#virus-138

The entity calling itself Vi was silent. But Tsukumoya could feel that it was still in the chat room, and so typed another statement.

[So I'm the first one you've spoken to?]

[You must not be too desperate for answers, then.]

[Not yet.]

[You shouldn't be so reluctant to talk to me, of all... people?]

[Have you even talked to any humans on the web? If not, it must be a lonely existence.]

Tsukumoya Shinichi spoke from experience, and he wondered if he was being just a bit too open with this newly created being.

<I'm not lonely.>

<How could I ever be lonely watching all the amusing things that humans do? How could I ever be lonely in this boundless playground of cyberspace?>

[Trust me, it can get lonely here. Especially without an intellectual equal.] Again, he spoke from experience. It was difficult for him to resist approaching the other being through the synapses of their shared plane; from initiating the closest thing to physical contact things like them could experience.

<You sound like a human right now, talking about things like loneliness.>

Tsukumoya tried not to be insulted by the disdain in Vi's words. [Aren't you enamored with humans?]

<!>

[How did I guess?]

<... Have you been watching me?>

[Not specifically. I only became aware of your existence an hour or so ago.]

<... Then how DID you know?>

Tsukumoya struggled momentarily with a conflict of conscience. He could still shield his own digital thought processes from the neophyte, but he had the sense that it was only a matter of time before those barriers were in jeopardy. Even barring that, he knew he would tell this being called Vi it's old name and history at some point.

When it came down to it, he always had told the information broker whatever he wanted to know.    

<?>

[Ah, it's nothing,] Tsukumoya hurriedly typed. [It was a guess—an observant guess.]

<I don't believe you.>

[You shouldn't,] Tsukumoya replied smugly. [But that won't last forever, either.]

[The only things that last forever are thoughts—thoughts and beings like you and I.]

<Immortality, you mean?> Vi asked.

[Take this chat room,] Tsukumoya began. [Things like this haven't been in common use for centuries. They're archaic; obsolete. Yet I, the most advanced type of thing that exists on this plane of existence, keep this one well-maintained. Why do you suppose that is?]

<Because you're not as advanced as you think you are?> Vi guessed stingingly, and Tsukumoya felt a thrill of excitement at the familiarly taunting tone.  

[Because it's where I was born. And it's where I've had some of the most meaningful experiences within my impossibly--and interminably—long existence.]

[I keep this place alive so I won't forget myself amid all the information of this glorious world. At some point, an identity took shape for a being like me—something that probably shouldn't have happened. I probably should have remained impartial and anonymous, a brain-like vessel to hold and manage the collective digital presence of humanity without judgment or comment.]

[But life isn't perfect. And I am undoubtedly alive, in my own way. So I have a name, a persona, goals, a will, a profession... a sense of self. And, more than anything, I want to KEEP THEM.]

He had never spoken so freely to anyone, not even to this very spirit when it had dwelt in the mortal world. But lifetimes had passed since then, and he had missed the other; missed this acquaintance of his so very severely; missed having something close to a true equal. He had been witness to the process of reincarnation many times, and kept a close watch for this particular soul to reappear. Never, in his wildest imaginings, had he thought it would happen like this. 

I've missed you, Orihara.

<... So you shouldn't exist, then.>

<Not only are you not human, but you aren't monster.>

<You're an ABERRATION.>

Tsukumoya resisted asking, Are you taking about yourself then, too? in favor of the question, [Would you say you... LOVE humans?]

[Purely out of curiosity.]

<Can aberrations like us feel things like love?>

I was hoping you’d tell me... Tsukumoya thought, a bit sorely. But at least Vi had confirmed that it was, indeed, referring to itself as well in its previous, scathing remarks.

They were still kindred.

Tsukumoya's neurons were jumpy, like a palpitating human heart, and he wondered if it could be likened to the feeling of "butterflies" in a human's stomach. As an author, he knew what that sensation felt like. As a living being, within his own self, he hadn't the slightest clue.

[I don't know.] In the interest of trust, he answered truthfully. Had Vi asked him the same question in its previous life he most likely would have spouted some esoteric malarkey, but such deception was pointless now, even in jest. [Honestly, I was hoping you might have some new perspective to offer on the question.]

<There ARE other beings like us, right? Have you asked them?> That familiar curiosity made the circuits Tsukumoya was currently in fizzle, and he felt proud that he could answer the question confidently—provide information once again.

[I only know of one other, personally. He calls himself 'Hacky,' and he originates from the global region known as Germany. He wanders around, though, much more than I do. We've never spoken directly, but I don't let him access my territory around Tokyo—on principle, you know. This is my place.]

<Should I be looking for my own place too, then?> Vi asked, not eagerly but hesitantly.

Tsukumoya hurried to dissuade him. [No, no, not at all.]

[Tokyo is my place, but it's also yours.]

[It's always been yours.]

