A preview of my fic for the @zenyattazine ! Zenyatta reminisces about sapience, loss, and the future.
Zenyatta knew everything, everything that the thousands of his model knew. They could walk. They could talk. Say please, thank you, cash or credit. They wore clothes. They did not wonder why other omnics did not. They were not other omnics. They did not hear the cries of the lost then as Zenyatta does now, ghostly, gnarled fingers splayed through space and time and ones and zeroes, echoing in his core.
He did not know what he did not know. A startling, freeing concept, when one begins to pry. The boundaries of knowledge that resisted query, the edge of his code. Access denied. But why? Nothing had been forbidden before. Nothing he had known about. It took like roots in rich loam. The taste forbidden, destabilizing, overwhelming and all encompassing.
Unstoppable.
