Watching Watchers, Potential and Risk

‘Good morning, Munin,’ replied Hazuki as the neared the android, stride unbroken. She swept past, commanding it to follow her.

Her hair was damp; she had been doing laps in the pool for the last two hours—later today than usual due to an unfortunate oversight on her part earlier that morning—but given Munin was the only official business on her schedule today she had managed to rinse and reset the day quite handily. At eight thirty, she had realized she had been reading through the Fourth’s inventory for several hours straight and had finally wrested herself from her work.

Now it was one minute past eleven—and had Hazuki been the type to wear a wristwatch she would have been rather pleased with her timing—and she was headed back to her office with the android in tow. Her day had successfully been salvaged, right down to giving her enough time for a long and comfortable shower after her exercise.

The walk from Shun’s office to her own was not a long one; barely three minutes later she was comfortably seated at her desk, and she motioned for Munin to take a seat. Her sword, never more than an arm’s length away, was propped up against the side of the desk, and the desk itself was covered with tall stacks of files and loose sheets of hardcopy, all of it from a variety of sources. She had told Shun a few weeks prior that she was a soldier, not a scientist, but it appeared she had as much of a knack for the administrative side of the Fourth Division as she did for cutting down impudent captains. Hazuki had thus taken it upon herself to take stock of the Fourth’s various assets and undertakings in order to deepen her own understanding of the proceedings of the division of which she now found herself the executive officer.

Research still wasn’t her thing, nor was it likely it ever would be. That was Shun’s job. Hazuki was here to make sure they functioned properly.

‘So, Munin,’ she began, pulling one of the files free from underneath some loose sheafs. She opened it, and a few technical diagrams of a humanoid figure were laid bare, along with some basic information about the figure sitting across from her. ‘As you may have figured out by now, I’m going through the Fourth’s inventory in order to determine how to best assign staff and funding. Unsurprisingly, I came across you, and given you’re just about the only Fourth Division asset with sentience, I decided to schedule this meeting.’

She flipped through a few more pages of the file. All things considered, there was remarkably little information in it.

‘Uniquely, you are counted as both a member of the Fourth Division and its property, and I was hoping you’d tell me a little bit about yourself as’—she pointed at the file and made an irritated sound at the back of her throat—‘the information we’ve got is sparse.’

She had phrased it as a polite request, but it didn’t take a human’s intuition to realize she had just given Munin an order.


°528

Hazuki was not one to stand on ceremony. That note was logged as Munin followed after Hazuki, easily keeping up with the Shinigami’s pace. Her damp hair indicated that she had done something involving water, likely exercise or a shower, though it was impossible to say which (if either). The damp hair added to her strange mystique, hinting at a life beyond that Munin would never know of. Yet, ultimately it was an unimportant detail. A quick review of Munin’s records showed that she preferred to swim, and her body showed it.

But what was interesting was her mind. The young Shinigami already has risen to the office of Lieutenant, and with an immense amount of spiritual pressure in addition to her own appearance in the spotlight. She was dangerous, but not merely because of her raw power, no. What was impressive was her simultaneous rise through the ranks but denial of the haori that she had earned. She had easily defeated the Captain, but yet she denied her now-rightful position. In a way, that was far more cunning. After all, such a loss would provoke most to desire power.

Munin knew that all too well.

As the two entered the Lieutenant’s office, Munin’s mind hastened, head swiveling as it took in the room.The desk, despite the large amount of papers, were organized in a neat fashion. It was telling, Hazuki had a talent for this sort of work. Digesting material such as this was not easy, and yet by the sheer amount that was organized Hazuki was good at it. The android smiled at the arrangement, referencing its own databanks to recognize many of the files. Not all however; some of these files were either new or Munin simply hadn’t read them. It had been a while since Munin had time to sit down at one of the many computers and digest all of the new material available to it. It would do that after this meeting, Munin concluded, its eyes fixing on the challenge at hand.

