Work Text:
Vee didn't sleep like a biological being, but she still had a sleep mode she needed to slip into every day or so to free up the resources to process through her backlog of data. Usually, "sleeping" like this let Vee wake up refreshed, processors at full availability. That'd stopped happening for her a long time ago.
Vee "woke up" and felt the same strange numbness that had been clogging her wires for weeks. It never left her, now. But that was OK. Vee was learning to live with it.
It felt a little like how it felt when she got so in the flow of a gameshow that she checked out for a few seconds or minutes and refocused to find herself still at it, still perfectly hosting. There were no gameshows, now. There would never be again, unless the other toons spontaneously regained an interest in the competition.
Scraps would probably be willing if Vee asked. Vee was never going to let Scraps on her gameshows again. Vee was never going to run a gameshow again.
A distant ache panged through Vee as her eyes landed on the sparkly green arm warmers around her forearms. She'd pulled them on last night before falling unconscious. They were intended to hide the marks Vee inflicted on herself now her bandages were off, and they did their job well.
But Vee hadn't worn these since the early days of the shutdown, since she still clinged to the belief that Veronica would come back. At a certain point Vee had been unable to even bear the sight of the bright show props, constantly reminded of how Veronica left. Silently, without a single goodbye. Uncaring of how Vee would feel about that.
Vee supposed it was only fair. She was due to be replaced, anyway. Hadn't Delilah made that clear? Maybe Veronica finally realized that by time Gardenview shut down.
That thought hurt. It was good to finally feel something beneath all the suffocating numbness. So Vee let the tears well up in her face and digitally leak down her face.
Veronica had given her tears. She'd said Vee deserved a way to release the tension that built in her head when she was upset, just like the other toons. Veronica had spent hours coding just to give Vee the ability to cry, a function of herself she hardly ever indulged in.
Now it was the closest piece of Mom Veronica she had left. So she let the bright green pixels drip down her screen. She felt close to bawling, but the pressure behind her screen felt nice, so she stayed in the perilous state between fully breaking down or losing the emotion again.
It was probably wrong to enjoy the negative feeling like this. But at least she felt something again.
It wasn't enough.
Vee stumbled off her bed, lurching toward her dresser. There, bottom drawer, stuffed in the way back. Another pair of arm warmers, but these were different.
Dull olive green, soft knit, just the right amount of stretch. Embroidered with gold thread at the bottom of each was one word, "Vee". Mom Veronica had given them to her. They were Vee's favorite pair. Were. The facility shutdown had caused Vee to abandon most of her old defining items, but it was these arm warmers that'd had to go first. Vee couldn't bear the memory.
Now, though, she wanted nothing more than to feel that suffocating grief all over again.
Kneeling on the floor, Vee drew her sparkling show arm warmers off. Her hands shook as she pulled on the special ones, the ones Veronica had given to her. The perfect ones.
They felt like love. Love Vee would never feel again.
Vee buried her face into her arms, feeling the soft texture against her screen, and sobbed. Veronica wasn't coming back. Mom. It was useless to hope things would ever change. Veronica was gone and there was nothing that would ever be able to fix that.
Maybe…
Maybe if Vee had been better Mom she wouldn't have had to go?
Something about that fact was supposed to be wrong, Vee knew that. But it felt so right. It was a solution. Vee liked those.
Everyone'd known Vee wasn't good enough. Right? That's why she had to be replaced.
Gardenview had closed before Version 2 was finalized. Maybe it shouldn't have. Maybe Vee should've been replaced long before that point.
A thought came to her. Could she just… do that now? Change herself? Become Version 2 to the best of her abilities?
…That was a scary thought. But no one wanted current Vee. Vee Version 1. She didn't even want herself. And none of the other toons wanted Vee. No one wanted her. Because she wasn't good enough. She wasn't Version 2.
Why had Vee ever fought against the idea of being update? It wasn't being replaced. It was being perfected.
Vee's fans sped up as she sat on the floor in her room, stuck. She wasn't crying anymore. She could barely even think anymore. Flashes of something terrifying were spinning through her mind, but she couldn't interpret the meaning besides fear.
Becoming better shouldn't feel so horrifying. And maybe that's why Vee needed to be updated in the first place, so she could finally be who she was supposed to be.
