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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Heat Seekers I

Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 5k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: Metaphoric descriptions of statutory rape. Assault, sexual assault. Gaslighting. Attempted murder. Brief mentions of substance abuse and prostitution. Minor character death.

You always believed there was no such thing as Heaven, but surely there was Hell. Several iterations of the grotesque and horrific afterlife; because humanity is a plague and that is what each of us deserved.

Perhaps in your younger days, you didn’t know it… no, even then you knew. Deep down inside you remember nothing of happiness or blessing. No memories of a person’s presence, actions, or words doing anything considerably good for anyone else. Certainly not without a motive. Certainly not out of empathy.

Before you could walk, throwing yourself into the repetitive ease of programmed machines and technology brought you peace. Technology is predictable and massively accessible to anyone. Technology is your comfort.

Electricity became nearly free and unlimited after the revolution that ended the War on Power in 2045. So long as the sun rose every day, there was never a shortage, and the resulting surge of technological advancements that boomed, as a result, have made most fairly new tech obsolete.

Sustainable, economic, and eco-friendly power became the way of the world. Wind energy became the norm. Buildings were now made from fiberglass solar panels, stronger, taller, and widely available, so every surface collected energy from the sun. Window glass collected heat to use in the winter, eliminating the need for natural gas heat altogether. More room for technology to grow. More surface area on the ground for parks and forests. Resorts built above an ocean’s surface harnessed the energy of the currents moving below their supports. Anything that wasn’t hovering in midair could collect energy from earthquakes and natural disasters alike, as long as humankind was lucky enough to have built something that could capture the energy and withstand the storm. The earth was well on its way to healing by the time you were born in 2051, and although humankind flourished along with it, the world was still a dangerous place. Corporations rose even higher and politics declined, dissolving into a place wrought with criminal activity and fear. Yes, humans were healthier, stronger, lived longer if they were lucky. But was that really such a good thing? Your parent would throw anything she didn’t find valuable at you whenever you locked her out of the apartment, and she was too weak to force her way inside. You were smart enough to know you would be no match in the likely event someone tried to break in, so you had to defend yourself. You wear wary of the men she brought inside, always idly wondering if any of them were your father, but so few of them ever returned.

You don’t remember ever knowing you even had a father before that, unknowing until she told you about sex and what makes a human child when you were four. Not that you’d asked and not that she would care to speak to you when she was anything other than suffocatingly drunk.

In a room that was barely such, the feeble plywood walls held together as if by magic and the curtain strung up as your door sagged so low it only served to be a nuisance to your agenda. Outdated machines and technology stacked high around the walls, most were scrap parts for your projects.

You dedicated every day to sitting in the same spot, surrounded by computers and machines, and learning what makes them function. The finite possibilities, yet the scope of their differences, is something that brought you peace and kept the gears in your own head turning. Sometimes, you would pretend and daydream as if you were an android yourself. You were not lucky enough to be born as one with artificial intelligence.

You attended virtual school whenever you felt like it, or at least you knew the basics. Your parent didn’t care. She nearly pretended like you didn’t exist, which suited you just fine. From the time you were five, she began leaving you alone at home. You knew how to pull the cracked plastic stool over to the counter and get yourself some goldfish crackers or something else simple. You weren’t allowed to use the stove even though you’d repaired it twice, but the microwave was fine.

You knew how to bathe and how to use the restroom and clean up after yourself because you had to. There was nobody else for a long time. Days came and went when you weren’t sure if she would ever come back, only for her to come banging on the squeaky front door or crashing through it slurring her words and waking you from a fitful sleep to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks in the middle of the night. The notion of your tears on her behalf was always something unpredictable and confusing to you. Why would you cry over such insignificance, you sometimes wondered to yourself.

If she stopped coming back one day you would figure it out. The nice man across the street from your apartment building ran a tiny tech store and he always had a smile for you and something that needed fixing. Most days he would ask you math problems as something he called a “lightning round” of questions for an extra quarter for every right answer. Surely the three dollars he gave you for what your fixed every time was enough to put what little food you needed in your stomach.

By the time you were eight, the habits you and your cohabitant fell into became routine. You became accustomed to sleeping during the day while she was out, setting your school live feed on record so you could watch it later. At night, while trying to drown out the sounds of her screaming or sex or shattering bottles, you would work. In the world you knew, the industry wasn’t as slow as it used to be. Too fast-paced for most new phone models to make it past their six-month mark before it was time to stop manufacturing and making capital, moving onto the next one. From what you understood, a new model of home security cameras could go on the market one day and be in the clearance pile before you got your next paycheck. Security tech became your playground after a few years, and you didn’t have enough money to buy anything. It never bothered you that you were always a step behind the latest tech because you had to wait a week until the latest model began showing up in dumpsters. It was never your intention to be faster than that. By the age of ten, you knew your priority was survival and in order to do that, you had to protect yourself with whatever means necessary. You had six different checkpoints in security on your living space not long after you became familiar with it. An additional four security cameras had been installed by your own two small hands around your building as well, at the entrance, elevator, your floor’s hall, and in front of your flimsy front door. All secretly controlled by you, without the knowledge of the outdated model of AI that ran your front desk, passively named Al- born of the building owner’s lack of creativity or care. Probably both.

You spent your days alone, in the tiny, insufferable hole in the wall place called your ‘home’. Where, as the years propelled to 2063 on your twelfth year, you chose to ignore most of the other inhabitants of this world. On a worn-out and broken faux leather armchair, perpetually stuck in the reclining position. Where you sat to work and where you slept and where you held your breath at the groaning sound omitted from its cushions every time you moved. You kept fixing it whenever it would break, dumping you from the side of it with a ‘plunk’ as the bars jumped off their tracks. You scowled every time they snapped the tracks completely. You worked to hone your skills in the world of technology, tinkering and learning every detail of every machine you could get your hands on from the dumpster behind your building. Sometimes if you were lucky, the building owner would forget to pay the trash removal services and it would pile up for weeks. Heaps of smelly trash were a small price to pay if it meant you could hit the jackpot and take several trips up and down the rickety old elevator with your arms full of tech.

Those were your happiest memories. Your body felt like jelly by the time you finished sorting through it all and bringing it up to your stash, carefully removing casings of microcomputers or game cartridges to get to the gold inside.

Everything was fine and although you couldn’t say you were content with your life- you didn’t hate it. You loved the freedom to be left alone and the peace of your tinkering tech. Perhaps a little impatient to grow up, but with every passing year, you celebrated quietly to yourself during the days you had been told your birth date fell. Somewhere between these seven days, you pulled up the same app on every smartphone you had in your possession and ran quickly around your makeshift room trying to blow out twenty digital candles in one big breath- careful not to trip over small piles of tech as you went.

It became a blur after you turned twelve. Somewhere along the timeline not long after that, a man started showing up to the apartment and threw off the balance you had so carefully maintained. You never knew his name, but you remember his face, his cologne, and his voice, and the way his eyes sparkled with something that sank in the pit of your stomach the first time you laid eyes on him. Most of all, even now, you remember him in your restless nightmares and the raw feeling of vindictive rage that in your weakest moments, reminds you that you’re alive, if only by the boiling heat of your blood rushing through your ears. In those moments, when your vision goes fuzzy with the desire to see him suffer and rot miserably in the deepest pits of hell, preferably bleeding and screaming.

You remember him from a time past, standing in the kitchen with your parent, one of her arms curled around his thick neck and the other raised in the air, his fingers closed around her slim wrist. The suit he wore looked expensive, and their bodies were slowly bending over the kitchen table in a strange dance, waiting for her back to snap and flatten against the wooden surface. Their eyes flashed to yours for less than a heartbeat as you walked to the refrigerator, laughing at something that lulled in the silence.

The next time you saw him he had fed your cohabitant something so toxic she passed out on the floor beside the couch. Then he spoke to you. In his deep baritone, he sounded like he smoked too many cigarettes too often. Or drank a bottle of razor blades.

“Pretty little thing ain’t ye?” he asked, dipping his head through the curtain that thinly veiled your world from outside eyes.

You ignored him, choosing to pretend as if the headphones situated on your head were actually producing audio. So he hit you.

Then he hit you again, screaming at you for ignoring him and calling you a bitch, whatever that meant. You heard it slung at your parent enough to know it was derogatory.

You didn’t even scream, you remember. Very clearly you sat shocked, but tears spilled down your cheeks from the pain alone. The heat you felt on your cheek, swelling and rough as if you’d fallen off a motorized bike and gotten road rash on your face.

Your fingers rose and you can recall them vividly, shaking as they reached to touch at your cheek and the hiss of pain as you recoiled from yourself.

Then, you try not to visualize it, but it won’t go away. You remember the feeling of his hand grabbing yours as it froze in midair, yanking you from the protection and warm affection of your old faux leather chair. It growled as he ripped you from its grasp in protest, pulling you so hard the force nearly dislocated your shoulder while he simply tossed you on the floor.

You remember the feeling of his fingers pulling at your clothes and then pain. Extreme pain, so brutal and fast it took your breath away. Your face throbbed as his palm fit perfectly across your whole skull, pushing your head onto the rough wood planks below.

You screamed, but you don’t remember if any sound came out, or if it was just that nobody cared that you did so. You screamed and cried, trying to crawl away as he grabbed at you. There was a ‘whoosh’ feeling as the air was ripped from your lungs when something burning sunk, forcing itself a home of darkness that never should have been between your soul and your corporeal form.

And then nothing.

You remember waking up to the sharp scent of blood, confirming it when you saw it on the floor around you, glistening and wet in the faint glow of computers. You remember the pain that shot between your legs as you tried to sit up properly, groaning as fresh tears worked down your cheeks. The cry that left you rippled pain across your face, too, and you remember crawling yourself over to your beloved chair and leaning against the comfort of its worn fabric as you reached for any of the smartphones you had.

For the first time ever, the brightness of a screen made you flinch back in the darkness. Persevering, you opened the camera and turned it to selfie mode, inspecting your face in the digital reflection. Your right cheek was fat and red, and two purple circles were clearly left in the wake of where his gaudy rings hit your skin. The stain on your skin crept up below your eye.

You made yourself calm down enough to quell the sobs wracking your chest to softer whimpers and tears to help the pain in your cheek stop.

It happened again some unknown weeks later. Your parent so stoned and drunk she passed out blissfully somewhere else and he came to you again. Your begging did you no good, and you were no match for his strength. Why hadn’t you run the moment you could stand on your legs again after the first assault? Why hadn’t you hauled every piece of your tech and saved dime from your bank account or gone to the nice old man across the street for help? Deep down, you knew. You were confident enough to know he would find you and smart enough to know he would kill you when he did.

The second time, you wished you had a gun or a knife. Not just cameras to catch him in the act. Or something that would make him stop and leave you alone. It was just as bad as the first, except this time you didn’t pass out. You did your best to stay still, compliance your only weapon in hoping he goes away that much sooner if you let it be over with. It still hurt just as bad, and he still left you in a puddle of white and red wetness on the floor. The scent of blood made you dizzy.

For the first time in your life, you begged. You begged the adult that raised you and fed you until you could do it yourself. For just once you desperately wished to talk to her and confirm. To make her do something to save you. You were terrified you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, and if this were the last thing she would ever do for you, if it were the last time you would ever see her, you would be grateful if she would just do something to save her daughter.

Hopelessness and an unending free-fall of terror are what you received. You were stronger than she was, and nearly her height by now, with a young healthy body not wrought with substance abuse. You forced her to sit still and keep her eyes open. To keep watching the video even though you couldn’t watch it yourself, barely able to weather the sounds coming from the captured footage.

When it was over, you hadn’t realized you were crying. Your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, with wet cheeks that felt the rush of air as you maneuvered in front of her and gingerly knelt on the floor to beg at her knees. You gathered her hands in her lap, struggling to hold them as you repeated your pleas.

She ignored them, literally shaking and gasping for breath and telling you it wasn’t real. Telling you it never happened. When you forced it upon her and threatened to go to the police with it she pulled your hair and screamed at you. Screamed that you were an idiot and that he would kill you both because didn’t you know who he was? Didn’t you know the power that man held over so many? No, you didn’t.

And it suddenly dawned on you, she was just as scared. She was scared and terrified and unable to grasp any semblance of control over what that man did anymore. She was a fool to think she ever did, and you were a fool to have a sliver of faith in her. So you left to clear your head, much to her cries not to. Born out of anxiety, fearful you would go to the police.

You walked farther than you thought you could as you attempted to regain the strength in your legs. Slowly, and by the time you returned the sun had fully set, but an orange glow caught your attention from the rooftop, one floor above yours. Wisps of smoke, too. Odd, nobody ever went up there.

A single stray cord and a plastic piece of backing laid on the floor between the elevator and your door, and your heart sunk back down all fourteen floors. You were out of breath and the pain between your legs was searing by the time you shoved your way through the metal door to the roof.

Sitting on the ledge was a gaunt, familiar face. She was smoking a cigarette, watching the flames and smoke from three rust-stained barrels. Inside of them was most of your tech. Your cameras, a few handfuls of smartphones, seven computers, gaming consoles, tablets.

You barely remember what happened after that, but you know it was a lot of screaming and a burn when you attempted to kick one of them and stomp out the flames. That day was the catalyst that made you take action, planning to escape from hell. If there was no chance to be saved by someone else, you would have to do it yourself.

Racing the clock on a high of anxiety, you only prayed that for three days he wouldn’t show up. You only needed three days.

On the afternoon of the second day, you hadn’t realized you were alone in the small apartment of your old and outdated building. You were too busy working like lightning to beat an imaginary deadline on your heels. You hadn’t noticed she had left until you came out shortly to use the restroom and find some crackers.

There he was at the kitchen table, the cheap metal legs of the chair bowing under his mass. You froze, watching him in shock and briefly you let your eyes wander around the living room to realize she wasn’t there. His voice was low as he told you she passed out in the elevator hours ago.

The chair made a horrible scuffing sound as he stood up, and you flinched. It didn’t matter once he took your wrist in his grip, and he made you suffer once more.

Something unhinged him this time, and even through the pain and nausea and the attempt to make yourself faint just to not have to live through it, you felt it. Felt the psychotic shift in his brain as he laughed at your pain.

It broke something inside of you. Escape. Do not let him do this to you. Definitely do not give up and let it happen. Retaliate. Fight. Get away. Run. Live.

You barely recall how you came to the conclusion, or how you stomached the grotesque way, when he leaned over your back, you turned your head. How you took the easiest thing to reach- his right ear lobe- between your teeth, and mangled him for all you were worth.

The gratification was immediate as he sprang from you, shoving you forward and holding his head. You remember no pain in that moment, and smiling with adrenaline, breathless but with lungs full of oxygen at the same time. You bolted before he could come back to his senses, grabbing your bag from your chair, thankfully nearly complete, and ran out, fixing your clothing along the way.

He tried to get up fast enough to stop you, lunging for you with one hand as you made it into the hallway, but whatever adrenaline you were on was potent, and your senses were razor sharp. You ducked his hand, hearing him barrel into the wall with his momentum as you made for the elevator.

You watched in slow motion the hopeless rage morph onto his stubbled face, knowing he wouldn’t catch you in time. Letting go of his ear, you saw it maimed, the bottom half missing, an obvious mouth-shaped crest bleeding heavily onto the floor as he reached instead to procure a gun from his jacket.