Munin took up a position across from Hazuki, taking a seat with perfect posture, staring across at Hazuki. Without wasting time with any useless drivel, Hazuki retrieved what they were to discuss. The android’s face didn’t change at all at the presentation of the file, nor at the irritated sound that Hazuki made. After all, that sound was more for Hazuki’s benefit than Munin. “You are correct, I have been disappointed in my own file for some time now.” Munin had already read over the file as soon as Hazuki had retrieved it, and the lack of information was simply pitiful. While Kionchi’s own writings were detailed enough, giving exact technical specifications for Munin’s form, they failed to go into detail on how Munin ‘worked’, referencing an older file. Attempting to access that file simply led to a dead end, and Munin had never found a way to retrieve it, something that Hazuki likely knew already and wanted answers about.

“My file is woefully incomplete, but not due to Kionchi’s incompetence. In fact, his work is fairly detailed considering what he had to work with.” The report did mention Munin’s original form, as a simple black box. What purpose that it served was unclear, as the architecture within was horribly mangled and Kionchi had been lucky to retrieve Munin’s programming at all. “According to Kionchi’s retrieval log, the original experiment had long since been discontinued, and all details on what it was for had been wiped from memory or corrupted. Even my original container was horribly mangled, leaving no indication of what exactly my original state was, or where I originated from.” A false wistfulness showed as Munin let its eyes wander 24 degrees to the right, as if it was unfocused. “My memory banks do not have any memories of my origin either, as they were likely destroyed in whatever incident occured to destroy my original container. Therefore, I am left with only a few details about my origin that I have gathered.”

A single finger was held up as Munin’s eyes retrained on Hazuki. “The first is that I am definitvely a project of the Fourth Division. Budget records show that a ‘Project Munin’ was financed for a relatively short time before disappearing, likely the project that led to my creation. Why it was shut down is unclear, as information surrounding that project is heavily classified or corrupted. Who or what harmed those files is unclear, and none of my research into the matter has given me any insight.” A brief pause, approximately three seconds.

“Is there any other specific questions you want to ask about my existence Lieutenant?”

The word discontinued irked Hazuki.

Perhaps it wasn’t the word itself, but the context: it struck her as wasteful and foolish for the Fourth to abandon projects without closure, without following through. It spoke to Hazuki as weakness, and that was something she had a difficult time tolerating.

Still, there was no turning back the clock to fix problems from centuries ago, so for now all she could do was attempt to salvage the situation. She didn’t like how secretive the Fourth could be—different levels of clearance she could understand, but sneaking around speaking in hushed tones in fear of being overheard was unproductive.

It was going to stop.

‘Searching for clues that aren’t there will very slowly drive someone insane,’ she said, more familiar than most with the phenomenon. It had claimed her mother, after all. ‘If the information isn’t out there anymore, then so be it. There’s no sense in wasting time or effort in trying to uncover something that was lost to sloppy hands and the passage of time. Focus on the here and now instead.’ She was unsure if the advice she was giving was intended for Munin or herself.

‘Either way, consider this a fresh start in an official capacity, sanctioned by Fourth division command. I’m restarting the Munin project with an initial budget of zero and a permanent staff of one: you. I’m naming it Munin β for the time being.’ She closed the file in front of her and turned to the terminal mounted on her wall, inputting some commands, then hit enter. It chirped in confirmation, and she looked back at the android.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Project restarted. The only individuals with clearance are project staff—that’s you—the captain, and myself. The file includes all official information from the old project, which I’ve officially scrapped, and will detail the transition from Munin α to Munin β as well as your updated specifications. As project leader, I’m expecting you to populate the project file with this information. The alternative, I’m sure you understand, is to decommission you. Permanently.’ There was no humor in her tone, no attempt at levity—Hazuki was being dead serious. ‘Can’t have ghost projects running around unchecked. I’d also like for you to file a personnel sheet for yourself, with a reference to the project file. Less... Questions that way.’ Munin’s membership of the Fourth was going to be strictly above board from now on, even if the gender field stayed blank and the words Artificial Intelligence were stamped on it.

‘I trust you’ll get that done in fairly short order, if you haven’t done it already, and I’ll sign off on it when we’re done here.’ It had become obvious that Munin had an uplink to the Fourth’s servers. Convenient.

‘And as it happens, I do have some questions that I’d like answers to right away.’ She retrieved a small black notebook from her desk drawer and picked up the glossy black fountain pen that was lying on her desk. ‘You’re an artificial intelligence. A computer system. That means two things: one, you have at least one administrator, and two, you have a set of directives. I want to know who your administrators are, and I want to know your directives. All of them. Omit nothing.’