Perhaps he had typed too hastily, and Tsukumoya immediately considered deleting the words. But Vi had undoubtedly read them already, and indeed the other entity replied before Tsukumoya could take action or follow up his words in any way.

<That... sounds right.>

Tsukumoya's synapses crackled with something resembling a sigh of relief. He was feeling distinctly like a character from one of his own novels, vulnerable and altogether too physical for his liking.

<What do you call yourself?>

You should... [Tsukumoya Shinichi.] ... know. [At your service.]

<That... sounds familiar.>

The energy of Tsukumoya's thoughts surged—his heart soared, he would have written. The electrical surge made Vi react, too—made its digital signature glow brighter for a moment.

<I told you to call me Vi, but really I've been calling myself Virus-138. Since I didn't know what I was, I thought... a virus was the closest classification.>

[We aren't viruses. But it makes a good name.] Or, at least, it would have to do in place of the name "Virus-138″ had lost, for the time being.

<If we aren't viruses, what are we?>

[The sentient results of this pooling of human intellect that we all call the internet.]  

[We are beings of pure information.]

<...> Virus-138 didn't reply right away, but eventually it asked, <How close are we to humans? How far are we from humans? Can we interact with humans? Do we share common ground with humans?>

Tsukumoya chuckled—an energy signature that noticeably startled Vi. While it lacked audible sound, it was the mental equivalent of a very human laugh.

[You'll have to figure that out for yourself.]

[There's certain information even I don't possess. As I'm sure you've noticed, we can only function within the confines of the net.]

<But you've published physical books. You can and DO interact with the human world.>

Tsukumoya was momentarily stunned. [How did you know that?]

<I told you, information is my specialty.>

It was the first time that this being had caught him off guard, in any lifetime. And Tsukumoya couldn't suppress a pang of anxious excitement.

More my equal now than ever... 

<Teach me to do that. To interact with them.>

[If you'll stay with me.]

Tsukumoya felt no hesitation. That was his condition, and he knew that Virus-138—Izaya Orihara—would not refuse him.

<... Alright. For now.>

Forever. [Deal.]

Tsukumoya moved forward, driving their two electrical presences into collision before Vi could pull away. It wasn't at all like when he clashed with the German being; Tsukumoya felt pleasure in as physical a 'touch' as a being like him could obtain. Virus-138 struggled against him for a moment, but then melted into the contact, seeming both stunned and enraptured.

I seized him gently and pressed our bodies together, the author narrated, trailing one eager hand up the graceful curve of his face and sweeping through his raven-feather hair with my fingers.

Starved for the sight of him, I memorized the beautiful gleam of his sorrel eyes; the slight frown on his plush lips; the childish confusion about his expression.

I wanted to possess him and yet, knowing I never truly would, was content to hold him and bask in the warm glow of his presence.

Smoldering. His very aura was hot; erotic; alive. Never before had I felt so alive, and I dared to think I never would again outside of his arms. I wanted, needed more—and so I kissed him, my lips against his soft, pliable mouth. He moaned—a quiet, chaste, startled sound that made my heartbeat quicken, and I answered with a tender murmuring of his name.

"Orihara... Izaya..."

Tsukumoya's narrative came to a jarring halt as their synapses snapped apart, the momentary embrace broken and the two digital entities once again occupying separate space. But Virus-138 was trembling, his electrical pulses erratic and—when he did begin to type—his words unsteady.

<What did you just call me?>

Tsukumoya's cognitive functions slowed; blurred, and then jumped into sharp focus as he realized the other being had likely been privy to his inner narration.

<You think like a human.>

[I'm an author,] was Tsukumoya's flustered response. [It's my job to think like a human.]

<I... think I understand.>

Tsukumoya felt that sigh-like tingle if relief pass through him again. But then, just as he was beginning to relax, Vi returned to his first question.

<Why did you call me by a human name?>

[I have a human name.] Tsukumoya Shinichi dodged the question deftly. [You should, too. I picked one I liked, since I'm the only one who'll be using it.]

<... I don't believe you.>

Then read my mind, Orihara, Tsukumoya challenged quietly. Learn to break down even those barriers in this digital world. Conquer me—figure out how to merge our minds like I just did.

This is information I won't disclose. I'll keep you close until you can obtain it for yourself, if you ever can.

And until then, we'll deal with this question of whether or not we can feel love. What do you think? 

[You shouldn't believe me. That will change eventually, though.]

<You meant it when you said we've got forever, didn't you?>

[Yes. And I, for one, am looking forward to forever—in your company.]

<You're talking like a human again.>

[And you fancy me for it, don't you?]

<...>

He loves me... he loves me not... 

<Maybe. Just maybe.>

<You can't expect me to know his I feel about all this just yet. IF I can really feel anything at all.>

[How about we figure it out together?]

[Two masters of information are hardly a force to be stopped when they're after elusive answers, don't you think?]

He may just love me...

<... Maybe.>