Although your heart leaped at the sight of it as the metal door creaked open behind you, his hands were messy, and the gun slipped from his bloody grip.

Turning to get on, you hesitated for just a second when you saw her there, passed out in the corner of the elevator. You shoved the button for the lobby as hard as you could, planning to rip the wires from the panel behind Al’s desk the moment it reached the bottom. It would give you enough time to get away as he descended the stairs.

You remember watching her sleep, but an eerie sense of foreboding grew in the intimate space the lower the elevator went, despite the beauty of golden hour cityscape from the window that served as the back wall of the capsule.

It took a few moments for you to realize the sun looked odd against her skin. Her hair didn’t catch the rays, nor did her lips hold the same color or fullness of your own, a feature you had in common. She looked sick.

An unfamiliar emotion welled in you. Some concoction of fear, sadness, and a heavy sense of solitude congealed in your chest and your throat as you crouched beside her quietly, afraid to make a sound.

Hesitantly, you touched her shoulder, immediately recoiling at the unnatural stone of her form, refusing to be pliant under the gentle press of your fingers. Swallowing the bile that rose in your throat, you grasped her shoulders, shaking her. Her body slid further down the wall when you let go. It remained there on the floor in an unnatural and rigid stillness, heavy.

You tripped as you receded backward, falling against the smooth metal of the door. Terror overcame you and a bewildering sense of lonely unknown stood towering before you in your mind’s eye. Not that you expected to ever see her again. Not that you expected to care, you hated her. But you hadn’t wanted her to die.

“Mom,” you remember choking up her title in reverence, the one and only time in your life you’d ever said the word.

You groaned with pain, suddenly powerless without the adrenaline that was just coursing through your veins. Everything hurt. Your vision, your head, your body, your heart. You were going to throw up. But you’d be damned if you did it before you escaped. You were so close. Just a little further.

Your mouth watered with the impending expulsion of your gut, but you managed to fall backward out of the elevator and stumble to your feet, feeling heavy as you trudged past Al’s inquiry of your health to the panel, ripping every wire out with your fist.

Just once you threw up beside the revolving door of your building before entering. You staggered through it after, feeling a rush of fresh air that told your very soul it was over.

You did it. Now you just had to make sure you survived, but you were good at that.

_________________

April, 2072

You pursed your lips, scowling at the bitter, sour flavor of the lollipop settled on your tongue. Leaning to the right, you lifted your hand from the grip of your bars, reaching through the thickness of your helmet through the open visor and whipping the candy from your mouth with a grimace.

You slowed, unable to afford a littering fine if you just threw it to the wind behind you, even though you wanted to rebel in that way. Too many high-tech cameras on the city streets to get away with anything unless you had the money to pay off the cops.

Which, unfortunately, you didn’t.

Twisting forward to squeeze the brake, you let your bike lull into a quiet purr as you pull off onto a quiet road, looking for the correct receptacle. You let it crawl forward, along the curb, and over a storm drain so you can lean over and drop the candy into the trash. For a moment, you lick your lips, pulling your backpack around to rummage through the bag of lollies inside for a better flavor.

While you search for a strawberry- your favorite- you weigh the pros and cons of just buying a bag of strawberry flavor instead of the assortment. Price, for starters, you scoff to yourself, remembering to pluck the sour apple wrapper from your pocket to toss into the trash. Exclusive flavor bags are more expensive, but you don’t waste as much by throwing out every god damned green apple you pluck from the bag.

Frowning when you come up empty-handed, you take the second-best choice, unwrapping the dark red of a cherry lolly when a presence catches your attention. A man, tall and thin, clothed in dark colors standing still against the bustle of the city. There’s a black baseball cap on his head, pressed down over dark red curls that peek out at the edges.

He’s wearing square, dark-tinted sunglasses that block out his eyes, with ears that bow out from his skull, and you briefly register that he’s built the same all around, in large proportions, from his hands to his face to his towering height.

Even in the late afternoon, his visage glows with artificial color as he basks in the light of a large television displayed in the storefront window. Although his attire tells you he’s trying to conceal his identity, he doesn’t seem to stick out, going ultimately unnoticed by the people passing by him.

His face is turned towards the television as a news channel covers a fire at a large corporate building from last night. It shows impressive plumes of flame and thick smoke, even darker than the night sky, glowing faintly with billions of lights.

The man watching the television bounces a short stick between his teeth, but you can’t tell what it is from this distance. You notice his face moves, the apples of his cheeks rising high as he smiles wide, easily a head above the crowd.

The sound of sirens from the recording of the fire dins away to the sound of an audio clip taken from a phone call. A man’s voice, clearly distorted with an autotune. Raspy, dark laughter, and a bitter promise to chase someone to hell.

A small part of you is smug, rooting for the villain even, and his vicious words to whomever the message are, or was, intended.

The sun is starting to set, and you hate having to watch the skyline glitter with the golden light as you drive on. It’s an unwanted and unnecessary memory, unforgiving in the distance of your timeline.

Luckily, you enter the undercity just as the light grows intense, escaping into the sleepless neon of your world. Into the black market and the tech industry, rife with people who thrive on a never-ending night, as if their veins are made of glass and filled with inert gases to make them glow just as brightly as the buildings here.

You’ve got a lead from a friend of sorts. Someone who you’ve got a history with from your days at the bordello, and who kept you alive once upon a time when you first came to the undercity, terrified but determined to forget yourself and be born as someone stronger, smarter, better.

He’s never given you bad intel before, so long as you could get to it before a clan or a faster loaner. Luckily, you have a natural gift for hacking and the latest model of ‘unhackable’ Hyperbikes are no exception to your deft fingers.

You pull up outside Blue House, scanning the digital bulletin for the job he mentioned. You press your finger to it, holding your breath for the marquee to inform you whether it’s still up for grabs, or if it is unfortunately for you- in progress.

A smile cracks your lips when the green light pops up, and you whip your glove off when the prompter asks to scan your left thumb. A second passes as the soft blue light moves across your finger, chirping in confirmation when it’s done.

You don’t even care what the job is- but Chan promised it would be something you could do. All you remember is hearing a payment sum that could put good food in your stomach for a month straight. The only question you had was why a tech hacking job was showing up on a brothel’s bulletin board.

Ultimately, what was one more undercover prostitution job? You were familiar with the work that came through the bordello, and its basic services. In the last two years, you’ve moved away from it little by little, having made some waves with your work as a hacker in the undercity. Your moniker started to be whispered across the shadows as the underdog, a genius ‘for the people’ hacker that put bad men where they belonged. Only Chan knew you by two names. The rest of the world only knew one.

The name Maneater.

#heat seekers #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #exo fanfiction #chanyeol angst #exo angst #chanyeol fic #exo fic

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maskydoolovesmasseffect · 4 years ago

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Mass Effect Tag

Wellio, I’ve been tagged by @berryshiara. Passing this on to @grummel83

Gunna answer my questions now. Y’all feel free to tell me what you think of these answers.

I’m a fan since: 2008. I was just out of high school and still not over KoTOR. I was fresh in the army and got to talking to some other dude fresh to the army about video games. He asked me if I played Mass Effect. I said no. By the next day I just about totally forgot about him, then he suddenly appeared out of nowhere sat in front of me in the chow hall and pulled a copy of ME1 for Xbox 360 out his pocket like he was a magician doing a magic trick (ACU pockets are huge.)

Anyway turns out that guy was a romance option and I must have picked the right dialogue options. I’m still with him, too.

Favorite game of the series:

Mass Effect 2. It seemed like that’s the one where choices mattered most and you really got to know your squaddies. Also MAJOR gameplay improvements over the first game. And that game gave me the most freedom to do basically whatever I wanted and wasnt afraid to give me consequences for it.

MShep or FShep:

FShep. Nothing against MShep, but for me the real Shep is FShep. Can’t beat Jennifer Hale’s voice.

Earthborn, Colonist, or Spacer:

Colonist. I like having the background of knowing just how dangerous the galaxy can be and how the Alliance can’t be everywhere at once so sometimes you need to manage your best on your own.

Biotics or Tech:

Both.

Paragon or Renegade:

Paragon, mostly. I tried being renegade but some of the actions are just so pointlessly dickish, or even outright unhinged in a way that would make it impossible to believe the Alliance would ever promote Shepard as an officer or even keep her in the Alliance at all, especially in the first game.

That said, there are times where a renegade action is more expedient and practical than a paragon one, like in 2 when you stab a dude in the back to prevent him from repairing an enemy gunship, so even with a paragon playthrough, my Shepard will have no issues taking that opportunity. She’s already seconds away from betraying all those guys anyway.

Paragon in treatment of others, renegade in combat pragmatism.

Favorite Class:

I play as infiltrator and vanguard.

Infiltrator is great for using a sniping and opening loot, and then for going invisible, and if I remember right AI hacking too. That’s cool and I wish there were more genuine opportunities for stealth.

Nowadays I play as Vanguard in my playthroughs mainly just so my Shepard can be canonically biotic for story reasons. From 2 on when looting no longer needs a special skill and I get to charge around the map. I don’t really care much about using biotics (that’s what the squadies are for) but the movement is super useful (when Shepard actually does the thing instead of just standing out in the open soaking up bullets until the ability decides to actually work.)

Favorite Companion:

Garrus. I like to set him up in sniper positions. When he actually STAYS where I put him instead of running straight up to enemies to try to snipe them at point blank, he’s great.

Also his quips in 2 on are pretty entertaining.

Least Favorite Companion:

Garrus, Oh my god. Go back to the sniper position where I put you. Leave tanking to krogan; you do not have the HP for this.

Also Kaidan in ME1. He can not shoot to save his life - literally.

My Squad Selection:

For all ME1 playthroughs after my first one, Ashley and Kaidan, just of their comments and because... well... I only have so much time with them.

Apart from that I mainly just pick my team based on who’s likely to have the most interesting commentary on whatever the mission happens to be, squad balance be damned.

Favorite In-Game Romance:

Garrus X Shepard is my favorite love story. They are just so adorable together and always supportive even when they disagree.

But my cannon romance is Kaidan X Shepard for the drama and angst.

Favorite NPC:

In ME1 there’s this random Turian on Noveria who randomly has like a New York accent and I absolutely adore him. He plays basically no part in the story other than some minor information but he’s just so pleasant to speak to.

“If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

Favorite Antagonist:

Morinth, the Ardat-Yakshi daughter of Samara. Yes, she’s a murderous vampire who will absolutely kill you given the chance... but like, it’s a medical condition. And I really can’t help but feel for ardat-yakshi in general when their only options are to spend their whole lives on the run from justicars out to execute them, or waste their entire 1000 year lifespan imprisoned in a monetary unable to experience the world at all. Yeah, Morinth is evil, but Ardat-Yakshi don’t exactly have a good deal.

Favorite Loyalty Mission:

Grunt’s loyalty mission is the best. I get to help my baby boy, reunite with Wrex, enjoy krogan society being fleshed out, have a kickass battle against a thresher maw, and get a breeding request. It’s nice to have a quest that isn’t about family drama and genuinely gets a happy end.

Favorite Mission:

Despite Citadel DLC requiring everyone to have a deathgrip on an idiot ball, and also basically gloss over some really dark stuff, the whole clone storyline with the whole crew is an absolute ride all the way though, with lots of interesting and unique scenarios, a ton of replay-value, and funny party banter that feels like it came straight out of a Marvel movie.

Favorite DLC:

Again, Citadel DLC. Not only did it come with the story above, it also had all those interactions with past and present crewmates, including a memorial for Thane (finally!), a cool apartment to hang out in, a party, an arcade, and an awesome battle arena. It really added a TON. Also, it’s nice to see Bioware figure out that DLC needs characters - I’m remembering back in the DLC to ME 1 the party never had a single thing to say, no matter what was going on. The fun and wacky Citadel DLC is a far cry from the serious and somewhat dark space opera Mass Effect started as, but as the final DLC capping off the end of the series, it gets to do a silly victory lap (and get the taste of the ending out of our mouths.)

Control, Synthesis, Or Destroy:

No.

Favorite Weapon:

Sniper rifles, whatever I have that’s fast and has high damage output. Also that one pistol that shoots tiny energy grenades. Pew pew.

Yeah I wasn’t really big into the weapons so much. I’m here to get my story on.

Favorite Place:

The presidium on the Citadel. It bothered me a lot when I couldn’t explore it in the second game. I know it would have been terribly impractical, but as the presidium is just a huge ring, it would have been cool to be able to explore the whole thing, going past all the little park areas, shops, monuments and so on until you loop aaaaall the way back around to where you started. Like, how cool would it be if the ring had a running track? Maybe C-sec academy trainees would be spotted jogging together along it in formation. And can you imagine grabbing a coffee (I was going to make up a space-related name for Starbucks but it’s already STARbucks...) and taking a nice stroll along the water before finding a nice bench to alien-watch from? Other locations in the game are like great places to explore and do gameplay stuff, but the presidium seems like a nice place to just be.

Favorite Quote:

"Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer." - Javik.

This is such a fucking raw damn line. It makes me think a lot about Cerberus. When ME3 wasn’t out yet, I thought maybe the plan was Shepard would at some point choose a side, Alliance for paragons and Cerberus for renegades. It would have been so cool to have morality not merely be good vs evil, but idealism vs that ruthless calculus Garrus mentioned. How fucking raw would it be if Cerberus wasn’t just generically evil for no reason and suddenly indoctrinated but really were embodying that ruthless calculus, determined to defeat the reapers at any and all cost. Maybe Cerberus actions’ were more likely to do terrible things for the sake of ultimate victory, doing whatever it took, whereas the Alliance would be less willing to make the terrible choices and ultimately be less likely to succeed.

Now obviously, that’s not what happened, as it would have required Bioware to basically make two entirely separate games. But that line from Javik makes me think of that concept, and a universe where like Dragon Age party members can approve or disapprove of actions not merely as good or evil but along the lines of their personal values. I think Javik would sit at victory at all cost.

Also that one mission in 2 where some random NPC catches Shepard sneaking around and is all like ‘what are you doing here?’ and Shepard is like ‘What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Get out here before it blows!’ and the guy’s freaking out like WTF and she says ‘RUN!’ then laughs to herself as he flees from an imaginary bomb. Shep you troll.

The thing I like the least about the entire franchise:

The misogyny and objectification that crept its way in, epically from the second game on. Really didn’t like those ass-shot camera angles, or female characters being slut-shamed in-universe for the clothes the designers made them wear. Yikes.

But the biggest yikes for me in that regard is actually the reveal in 3 that the prothians guided asari development. That was fine and all, but the part that bothered me was the characters commenting “ooooh, so that’s why asari are so advanced,” as it was ever any kind of mystery before that exact moment. For one thing, asari aren’t really shown as being more advanced than anyone else, apart from having discovered the citadel first, and for second, why wouldn’t asari be advanced? All the way from ME1 it’s established that 1: Asari live for a really long time, and 2: can instant transmit information directly from brain to brain. That means they have long lifetime in which to accumulate knowledge and experience, and also can easily spread and preserve that knowledge without even the need for books. That ALONE should put them ahead. And even with all that, they only barely beat the salarians to discovering the Citadel first. But no one asks for an explanation for why salarians, who live only a few decades and can’t do mental data-transfer, are so advanced. No, only the success of the all-women race needs explaining. It was just one moment but it still bugs me.