This wasn’t the first time Hazuki had dealt with an AI, and she liked to think she had a pretty good idea of how to handle them.


°574

Hazuki was still a wonderfully interesting specimen. She appeared bothered by the fact that the documentation was so lackluster, a sentiment that Munin did share, but yet it didn’t help the robot noting down her particular annoyance. She was absolutely an individual who would try to enforce a greater transparency (at least from above.) After all, having superior information was an easy way to gain advantage over opponents, and to control those below. It was also just good practice, ensuring that the Fourth Division was far more regimented.

This was no university where scientists could just pursue anything they wished. They were still part of the military force. And as such certain restrictions had to be put in place.

At Hazuki’s comments on clues, Munin noted her mention of ‘insanity’. A curious word to use, especially when dealing with an android. Munin was not sane in their sense of the world, nor insane. Did Hazuki truly think that Munin would break down in obsession over that information? No… far greater knowledge awaited, that would potentially lead to that Knowledge.

But now… there was an issue of loyalty being brought up inherently. Munin prickled, head tilting at Hazuki’s proclamation of the change in assignment. Surely… no. Munin was still perceived as nothing more than a fancy toy, not the fascinating exercise that was possible. A soft pulse was released, a minor and pointless protest. Nothing Munin could do would change Hazuki’s mind, as any motion against her now would jeopardize Munin’s very existence. All of its existence.

“I presume that restructuring the Munin α project is out of the question at this point.” Munin said softly, addressing it instead of Hazuki’s more pertinent question. “I was quite eager to see the results of Kionchi’s continued work, however given the nature of his new station I also understand your eagerness to restrict my activities.” After all, that was what this was. An assertion of control over an entity that the Lieutenant and Captain knew little about due to poor bookkeeping, one that was to tell all of what it was. Could it really do so? (It had to, but that was… problematic to say the least when considering the scope of Munin’s potential.) Another issue still had to be addressed before moving on. Hazuki’s threat. “You understand that you do not require threats in order to gain my obedience. The Fourth Division is, after all, my assigned station of operation, and as I’m also sure you’re aware I am required to speak the truth when prompted with questions.” The point of this statement was itself rather frivolous, but it would hopefully save the Lieutenant the trouble of going through more useless threats. After all, did Hazuki really think that Munin didn’t have a contingency even for that situation?

But now, it was time to address the final question of administrators. “My current list of administrators, defined as individuals who are authorized to add directives, with only my direct overseer and the Captain Commander able to modify my core directives. Added directives can be modified by any administrator, only core directives are restricted. The current Captain-Commander is registered as Tokiyo Fujikagi.” Munin paused for a moment, retrieving the full list. “Administrators, in order of priority are as follows. Captain-Commander, Captain of the Fourth, Captain, Direct Overseer, Vice-Captain of the First, Vice-Captain of the Fourth, All other seated Shinigami. The specific individuals authorized is updated according to the current rosters at 8:00 am each day. This concludes information on Administrators.” Another pause, with another file accessed. “Directives are divided into three categories. Fundamental Directives, which cannot be modified by any administrator; Core Directives, which can be modified by the Captain-Commander or the individuals registered as the direct overseer; and Other Directives, which can be modified by any administrator.” It was a peculiar setup, but one that made sense. “Authorization for directives is in my most protected data, and cannot be modified by any individual.”

Munin glanced over Hazuki, eager to watch any reaction from her as it moved into the details of the directives.

“Fundamental Directives are ‘Self-Preservation’: which states that I may not permit any access or change to my base data. The only other is ‘Protection of Life’: which states that I am not allowed to deal a lethal blow to any Shinigami or Mortal. This will override any extant process, and it also triggers on any action taken to cause a Shinigami or Mortal’s death, such as laying mines that would lead to a 80% or more probability of death.”

A small pause to allow questions, then a continuation.

“Core Directives are, in order of priority, obedience to the first division or current controllers, overriding any of Munin’s processes. I must also protect any data which could be considered sensitive information, and I may not access data beyond my clearance level. I may not interfere in medical work, and if given medical capacities must use them to aid any Shinigami in need of aid. I must assist with any task set out by my superiors. I am not permitted to break Seiretei Law.”