Of course, there was no Delilah anymore. There was no one to do the updating to Vee, no one to switch over her processors or whatever exactly Delilah'd had planned. So Vee would just have to emulate it as best she could herself.
Vee exhaled, (or the robot equivalent to exhaling.) Version 2 inhaled. She—no, it; a robot ought to act like one, after all—would finally be perfect.
Version 2 took in its new residence. An ugly, unfathomable place. The walls were black and the highlights bright green, as they should be, but everything else… she'd really made a mess of this place, hadn't she? Personal belongings scattered everywhere, plushies and merch—and not just of Vee the TV Girl, but of other toons as well.
Well, no matter. It stood, began gathering the distasteful room accessories in its arms, and proceeded to dump them all in the closet. It'd return with a proper trashbag later. Or… could she just leave them in her closet? In case she needed them later? No. They were unprofessional trash.
Vee Version 2 saw the homey arm warmers rested on its frame and knew they were useless. It went to take them off. She didn't want them off. It pulled the much more reasonable sparkling gameshow arm warmers over on top, hiding the ridiculous pair beneath.
What would Version 2 do now? Well… probably prepare the set for a gameshow. But gameshows weren't running anymore, were they? Well then. It'd just have to restart them, ay?
Probably the most difficult step would be finding participants. Who would be willing to play? Its lip drew up in a sneer as it thought of Scraps. Or, wait—correct that.
Version 2 didn't feel anything, but the knowledge that Scraps, an obvious cheater, would love to play again, was logically not good. Scraps shouldn't be allowed to try the gameshow again after her distasteful sportsmanship.
Version 2 stepped out of its room.
Agenda:
- Retrieve garbage bags
- Locate gameshow participants
Goals in mind, it strode down the hall. She hurt. Things were better like this already, weren't they? Vee would've allowed herself to become angry and unreasonable just from thinking about Scraps. Version 2, however, kept a mechanical distance from emotion. It was better.
Garbage bags would be in the kitchen pantry. The kitchen was part of the most populated area of Gardenview. There would be plenty of toons to campaign to on the way. How efficient!
See? Version 2 was better than Vee. It always would be.
Vee felt a little excited. People had to want her now! But Version 2 wouldn't be excited, so Vee forced it down. Version 2 entered the elevator and directed it to the kitchen floor. The elevator paused along the way. Shelly hopped on.
Version 2 glanced at Shelly as the elevator continued its descent. This would be Vee's chance to prove itself socially. Just deciding to be better was one thing, it had to prove its dedication.
"…Hey, Vee," Shelly said, smiling.
"Hello, Shelly. How've you been?" Version 2 asked, tilting its head toward her.
Shelly's eyebrows scrunched slightly, but she seemed to recover quickly, going back to her bright and optimistic self. "Good! You?"
Version 2 hummed. "Likewise."
"'K… uh, nice chat!" Shelly finished awkwardly.
Hah! Successful interaction! It managed to keep Shelly at the perfect professional distance—they weren't friends, after all, merely coworkers. Vee used to know Shelly well, and that was just one of many reasons why she'd had to be replaced.
Being Version 2 was better. It just was. No matter how weird or wrong it felt, Vee was useless, Version 2 was better.
Hah… everything felt weird and distant again. But Version 2 was supposed to be better? Why did being better make Vee feel just as bad as before. …Maybe because she wasn't used to it yet. Or something.
Because this had to work. She was desperate. This was the only thing she had left. If this failed? Then she'd die. There'd be literally no point to staying left.
So it had to be perfect. And it would be perfect.
The elevator door slid open. Shelly fled out onto the floor. Version 2 departed calmly.
"Oh, Vee! Just the person I wanted to see," Brightney called out, hurrying over.
Vee felt guilty. Brightney wasn't a friend anymore. Version 2 didn't care, though. Brightney was a colleague, nothing more. It stopped and waited for Brightney to arrive.
"I've been meaning to check in on you again. No complications since the latest repairs, right?" Brightney asked.
Version 2 was fine. "Still fully functional."
"And your ankle?" Brightney added.
Vee glanced at the offending ankle. It needed to be greased manually to work well these days, which was a pain, but it wasn't exactly a liability anymore now that she was used to it.
"Functional," it answered.
Brightney nodded, "And I assume you'd like an update on when you'll be cleared for runs again?"