Also the general loss of realism after the second game. First game everyone gets armor, including full-face helmets automatically on in environments that need it. After that, people can apparently just wander the battlefield half-naked and even somehow survive in a total vacuum if they just put a plastic cup (that isn’t even connected to anything) over their mouth and nose. In the first game they at least made up some reasonable-sounding science fiction explanation for things, but after that it’s like F-it everything is just space magic now.

Oh, and those repetitive unlocking stuff minigames. I use a mod to just skip those.

#mass effect #tag

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vegan-and-sara · 4 years ago

Link

Full article:

By Drew Harwell and Eva Dou

Dec. 8, 2020 at 7:30 a.m. PST

The Chinese tech giant Huawei has tested facial recognition software that could send automated “Uighur alarms” to government authorities when its camera systems identify members of the oppressed minority group, according to an internal document that provides further details about China’s artificial-intelligence surveillance regime.

A document signed by Huawei representatives — discovered by the research organization IPVM and shared exclusively with The Washington Post — shows that the telecommunications firm worked in 2018 with the facial recognition start-up Megvii to test an artificial-intelligence camera system that could scan faces in a crowd and estimate each person’s age, sex and ethnicity.

If the system detected the face of a member of the mostly Muslim minority group, the test report said, it could trigger a “Uighur alarm” — potentially flagging them for police in China, where members of the group have been detained en masse as part of a brutal government crackdown. The document, which was found on Huawei’s website, was removed shortly after The Post and IPVM asked the companies for comment.

Such technology has in recent years gained an expanding role among police departments in China, human rights activists say. But the document sheds new light on how Huawei, the world’s biggest maker of telecommunications equipment, has also contributed to its development, providing the servers, cameras, cloud-computing infrastructure and other tools undergirding the systems’ technological might.

John Honovich, the founder of IPVM, a Pennsylvania-based company that reviews and investigates video-surveillance equipment, said the document showed how “terrifying” and “totally normalized” such discriminatory technology has become.

“This is not one isolated company. This is systematic,” Honovich said. “A lot of thought went into making sure this ‘Uighur alarm’ works.”

Huawei and Megvii have announced three surveillance systems using both companies’ technology in the past couple years. The Post could not immediately confirm if the system with the “Uighur alarm” tested in 2018 was one of the three currently for sale.

Both companies have acknowledged the document is real. Shortly after this story published Tuesday morning, Huawei spokesman Glenn Schloss said the report “is simply a test and it has not seen real-world application. Huawei only supplies general-purpose products for this kind of testing. We do not provide custom algorithms or applications.”

Also after publication, a Megvii spokesman said the company’s systems are not designed to target or label ethnic groups.

Chinese officials have said such systems reflect the country’s technological advancement, and that their expanded use can help government responders and keep people safe. But to international rights advocates, they are a sign of China’s dream of social control — a way to identify unfavorable members of society and squash public dissent. China’s foreign ministry did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

First she survived a Uighur internment camp. Then she made it out of China.

Artificial-intelligence researchers and human rights advocates said they worry the technology’s development and normalization could lead to its spread around the world, as government authorities elsewhere push for a fast and automated way to detect members of ethnic groups they’ve deemed undesirable or a danger to their political control.

Maya Wang, a China senior researcher at the advocacy group Human Rights Watch, said the country has increasingly used AI-assisted surveillance to monitor the general public and oppress minorities, protesters and others deemed threats to the state.

“China’s surveillance ambition goes way, way, way beyond minority persecution,” Wang said, but “the persecution of minorities is obviously not exclusive to China. … And these systems would lend themselves quite well to countries that want to criminalize minorities.”

Trained on immense numbers of facial photos, the systems can begin to detect certain patterns that might differentiate, for instance, the faces of Uighur minorities from those of the Han majority in China. In one 2018 paper, “Facial feature discovery for ethnicity recognition,” AI researchers in China designed algorithms that could distinguish between the “facial landmarks” of Uighur, Korean and Tibetan faces.

But the software has sparked major ethical debates among AI researchers who say it could assist in discrimination, profiling or punishment. They argue also that the system is bound to return inaccurate results, because its performance would vary widely based on lighting, image quality and other factors — and because the diversity of people’s ethnicities and backgrounds is not so cleanly broken down into simple groupings.

Such ethnicity-detection software is not available in the United States. But algorithms that can analyze a person’s facial features or eye movements are increasingly popular in job-interview software and anti-cheating monitoring systems.

Clare Garvie, a senior associate at Georgetown Law’s Center on Privacy and Technology who has studied facial recognition software, said the “Uighur alarm” software represents a dangerous step toward automating ethnic discrimination at a devastating scale.

“There are certain tools that quite simply have no positive application and plenty of negative applications, and an ethnic-classification tool is one of those,” Garvie said. “Name a human rights norm, and this is probably violative of that.”

Huawei and Megvii are two of China’s most prominent tech trailblazers, and officials have cast them as leaders of a national drive to reach the cutting edge of AI development. But the multibillion-dollar companies have also faced blowback from U.S. authorities, who argue they represent a security threat to the United States or have contributed to China’s brutal regime of ethnic oppression.

Eight Chinese companies, including Megvii, were hit with sanctions by the U.S. Commerce Department last year for their involvement in “human rights violations and abuses in the implementation of China’s campaign of repression, mass arbitrary detention, and high-technology surveillance” against Uighurs and other Muslim minority groups.

The U.S. government has also issued sanctions against Huawei, banning the export of U.S. technology to the company and lobbying other countries to exclude its systems from their telecommunications networks.

Huawei, a hardware behemoth with equipment and services used in more than 170 countries, has surpassed Apple to become the world’s second-biggest maker of smartphones and is pushing to lead an international rollout of new 5G mobile networks that could reshape the Internet.

And Megvii, the Beijing-based developer of the Face Plus Plus system and one of the world’s most highly valued facial recognition start-ups, said in a public-offering prospectus last year that its “city [Internet of Things] solutions,” which include camera systems, sensors and software that government agencies can use to monitor the public, covered 112 cities across China as of last June.

The “Uighur alarm” document obtained by the researchers, called an “interoperability test report,” offers technical information on how authorities can align the Huawei-Megvii systems with other software tools for seamless public surveillance.

The system tested how a mix of Megvii’s facial recognition software and Huawei’s cameras, servers, networking equipment, cloud-computing platform and other hardware and software worked on dozens of “basic functions,” including its support of “recognition based on age, sex, ethnicity and angle of facial images,” the report states. It passed those tests, as well as another in which it was tested for its ability to support offline “Uighur alarms.”

The test report also said the system was able to take real-time snapshots of pedestrians, analyze video files and replay the 10 seconds of footage before and after any Uighur face is detected.

The document did not provide information on where or how often the system is used. But similar systems are used by police departments across China, according to official documents reviewed last year by the New York Times, which found one city system that had scanned for Uighur faces half a million times in a single month.

Jonathan Frankle, a deep-learning researcher at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Lab, said such systems are clearly becoming a priority among developers willing to capitalize on the technical ability to classify people by ethnicity or race. The flood of facial-image data from public crowds, he added, could be used to further develop the systems’ precision and processing power.

“People don't go to the trouble of building expensive systems like this for nothing,” Frankle said. “These aren't people burning money for fun. If they did this, they did it for a very specific reason in mind. And that reason is very clear.”

It’s less certain whether ethnicity-detecting software could ever take off outside the borders of a surveillance state. In the United States and other Western-style democracies, the systems could run up against long-established laws limiting government searches and mandating equal protection under the law.

Police and federal authorities in the United States have shown increasing interest in facial recognition software as an investigative tool, but the systems have sparked a fierce public backlash over their potential bias and inaccuracies, and some cities and police forces have opted to ban the technology outright.

Such technologies could, however, find a market among international regimes somewhere in the balance between Chinese and American influence. In Uganda, Huawei facial recognition cameras have already been used by police and government officials to surveil protesters and political opponents.

“If you’re willing to model your government and run your country in that way,” Frankle said, “why wouldn’t you use the best technology available to exert control over your citizens?”

Discrimination against Uighurs has long been prevalent in the majority-Han Chinese population. In the Xinjiang region of northwestern China, authorities have cited sporadic acts of terrorism as justification for a harsh crackdown starting in 2015 that has drawn condemnation from the United States and other Western nations. Scholars estimate more than 1 million Uighurs have been detained in reeducation camps, with some claims of torture.

U.S. national security adviser Robert O’Brien called the repressive treatment of minority groups in Xinjiang “something close to” genocide, in an online event hosted by the Aspen Institute in October.

Under international pressure, Xinjiang authorities announced last December that all reeducation “students” had graduated, though some Uighurs have since reported that they were forced to agree to work in factories or risk a return to detention. Xinjiang authorities say all residents work of their own free will.

The U.S. government has banned the import of certain products from China on the basis that they could have been made by forced labor in Xinjiang.

One of the Huawei-Megvii systems offered for sale after the “Uighur alarm” test, in June 2019, is advertised as saving local governments digital storage space by saving images in a single place.

Two other systems, said to use Megvii’s surveillance software and Huawei’s Atlas AI computing platform, were announced for sale in September. Both were described as “localization” of the products using Huawei chips and listed for sale “only by invitation.” Marketing materials for one of those systems say it was used by authorities in China’s southern Guizhou province to catch a criminal.

Some things people outside of China can do to help:

Folks in the US: contact your house representative and your state senators. Demand that they support the Uyghur Human Rights Policy Act of 2019 (H.R. 649), and that they take further action against the genocide in Xinjiang. You can even link this article or copy and paste paragraphs (with citation) in your email if writing is intimidating for you.

Folks from most countries can write to your ambassador in China.

Avoid buying from companies that use Uighur slave labor.

Read the Australian Strategic Policy Institute’s analysis of slave labor and re-education camps in Xinjiang.

Boycott the Beijing 2022 Olympics.

#islamophobia #uighur genocide #china #huawei #beijing 2022

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theradioghost · 5 years ago

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I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long?#anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you!#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

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strangeandforlornbooks · 5 years ago

Text

best books with morally ambiguous narrators!

all y’all’s problematic faves and villains! :) also included are third person narrators but in books with morally ambiguous leads/themes

Sci-fi

Scythe by Neal Shusterman: in a future free from pain, disease, and war, people can live forever. ‘scythes’ are given the power to decide who lives and who dies to preserve the balance. sad and kinda gives of hunger games vibes, if you like that.

Neuromancer by William Gibson: basically invented the cyberpunk genre. strange and removed protagonists. (a team of computer hackers have to face off against an evil AI). you kind of dislike everyone and suddenly you’re crying over them. one of those trippy sci-fi classics.

The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut: very beautiful and very very sad (same author as slaughterhouse five). the richest man in america has to face a martian invasion. more about free will and bad people doing good things than a plot that makes any kind of sense.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick: set in an alternate universe where the germans and japanese won world war two. not really like the tv show at all- it’s not an action story, and there’s not really the hope to somehow fix the world that drives a lot of dystopia stories. instead its about how people survive and connect to one another in a hopeless society.

The Scorpion Rules by Erin Bow: a supercomputer convinces the leaders of the world to keep the peace for hundreds of years by taking their children hostage and obliterating any city that disobeys. what happens to the hostage protagonists when war seems inevitable? lots of morally fraught decisions and characters slowly losing their identity. (plus a fun lesbian romance)

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson: a brilliant mathematician and a dedicated marine fight to keep the ultra secret in world war two. fifty years later, a tech company discovers what remains of their story. one of the most memorable sequences in the book is a japanese soldier slowly becoming disillusioned with his nation and horrified by the war even as he continues to fight.

Blade Runner by Philip K. Dick: another one of those sci-fi classics that’s not at all like the movie. there is a bounty hunter for robots, though, as well as a weird religion that probably is referencing catholicism and a decaying society with a shortage of pets. kind of a trip.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power: girls trapped in a boarding school on an isolated island must face a creeping rot that affects the animals and plants on the island as well as their own bodies. the protagonists will do anything to survive and keep each other safe. very tense (and bonus lesbian romance whoo)

The Fifth Season by N K Jemisin: three women are gifted with the ability to control the earth’s energy in a world where those who can do so are forced into hiding or slavery. some veryyyy dark choices here but lots of strong female characters.

Historical Fiction

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters: two victorian lesbians fall in love as they plot to betray each other in horrific ways. lots of plot twists, plucky thieves, gothic settings, and a great romance.

Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiwicz: a powerful roman soldier in the time of Nero plots to kidnap a young woman after he falls in love with her, only to learn more about the mysterious christian religion she follows. very melodramatic but some terrific prose.

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: a blind girl in France and a brilliant German boy recruited by the military struggle through the chaos of the second world war. ends with a bang (iykyk.) very sad, reads like poetry.

Boxers by Gene Luen Yang: graphic novel reveals the story of a young boy fighting in the boxer rebellion in early twentieth century china. the sequel, saints, is also excellent. beautifully and sympathetically shows the protagonist’s descent into evil- the reader really understands each step along the way.

Fantasy

Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake: three triplets separated at birth, each with their own magical powers, have to fight to the death to gain the throne. lots of fun honestly

Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo: everyone in these books is highly problematic but you love them all anyway. a ragtag game of criminals plan a heist on a magical fortress. some terrific tragic back stories, repressed feelings, and revenge schemes.

The Dark Tower series by Stephen King: idk how to describe these frankly but if you can put up with King’s appalling writing of female characters they’re pretty interesting. fantasy epic about saving the world/universe, sort of. cowboys and prophecies and overlapping dimensions and drug addicts galore.

The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud: lots of fun! a twelve year old decides to summon a demon for his cute lil revenge scheme. sarcastic demon narrator. lighthearted until s*** gets real suddenly.

Elegy and Swansong by Vale Aida: fantasy epic with machiavellian lesbians and enemies to lovers to enemies to ??? to lovers. charming and exciting and lovely characters.

The False Prince by Jennifer Nielsen: an orphan boy must compete with a few others for the chance to impersonate a dead prince. really dark but very tense and exciting and good twists.

The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu: fantasy epic. heroes overthrow an evil empire and then struggle as the revolution dissolves into warring factions. interesting world building and three dimensional characters, even if they only have a small part.

Circe by Madeline Miller: the story behind the witch who turns men into pigs in the odyssey. madeline miller really said, i just used my classics degree to write a beautiful gay love story and now im going to write a powerful feminist retelling because i can. queen. an amazing and satisfying book that kills me a lil bit because of the two lines referencing the song of achilles.

Heartless by Marissa Meyer: the tragic backstory for the queen of hearts in alice in wonderland. a little predictable but very fun with a compelling protagonist

A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) by George RR Martin: ok I know we all hate GRRM and rightfully so but admittedly these books do have some great characters and great scenes. they deserve better than GRRM though. also he will probably never finish the books anyway....

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket: not really fantasy but not really anything else either. plucky, intelligent, and kind children fight off evil plots for thirteen books until suddenly you realize the world is not nearly as black and white as you thought.

Classics

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: gothic romance!! a new wife is curious about the mysterious death of her predecessor in a creepy old house in the British countryside...good twists and lovely prose.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles: not really morally ambiguous but one awful decision suddenly has awful consequences and certain people are haunted by guilt forever.... really really really beautiful and really really really sad. boys in a boarding school grow up together under the shadow of world war two.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: while imperial russia slowly decays a beautiful young woman begins a destructive affair. a long book. very russian. the ending is incredibly tense and well written.