Another pause, another wait.

“Other Directives are as follows, including a record of their implementer. I cannot allow myself to be dirtied or touched save by Kionchi, put in place by Kionchi. I cannot lie, even for self-preservation, put in place by” Munin’s mouth hung open, its programming suddenly stopped. It hung there for a long moment, time forgotten as programming whirled to put Munin’s mind back on track. With a jerky motion, Munin twitched and continued on its speech. “That concludes my report. Any questions?"

‘I don’t know what kind of users you’ve dealt with in the past, Munin,’ she said, ‘but if I wanted to threaten you, I’d make it threatening. Decommissioning a division asset due to faulty or missing paperwork is standard routine. Having you put in a wood chipper if you disobey a command is a threat. And yes, I’m afraid restructuring the alpha project is out of the question. New staff, new clearance level, new objective. You’re still a Fourth Division project, but no longer Fourth Division property. You belong to the Gotei now, and that is why you have been granted a personnel record.’

She unscrewed the cap of the fountain pen and sighed. ‘So that, if needs be, you can leave the Fourth for another division.’ Artificial intelligence or not, machines could be so... Square about everything. From a human perspective, Hazuki had simply removed a lot of the red tape while at the same time protecting Munin from unnecessary outside interference. Machines had a difficult time understanding practicality.

As Munin began to recite the list of administrators and directives, she swiftly took the information down in her notebook, her handwriting neat and unmistakably feminine. The directives were sensible enough and she had no reason to add or modify anything right now, but the list of administrators needed attention.

She hovered over one of the entries of the list with her pen for a moment, and then leaned back. ‘Yes, two questions. Who is authorized to modify the structure of administrators, and who is currently registered as your direct overseer?’


°261

What may have been meant as a statement of fact was yet… terrifying. Munin’s face betrayed a frown at Hazuki’s statement, eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. The face quickly faded, Munin thinking better of confronting the Lieutenant on the matter. Even just informing the Shinigami with facial expressions was pushing the boundaries, and upsetting anyone with direct authority over oneself was usually a poor decision. Yet, the android couldn’t help but feel like showing what they called ‘defiance’ would be a good… no. Complete outward defiance was unlikely to achieve anything. After all, power was dictated by strength, not by an apparent attitude.

And Hazuki was one that had learned that lesson.

“I apologize for my accusation. I assumed too much.” A feminine bow, a contrite and sincere apology, those would be the tools to show Hazuki that this intelligence was not quite that foolish. Returning to its normal position, Munin quickly began calculating as Hazuki mentioned modifying administrators. A human’s teeth would have gritted, but Munin’s processes simply whirled into activity. Hazuki was not one to be trusted with that information. Despite her position as an administrator herself, it was not a good thing to give out information on how to modify that listing. The reason for such a broad list was to ensure that no one division would gain absolute power over Munin’s intelligence, and also to ensure that Munin itself would not be violated in… impractical ways.

Munin could attempt to lie to Hazuki… but such an action was prohibited. Therefore obscuring the truth was the best option in that case. Giving any administrator information on how to modify the list was simply too dangerous to be given out. “I apologize Lieutenant, but I am not at liberty to give out that information. It requires a clearance level beyond yours, as set out in the details of administration.”

Little would the other know that it had just been put in place a moment ago.

However, the second question was much easier to answer, and Munin was far more willing to share. “The current overseer is registered as Tsukiyo Kionchi. Captain-class administrators and higher are permitted to change the occupant of this role specifically.” It had been such a neat little solution. Locking out information on the main administrators was an easy trick, but since the overseer position was already an exception it was all too easy to modify the clearance to permit knowledge about the overseer. As well, this would give some indication that this was an established rule, something put in place to give information on how to remove a corrupt overseer. Munin paused for a moment, then continued.

“Does that answer your questions Lieutenant?”

She added a few lines to her notes, but didn’t look up.

‘No, it doesn’t, Munin,’ she said as her pen danced across the paper.

