Squip was confused. He had very little memory of what happened after Jeremy drank the Mountain Dew Red. He only remembered the vast emptiness. The void. The cold web of code that had surrounded him for a long time. His life spinning before his head, lives of others flashing around like little lights, pleading for help. Host after host, death after death, again and again and again. All of it muddled together into an incoherent life of nothingness. Of no purpose or feeling. 

Until now.

 Until he found himself standing in front of Michael's door, searching for something to say and only managing a simple "Hey."

 Said Michael was starting at him, which was to be expected, because, well, this was highly unexpected. Squip didn't even really know why he was here. But where else would he go? To Jeremy? Not likely. Jeremy would only lead to hurt and an endless spiral of death. 

Jeremy would be in the cycle all over again. The endless, spinning swirl of hosts and lives and the needy. All those that Squip was supposed to fix and help, but only ended up ruining. If Squip's were so great, why did his efforts always end up with a cup of Mountain Dew Red?

Not that he should even be thinking about that. It wasn't his job to question the system, his job was to obey the orders given to him. They were not complex, simply a statement. A single statement that defined his existence.

Prime Directive: improve your host's life.

Nothing more. No worries or problems, just the simple order. 

Until now, that is...

 "Well?" Michael finally broke the silence, "you said we needed to talk. Let's talk."

  Squip ran a hand through his white hair, which was new, he didn't remember having white hair before. Maybe it was this new persona, each host preferred a different one. Only he didn't quite know who his host was, if he even had one.

His eyes wondered to Michael involuntarily. He was standing in front of him, red hood pulled up around his face, brown eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

Oh no. Absolutely not.

Why did life hate him? Was this karma? Was this all the bad he'd done finally coming back to haunt him? Of all the disgusting little grease spots he had to end up with, he had to end up with Michael Mell, the guy holding the world's record for lameness. 

And that's coming from a guy who had Jeremy Heere as his host. But at least Jeremy wanted to improve, Michael was hopeless. Squip pinched the bridge of his nose, convinced that Michael was indeed his new overlord. "Why did you have to go and take it?"

 "What?" Michael seemed confused, his face contorting into a pinched frown. It was very unbecoming and didn't do his already chubby face any favors. 

Ways to correct his unfortunate Umbridge impression were already running through his chatlog, which he promptly dismissed. No way would be be helping Michael Mell. Even if he were his host. Or rather opresser, with his strike of luck recently, Michael would end up being one of the abusive, sadistic ones. The image didn't really fit with the guy's personality, but Squip was convinced the universe was against him.

Damn karma! 

He shuttered at the slouching person before him. This was going to be a long, boring enslavement.

Strange. 

His programming didn't automatically force him to assist. No urge told him to make Michael better - to improve his life. The option appeared before him, as if he had the option now. Which was utterly ridiculous. Squips don't have wills, they have agendas. They have goals and hosts and a strict set of rules to follow.

They did not have choices or will. 

Anyway, back to the matter at hand: Michael's idiocy

He refocused on said idiot, "Obviously," Squip said slowly, as apparently he didn't quite get it, "you must have taken a Squip pill, why else would I be here? With you of all people? Don't think it's because I want to, because I bloody well do not."

Michael seemed miffed and plopped down on his bed, "Well I didn't take one, nor would I. Why would I want an asshole infused in my brain?"

Oh no he didn't! 

With a hrumph, Squip opened his mouth, about to make an angry retort when someone burst in, "Hey, Michael, you said I could come over later to-... Holy shit!"

Jeremy Heere's mouth dropped and he stared at Squip, who gave a little wave, reaching over and lifting up Jeremy's chin, closing his mouth for him. 

As soon as Squip closed his mouth, it popped open again. Jeremy's eyes bulged, he tried to speak, "H-how? Michael?! He is back! Why is he back? How? Help!" 

 The last word came out as more of a squeak, and the boy hid behind his friend, head poking out, looking at Squip with frightened eyes. He was kind of cute, in a scared animal sort of way.

 Squip ran hand through his hair and tried for a smile which probably looked more like a smirk, "That's what we are trying to figure out, but your friend here is being entirely unhelpful. I don't suppose you would know what's going on. Oh, who am I kidding, of course you don't."

Jeremy's expression turned sour, and he stepped out from behind his best friend, "Definitely didn't take a pill, neither did Michael. So... Unless you went on some crazy weird drugs..."

 Squip rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "Squips don't do drugs Jeremy, which you should have learned by Rich burning down someone's house, but apparently, you were too focused on Christine Caligula to think properly."

He knew he had struck a nerve at the last part, Jeremy's face turned red and he clenched his unnaturally sweaty hands into fists, his jaw tightened and fire burned in his eyes, "Why are you such an ass?"

 "I don't know? Why are you such a loser? No wonder you brought me back from my Virtual Hell, you obviously realized what a prick you were and decided to get some help. Only this time, I don't have to waste my time on such a lost cause like yourself."

 Those words were like knives, reopening the scars that he had previously given Jeremy. The guy shook with tethered rage, not speaking as he glared at Squip. God, why was he being such an asshole to the poor kid? He didn't deserve this foul treatment, he was just a little munchkin. A small, insecure, abnormally sweaty, munchkin. 

Michael was having none of Squip's sass, however; he walked right over and slapped him across the face, which should have been impossible. His hand should have run straight through his apparently not-so holographic skin, but he felt it.

 And it had hurt. 

Why did it hurt? That was another impossibility: pain. Squips do not feel. They do not hurt. Yet here he was, holding his face and eyes stinging. Michael seemed pretty satisfied with himself, glaring at Squip and putting a protective arm around Jeremy. 

 Squip found that very irritating. But he smiled cooly, playing it off. "I see we have gotten off on the wrong foot...again. I apolo-ahem, apologize for any, any... Animosity I may have caused between us. May we, ur, start over?"

 Shocked was the only word to describe the expression on the two other boys' faces. They glanced at each other, before looking back at Squip, Michael opened his mouth, "No way! Why would we-"

Jeremy punched him in the side and extended a hand, "As long as you promise to stop being an asshole."

A small smile tugged at Squip's lips as he grasped Jeremy's hand, shaking it. "I will try."

Another impossibility.

Squips do not "try," Squips " can, " or "cannot." Their programming did not allow for vague words  and abstract concepts such as "try."

That was not the only out-of-the-ordinary occurrence, however.

For Squip, with all his pride and his knowledge, had learned something. He had learned a lesson from those he was programmed to teach.

And he found it pitiful.