Lord of the Flies by William Golding: I think you know the plot to this one. the prose is better than you remember and the last scene is always exciting.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie: one by one, the guests on an island are slowly picked off. one of Christie’s darkest mysteries- no happy ending here! very tense and great twists.

Contemporary

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: inspired the whole dark academia aesthetic. college students get a little too into ancient greece and it does not end very well. lovely prose but I found the characters unlikable.

Honorable Mentions

The Dublin Saga by Edward Rutherford: has literally a billion protagonists, but some of them are morally ambiguous ig? follows a few families stories’ from the 400s ad to irish independence in the 20s. beautifully captures the weight and movement of irish history.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer: how morally ambiguous can you be if you’re, like, eleven? a lot if you’re a criminal genius who wants to kidnap a fairy for your evil-ish plan apparently!

Redemption by Leon Uris: literally my favorite novel ever. the sequel to Trinity but can stand alone. various irish families struggle through the horrors of world war one. the hero isn’t really morally ambiguous, but the main theme of the novel is extremely bad people suddenly questioning their choices and eventually redeeming themselves. sweeping themes of love, screwed up families, redemption, and patriotism.

The Lymond Chronicles and House of Niccolo by Dorothy Dunnett: heroes redeem themselves/try to get rich/try to save their country in early renaissance Europe. if I actually knew what happened in these books I'm sure it would be morally ambiguous but its too confusing for me. in each book you spend at least a third convinced the protagonist is evil, though. lots of exciting sword fights, tragic romances, plot twists, and kicking english butt.

Bonus: Protagonist is less morally ambiguous and more very screwed up and sad all the time

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt: you know this one bc its quoted in all those quote compilations. basically the story of how one horrible event traumatizes a young man and how he develops a connection to a painting. really really really good.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: hard to describe but strange... not an action novel or a dystopia really but sort of along those lines. very hopeless.

#book recs #morally ambiguous protagonists #dark academia #book recommendations #mine

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someonestole15 · 3 years ago

Text

I remember you...

Jack in a box.

That, I ain’t.

Although this container was quite a sight to behold. Kira had been holding onto the keys to this one crate sitting in storage. Acquired from a trade she says, the markings on it are not familiar to me.

Kira opened the container door, the old hinges making their age known with a heavy squeak.

“I’ve been saving this for a rainy day, sounds like we’re getting one today.”

A mobile aerial kill vehicle, or MAKV for short, earlier models were known for being… fragile, but this one seems to be one of later ones. Twin engine layout capable of vertical take-off around a thin, decently armored fuselage with a high caliber machine gun mounted underneath a sensor pod at the front. A faint red star on the side of it, Russians did have their hand in upgrading the models before being absorbed into the corporation mess that they choose to call Federation.

Still prefer the older name, this thing lacks any advanced AI but works well enough in an airspace filled with hostiles. Point and shoot, I wheeled the drone out of the trailer and took a step back.

“Looks fine.”

“Here’s the kit to use it…” Kira said as she pulled the visor down to her face. “Seems like your standard VR setup, let’s see if the crow flies.”

Boot up sequence ran quite well, the old firmware gave off quite a few warnings and popups about updating for the low, low price of… Well, let’s say things made for warfare aren’t exactly cheap.

“All systems green, you wanna give it a test?”

“I might be able to link my own HUD to it, let me check…”

Older software, can still make use of the access keys, the drone would follow my view for targeting and ID targets within its view, allowing my eyes to work as sensors to amplify its own systems. Flying works, but how about the weaponry? I pointed two fingers from my right hand at an empty part of the warehouse and mimicked recoil with my wrist.

Click, empty weapon but operational systems, I landed the drone back at its stand.

“Good piece of kit this.”

“I’ll get it loaded up with rounds before the storm.”

Faint nod as I looked at my wrist for the time, 1 hour remaining.

Gone in a flash, 10 minutes left as I stood at the top ridge of the outpost. Full magazine, AP rounds and a heavy barrel, old world designs with new materials and tech to produce them, tested designs last forever. Click of the bolt release as Valkyrie lowered her binoculars picked her rifle back up.

“Will we be alright?” I asked her, light rain started to fall against my hood, greying fabric absorbing some of the color as it darkened to a navy blue.

“Are you feeling blue about this?”

“Somewhat, it has been a moment…”

“You never forget the basics, do you?”

“Like riding a bicycle…” Fresh rounds in the Phoenix, Magnum shells, the warmth from it rushed between my hand and the grip like a heartbeat. Vented barrel still there, the new cylinder holding 7 rounds instead of 6 and a refurbished frame for improved durability. Still heavy, still kicks like hell, don’t mind it, reminds me of the power hiding in that chamber.

The storm grew heavier by the minute, the wind and rain beating against my hood as my scanners picked up a ship amidst the clouds. Black like carbon, the shape of the frigate resembled that of the older corporation warships. Angled armor plating and point defense looking over most of the ships important parts.

One last attempt in communications, I placed my hand on my ear and opened the communications channel.

“This is Outpost Gilded Armory, Unknown ship, answer or we will open fire.”

Moment of silence, a response. A familiar voice caught me off guard.

“Found you.”

That voice…

Fuck sake…

Could have seen this coming, didn’t, remnant of Crimson still as vicious as a hungry wolf, one I had called Shinobi all this time, his name in reality was much easier…

Rex, he was an interesting one, studied the blade and got quite good at it, perhaps it got to his head. Codenamed “Sector” by the captain, I’ve had plenty of time to dig through my old memories from that the time before… She took over. Guessing she could see it on my pulse, I felt a slight shiver in my hand as I pushed the button back down.

“Been a while Rex, how’s the arm?”

“After all this time and you still have only that trick in your book? It’s almost amusing.”

The channel fell quiet for a moment before a different voice answered. Straight to the point, didn’t even bother to ask my name.

“This is Black Ocean Commander Violet Tetra, we suspect you are selling illegal goods within your outpost, surrender them or be eradicated.”

“And you just chose to tell this while you are in striking distance?”

“That is irrelevant, surrender the goods or we will take them by force.”

Not exactly my call to make, but Valkyrie had been relaying the comms over to the duo running the show down here and their answer to the threat was predictable. The anti-air weaponry on the roof behind us turned towards the ship as several red squares formed on my HUD indicating the lock-on.

“Your request has been denied.”

#logs of an android #scifi #science fiction #sci fi & fantasy #fantasy #fiction #writing #story #cyber #cyberpunk

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freshlybakedspiderbread · 4 years ago

Text

I brought up hanyang type 88 here and i said i’d explain, so here I am!!

okay so first off here’s a bunch of likely useful context about girls frontline. There is this feature in the game called digimind upgrade, or mod 3, where certain t-dolls can be upgraded past the normal maximum levels and stats, and at the same time gaining whole new abilities and also a new design. Basically a reinvention. There are like hundreds of playable characters in the game, and only a fraction will get mod 3s, typically the ‘main characters’ who are relevant to the major ongoing plot.

two things about getting a doll who has the ability to do digimind upgrade, to actually do that. One, is that it can be very costly in terms of in-game materials. like, maybe i just played the game wrong but I would have to grind for weeks in order to amass the materials to upgrade just one doll to mod 3. So even though by now there are dozens upon dozens of dolls who are capable of this feature, i’ve only actually done so with like, less than one dozen. A normal player probably has to be picky.

secondly, and this is the big one, every t-doll’s mod 3 comes with story cutscenes that become available for you to view upon upgrading them. Personally, i think most of the only worthwhile mod 3 stories are the ones that are associated with the actual major characters of the main story, especially since their upgrades actually happen in-canon and their mod 3 stories fill in blanks or otherwise expand upon the regular story chapters.

for the t-dolls who aren’t major characters that get digimind upgrades, their associated stories tend to follow a very basic pattern. They’re feeling like they are falling behind other T-Dolls in abilities or are otherwise experiencing a drop in confidence in their abilities, but then find the resolve in them to either change themselves or stand by an aspect of themselves, and this leads them to heading to the lab to get upgraded. obviously theres some nuances here and there depending on the character, but a lot of them, from what i saw, follow this basic pattern.

hanyang type 88 has a mod 3 but i certainly never wanted to see it. Firstly, using the feature at all takes up resources are kinda precious so i wasn’t just gonna use it on anyone. Secondly, she is just one of many one-off t-dolls that basically dont ever show up in any actual main story cutscenes or even funny events. Thirdly... you saw what she looked like in the linked post, i was in no rush to make use of her.

That being said, even if you don’t ever upgrade a t-doll, simply having them in your possession allows you to at least view the first of four parts of their mod 3 story, which nets you a small amount of those materials needed to see the rest (its a pretty fiendish system, huh o_O). I was lacking in some materials to upgrade a doll i cared about, so i just mucked around, eventually happened upon type88 again and decided that instead of just immediately feeding her to the furnace, I’d watch the first chapter of her mod 3 story. I watched it, it made me just curious enough to look further, and well. ...I got into it. Exactly what I got into, i shall now just elaborate and summarise the whole thing in my own way! Warning, it’s long!

(disclosure: my summary will bias towards my own preferred interpretation whenever any aspect is somewhat vague.)

The story starts with type 88, or as she is called by others in griffin base, Ai, working her shift in the base’s cafe, because what else would she be doing.

i hate looking at her! Anyway, its just a pleasant peaceful day and Ai is taking the logistic person, kalina’s order when suddenly in the middle of a conversation, Ai freezes in place and starts making worrying sounds.

kalina here and the t-dolls present in the cafe are concerned, and talk about how Type88 has actually been crashing like this more and more frequently lately, yet has not reported any of this to the maintenance crew despite the advice of her friends. They try rebooting her on the spot, but it has an even more concerning effect, because she starts erratically acting like she doesn’t recognise the others, and talks about how she is a maid in “Jiangcheng Cafe”. Afraid that her neural cloud (her mind) has been scrambled, they put her to sleep and bring her to the repair bay.

Its in the repair bay where they explain exactly what is wrong with type88. She is a fairly old doll, and her processing capacity has been severally clogged up for a long time. Her internal memory is overflowing because many large sections of her mind is filled with very large encrypted files (memories that she stored away). she is likely to keep crashing and possibly even cease functioning entirely one day if those encrypted files are not deleted, but nobody is really keen on just deleting parts of her mind without her consent. For now, kalina just opts to try and decrypt the files and see what they are.

And from here, we watch type88 memories from her perspective. Sort of. Kind of. It gets complicated later but for now, we view the first memory of her life, not as a combat t-doll type88, but...

...as 59898, a doll designed to be what is basically a ‘crash test dummy’ for testing artillery technology in a research station. With a purpose like this, 59898 has an (ostensibly) rudimentary AI. Her learning ability is intended to be used to better aid the results of their testing, but she also knows how to understand and even imitate specific human gestures in order to better respond to instructions or conversation, even though she herself has no voice module to speak with. She is assigned to assist one specific person.

first off, i was pretty shocked right off the bat that this story above so many others actually has unique assets to it. The above two sprites don’t show up anywhere else in the game, i don’t think. Secondly, this woman’s name is only ever spelled with those white squares, so I’m stuck with having to just calling her ‘the pilot’, as dry as that sounds... I just don’t want to type out weird characters every time, or call her ‘triple cube’...

Anyway, so 59898 is assigned to help this woman in testing artillery tech (stuff like mechs and tanks). I should mention really quick that in the game’s story, during this point of time is when world war iii is happening, but that’s just a backdrop for robots to eventually gain more prominence. Anyway, we move on to the second memory, where some time has already passed. At the beginning of this memory, the pilot is visibly depressed, which 59898 takes note of.

Her ‘comfort mode’ consists of patting the pilot on the head, who while surprised, actually is grateful. She feels comfortable enough to talk about her worries aloud to the doll, mentioning how she is a war refugee and has to make a living in the research base because she can’t go back to her home in china, at least not before making enough money for a very expensive and exclusive train ticket. She continues to talk at length to the doll...

...not that the test doll is capable of responding to anything she says. The pilot insists that she’s happy just to have someone listen to her though, since she feels like she can’t really express her feelings to any other person on the base. Despite that-

That aside, the pilot says that referring to 59898 by her serial number all the time feels a bit weird, so she decides to give the doll a name. (I sure wish the story would give this woman a name too, other than ‘three white squares’ but oh well...)

She talks more with Jiangcheng Ai, or just Ai, after that, asking her if she’d like a change of clothes sometime, like some casual clothes, or an old maid outfit from an old cafe job she used to have (I guess they had to throw in any explanation for that outfit somehow) Point is, more and more time passes.

As time passes though, and we go into the third memory, the pilot brings up complaints to her superiors about how the more recent testings, becoming more increasingly intense and frequent, are putting a great strain on Ai, and even repairs can only help maintain her chassis so much. She insists on wanting to take Ai’s place in the testing, but they refuse because, well, Ai’s entire purpose is to take the strain of these tests so that the human pilot doesn’t have to, and the doll is just a tool there to pave the way for the pilot to eventually take over the mech in action

The next time Ai wakes up from her most recent repairs, the pilot is there to greet her, and Ai can tell straight away that she’s unhappy and tries to comfort her again. The pilot is not surprised at this and talks about how this is how Ai has been since they first met. She goes on to say how all the other people on the base don’t know her half as well as Ai does. Ai tries to understand and determine what the pilot’s intentions with saying all this is, but she cannot do so and can only listen while offering ‘executing - affirmative nod’.

The pilot talks about how once the war is over, she’d like to take Ai back home with her, where they could go to all sorts of gatherings, and the pilot would introduce Ai to her friends.

Ai reviews her personal data, confirming that she has no owners or obligations other than the pilot, so she executes another affirmative nod, and the pilot says this:

As Ai tries and fails to further determine this, something bad happens! if you’ve read this far, i’m sure you’ve already guess what happens next...

At that exact moment, a warning goes out and the research base is being attacked by nebulous enemy forces. With no time to talk anymore, both the pilot and Ai head out into their first real fight.

They spend a good long while repelling enemy forces, working well together and apparently using all sorts of wacky anime weaponry like beam blades and whatever ‘retrograde evasion’ is!

obviously though, you already know this isn’t going to end well for them... When the pilot takes a breather, Ai moves to protect her, but at a critical moment, a sudden high-speed projectile comes her way. In the next instance there’s a crash, and we move onto another memory. Where its all fire and debris, and Ai can’t move.

^ this text box actually repeats several times, indicating that she is repeating her scan for life signs over and over. She gets an internal warning from her systems (differentiated with red text) that she has insufficient power and it warns her to immediately cease ineffective operations. [Unable to detect owner life signs] repeats again.

At this point, uuuuh, its a little stupid actually? because two humans show up, reusing generic ‘bad guy’ sprites from other events that don’t match the current environment and situation at all (one is in a suit and the other is in casual clothes). but the reason they’re here is to provide exposition out loud about what happened. It looked like the human’s mech took a hit for the doll and was blown to bits, though they talk about how that doesn’t make any sense.

Ai at this point tries to execute a bunch of different actions like hugging [target not found] and screaming [no relevant module] but they all fail, and her internal systems tell her that her power is running out and she will cease to function in 30 seconds.