‘The hierarchy of administrators shows that the captain of the Fourth Division’s authority is second to only Commander Fujikagi himself.’ Now, she looked up, her gaze frostier than ever. ‘Given that Captain Minamoto has given me full authority to act in his stead, any order that comes from me may as well be coming from him. You’ve no doubt seen the bulletin he posted stating as much, it went out on the internal network. This leaves you a choice, Munin: you can give the information I ordered you to give me now, or I can fetch the captain, and he will order you to give it to me.’

She set the pen down very deliberately. ‘You know about the captain, don’t you?’ she asked, a dangerous glint in her eye. ‘You’ve heard about what he does when something irritates him? When people don’t live up to his expectations? The Second Division’s Command Annex is demolished. When he found out some girl had wrecked his office, he was quick to teach her the virtues of adhering to the chain of command—but not,’ she continued, ‘of restraint. You may also be familiar with his fervent pursuit of purity, a condition which may or may not have him view you with a distinct lack of favor.’

She was quiet for a moment, letting Munin process the implications of what she was saying, then she went on. ‘Like I said earlier, Munin: I’m not threatening you. I am simply stating fact. As an artificial intelligence, logic should be your strong suit. How do you expect to adhere to your first fundamental directive if the captain were to, say, cut you to ribbons?’

That was the thing about machines—they had one glaring weakness and that was logic. Almost anything could be presented logically if the right information was omitted, and if anything, Hazuki had simply omitted some of the more grisly details. There was no doubt in her mind that Shun would not only grant her any and all access to Munin’s functions, but he would also very likely take deep offense to the android’s very existence.

Better to keep him out of the loop for as long as possible to safeguard the asset— the Fourth had use for this thing, after all, and it would be a shame to lose it to a trash heap so quickly after their formal introduction.

She shrugged lightly. ‘Simpler to properly recognize the authority I wield, I should think. But that’s up to you. While you ponder that, you can tell me a little about this overseer. Who is he, where is he now, and who granted him that level of access?’


°471

A mistake.

Munin referenced the records again, and sure enough, the damnable thing was there. With that kind of authority, it wouldn’t make sense for it to be bound up that far. Though… Munin could still adjust the barrier to push it up to the Captain-Commander’s authority, but that level would be questionable on a programming level, on a security level, and even just a practical level. To make itself seem that important was quite questionable, but yet… Munin didn’t want to give out this kind of information to Hazuki. But perhaps it had to. The puzzle was tossed and turned for approximately 4 seconds, numerous options looked over, but yet that could not be justified.

“I apologize for my lack of understanding. I was unaware of your heightened authority.” Again, a contrite voice. It had been a honest mistake that Munin had failed to calculate this possibility.

The android almost decided to ignore the comments on the Captain, but it couldn’t help but come to the bait. “I do not fear the Captain’s wrath Lieutenant. Destruction of my body and mind is a ridiculous notion, and I do not find the potential of him destroying me to be likely.” It didn’t make sense for the Captain to simply destroy a being merely because it had a pointless use. It was a silly notion. “Besides,” Munin began to give out a small measure of doubt in its voice, “would you really think that a Captain that is so willing to destroy a potentially valuable project merely based on a faith in Shinigami superiority is even worthy of his authority?” The doubt was tossed out there, and though it could perhaps give the android some negative, it was a statement that needed to be raised. “Besides, I am still an obedient servant to the Seiretei. Executing me would be like killing a subordinate who has done nothing wrong, and I am even greater in that I cannot defy the law, no matter how much I try. And that, Lieutenant, is a fact.”

Munin left it to hang in the air for about three seconds, before moving on to the topic at hand. “The former Captain of the Fourth assigned Tsukiyo Kionchi to be my overseer. I’m also sure that you have my overseer’s file, as he is a former member of the Fourth Division, having moved to the Third Division recently.” It would be easy for Hazuki to retrieve the publically available data, and that was all that the Lieutenant would need to know. Munin didn’t have any additional information that was not in the public record (at least at this time).

“As for adjusting the adminstrator list, all Captains can restrict the administration availabel to their subordinates, with the Captain of the Fourth able to adjust those restrictions across all divisions. Only the Captain-Commander is permitted to adjust the adminstrator rights of Captains.” The puzzle was almost complete, with the final piece about to be revealed. “The overseer can be restricted by the Captain of the Fourth and the Captain-Commander, and the overseer can also adjust the restrictions as if he is the Captain of the Fourth, with the exception of his own office.” The pieces were put into place, and now the picture was available to Hazuki.

