It'd been an okay couple of runs.

Sort of, not really.

I mean sure, each time you got closer and closer to the room that was the one holding the crystal, the thing you were here for.

Sure, you’d been going solo and surprisingly wasn’t dying after thirty minutes. You’d gotten good at hearing node variants and what not. And, not that you’d admit it, had gotten a smidge more confident in your abilities.

Then why was it okay, and not good?

Why’d you let yourself willingly watch as your teammate had flung their flash beacon into reflective darkness or purposefully ripped apart as many copper plated wires as they could without getting their hands too mucked up with oil and whatever else machines bled.

In the name of survival, because it was the only way that it could’ve ended.

Of selfishness, because it was easier.

You shouldn’t have felt bad for some sort of AI. It wasn’t even a homosapien, it didn't have a soul or resembled one, it wasn’t remotely human in any way.

Maybe it was because of how people were, soft, weak. Emotional, most importantly.

It was the kind of guilt you’d get from accidentally ripping off a plushies arm or knocking it off something, except, it felt ten times worse.

Maybe it was because of how pAInter was, sentient, feeling. Destroyed.

It was the kind of entity that felt bad for its actions, didn't immediately tell you off and to get out or clearly show disdain for each and every action performed in its enclosure.

The kind of entity you would’ve liked to meet in better circumstances.

The kind of entity you find yourself searching for its door to the room it was held in while in the server rooms. You’d insist it was subconscious, just being normal, as normal as you could be, and trying to see if it’d be fine.

Like any other person.

You jumped when you found it, feet carrying you to the sills and turning the knob with shaky hands.

It wasn’t much different from when you last saw it, if not a bit cleaner. Wires and dried oil, glass and a wrecked computer.

Still there, still lamented.