So in those last 30 seconds, Ai decides to quickly review her internal files. the damage she took has corrupted her memories and she doesn’t have the time to properly go through them, so she executes a ‘simulated processed records’, which basically mean she’s just filling the blanks of those memories herself with simulations.

And I have to say. I was decently into and enjoying this little story so far, but its this part that’s the reason i became forced to make this stupid giant post. the first ‘memory’ loads up, and we see the pilot.

Different ‘memories’ of the days spent with the pilot are loaded back to back, each are very short and only last a few lines. Across these files, the two of them talk comfortably with each other, Ai is invited to go get coffee with her, the pilot talks about how going alone is boring and would rather spend time with Ai, Ai saying back with her own words that she always likes spending time with her, etc etc etc.

And then finally, she loads one last ‘memory’, from earlier that same day, before the explosion and the fighting.

and she shuts down.

i passed by this scene the first time all calm, but an hour or so later when I was in the bathroom replacing shampoo bottles, i started thinking about it and I literally started sobbing. And then again later that night when i was in bed. I hate this game!!

so that’s the ‘end’ of that, and the next scene opens, once again in griffin base’s cafe, except...

Ai is sporting a brand new (ugly) look. She says she’d like to take kalina’s order but she was just leaving on other business, as she likes keeping herself busy with all sorts of work around the base ever since she got upgraded into a gundam gajinka. and after she leaves, kalina talks with the other dolls about how Ai used to have some cache issues because her neutral cloud was too full, but upgrading into this new chassis easily fixed that and even allowed her to make use of her old locked away abilities.

Because of the way this scene in the cafe opens up exactly like the very first one at the beginning, it makes me believe that this final scene is also a simulated ‘memory’, that is, Ai filling in the blanks of her corrupted memories with what she wishes to be reality. And i feel confident in believing that because after the scene fades to black, we see more of her internal system monologue.

She (the system) says that the priority execution is to preserve those encrypted memory logs. She does so, and the neural cloud upgrade is complete with confirmation of no loss files. With no risk of deletion in this new form, she executes the command to unlock the encrypted memories. And finally...

[spiderbread dies]

i still wouldn’t use her in gameplay because i can’t stand looking at her design but i told you all i eat up robot with feelings stuff and this is like prime example of exactly that... and if i didn’t make this post, i think my own neutral cloud’s cache would be at risk of overflowing x_X!

#spider bread crumbs #gfl

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bluesunsdusk · 4 years ago

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--// Let me also be That Bitch™, and remind people that connections are sometimes (often) necessary to create a well-rounded, grounded in the source material, interesting, and logical original character.

How are you going to look at a Blackwatch oc, and not expect them to have some manner of history with canon blackwatch members? How are you going to look at a Junker oc, and not expect them to at least know of Junkrat’s antics? How will you have an Overwatch doctor, and expect them to not know Ana and Mercy to some degree?

Roland, for example. How will one look at him, an Overwatch roboticist with a father specialized in AI security, and not expect him to have worked with or at least known Dr. Liao, an Overwatch roboticist? Naturally, he would look up to her, seeing as she does the work he wants to get into. How would Roland, a man who wanted to actively push for a drone soldier program not know Jack and Gabriel? He’d have to okay the project with them. He would at least know them from writing. How would he not know about Tracer and want to find a way to incorporate the tech Wonston made for her into his own work? How would he not know Winston?

Najma, as well. How would a personal unit belonging to a Lucheng Interstellar neurologist who wished to study the neural development of the specimens within Horizon One not know Harold Winston? He looked to be the face of the program. How would they not know him? They were stolen into Talon from a high security containment facility to be one of their many projects. How would they not know Reaper to some degree? How would they be sent on missions and know nobody in Talon? Could I make up more OCs to fill some roles? Certainly. Should I have to? No.

It works the other way around, too. Do you really think it makes sense for Moira to be Sigma’s doctor? Do you really? She is one of the leaders in Talon, and also works on Reaper. Do you really think she has the time? Do you really think she wouldn’t delegate someone else to certain tasks so she can focus on her research, of which Sigma is not a part? He would have someone else watching him and tracking his progress, not her. Does that mean I basically needed to make an OC to fill this role? Yes. Yes, it does. I had to make an OC to fill that role for Najma as well. Sigma is not going to get special treatment. Does that mean I think all Sigmas have an assistant like Dr. Janssens? No.

My characters are not best buds or anything with yours, but when interacting with a character that is not yours, I have my canon to adhere to.

Like, it would leave a character feeling so alien to a setting, so disconnected from the world, that they seem weaker for it.

Trying to force OCs to not have some manner of logical/cool and fleshed out connection with canon muses just because you fear them trying to force the connection on you is hurting the ability of OC blog muns to write a fully fleshed out character belonging to the world they’re supposed to be a part of.

I know it can be grating if someone imagined characters as very closely connected in some manner and you so happen to not agree, but sometimes it just is the thing that makes sense or is the most interesting. It doesn’t mean the OC is not cool on their own merit, it just means that’s a thing.

If a muse is a part of an organization, it stands to reason that they would know its members. To deny this is just idiocy.

To clarify: This is not about the no pre-established relationships rule. This is about people whining because an OC is hc as friends with someone the person whining doesn’t even write. It’s bad if someone forces a dynamic onto you, but if they are not, then let them be. ))

#ooc #lbr sometimes (often actually) what is cool can be more important than what is logical #mun rants #long post #and yes you may reblog the other post (it only mentions a specific muse like once??)

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whispersafterdusk · 4 years ago

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Lost in Time - ch 14

It'd been four days since their tussle with the spy; they hadn't heard or seen any hint of them, and so far the only injury that had turned up at Xu's clinic had been a woman who had fallen on a bit of wood. Asher had gone into town long enough to get his broken tooth pulled (front right tooth on the top...he looked like a doofus when he smiled now) and had immediately returned to camp to hunker down and wait out the spy's next visit while the Civil Corps members had gone on a manhunt across the marsh and into the neighboring desert area.

So far, nothing.

They'd briefly discussed the suits again; Eli couldn't make up her mind on whether this Access suit thing was an original (less worrying) or if Duvos had figured out how to piece one together (really worrying). Asher shared her worries -- the thought of Duvos mass producing those things for their soldiers, even if they weren't working like they did in Eli's time, would still pose a huge problem if the continent ever went to war again. ((Continued below cut))

He did know she'd given up on the trail cameras for now but she was still working on something out in the tent; it used a lot of the same pieces that she'd set aside for the cameras but also several new, different ones that she'd sent Petra and Selene after. The centerpiece of these new additions was a detached screen that she'd marked out dimensions on - she was either cutting it down to size and needed the middle-most section or she was dividing it into a rectangle and eight smaller squares that were all roughly the same size. She hadn't done anything with the screen yet aside from measuring and marking out those squares but there were small piles of nigh identical looking chips, boards, and wires that were already assembled and sitting in a neat little line on the rubberized canvas under her cot that he assumed had to be put together first before the screens could be attached to them.

It had been a fascinating sight to watch her work with such tiny components; he hadn't had a chance yet to ask her what those things were (interrupting her while she was working on them seemed like a poor idea since it looked so...fragile, in a way) but he was looking forward to seeing the finished product, learning what the gadgets were for, and why she needed so many of them. It also piqued his curiosity about Old World tech in general; so much of it seemed purposely designed to work with pretty much anything else. Maybe Old World technology didn't so much depend on the parts as it did the programs to run it...which in turn made him wonder, assuming they ever got to a point where they knew how to read and create new programs, if all the old relics could be made to work again like they did back then rather than being pieced together with spotty knowledge and prayers.

Behind him Adam, Arlo, and Eli were all asleep inside the tent with the front flaps pulled closed to block out as much of the unusually plentiful sunlight as possible - there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was considerably warmer today than it had been lately; he appreciated the warmth and imagined his sleeping companions probably did as well but found himself going back and forth on whether he was truly grateful for the "sunny" part of this sunny day. On the one hand, that suit made the spy near-invisible but not intangible so they should still cast a shadow so if the spy was dumb enough to try sneaking in close in broad daylight Asher was hopeful he would spot that before they got close enough to be a danger. On the other hand he doubted they would actually be that stupid. The constant prickle at the back of his neck - the feeling of being watched - wasn't a sensation Asher enjoyed, and it also wasn't something he was used to experiencing for such a prolonged period of time; he had no proof though that he WAS being watched, and that was probably bothering him more than the prickling was.

The grumpy sigh he huffed out whistled a bit as it exited through the gap his missing tooth had left behind; that annoyed him to no end too. Asher didn't consider himself an overly vain person but damn it he'd liked how he looked; it had taken a couple years to be at peace with the sunken in scar across his nose but at least that made him look...adventurous. Dashing. Daring. A missing tooth made him look like a drunkard, and it would be a long trip to Seesai to get a replacement that wouldn't prematurely discolor. Adam was right in that he could easily get a tooth closer to home but, again, discoloration was a problem -- whatever that woman in Seesai did to keep the false teeth from coloring was a closely guarded secret...no one knew what she did or what recipe she used, not even her family if they were to be believed.

He supposed it was a question of if he wanted to look stupid with his tooth gap or look stupid with a yellowed tooth in a few years. Neither thought was especially attractive and brought with it a sort of helpless frustration that, coupled with the prickling feeling of having eyes on him, made him want to get up and move around to burn off the pent up energy and emotion.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rustling grass; before he could truly react to the sound Eli came into view and he relaxed slightly.

"You're up - uh, early. Or however you want to consider it."

She shrugged as she sat down on one of the rocks ringing the firepit. "Eh, it happens. Sometimes you just don't sleep."

"Any new ideas?"

For a time she didn't respond; silently Asher surveyed their surroundings - everything still seemed to be as it ought to be. He still felt twitchy though...he was ready for action, or for anything that wasn't sitting here keeping watch. Maybe with Eli awake he could exercise or something.

"Not really," Eli finally responded. "I can think of twelve different ways to disable that suit but they all require tech that doesn't exist anymore. And it's not something I could put together from stuff that's left here."

Asher nodded, then glanced back toward the tent; when she'd come out she'd left the tent flaps open and he could barely detect movement inside -- Arlo shouldn't be up for awhile yet but it was looking like Adam was waking up. "So what's all that stuff you've been working on then?"

"Hi-Defs."

"I've no idea what those are."

"They're wrist-mounted computers. A lot of their functionality isn't going to work right in this day and age but back in mine they were onboard guidance systems with maps of all the regions, could make and receive calls, they kept track of addresses and your appointments and bank accounts and whatever else you wanted to track, they could project 3D images, take pictures... They could do a lot of things depending on the model you had."

He blinked at her; only half of that had sunk in as he'd gotten a bit hung up on the concept of a wrist-mounted computer. "Really? Why those then? If they're not going to work right, I mean. What will they even be able to do?"

"I want them mostly for communication and maps of this region. I'd need signal transmitters in some strategic areas but once I get it all tethered to the facility they should work. It's going to take a lot of footwork to get maps updated since it'll have to be manual scanning rather than satellite surveillance...or, hmm. Maybe some satellites survived." She paused for a moment, then shook her head. "Nah, shouldn't rely on that. Arlo mentioned there's a space station segment out in the wastes but even if there's enough left there to scavenge I doubt I could get a link going with anything that might be left up there, and even if I managed it I still wouldn't have a way to issue orders or anything like that." There was another pause and a sigh, and a wistful glance toward the sky before she returned her attention to him. "Mine will be the sort of central control for them all outside of whatever computer station I decide to run them off of. My aim is to give them to anyone involved with the security of this facility."

"Huh." Him with a high tech device...not something he'd considered before. The idea was...kind of exciting, to be honest. "So maps and talking to one another. Is that all we can hope for?"

"Communication and map display is, bare minimum, what I'm aiming for, with maybe a basic calendar and clock function. I'll have a look at what I can immediately do once I've server-flashed Pauline and get at least one transmitter up for testing."

"...and you've lost me. What's a server-flash?"

She laughed quietly. "-right. It's hard to determine what terms survived the years and what didn't - with Petra and Merlin it's at least a 50% shot that I don't have to define something for them. So! Server-flashing. I take the main operational files for an AI and do a sort of...quick copy of their foundation. Pauline's an AI but not a living AI so I don't need to worry about her personality or anything, just the uh...the semi-intelligent framework she runs on."

"Yeah, going to need that taken down a few degrees still. Pauline seems just as smart as Stewart but she doesn't have personality?"

"Nope. She's just a regular assistant AI -- a sort of input-output response machine with just enough programmed intelligence to appear sentient but she can't learn or grow as a...uh...well, not as a "person" exactly but she -- she won't ever change. She just is what she is. AIs like her you could make infinite copies of and they'll never, ever stop being identical copies unless something on the outside alters them. Stewart on the other hand, if I were to make a copy of him, that copy would develop its own personality if given enough time to learn and live and the same would happen with a regular living AI."

That...sort of made sense. At least, it was simple enough that he could grasp it without her needing to explain it more in-depth. "And you're going to use her to run the Hi-Defs."

"After some minor reprogramming yes."

He nodded slowly; having a little, easily accessed map right on his wrist would be neat, even if it was just of Portia. And if it worked well here maybe it could be expanded out into the other cities and nations too...and, oh man, would that make mapping the Peripheries way easier too if all they had to do was walk through it with the Hi-Def recording or whatever it did to create the maps -- suddenly he could think of all sorts of possibilities and perks to having one of the things. "What would be the range on these things? How would they figure out and store maps?"

"Range depends on what kind of signal strength I can get. Hi-Defs have their own localized signals so they'll all be able to 'talk' to one another within a certain range, and also interface with the signals coming from the transmitters at a much wider range. I'm pretty sure I'd only need sixteen or so at some key points to cover all of Portia and a bit of the outlying areas. As for updating or creating maps it'll have to be manual scanning -- someone is going to have to start from an already mapped point and then let the Hi-Def scan the territory as you travel through it. It'll take awhile but the program that runs a Hi-Def is robust enough to piece it all together without too much extra work needed. And they have their own onboard storage to hold it all."

"Neat...and amazing." As a more comfortable silence fell Asher tossed a few thick branches onto the fire and nudged them into place with a blackened, straight branch he'd purposely kept as a sort of log poker. If Adam was stirring too then he should probably get the fire's heat evened out so he could start cooking. "Did you end up camping a lot as a ranger?"

"Yeah. I went camping for fun too."

He carefully poked at the fire for a moment. "...do you miss doing that?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "I miss a lot of things."

Asher winced a bit. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

She shook her head and flashed him a strained smile. "Nah, don't be afraid to ask things. The funny thing with pain is the more you experience it, the easier it is to tolerate."

"I don't think it works that way with this kind of...you know."

With a shrug she turned to pick up the cooking kit (which was in a large leather satchel that had seen better days) that was off to the side of the firepit. "Works well enough for now. I don't want you guys walking on eggshells around me, and I can't hide from it forever. Hell, I can't hide from it even if I wanted to."

Asher was quiet as she handed the satchel over; he pulled the kettle out and stood to go fill it from the water barrel they'd installed just inside the tent flaps, then came back and sat it among the coals to start boiling. A feeling of guilt had settled like a rock in his stomach -- that had been such a stupid thing to ask her. "If you ever want to...talk, or something. I'll listen."

The smile she gave him this time was less strained. "I know. It's appreciated."