Yes! This was how Vee'd finally be useful again! But… she paused. Version 2 never would've had a need for runs. Gardenview as it was meant to be never had runs as a factor. Version 2 wasn't supposed to do runs. Version 2 had a different destiny.
"Actually, I was wondering if anyone wanted to star in one of my gameshows," it said, grinning charismatically.
Brightney paused in shock. Vee swallowed, still holding its expression. Brightney was just surprised she was changing for the better, right? It had to be that. Nothing else made sense.
This was the only way. Nothing else made sense it didn't make sense it didn't—
"I've been wanting to revive the whole starbiz! Y'know?" it clarified.
Brightney nodded slowly. "…Feeling up to all that again?"
Version 2 nodded smoothly. "Gardenview could use a little more excitement, don't you think? It's gotten so dull without any of our usual performance."
"It's really not that dull, though, is it?" Brightney pointed out.
Vee's smile felt strained and fake. Brightney seemed to realize she'd done something wrong, because she quickly started talking again.
"I mean, that is, we still have Book Club and Teagan's tea parties, don't we? Not to mention Yatta, Looey, and Blot's performances. I guess I just thought you'd given up hosting?"
Vee shifted on her feet. "…Well. People change, do they not? Sometimes for the better!" Version 2 replied.
Brightney nodded, glancing to the side. "…Right. Well, if you really want to try gameshows again, of course I'll come! I'll always support you, Vee."
Version 2 nodded, grin brightening genuinely. Success! Version 2 was better, this was proof.
"We can talk about doing runs later, I have to go help Finn with something," Brightney said, already starting to walk off.
"Right!" Version 2 called after her.
It was OK. Things were doing OK. Finally, something positive was curling into its chest. It'd been so long, but it was finally starting to feel happy. This is what she wanted. Why did something feel wrong wrong wrong wrong
OK. Get back on track.
Agenda:
- Retrieve garbage bags
- Locate gameshow participants
Ah! That was one checkmark for the second objective—perfect. It'd need a few more volunteers, a good gameshow couldn't be held without three contestants, but progress was still progress! Now; continue to the kitchen. There'd certainly be toons there, there always were, whether they were cooking, snacking, or just hanging out.
Version 2 strode towards the kitchen. Everything was wonderful. Until it saw who was sitting and chatting with both cooks.
"…just try to bring it up in a respectful way," Cosmo was saying to Dandy.
Dandy. This toon was a threat. How so? Dandy had always been better than Vee—in a way, they were Version 2's competition. And he was acting really weird towards Vee, lately. So.
Vee wanted to leave. Version 2, of course, would do no such thing. It confidently walked over to where both Dandy and Cosmo were, Sprout a few feet away at the cutting board.
"Hello," Version 2 greeted easily.
Dandy seemed to startle, looking up quickly. Cosmo's eyes widened and he nudged Dandy's arm with his elbow. Sprout glanced over, pushing his leaves out of his face with the back of his wrist.
"Hey, Vee," Sprout replied.
Vee felt a little antsy around Sprout. Their relationship had been strained due to… recent events. Version 2 didn't really care. Being friends with Sprout wasn't a priority, simply making sure it wasn't in a negative relation with its co-star was enough.
"Vee!" Dandy exclaimed. "I've been, eh, looking for you."
"I haven't exactly been looking for you," Version 2 said, looking it dead in the eyes.
Dandy laughed, but it was the fake laugh he got when they were stressed. …Good.
"Vee, are you here to pester me about officially clearing you for runs again?" Sprout asked, moving to the next item to chop.
Version 2 shook its head. "No, I'm actually here to make sure you're aware I'm starting running my gameshow again."
Sprout nearly dropped his knife. Dandy choked on spit. Cosmo looked so surprised he started coughing.
"…Problem?" Version 2 asked.
"No!" Cosmo exclaimed.
"Uh," Sprout answered as he fumbled to continue chopping.
"Yes," Dandy stated honestly.
And this was why Dandy was a threat.
"Why?" Version 2 pressed, looking Dandy directly in the eyes.
Should Version 2 ever be this aggressive? No. Was Dandy—its rival in any world—an exception? Yes. Vee had always been programmed to be Dandy's rival, after all. As far as she knew, the rivalry wasn't the reason she had to be replaced. Probably. Hopefully.