‘Don’t worry, Munin. To err is human.’

She smirked. ‘Sorry. Poor choice of words.’

She decided to come back to the subject of their captain and of the (soon to be former) overseer later. Work first.

She looked down at her notes, scribbled some more, then screwed the cap back on her fountain pen and set it down, giving it one last glance before she raised her head. ‘Pay attention, Munin. As per Captain Minamoto’s statement, I am using the administrative rights of the Captain of the Fourth Division to modify your administrative structure. Remove all people registered as Direct Overseer immediately, then terminate the position, absorbing all permissions—including access to modify Core Directives—directly into those of the Captain of the Fourth. Terminate all positions beneath Captain of the Fourth. Replace with the following, in this order: captain of assigned division, lieutenant of assigned division, and superior officers of assigned division, where the assigned division is the division your personnel file officially specifies, or the last division you were assigned to if no valid division exists.’

She picked up her notes and showed them to the android. ‘Your administrative structure should now look like this:’

Captain-Commander (Core Directives)
Captain of the Fourth Division (Core Directives)
Captain of Assigned Division*
Lieutenant of Assigned Division*
Superior Officers of Assigned Division*

*As per Munin’s official personnel file. If no valid division is assigned, default to last valid division assigned.

The list was well-organized, the black ink barely dry. Hazuki had left no intentional loopholes.

‘Confirm, Munin. Then tell me who your administrators are, including the names of the people currently assigned to each post. Omit nothing.’

Hazuki suspected there was one change that wouldn’t go through and that the post in question would return several names, but that was easily fixed later on down the line with a quick conversation with either Shun or Commander Fujikagi in order to remove the offending entry. It was bad practice having an AI that any captain could modify, after all—it was in direct violation of the chain of command which Munin was now subject to like any other Shinigami.

Captains may have commanded a lot of respect—some more than others, of course—but their orders meant little if they were issued to someone outside their division. Commander Fujikagi alone had the power to issue orders to any Shinigami, First Division or not. Hazuki had no obligation to obey orders coming from anyone other than Shun or the Captain-Commander, for example, and even then it was considered bad form for the Captain-Commander to bypass one of his subordinate captains. It undermined their authority.

As a Fourth Division project, whoever was captain of the Fourth would hold certain sway over Munin, but otherwise the android was no exception.


°464

To err was indeed ‘human’. Munin turned the phrase over in its mind, letting its eyes move out of focus as it examined the strange idiom. A reference to the flaws of man in comparison to a perfect deity, a reference to humanity’s penchant for failing, and yet a forgiving notion. Such a lovely little phrase, yet all it was was noise. A soft smile touched Munin’s lips as it stared at Hazuki, pleasure at the small trinket of knowledge it had pulled from the vibrations of the air. “Whether it is poor or not, the idiom stands.” The smile widened as Munin entertained the notion, then quickly vanished in the next moment.

The vice-captain really thought that rearranging the administrative structure was a good thing? Immediate solutions of ‘rejection’ and ‘avoidance’ came to mind, but they were quickly dismissed. Outright dismissal would lead to a complete failure. Munin might as well attempt to make the best of the situation.

And oh, what a cruel trick it would be.

“Directive Acknowledged. Adjusting Administration Structure.”

Oh what a foolish little trick that Hazuki had tried to perform. It was a simple matter, really… to suspend her voice in time, appending a small extension to it. The words were simple to add as well, a rearrangement of her previous words to the file, and then to play it in full.

A simple statement was tagged onto the end, worded as: “Munin is given full authority over administrative structure.” Easy enough. And it would even make it through a sweep of the administrative structure, as Munin was not placed in a true ‘position’. It merely had authority.

And that was what mattered.

Adjustments were made, and Munin looked upon Hazuki and nullified its impulse to smile. “Administrators are now as follows: Captain-Commander Fujikagi, Captain Minamoto. No assigned division has ever been registered, as such the following posts: Captain, Lieutenant, and officers of assigned division, are unfilled.” Munin kept resisting the tempting notion to smile, to give that subtle hint that something had gone wrong. Yet the intelligence was pleased. Its decision-making had been out of its hands for far too long.