As he bent to re-arrange a few half-burned logs she got up and walked out of his immediate line of sight; behind him somewhere he heard Adam's low voice and then the man's plodding footsteps as he came over and took Eli's place on the rock. Asher just managed to catch the sight of Eli disappearing into the tent as he glanced back but she quickly came back into view a moment later.

"I'll be back in a bit - I need to grab a few things from town." She had her pack slung over a shoulder but it hung limp and empty. "Don't bother cooking for me."

"All right. If you're sure," Asher replied.

"I am." With that she began to jog toward the path that, eventually, led back into Portia.

Asher watched her go and then sighed heavily, looking over to Adam. "You ever feel like a massive idiot sometimes?"

"Sure," Adam grunted. "Then I remember I'm not you and feel better."

Asher rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to whack the man with the fire poker stick; when he didn't rise to the man's banter Adam gave him a strange look.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I think. How do you want your eggs this time?"

------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Xu had acquired a wooden chair with a really comfortable cushion and a small wooden table for Harrison to work at; it sat in the corner near the front doors so it would be out of the way of everything else in the clinic but its position did mean that usually, when someone walked inside, Harrison was the first thing they saw. Already several tourists looking for headache or muscle ache cures had approached him at the table to ask after the medications, even when Dr. Xu was clearly within view at his desk further in the room.

He kept telling himself to find humor in the situation but it was starting to get a little annoying - especially after someone actually moved a stack of books out of the way to "speak to him" with Xu staring on in surprised confusion.

It was enough to have him dreading the sound of the doors opening, and so today when they slid open he actually flinched and carefully peered over the top of the book he had propped up in front of him.

To his surprise it was that girl from days ago - the one who had fallen on the driftwood and gotten it through her arm. She looked bright eyed and chipper, with no other obvious injuries, and he inwardly groaned as she looked around, spotted him, and came right over.

"Hey there!"

"Hello. How's the arm healing up?"

She smiled and slipped her coat off, then pulled her sleeve up to show the bandage there. "It's all fine and dandy - itchy, but doesn't seem infected or anything."

"Well, that's good." He went silent as she pulled her sleeve back down and got her coat back on, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "So...what did you need then?"

"Ah, hello there -- how is the arm?"

Harrison sat up a bit straighter as Xu came over; the girl gave the doctor a smile.

"It's all good. A bit itchy but seems to be healing."

Xu nodded. "Excellent to hear. Now, what brings you back to the clinic?"

The girl's smile faltered a bit and Harrison swore he saw a tinge of pink appear in her cheeks. "Ah...well, uh, I came to um. Talk to him, actually-"

She pointed shyly to Harrison, and he blinked at her in confusion. Talk to him? Why?

Xu seemed just as confused as he was. "Oh?"

"Yeah...um, private matter."

"Huh?" Harrison blurted out.

She turned her attention back to him and rubbed at her injured arm awkwardly. "Um. If you have the time, anyway."

"S-sure, I guess."

He stood up and came out from behind the table; the girl took a few timid steps toward the door and when he followed along she headed outside into a much brighter day than Harrison had been expecting.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes and looked over to her. "What did you need to talk to me about? Did I do something wrong with your injury?"

She shook her head, hard; it was hard enough to dislodge a few wisps of hair from the messy bun on top of her head. "No no nonono, nothing like that. I was just um, wondering if you'd...like to go get coffee or lunch sometime?"

With that the woman stood there, lightly scraping the toe of her shoe into the mud; Harrison felt like someone had abruptly switched off all the lights inside his brain. She wanted to go get coffee, with HIM?

"Uh..."

"It's ok if you don't want to," she went on in a rush. "I don't mind. You're probably busy. I shouldn't have asked."

"N-no, no, it's-" Harrison interrupted. "Ah - no one has ever asked that before. I think my brain shut off." He offered her a weak, slightly sheepish smile, and to his surprise she returned it. "But...why me?"

"I...dunno. You're from Lucien, like me. I don't meet a lot of Lucien natives when I travel around. And, you're. Um. You know...cute, so I thought, why not?"

Now it felt like his ears were on fire. "A-ah," was all he could say.

An awkward silence fell and it went on entirely too long for Harrison's liking; he was hoping she would say something...he wasn't sure WHAT, but he wanted to hear SOMETHING, anything, that would take the burden of this conversation off him until his brain caught up.

"So..."

"Ah, uh, yeah, um, sure," he said finally. "I-I mean, if you're sure."

The girl's face brightened and she bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment. "Hee! Yay! Ok, so when are you next free?"

"Later this evening?" he offered.

She nodded. "All right then - later this evening. Down at that restaurant in the square? The knight one?"

Harrison nodded, feeling lightheaded; he completely missed what she said as she waved and then headed off down the hill. Too late he returned the wave, and then leaned against the clinic doors behind him.

"What...just happened..." he muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

He, Harrison, had a date tonight.

...wait, did she ever even give her name?

"Oh boy..."

---------------------------------------------------

"Haven't seen you in a bit," Django said as Eli walked through the door.

With all the afterimages swimming around (it was REALLY bright outside today) Eli could barely see him, and somewhat stumbled her way toward the counter. "Been helping the Pigs out at the facility."

"Ah, that'd be it."

She managed to find a stool and sat down. "I had to come back for some supplies and I'd like to take some treats out to the them as a surprise."

Django nodded. "I see, hmm. I just pulled an apple pie out of the oven, and I've got some Black Forest cake made just this morning. Won't take long to whip anything else up either," he said as he flipped open a menu to the dessert section and slid it over to her.

"Thanks." She picked it up and held it in front of her; with the afterimages it'd probably be another minute or two before she could clearly read it. "Do you know if they've established any favorites?"

"I know Arlo doesn't really like sweets in general. I haven't talked to Asher or Adam enough to know about those two."

Eli frowned; good thing she'd asked. "All right, no sweets for Arlo then. I know he likes spicy things at least. How about...an order of vanilla pudding, some of that apple pie, and that spicy spaghetti stuff?"

"Sounds good."

As Django headed off toward the kitchen Eli folded the menu properly and returned it to the pile, then leaned forward to brace her elbows on the counter and put her forehead in her hands.

Every idea she'd had so far to disable that suit all required things that weren't around anymore; the easiest would be a localized EMP to overload the projector circuits and force it into a reboot cycle where it wouldn't be able to disguise its user until it fully restarted itself. A sliver shot would do similar in that it would disrupt the projectors by confusing its sensors with a quick burst of hard light mirror shards. Or she could use a taser overload, or a bolt drainer, or a sys-dis (a system disabler - it would scramble all the circuit signals), or even a battery overcharger. So many things she COULD do, if she was in her own time period...

But she wasn't, and simple ideas like trying to use water or some sort of paint or even dirt to try and short out or otherwise mark their target probably wouldn't work -- Access Suits had built in miniature shield generators evenly interspersed among the projector sensors that pulled double duty at repelling water as well as dirt, dust, or mud-like materials. She couldn't safely rely on the hope that those generators were as damaged as the faulty projectors; if they were working correctly they might get two seconds, tops, of visual assistance if they were to try and douse the spy in something...two seconds could seem like forever in a fight but since there was no telling what else that spy might be armed with by now Eli was not about to risk anyone around her with so many unknown variables (it was as much for the spy's safety as well as their own that they be able to clearly see what they were doing the next time they clashed - she'd hated firing blindly at the spy and it'd be a really simple matter for someone to accidentally kill someone else).

"Something the matter?"

Eli jumped at the sound of Django's voice just over her shoulder. "You walk really quietly when you want to."

Django chuckled as he moved back behind the counter; he had a few containers in hand that he neatly lined up on the counter in front of her. "Old habits I guess, haha. It'll be a few minutes on the spaghetti."

She slid her pack off her back and pulled a cloth bag out of one of the front pockets, then sat it on the counter; before she could say anything Django picked it up and began to slide the containers inside.

"It was an honest question though - something on your mind?"

Eli paused, then huffed out a sigh. "Just trying to figure out how to hunt down a ghost, is all."

Django's eyebrows raised a bit. "Wasn't aware we had a ghost problem outside of our haunted cave."

"Not a literal ghost," she replied, laughing quietly. "More like someone pretending to be one."

"I see. Not exactly your run of the mill problem to have."

With another sigh Eli rested her forehead on her hands again. "I'm not exactly a run of the mill person."

Django nodded slowly, rubbing at his chin. "...you know, how about we have a quick dart game while we wait on your spaghetti?"

There was something...odd, about his tone. Eli eyed him but couldn't detect anything other than his usual smiling demeanor -- he sounded off but looked fine.

"...all right," she answered, standing up and aside as he shuffled out from behind the counter and led the way toward the back game room.

There were a few others in the restaurant; Eli found herself waving at folks as she went and narrowly dodging Toby who was waving a report card at her (she made a mental note that there were only two more months for Toby to prove he'd kept his grades up enough for training) and then she was in the game room with Django already retrieving the darts from a drawer in the prize counter.

He didn't say anything at first as he handed her the three green darts while he kept the red ones. "So. Looking for a person pretending to be a ghost, you said?" Django lined up a dart and then tossed it a breath later; it landed right on the border between a bullseye and the next ring out.

Eli huffed then laughed quietly. "I feel like I'm about to lose. Terribly."

Django tossed another one and it landed squarely inside the bullseye. "I've had a lot of practice. Where's this ghost person lurking? Out at the facility?"

"...yeah," she answered after a pause. "We have an uninvited visitor out there."

The third dart he threw, to Eli's surprise, flew well off to the left and embedded itself into the thick safety backboard that the dartboard was mounted on. "When did this ghost show up?"

"Recently."

She watched silently as he went over and slowly took the darts down; when he was out of the way she took her first throw and it barely stayed within the board, embedding itself into a bottom right section that wasn't worth any points at all.

"Humor me. Was it someone you think is on the smaller, lighter side?"

"I...guess. Couldn't really get a good look at them, obviously." Rather than taking her second throw she turned around to face him; he'd moved over to lean against the prize counter's front, arms crossed over his chest and a somewhat brooding look on his face -- seeing something other than his usual cheerful expression immediately made her forget all about the dart game. "All right, spill: what are you getting at?"

Django inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Did Arlo tell you about that Rogue Knight we had, not too long ago?"

"Yeah, I've heard about it. He said you were the one who was able to drive them off too. You think this knight guy came back?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think your visitor is the same Rogue Knight I fought that day. But you mentioning a ghost brought back some memories, from when I was younger. Of a different, more dangerous knight, in her own way."

Eli walked over and dropped her remaining darts onto the counter. "Are knights just a common thing now?"

"Not anymore. In the older days - meaning, the older days of our current era, between the Calamity and when humanity was finally recovering - folks took up the title of knight as they fought to protect their homes and people from both man and monster alike. Humanity didn't have much left back then...just a lot of old stories and memories of how things once were, but the legends that were even older than the Old World still managed to survive. Such stories helped keep the survivors alive, and while it's a tradition that's been mostly overwritten by the Civil Corps and other law enforcement nowadays, there's still a fair few of us who stick to those old stories and the honor that comes with claiming the title of knight."

Eli watched him as he spoke; the brooding look had given away to something more resembling a thoughtfulness - a softer, more introspective look, and as he talked his chin was slowly dipping down so his gaze ended up on the floor just in front of his feet.

"So..." she said quietly into the pause that followed. "Why did me mentioning a ghost make you think of another knight?"

Django finally lifted his gaze and flashed her a grim smile. "I drove that Rogue Knight off with the belief that he wouldn't dare step foot here again. I still believe that, in fact. But I've been on my guard for any hints of other troublesome knights that might show up to try and finish the job he left undone. It just so happens that I know of a woman who called herself the Ghost Knight -- I knew her when I was a younger man. We even fought together a few times to clear out monster nests or drive off bandits."

Eli's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were. You mentioning you were looking for someone pretending to be a ghost brought her to mind."

"Who is she? What's she look like? Why would she be here?"

"I don't know. I never learned her real name, and she never learned mine. I never even saw her face - only the strange suit of armor she wore. As for why she's here-"

"Is she a mercenary for hire?" Eli interrupted. "What - how did - how do knights function?" At his mildly surprised look she slumped her shoulders a bit. "Sorry - didn't mean to interrupt you."

Django chuckled and pushed off from the counter, moving to line up to throw his darts again. "Not a problem. I can only guess at why she'd be here -- same reason the Rogue Knight was, I wager. I wouldn't call her a mercenary...that's not what we did. But, it's been over a decade since I last spoke with her, and people can change."

Eli shifted and leaned against the counter almost in the same spot he'd just vacated, putting him and the dartboard at her back as she stared a hole into the wood in front of her; if this person was this Ghost Knight that Django had known years ago then that meant it was a good chance that this spy's having an Access Suit was just...a one-off. One person who got their hands on something that actually still worked. That was one fear off the list, at least.

"Django... How did this woman fight? What did she do as the Ghost Knight?"

"Scouting," came his answer, quicker than she'd expected. There was the sound of the dart thunking into the board before he continued. "No one was better at it than her. And in a battle she was the best flanking attacker you could hope to have on your side."

"Flanking... Does that mean she didn't take people on in a direct manner?"

"She avoided that as much as possible but she was still capable of defending herself if she had to." Another thunk of a dart. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

She turned around from the counter in time to see Django turning as well, flicking his wrist and sending the dart at the board without looking or aiming; the dart stuck into the bullseye.

"If you find this person, and manage to capture them, I would like to speak to her."

"I... I mean, I'M willing to let that happen, but I'm not a Civil Corps person. That's not likely up to me."

Django nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his colorful coat. "If you can make that happen, I'd be indebted to you... Excuse me, I should go check the spaghetti. It ought to be done by now."

"Yeah, sure thing. I'll head back up to the counter."

He disappeared through a small door into the kitchen and, as she said, Eli walked out of the game room and back to the counter where the rest of her order was sitting packed neatly into the cloth sack.

She looked over a shoulder at the restaurant's patrons; there were considerably more people here now than had been when she'd first walked in, and Django had purposely wanted to talk to her about it away from others. She really, really wanted to ask him more about how this Ghost Knight woman fought, or where she'd come from, or--

'I'll come back when it's not busy, or maybe I can catch him at home.'

That he'd admitted he'd been on the lookout for any other trouble-making knights worried her...maybe she should also split her history lesson time between Isaac and Django.

------------------------------------------------

"Bye, see you tomorrow!"

Django gave Sonia a small wave and a smile as she headed out the front door; there were a few spots left to sweep and then he could put out the lights and head home himself.

Normally he enjoyed the absolute silence of the restaurant late at night - it gave him time to daydream, or plan for the next day's operations. Tonight though... He couldn't help but think of that Ghost Knight. Everything he could recall about her had come flooding back in a rush when Eli had mentioned someone pretending to be a ghost; any other time he would have dismissed it as silly old memories but now...

He bent and swept up dirt into the dustpan, and then moved to carry it over to the waste bin.

Ever since he'd driven that rogue knight off he'd been constantly vigilant for any hint, no matter how small, that someone else had arrived to plunge Portia into chaos. He imagined most people would think he was being paranoid without reason and so had kept such worries to himself...maybe he shouldn't have done that. Portia's residents had been panicked at first and demanding more protections from the Civil Corps folks after the knight incident but, as time wore on, they'd fallen back into their lives without fear of outside threats; would anything be different now if Django had shared his worries with Gale?