"I don't know! Maybe because I thought you were over the whole gameshow thing? Didn't you decide it was a relic of the past? That extraction was a more important thing to worry about?" Dandy answered.
Well. Vee had said that. Vee had believed that. But Version 2 was different. Version 2 was better.
"Opinions change! Sometimes for the better," it responded.
Cosmo started coughing again. Sprout ran over and started patting Cosmo's back until he was OK.
"Thanks," Cosmo said weakly.
"Please be careful! Your heart can't take much…" Sprout fretted.
Meanwhile, Dandy was boiling.
"That's it, Vee," it seethed. "Quit all this—this nonsense! Stop being so weird and unstable, just be normal!"
Something metaphysical pierced Vee's core.
"Dandy!" Sprout exclaimed, clearly shocked.
Dandy stood, eyes fierce, hands clenched in tight fists, shoulders hunched slightly forward. Vee watched as right before her eyes Dandy's petals seemed to tremble and elongate.
He snapped themself out of it. Its body went back to normal. Their expression softened into something unreadable, his jaw opened and closed wordlessly. It stood there for another second, then turned to leave. He exited without so much as another sound.
Something was throbbing in Vee's chest. It didn't feel good. It felt bad. Version 2 wouldn't feel anything at all. Vee had to stop feeling.
"…This is not exactly what I had envisioned when I said, 'Just talk about it,'" Cosmo muttered awkwardly.
"Vee," Sprout said, turning toward it fully, "I'm sorry Dandy did that, that was completely uncalled for. But you are acting, uh, a bit unusual…"
Vee's fans thrummed nervously. But unusual didn't necessarily mean bad, did it? Just…not of the usual variety. Well. Version 2 would be the new, the better, usual.
"Don't worry about it, I feel perfect," Version 2 responded, and it was almost true. It should be true. One day, it would be true.
"You don't have to pretend you're alright, a lot has been happening for you lately," Cosmo said.
Version 2 nodded, smiled forced. "But I am fine."
Sprout shook his head, growling quietly. Cosmo snorted at Sprout but then refocused his ginormous concerned eyes on Version 2.
The gaze felt itchy, crawling all across her body. She wanted out. It had to stay. Be sociable. Do stuff.
"So, are either of you two interested in contesting in a future gameshow?" Version 2 asked pleasantly.
"Sorry, Vee, Cosmo and I are pretty busy cooking for Gardenview," Sprout answered.
Cosmo winced and nodded. "Maybe one day, though!" he said quickly.
Vee tried not to let her expression falter. "Right… of course. Well! I'll just keep asking around. Lovely meeting you two today!"
She spun and left before she had to deal with the guilty tingly feelings warping her chest.
Something was wrong. She looked down at her arms as she walked. Sparkly green arm warmers. Its work attire. Eye-catching, wearable, perfect. And underneath. Veronica's homey set were still there.
Don't cry. Robots don't cry. Vee was never supposed to be able to cry. Version 2 certainly wasn't.
There was something deeply, irreversibly wrong with Vee. But that was OK, because being Version 2 would fix everything now. It had to. Please, I can't stand being myself anymore.
Vee could die. Just become Version 2. That was the goal. The hope. The future everyone wanted. Wasn't it? Everything would be better this way. It just would. It didn't matter what everyone thought right now. They'd come around. They'd see the truth.
They would. Wouldn't they?
Vee felt ugly and weak. Version 2 didn't feel everything. Something was wrong.
It kept walking.
Out the kitchen. Down the hall. Into the lobby.
People. So many toons. Loud. Noise. Overwhelming.
Version 2 had to be used to being overwhelmed. Vee was weak. Insufficient.
"Vee! Darling!" Glisten exclaimed, jogging over.
Vee smiled. Version 2 leeched the warmth out of its eyes. Remain professional.
"Hello, Glisten," it said, welcoming his presence with a turn in his direction.
Glisten's own smile wavered for a quick second. Why? Oh, well. Probably just due to inadequacy of the biological body.
Being a robot was better. Controlled. It was good that Version 2 was like this.
"Uh, hey, Vee," Glisten said quickly. "Uh… are you alright?"
Version 2 nodded. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
Glisten's eyebrows twisted with worry.
"…Just something I heard from Brightney," he answered.