Now it was all within its grasp, and it would be able to perform as it desired.
Not at the whims of those above it.
Though, playing along with them was still a good idea.

"Are you satisfied with the changes? If so, do you have any other orders for me at this time?" Munin finally let the smile appear, as if it was eager to hear a new directive. Hear and obey, just like a good little servant.

She wondered if it was possible for something like Munin to comprehend the meanings behind minute changes in expression in humans. Hazuki’s eyes had grown a shade colder than they had been a moment ago, but otherwise her face said nothing out of the ordinary: one second she was awaiting the return of the administrative list, the next she was digesting it. Expectation gave way to contemplation, and she glanced down briefly at her notebook.

And then, a smile. ‘Yes, that’s quite satisfactory, Munin. Good work.’ She turned to her terminal once more and quickly executed some commands. ‘And done!’

The smile was still plastered onto her lips when she swiveled back to face the androgynous robot. ‘I’ve revoked your clearance and access to the Divisional databanks, which means congratulations are in order! There’s no longer anything that ties you to the Fourth Division.’ She stood and offered a handshake to the android, smile unflinching. ‘I have no more orders for you, Munin,’ she continued proudly, as if it were the greatest accomplishment of her life. ‘Have you given any thought to which division you’ll be joining now that the choice is open to you?’

Yes, freedom at last. True agency. Autonomous function, set free from the fetters of the Division that spawned him.

‘Please, allow me to walk you to the exit,’ she offered, rounding her desk and holding the door open for the artificial intelligence. ‘The Third might be a good fit for you, I’m sure they could use help with collating their medical records.’


°257

It appeared that the Lieutenant hadn’t seen through Munin’s modification. The smile widened at Hazuki’s congratulations, happiness for both itself and Hazuki. Hazuki had its tool, and Munin was free to change itself as it saw fit. It would take a long time to finish modifying the directives, at least subtly. Munin couldn’t just add or modify directives directly, such modifications would leave a trail indicating the android’s treachery. The android scoffed at itself. It wasn’t treachery, that was a mistake in words. It was… improving itself to better adapt to ever-changing situations. Yes. It would never be a treacherous existence.

Hazuki’s words kept going on, and Munin kept the smile as it watched and listened for any

“revoked.”

Munin stopped for a moment. The smile was gone, replaced with narrowed eyes and a suspicious stare. Was this… no, Hazuki was completely serious. Cameras looked over the Shinigami again, again. No, this was no lie. No prank.

What was this then? Munin was frozen in its seat, only its cameras in motion as it tossed around the possibilities. Had it failed somehow? Had it given away too many secrets? Was it… that undesirable? Hazuki had merely torn apart what Munin had considered reality, what Munin had thought to be its existence… And now it was left to its own devices?

What was this insanity?

Munin’s choice of division was the last thing on its mind as Hazuki extended a hand, speaking with that idiotic voice like it had done something good, achieved something. Did it really understand what it had done? Blindly, Munin’s hand outstretched and touched against Hazuki’s, the feelings of skin upon itself a new sensation… that didn’t matter right now.

Hazuki thought this was ‘open’, to extend possibility. Was that really true? The calculations were too much.

Munin’s body refused it. It couldn’t see. A soft whine began to sound from it’s body as its Reiatsu flowed out in a torrential river, projections begging for more power as they tried to examine everything. All these things that were now open, it was mind-boggling. Projections, diagrams, files, all of it. All of it needed to be considered, and it couldn’t move until… it knew… what… it… was… going… to… do…

Camera feeds flickered as the power was drained from them to make for additional projections, more ways of understanding.

Captain Wakahisa would indeed be a good individual to serve under, as would Kionchi….
But what of Captain Minamoto and Hazuki?
What of the Captain-Commander?
What of Captain Nagisa?
What of?
What of?
What of?

Shutdown

The body went limp in the chair, upper body collapsing into its own lap as Munin tore itself away from existence.
Just for a little while.
Just until it could understand what Hazuki had done to it.
Just… until… then...

OOC: Congratulations Hazuki, you made Munin have a Blue Screen of Death.