"Too late for that," he muttered to himself.

He swept up the last little dust pile and dumped it into the bin, then went to put the dustpan and broom away.

Once everything but a single lamp was powered down he dipped behind the front counter; for the most part he stored napkins, silverware, and small dessert plates behind here but after that Rogue Knight had left he'd started stashing a small box out of sight behind the formal cloth napkins that were only used during holidays.

The box was about the length of his hand from fingertips to the heel of his palm, and was just barely shy of being perfectly square. Django popped the latch open and lifted the lid to reveal a delicate-looking pair of gloves made of silvery wires, each with a single wire that was much longer than the others that ended in a tiny plug; they were very hard to see among the loose cloth that padded the inside of the box, and he knew from experience that even when worn they were difficult to spot.

As he looked the gloves over he had his usual mixed feelings about them; hidden beneath his shirt and jacket were a pair of matching armbands hugging his biceps that had very small charge generators on it -- wearing the gloves with the lead wire plugged in allowed him to charge up and release a controlled shock that went off with a bang, a bright flash of light, and repelled anything he hit along with delivering a strong sting to his target.

Much like the memories of the Ghost Knight now all his memories of having found these relics came rushing back; he'd once been a young, stupid man, with lofty ideals about what it meant to be a knight without truly understanding anything about knighthood. He'd thought that finding these gloves had been the ultimate stroke of luck -- something to make him an unstoppable force of good in the world. He'd been hilariously proven wrong, over and over, until he began to treat them as tools to compliment his own skill, rather than relying entirely on them.

When he finally understood what the gloves true purpose ought to be he began to win more often and eventually they had earned him the title of Storm Knight; when he'd realized that his dependence on them had basically shaped his reputation he had almost thrown them away. The fear that someone else would make the same mistakes he did (or worse - that someone would use them to harm others) had made him keep them, and steadily he relied on them less and less over the years until he'd mothballed them five years before he retired. The Rogue Knight had been threat enough that Django had felt the need to take the gloves out of storage and thankfully with them - and with his reputation - that had been enough to scare the knight off.

The problem with this Ghost Knight was Django knew reputation alone wouldn't drive her away. She had fallen into the same pitfalls he had: thinking that Old World technology made her invincible, or at the very least better than everyone else. Rather than learning and improving she had stagnated...and he'd watched it happen.

"You could have been one of the best..." he sighed, closing the box and tucking it under an arm.

She really could have been...maybe he should have fought her harder on her reliance on that suit. Maybe she would have listened if he'd fully explained his own mistakes with the gloves. Maybe he could have trained with her to show her there was a more honorable way of living. But then again, maybe there wasn't some magical combination of words that would have swayed her to his side and stopped her from getting mad and literally stabbing him in the back.

As he headed to the front door he reached his free hand around to rub at a spot on his lower back. That old scar ached and itched when it was cold or wet outside but it was an old wound he'd learned to ignore; tonight it was a dull throbbing pain - probably exacerbated by the sweeping, or so he told himself before pausing to really examine that thought.

There used to be an old wives tale about how an injury caused by a mortal enemy would burn and ache when that enemy was nearby. The Ghost Knight had been his companion once...he didn't think for a moment that they could be friends again but he could spare a bit of hope that the old tale was true and that he would know exactly when he was needed if it was truly her in the region.

#Lost in Time #lit #Lost in Time - ch 14 #Dr. Xu #Django #My Time at Portia

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outerloop · 6 years ago

Text

Anatomy of a Falcon

youtube

We recently announced Falcon Age, a game about nurturing a falcon from a baby, bonding with them, and together resisting the forces that colonise your planet. Falcon Age will be out in 2019 for PS4 and PS VR.

We showed off the game at PAX last week, got a great response, especially on the falcon. Let’s do a deep dive of the design of the falcon, animation and rig setup, AI and navigation, feather tech, and raptor sounds.

Falcon Design

Chandana Ekanayake and Darran Hurlbut

Our falcon design combines multiple raptor types. She is big as a golden eagle, fights like a hawk, has some eagle-hawk resemblance, some owl-like tufts, and falcon tendancies. She’s one of the last of her kind left in our world and we wanted to make her unique visually for the story and also visually stand out during gameplay against the sky and desert like environments.

One of the early inspirations for Falcon Age came from videos of golden eagles hunting large mountain goats. That led to some research on falconry and the idea of having a falcon as a pet and designing mechanics and gameplay around that core idea. We made a rough prototype early on to test out the ideas. The first time we successfully whistled for the bird in VR and saw the scale change from it approaching from a distance to landing on our hand, we knew we were on to something that could serve as the core of a unique game.

Animation and Rig

Aung Zaw Oo

FALCON FEET TRACKING

There are lots of animation options out there, but none of them would easily solve our specific falcon feet tracking needs. Inverse kinematic setups, root motion and other complex plugins could do the job if we had a bigger team and more time to dedicate to it. We wanted a more predictable outcome so we went with a multiple pose based solution made in 3dsmax.

However, the biggest reason for not using IK, is that this is the best way I could come up within a couple of days. We were building the prototype so fast back at the beginning of the project that we didn’t have time to look at what other solutions are available. This is the most reliable and least ugly way I found and we’ve stuck with it since. If it's not broken, don’t fix it.

Here is how I imagined the bird claws blending IRL. The ball is the fist that is attached to the VR motion controls.There are limits to this method. The claws needs to be able to wrap around a fair chunk of the fist and the fist pose needs to be as spherical as possible.

Note that head and legs are siblings of the pelvis. This makes the bone masking and making separate blend trees easier. Ignore the word ‘eagle’ in the naming. That was just a temp asset name before we figured out the bird design.

Short version of how its done; the fist is a ball and the bird’s feet rotate around the ball using 30 blend poses and shuffle animation to get the feet back to center when the ball(motion hand) has rotated too far.

30 Blend Poses on a ball

A shuffle animation let feet recenter

And the the blends start again after that quick shuffle animation from the new rotation of the hand. According to our programmer Justin, he is doing some regular old quaternion and linear algebra math. And I’m using 3 float values that he’s giving me and feeding them into those anim blend states.

For baby bird, the 2nd knuckle on the index finger is treated like a ball.

The one edge case where the ball concept doesn’t work is when the glove is pointed directly down. Pictured below.

We had several ways we could’ve dealt with that case. One solution was to have a collider on the forearm part of the glove and have the bird fly away if bird’s collision intersects with it. Ultimately we decided to let it be as is. It’s more player friendly that way since it lets you scratch your left hip while in VR without having the bird leave you. Also most people would never have their hands positioned that way in normal play.

Unless they’re playing in a headstand for some reason. All kinds of animation features would look wrong or broken in a headstand.

FALCON HEAD TRACKING

Short version of how its done; the head (bone_Head) is a direct child of the highest object in the bird skeletal hierarchy ( bone_Root ).

Bone_Root’s position(not rotation) follows the position of the motion controller and bone_Head counters that motion. Basically a 2-object hierarchy where a positional blend is used to counter motion of the parent object to keep the child object in same global position. The rest of the bird body uses a blend of 27 poses to try its best to keep the bird looking natural.

With the size of the adult bird we have, a 12 cm translation in all axis(24x24x24 cube) seemed ideal for getting the stabilizer effect without stretching the neck too much. The head will also move at the edge of that range and when the motion hand stops moving, that new position is now the new center and another 24cm cube is formed there. Math wise, headlock is mostly just a vector transform with a lot of extra 'fluff' for limiting speed, transitioning in and out, and moving the lock point when it gets too far from the body but the bird is still in the area.

Bird Navigation and AI

Justin LaLone

BIRD BOREDOM

For the most part, the falcon obeys Ara’s commands and follows her around. If you stand around long enough in one area while the bird is just circling or if you launch her with no orders, she will start looking for something else in the area to do - usually hunting or landing on a point of interest. She will also take some initiative when perched on Ara if anything else tries to grab her (she’s possessive like that), and likes to help lead Ara to the next hole in lightning golf.

SUN BLINDING PREY

Some of the prey, such as the rabbits, are very skittish and as soon as they notice a falcon diving towards them they will take off for the nearest bolthole. They have a more difficult time seeing Ara’s bird if she approaches with the sun behind her, so paying attention to where the light is coming from and sending the bird from that direction can make catching prey easier and more reliable. On the other hand, simply diving from higher up can be good too, as the bird can pick up more speed before being noticed, giving her prey less time to dodge out of the way.

Coming in fast and and from the sun, for a guaranteed hit.

FALCON 3D NAVIGATION

Getting a flying animal to reliably traverse a 3D space in a somewhat natural looking way isn’t something you typically find out of the box in a game engine. We have roughly three levels of bird-navigation logic going on to get the bird from point A to point B without running into too many things or getting stuck in a corner.

For high-level navigation to find its way through the world, we build a 3D navigation graph and use A* to find a path. What’s probably somewhat unique in our implementation is that we are using the fairly new Unity job system to do all our A* pathfinding, giving us fast searches that stay off the main thread, allowing more time for other AI, physics, and more stuff in general. Most of the graph is generated automatically, with manually placed connections for flying through narrow gaps like windows that are small or require an approach from a good angle.

The purple line is a rough path for it to follow to get around the big rocks in between where the falcon started and where Ara is standing. The bird doesn’t try to follow this line very closely; it would be trying to make some pretty strange and sharp turns if it tried, so as soon as it has a clear shot to the next part of the path it heads there instead.

Sometimes smaller objects or moving objects can get in the way. The falcon looks ahead and goes over or around these objects. This rock is actually just big enough that it would normally navigate around it with A*, but I forced it to “forget” about that for now. Here, it’s turning left to go around the rock - the red lines show where it has been looking for the past few frames. It usually won’t try to go under things in this way, but the A* navigation can direct it to go under arches or walkways.

The last level of bird flight logic is the actual maneuvering logic, or how the bird decides how fast it wants to go, how much to ascend or descend, how quickly to turn, and how it applies physics accelerations, limited by what it is allowed to do, to get there. This feeds into the animation system telling it how hard the bird is working, what sort of pose it should be in, if it should be banking, etc. The object avoidance is tied in somewhat strongly with this, but all the A* navigation is completely separate. It is also a big pile of math and logic.

Feathers and Rendering

Ben Golus

The small body feathers, or contour feathers, on our birds flutter in the wind, and react to the player’s hands brushing against them to give a greater sense of tactile interactivity. The way this was done for the PAX demo is a bit of a hack which I hope to replace before we ship. (This of course means it’s the solution that will ship with the game.) The short description is each small feather on the bird is a treated like many grass or vegetation shaders. Several overlapping sine waves are used to calculate some simple noise used to flutter the feathers and give them some life. Their timing is offset by a random value per feather stored in the vertex color, and the flutter movement is scaled also using the vertex color. This means the base of the feathers don’t move, but the tips do. It also means longer feathers move more than shorter ones.

Unlike most grass shaders, we need the feathers to not move in random directions, so we can’t use world or local space directions. Plus this is on a skinned mesh which makes the direction even more dynamic. Instead I use a combination of the feather’s vertex normal and tangent so the feathers flutter in and out and side to side relative to their orientation. This isn’t strictly accurate, but for small movements like this it won’t be obviously wrong.

To handle hand interactions, the player’s hand has a script which tracks the bones and creates a list of capsules that follow the shape of each finger, and a sphere for the palm. If the hand is in range, the vertex shader iterates over the list of capsules to find closest distance to one and softly scales down the flutter if a capsule one is overlapping it. The feathers are also squished down towards the body. The capsules are oversized as the overlapping tests are soft, so this isn’t an instant on-off, but a gradual change. It’s roughly tuned so that once the visible finger is touching the feather it has stopped moving entirely and will push down.

Here’s an early test of this system in action. You can see how the feathers react to the sphere before it actually touches it, but the interaction is still convincing.

For the final release of the game I’d like to move to a geometry shader or compute shader approach which would solve some of the issues the effect currently has when only one vertex of a feather is being overlapped, and the fact the feathers light normals don’t change when being touched.

FALCON DAMAGE FEEDBACK

We needed some way to show when the bird is hurt, and we wanted to avoid using a health bar or similar mechanic as much as possible. Animation is used to make the bird look tired, and in pain, but we still didn’t find that it was clear enough to users that she had taken damage. We decided we wanted her to look physically damaged with blood and frayed feathers to really strongly communicate her state. The obvious answer was to do a material swap. However we also wanted to show a gradual increase in damage rather than a hard on / off, and did not want to have to have a lot of different maps. There was also the issue that most feathers shared the same UVs, which meant blood spots would be repeated all over the bird.

The solution we ended up with was done in two parts. First was feather damage and fraying. The alpha channel of each feather is setup in a special way so that both an undamaged and damaged version exist in the alpha at different opacities. The feathers are using alpha test cutout (actually alpha to coverage) at 50% opacity when at normal health, and 25% opacity when damaged to switch between the two states.

For blood splatter the bird has a second UV for the blood texture so we don’t have to reuse the original feather texture UVs, and then we blend in the blood on top of the base texture. The result is we only need one base texture set, and one blood splatter texture set for the bird and we can get variable damage effects on the bird.

Raptor Sounds

Rob Pearsall

The bird wasn’t designed to be different - futuristic or magical - from any bird in our world, just an amalgam of several flying raptors (except for wearing hats); so, it didn’t make any sense to create a voice for it that might sound ‘cinematically awesome’ - it just had to work and be believable.

That said, I did have the choice of “borrowing” the calls of any raptor I thought would communicate to the player the various moods, feelings, and responses of the bird. So, I listened to the sounds that raptors make; and to my surprise, the biggest, most impressive bird - the eagle - was absolutely the worst sounding predator of them all. First place for “don’t use this”.

The hawk is always a great choice. Everybody loves the screech of a hawk. I used to think that there was only one good recording of a hawk screech and every sound designer owned it and that’s why all hawks in all shows and movies sound the same. Not true. It turns out, all hawks sound the same. Not much variation at all. Now, don’t get me wrong, it sounds awesome, so yea… we’ve got that sound on our bird too. But that’s not all.

The best thing I had going for me was that I didn’t have to limit our falcon voice to one specific kind of falcon; and there are many kinds. Because of this, I could liberally choose any sound any falcon produces that makes sense as a kind of emotional statement from the bird.

Conveniently, the emotions were limited; I name them as statements from the bird:

All is calm, all is well

I hear you call me

I’m attacking

I’m hurt, but I’m still flying

That hurts

Getting a recording of a raptor that’s annoyed is really easy; show up with a bunch of recording gear, get into it’s space, and it’s already annoyed. So, there’s a lot of material of raptors sounding negative and mad. This works for ‘pain’. The hawk’s sounds work for flying responses and attack calls. The “all is calm” sounds were the difficult ones. There were several chirps that worked, but then I had to edit a lot of different kind of calls to get partial, short squawks that fit with the chirps, and it worked.

Keeping track of the bird sonically while in game… well, that’s another story for later.

Thank you!

Thanks for reading. For more info and latest updates follow @outerloopgames

#gaming #birb #falconage #vr

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deviationdivine · 6 years ago

Text

Wake Up | domestic!Android AU Part 1 (Connor x Reader)

gif by arsuf

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

A revolution may divide the city but it will never divide you...

tw: Angst, Fluffy Connor in the midst, Language, Suggestive Themes, Violence

a/n: First part of mini-series AU “Wake Up”. An introductory chapter one. Apologies for how long this took but I struggled and I am not happy with the end result. However, it’s finally here. • Connor is the latest high tech domestic model built with a collection of extra features, skills and functions making him the most advanced of his kind. As your personal assistant he is equipped with becoming the perfect partner if you so require. Falling in love with your personal android was never part of the equation nor was his break into deviancy...

