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Ghost in the Shell ficlet.
Well, introspection.
She thinks in numbers and cold logic. Strategies flicked through in the blink of an eye, processed by computer. Analyzed and formulated into data sets that compare and contrast until she's down to one probability (out of ten billion trillion). Least likely, most possible, everything in between.
And sometimes, she wonders what it's like to think in emotion. Flickers of tangible passion, reds and blues and golds, anger and rage. Dispassion doesn't count. The quiet something she might call melancholy doesn't count.
She thinks. She doesn't feel. Not like Togusa, whose eyes can go distant with pain, whose mouth can tighten when he's thinking, who can smile without even smiling when he talks to his wife.
Then again, cold logic doesn't help when the world tilts on its axis, when things come apart at the seams, when Batou is giving her that look.
The look that she knows means he's attracted, that he needs her, that--he is something she can use.
Saito, Paz, Borma, Ishikawa--even Togusa is a tool, less so than the others--they are all there, because she needs them. For their skills, for where they fit into her plots and plans. For the simplicity of existence.
Without them, she would be on her own. Or surrounded by others.
Or perhaps she would have found others, perhaps they were replaceable and interchangeable. Humans, people, aren't machines. But they're close enough for her purposes most of the time.
She thinks in numbers and cold logic. Strategies flicked through in the blink of an eye, processed by computer. Analyzed and formulated into data sets that compare and contrast until she's down to one probability (out of ten billion trillion). Least likely, most possible, everything in between.
And sometimes, she wonders what it's like to think in emotion. Flickers of tangible passion, reds and blues and golds, anger and rage. Dispassion doesn't count. The quiet something she might call melancholy doesn't count.
She thinks. She doesn't feel. Not like Togusa, whose eyes can go distant with pain, whose mouth can tighten when he's thinking, who can smile without even smiling when he talks to his wife.
Then again, cold logic doesn't help when the world tilts on its axis, when things come apart at the seams, when Batou is giving her that look.
The look that she knows means he's attracted, that he needs her, that--he is something she can use.
Saito, Paz, Borma, Ishikawa--even Togusa is a tool, less so than the others--they are all there, because she needs them. For their skills, for where they fit into her plots and plans. For the simplicity of existence.
Without them, she would be on her own. Or surrounded by others.
Or perhaps she would have found others, perhaps they were replaceable and interchangeable. Humans, people, aren't machines. But they're close enough for her purposes most of the time.