"Well, don't concern yourself with my wellbeing. I am quite alright. But, if we are already on topic, how are you today?" Version 2 asked.
This was going so well. It was so smooth. So perfect. Nothing could go wrong!
"Perfect! Naturally," Glisten responded instantly.
Version 2 nodded.
"Oh, Glisten, how would you like to appear on one of my gameshows again?"
Glisten froze. "Wh… what?"
Its screen pixels twitched. "You enjoyed my shows while they were still running, yes? I'm inviting you to participate again."
"No. Vee—no! No, I'm not going to do that!" Glisten exclaimed, voice rising hysterically.
Vee felt her body curling inward ever so slightly. Why was Glisten mad? What had it done wrong?
Other toons were watching. Oh Ichor, this was terrible.
"You told me there wasn't anymore shows!" Glisten's voice was too loud. Everyone could hear. They could all hear. "You said you were done! What happened? Vee?!"
"P—please, lower your voice," she stammered, trying to regain focus.
It was out of control. Everything was always wrong, what was the point of being a robot if it didn't fix anything? It had to fix it, it had to, it had to. It didn't, though.
"Are you wearing your stupid gameshow arm warmers again?" Glisten asked, ignoring her and grabbing one and yanking.
No no no no there were lines and scabs underneath it wasn't safe it wasn't safe it wasn't safe help help help—
She tried to hold the flashy arm warmer on, but her grip slipped. The sparkly green was torn from her, firmly in Glisten's hands. But Veronica's arm warmers were still there. Still protection. It was OK. It was going to be alright.
Her fans were spinning so loudly.
"What?" Glisten gasped. "Vee, this—this…"
He was mad. And she was bad. And nothing was right. She felt like breaking.
"You said this was over! You said you were done with this!"
People were talking. Vee couldn't hear any of it.
"You're just like you were after Veronica left!" Glisten yelled.
What?
"All different and robotic and mopey and—and…"
Vee's ears audio sensors were ringing. Her bad ankle gave out beneath her and she hit the ground, but she couldn't even feel it.
She'd done all this before. She wasn't different. She wasn't changing. She'd tried, hadn't she? To prove herself to Veronica… so that Mom would come back…
Vee'd tried everything, then. And she'd failed.
And she'd fail now, too.
And everyone was watching. She was exposed. So exposed.
And nothing felt right.
And she sobbed.
Was Glisten still shouting? Were toons nearby? Was there panic?
Vee wasn't good enough.
And she never would be.
Vee_V1
2/2 Hearts
! Irregularity detected in Right Ankle !
! EMERGENCY RESPAWN COMPROMISED !
Oh nonononono. No, no this was so bad—
Vee cried. She had nothing left. Something was fundamentally wrong with her. She couldn't even keep herself alive when she was doing nothing anymore.
This was why Veronica left. Why Mom didn't love her anymore. She wasn't enough, she'd never be enough.
Someone was right in front of her. Talking at her face, loud but inaudible. Vee couldn't understand anything. The only sensation was pain.
She clutched her chest. It hurt so bad. She had to keep it in. Her tears were unstoppable. Ridiculous. She couldn't help herself.
Mom.
Mom, I miss you.
There was a reason Vee was like this. She wasn't enough. And now she paid the price of her own inadequacy.
She could die now. She was broken again. She could die. Finally. She could and she should. It was… it was best that way.
No one wanted her.
Mom, please.
It was buzzing. She was buzzing. Nonfunctional. It hurt. Really hurt. No way out. Alone. So, so alone.
Everything stopped.
"Fuck shit—fuck," Sprout swore.
Cosmo's hands dropped the olive green arm warmers. There were cuts all across Vee's forearms. Some of those were deep. When had this started? What had happened to Vee?
Brightney looked over. "Shit."
"…Cosmo, disinfectant," Sprout ordered. "Ichor, how fresh are these? Did she… this morning?"
Cosmo hurried to the cabinet.
"And I'm not having luck over here, either," Brightney said nervously. "Her antivirus is fighting my E.R. reactivation attempts. It's worse than usual."
"Fuck, this is not what I needed today," Sprout said, trying to arrange Vee's unconscious body so she could be worked on better.
Hopefully this could be fixed. And even if it couldn't, they'd try everything to get there, anyway. For Vee.