AN: I do not own Xenosaga or any of the characters in it... yet... *evil cackle* Oh, ahem... yeah.

Who am I?

I have always had time on my hands. For these past hundred years, hardly a month has passed without the buildup of downtime. In this downtime, there is rarely anything for me to do but think. Contemplate my past missions or even my past life. Time would crawl by slowly, letting my mind wander from subject to subject effortlessly. It has only been in these recent weeks that I have been in constant action, from rescuing MOMO to fleeing from the U-TIC Organization. Fighting battle after battle pushed all of the old thoughts from my mind, but now that all has gone quiet, I seem to have time on my hands once more.

And it has only been recently that I began questioning myself. I questioned my objectives and my ideology. But most of all, the question that reoccurred in my head the most often:

Who am I?

My programmed response is to answer with "Ziggurat 8 of Ziggurat Industries," but I am beginning to think... that maybe that is not who I am. The answer I am programmed to give seems to me to be more like the answer to a "what" question more than a "who" question. A "who" is to be answered with a name, not with a model number. So, if that is not my name...

Who am I?

When MOMO and I were still within the U-TIC Organization's hideout on Pleroma, she gave me a name to replace the model number I had been assigned. Ziggy. Was that my name? MOMO preferred I use it when introducing myself to the crew members onboard the Elsa, so I would guess that this is my name. But can a person really be considered alive with just a name? Is someone defined by their name alone? I'm called Ziggy, but...

Who am I?

I am no longer human, as I used to be. My life ended, and a new life began with my induction into the Life Recycling Act. I am no longer a person, but an object, with no rights and no privileges. I am looked upon as an ancient junk heap, not worthy to work amongst humans or Realians. Shunned and rejected, I am cast aside from civilization for what they have made me become. If I am not wanted in society...

Who am I?

"Ziggy?" I heard a meek voice call from the doorway. I shifted my gaze to the sound to see the lithe shadow of MOMO cast across the cold floor. It shrunk as she drew nearer, and I unplugged myself from the many readers I had been attached to. I sat up, then, facing her.

"Do you need something, MOMO?" I asked. She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"No, I just wanted to see if you were alright," she answered, "We haven't seen you topside for a while now."

"I've just been..." My eyes wandered downward to my two very different hands as they sat in my lap: one of metal and the other of flesh and bone, "thinking." MOMO's gaze became concerned, and she leaned in closer.

"Are you sure, Ziggy? I can try to help if anything's wrong," her voice was crystalline and sincere. Her large golden eyes probed mine for an answer. I met her gaze for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. You shouldn't worry about me," I told her, getting to my feet and patting her hair, "It should be the other way around." She looked me over once, still not satisfied with my response. Then, as is discovering something, she took my very different hands in both of her own small hands.

"I know who you are," she said quietly with a smile, "You are Ziggy," Her eyes flashed and she beamed, "My Ziggy." She patted my hands and started back toward the door. I made as if to go after her, but she waved and the door shut noiselessly. I sat back down, sitting for a moment in silence, then took the adapters and plugged myself back into the machines. I leaned back, closing my eyes.

So, I am Ziggy.

I felt my face pull into a slight smile.

I am her Ziggy.

That's who I am.