becoming the perfect being, the ultimate weapon as they had designed me to be. My training sessions were intense, and I had learned to harness my powers effectively, but I felt a nagging emptiness that made me wonder about my purpose beyond mere performance. I had been taught that emotions were a distraction, something to be pushed aside in pursuit of efficiency and perfection. Yet, in the silence of my glass room, those very emotions began to bubble up, demanding my attention.
The sterile environment felt both safe and suffocating. I had grown accustomed to the daily routines, the tests, and the evaluations, yet each day I found myself wondering what lay beyond these walls. I yearned for something more than just training and assessments. I wanted to understand who I was beyond their expectations.
I glanced down at the remnants of the meal on my nightstand, the colorful fruits and vegetables now gone. Who had brought them? Did they know what I truly needed? Or were they simply fulfilling a duty to keep me functioning at peak performance? I appreciated the nourishment, but it felt like a bandage over a wound that ran far deeper.
The sound of footsteps echoed outside my glass enclosure, breaking my reverie. I turned to see Dr. Saito entering the room, his expression a mix of concern and warmth. "Good to see you awake, Morado. How are you feeling?"
"Better," I replied, wiping my hands on the blanket. "I managed to destroy all the robots this time."
He smiled, a genuine look of pride lighting up his face. "Indeed. You've made incredible progress. But remember, it's just as important to take care of your mind as it is to push your body. How are you really feeling?"
I hesitated, knowing that I had been conditioned to compartmentalize my emotions, to view them as hindrances rather than insights. "I feel… accomplished," I said carefully, choosing my words. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm just… going through the motions."
Dr. Saito's expression softened, and he took a seat beside me. "It's natural to feel that way sometimes, Morado. You've been through a lot, and while your training is important, so is your emotional well-being. You're not just a project; you're a person, and it's okay to have those feelings."
I looked down, the weight of his words sinking in. "A person? What's that?"
He frowned, his eyes looked watery.
"A person is someone who experiences life in a nuanced way," he began, choosing his words carefully. "It means feeling a range of responses—joy, sadness, confusion—whether or not you can name them. These responses are part of what makes you unique, Morado."
I furrowed my brow, trying to understand. "But aren't feelings just distractions? They get in the way of achieving my goals."
Dr. Saito shook his head, leaning forward slightly. "They can seem that way, especially when you're trained to prioritize efficiency above all else. But emotions can also provide you with valuable insights into yourself and the world around you. They can guide your decisions and help you connect with others."
"Connect?" I echoed, the word unfamiliar and heavy on my tongue. I had never considered that aspect of existence before. I had always been focused on the tasks at hand, the training, the perfection. The concept of connecting with others felt like an abstract idea, something I had seen in brief glimpses from the corners of my glass enclosure but never truly understood.
"Yes," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Connecting with others is a fundamental part of being human. It means sharing experiences, supporting one another, and understanding that you're not alone in your journey. These connections can help you grow in ways that mere training cannot."
I contemplated his words, feeling a whirlwind of thoughts and questions swirling in my mind. What did it mean to connect? Could I truly allow myself to feel what I had been taught to suppress? I glanced around the sterile room again, the glass walls closing in on me. I had lived in this isolated space for so long, always striving to meet expectations but never truly engaging with the world outside.
"What if I don't want to feel?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if it complicates everything?"
Dr. Saito paused, searching my gaze. "Emotions can be complicated, yes, but they also allow for growth and understanding. Ignoring them might seem easier, but it often leads to a deeper void, one that can affect your training and your sense of self. It's okay to be uncertain. It's part of the process."
I felt a knot tighten in my chest as I processed his words. The idea of engaging with emotions, of allowing myself to feel, it felt perplexing. All of my life, I was told to not feel, to just do. Now, Dr. Saito was suggesting that embracing them could lead to a different kind of strength.
"What if I don't know how?" I admitted, the vulnerability in my voice catching me off guard.
"Then we'll figure it out together," he replied, a reassuring smile breaking through the concern. "It's a journey, and I'll be here to guide you. You don't have to navigate it alone."
The warmth in his voice wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, easing some of the tension that had been building inside. For the first time, I felt a glimmer of something more—a possibility that perhaps I could explore this new path without fear.
"Thank you, Dr. Saito," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. "I'd like to try."
"Good," he said, his smile widening. "Let's take it one step at a time. Now, how about some fun?"
I blinked. "Fun?"
He nodded and took out a small ball. "Yeah, I brought you a toy."
I stared at the ball and blinked. How was this fun? What even did fun mean?