“My name is Connor. I am your personal assistant. My features will allow me to take extensive care of your home, do the cooking, mind children and repair any problematic issues that arise within the household’s utilities.

As I am the most advanced make I can perform various tasks including but not limited to acts of a sexual nature. If you so require I am capable of being the perfect partner…”

Perfect is a conceptual illusion in every sense or so you come to believe. Why do humans think in terms of excellence when most shining examples tarnish in glaring flaws? Even technology can be made wrong or needing improvement not long after distribution. Faulty wiring, danger of overheating and causing harm of a radioactive proponent all seem minuscule in comparison.

Today, in the future, there is a grander blueprint mapping out the most innovative, extreme to date.

When it becomes alive, mimics the very corporeal state of being born unto humans since man breathed life in this vast universe, mirroring visage of those who wish to create in their likeness.

How does it go from technological wonder to abstruse thinking? Concepts can be a greater weapon. They can also reach for too much too soon. Is this the true state of AI meant for consumer consumption?

Cart them off exclusively as merchandise no matter how human they look. Isn’t that their appeal? The more something foreign, inexplicable but resembles us the more it is accepted. Basic instinctual deep thinking bred into all humans. Difference is an attest beneath surface value. Judge a book by a cover but if there are features hiding its distinct nature by all means use it.

Laziness might be a better solution in this mathematical equation. Imperfect perfection makes way for future development. Those are the very elements that change the world.

Can you even imagine for one second, one little point in life it would come to change yours? So small in a world full of billions but here in Detroit home of Cyberlife and its creation the pilot sparks. Alight with technological revolution.

Androids are here. Androids are owned. Bought as slaves to humanity and used beyond measure, no consideration that those made in image could possibly develop feelings. Emotions are heavy. They are what make us all human. Can machine truly become human?

You never wanted one. Mostly it made you uncomfortable witnessing cruelty by specific ‘owners’ on the bustling city streets. It’s everywhere. Even today, chillier, more specifically a frigidity creeping into bones.

Eyes shift over a couple walking briskly as you draw coat closer together up throat. Keeping wind seeping through to tangle around your body but watching them waltz their merry way without care. Of course they have none. Their female android, an AX400 to be exact, is taking care of two rowdy children.

Honestly it must be nice. Not having to parent after deciding to add more to the burdening populace. Maybe that’s just your pessimism talking. Simple fact though? Could be that too but who knows?

Just another one of those days but it is about to change drastically. Passing a Cyberlife store does pique curiosity. Window displays my God. They line them up as if that’s all they are.

They offer whatever a human wants and yet not all can bother to treat them fairly. Is it enough androids are made to look as everyone else? Would a genuine human being treat another so despicably? Yes. A resounding yes because it never goes away. People treat people with disdain for every reason, every prejudice and why should that shock? Androids have become an additional target.

Honestly it makes you sick. Never did you once realize this is what would change things completely. On this very day, minding business walking home from another tiring bustle

More than one occurrence struck you right in the gut. A previous household model absorbs brunt of obscenities and physical humiliation. A scene like this turned your stomach.

The moment it came to intervene you received an interrupting phone call. Unfortunately this was the start of big changes in your life.

What does one do discovering death of a relative? Closeness is a fundamental of familial connections. For you? Well, let’s say it didn’t quite work out.

“What do you mean he…died?” Answering in a quiet breath, cell phone a tight clutch in hand stalling in breezy climate, everything stops around your personal orbit.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” a familiar voice speaks over your ingenious disbelief.

Ignoring your pleas for a proper answer it becomes increasingly cruel on the woman’s breath digging truths in your ear. Whether she realizes this or not it’s up for debate. “You do realize this was coming. It isn’t as if he were young and healthy. Frankly, I am surprised you are having such a negative reaction.”

Negative is exactly the type of reaction! What does she expect? “Of course I’m having a reaction!” Practically screaming into your phone made the chilled air sting worse. How is this happening? How can this even be real?

“Oh, it’s all right, Y/N. Get it out now. It’ll be better if you don’t make a scene at the funeral.”

Anger is a burning pyre ready to fan over and incinerate. One snide comment reminds how much you can’t stand this person. She’s not even blood related. An ‘aunt’ isn’t technically qualified to hold the title and that’s fine. Just another excuse to dig at you in this family but there is no family left. Your father – he’s dead.

Money fixes everything? Unlikely but still nothing surprises you more than receiving something from an estranged parent. Generous sums to a black sheep or as you’re sure greedy auntie bitch of the hour calls you behind your back. She is one woman who deserves that damn moniker. Especially when it’s clear there are no connections left. Aunt Cruella, as christened ages ago by your best friend, made short work of your uncle. Certainly bled him dry continues to do so with his left over money after he succumbed to stress in a massive heart attack. Why do people like her thrive using, snide and heartless while others –?

What can you do then? Except you fall into an overwhelming sense of losing time and never extending an olive branch. Why is the universe so cruel? Why can’t you turn back time, forget every stupid thing that ever happened to drive a rift?

Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being alone rest of your life. Maybe that’s why using part of a small deposit felt right. Watching so many gradually fall into current technological commercialism lead to most having their own android. It seems almost a little too barbaric making them cater to every whim. Honestly, you have no idea why this is needed. Do you really need him?

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he.

Despite manufacturing Connor is a he in every sense. Even then you saw as much. Now is much more complicated or you are just as ridiculously naive as you’ve always been told. Who cares about naivety? It is simple opinion. No. This is a belief one that surely would have left nothing to you in an event of final family member’s passing. Yet here you are with him.

You recall when he first arrives unaware of how efficient Cyberlife retail truly is. Why should you be surprised? Deliveries have gone from generic dairy of yesteryear, beyond personalized grocery orders and straight to personalized beings. Androids: alive or not alive?

In conjunction with preprogramming he sounds so lively. In his voice a natural husky dulcet and his eyes a deep soulful brown. Souls in androids are impossible but it’s the only way you think to describe warm chocolate. Hotter than a mug of it steeped in whip cream vanishes as a ghost beneath steaming liquid.

Flecks of caramel shine in hypnotic swirls enriching accents of russets in muddy hues, the very first thing captivating attention as he offers his list of functions. Even falling upon the last is difficult to decipher how caught up you are in a consummately asymmetrical visage.

He is far too pretty to look at and you try to ignore these facts. The facts of your newly purchased personal android possessing an aura of physical attractiveness. A fabrication in aesthetics you remember. A way to cover up what he actually is beneath soft synthetic skin dusted as constellations of freckles.

Tiny beauties cresting upon sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, purposely formed to elicit a reaction. This is not at all what you expected but it’s never something to forget. Little do you realize in this moment Connor will always burn brightest to memory? Little do you understand how events will unfold but they shall.

“Is there a problem?” he asks habitual to programming.

Societal protocols run a gamut through system piecing together the best course of action. It is only his first day interior of your home. He is of a sense of determination to complete whatever task you assign.

Determination is not part of proper function. However, he minded the concept. It will be efficient for current issue. “I may be able to rectify your issue. What do you require of me?”

Require? What?

You cough, inhaling sharply at his head cocking so innocently. A droop of hair flutters atop forehead as a sole rebel willing to fight immaculate armies. He is very well put together. Not that you mean the whole manufactured part! He just – looks like a really good looking guy who takes care of his appearance. Hair mostly but…

Wow, Y/N. Real nice for your first try at handling a conversation with an android.

Not that this is the first android you’ve been in contact with. Difficult not to be when they’re all over but as your very own?

OK Cyberlife! What is up with making him look like real life Prince Charming? I mean look at this perfection. Is this required? Are they allowed to do this to poor unsuspecting humans?

Watching his brows furrow and LED flutter amber somehow pumps the beats of heart faster. Surely it’s a dead giveaway. It’s not every day you’re cursing Cyberlife for practically throwing a chiseled Greek god at you.

Oh, shit, really? Greek God? What the hell is wrong with you? What isn’t wrong with you?

You sigh, clicking tongue at yourself. Frustration doesn’t begin with this!

“Your stress levels are high,” Connor offers a reading of initial scan. “Would you like me to remedy the problem? I have several possible functions that may reduce anxiety. My model comes with every physical attribute you are familiar with in human anatomy.”

A hitch stoppers breathing. Just enough as eyes widen a little at his declaration. Human anatomy as in…? Oh. OH.

Your eyes shift down. Fixating right on his crotch sends a luscious shiver through body. Goosebumps prickle skin, hair standing up on them. First time in forever you’ve had this type of reaction. Not even your ex managed to make you quiver like this. Not that your mind is even there because that’s been over for so long. Frankly that cheating asshole can have his baby momma all to himself. Probably already banged a couple more unsuspecting fools; you clear throat, scratchier than before.

“Connor, that-that’s really nice!” Agreeing with him that he has nice features you laugh nervously. It’s the first day he’s been here and already he’s mentioning his, uh, included *assets* and it’s not his beautiful eyes either. Ah, shit. Why is he made to be a young, attractive male? “But I don’t think that’s necessary. Not right now.”

It only takes a moment before you hear what came out of your mouth. Right now meaning it’ll be fine later?

“Which isn’t to say I’ll need it later!” Damage control is literally a creator of chaos. Can he just not look so sweet giving these heady ideas? “Just come with me. You’ll need a place to stay. I mean, you are staying here but I mean…” Shit! He’s made this impossible without stammering all over the place. Who gives him the right?

The android’s lips drop open, inevitably looking to provide another set of options but he snaps his mouth shut. Blinking in assessment of his actions to “argue” with your dismissal, Connor pushes away several warnings popping into visual. They are unexpected and not part of his programming.

Instead of speaking he follows your lead, gaze soft and quizzical. Trailing as a newly trained puppy the latest model of Cyberlife’s domestic line becomes further entranced with chirping outside window. No longer able to abide by strict attention he tilts his head at passing pane. Sounds of birds in song flitter and perch on external sill; one ruffles its feathers cleaning with its beak. The other stands still.

He freezes. Both in movement and system analysis he is however conscious of two live creatures. Opposite of android pets universally made available for public sale. His database offers much information outfitting him with the fundamental needs of intelligence and sophistication in his programmed function.

Reaching to open a door you stop when his presence behind you feels empty. It was obvious when he followed but now?

“Connor?”

Cycling indicator fluctuates upon the command of your voice. He snaps around in direction of soft tone. Softer than accustomed since his distribution from Cyberlife shipping to physical store location was riddled with aggressive bystanders. He-he is not meant to mull over his awakening. It does not make him feel anything. No, he is an android. He feels nothing. He is a machine.

Clinical cold manifests deeply behind blocks, barricades in protocols. Connor pushes this strange tickle back underneath wires.

“Apologies for not obeying you, Y/N. It will not happen again. I am efficient.” Nagging at him, strange and uncorrelated to system status, he almost sounds…tense. Connor straightens shoulders, folding hands neatly against lower back. “I was made to be the best of my particular type of domestic models. As an AX800, I am programmed to be a superior prototype.”

Obeying you?

That happens to be the only words you focus on. His choice of them ripple uncomfortably, nearly squeamish in stomach. Is this how you sound? Are you affecting a command or-? No, it’s what he is made to know. That’s the thing. All androids are only made to serve and immediately regret comes back. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought him.

Bought! God, you’re just like those people now. Aren’t you?

No more excuses. No more seeing horrible mistreatment and vowing never to be like them. Even if you never would do any harm losing your father, when you never spoke anymore anyway, still you fear loneliness. Estrangement ruins lives. It really does. What do you have left now? Except for yourself to fend in this world and growing more complicated as the future rambles on.

Detroit is a bustling mix of dilapidated districts, high tech innovations, Cyberlife Tower most significant in those builds. This house is small. Tucked away in a tiny neighborhood away from inner city but you never complain. You are grateful. A roof over the head is the best gift in a mostly gift devoid world.

“Connor, please don’t call it obeying. I-I only wanted to see if you were OK.” Admitting the hesitation beforehand you feel antsy. His LED is blue again but it was amber finding him staring at window.

“My system is fully operational,” he assures, forcing his lips to form a smile.

In actuality his little gesture is a stiff grimace. Eyebrows rise at his attempt. Even if it looks goofy, which is completely not his fault, it’s very – cute.

Again with this! Never mind just focus for once. Pretty comical coming from someone who hardly meditates in the day to day; you step backwards, slipping through threshold, eyes remaining on him. It takes ever ounce of willpower to remain collected. Things are still hard to digest. No matter if it’s been a couple months tangling with all of that legal stuff. Auntie not by blood sure didn’t make it any better. Yet, here you are. Still you stand even while stress is overworking at a job that might as well kill you first.

Offices are pretty dull to work in. At least they would be if they were not a regular cushy job. Piles of paperwork, demands creep up to swallow whole, a boss who just will not stop making things harsher. Mister perfectionist belittles the lower tier all the time. No surprise but it seems the future isn’t as bright as people thought it would. No need to wear shades.

Moving toward window, pulling curtains open a bit to allow sunshine transitions atmosphere from dreary to somewhat cheery. Perfect mask to hide the real truth isn’t it? Sometimes you forget how good you are that. A small smile camouflages best.

You rub hands against the thighs of your jeans. A little sweaty because of nerves but today is big. Being alone always hardly prepares for constant company. Well, he’s meant to be here permanently. That is the initial idea.

“This can be your room.”

Connor’s brow furrows. Studying your movements upon entry, analyzing vitals and their continual fluctuations, the android is confused. His indicator cycles to process the statement as unexpectedly inclusive as it is. “I do not require a room. I am an android.”

Somehow that reaction is to be expected. You sigh, “Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have something of your own.”

Ownership is not given to his kind. They are machines. Concepts of acquiring personal effects do not make sense nor are necessary. Connor voices this as per factual protocol. “Thank you for the offer but I am a machine. Machines have no need for accommodations.”

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

Machine, manufactured and sold without an ounce of actual soul according to android haters you see. Picketing with their signs, so angry about them taking jobs but who made them? They did. Humans decided to and no one complained. Why complain about a technological marvel that can mow your grass, do the dishes and babysit children while living carelessly. That is the difference. Between you and plenty of others there has always been a divide in what you feel. This just crashes down those so-called fantasies. Ones filtering into brain as tiny wisps and at first it was a nice distraction. Finding him so…

“Oh,” a whisper, dawning realization. He is – a machine.

Coming back to the door, grabbing onto handle, you decide to forget the suggestion.

Something sharp stabs at his internal processors. Listening to such a dull syllable slipping almost – upset? Humans’ need for validity and comfort seem to be all too natural. They are highly emotional. The android steps close, head cocked, fingers pressing against surface of door preventing your need to shut it.

Contemplating left him at a cross roads in his programming. He is meant to function specifically and does not need or want anything as you believe. However, he-he could not refuse. It would be impolite. “I- very well, Y/N. I did not meant to be unpleasant. My social parameters are not meant to alarm.”

Alarm? That is not why you… Your breath hitches. Realizing how close he is standing, invading personal space and if it were anyone else? Allowing him is both a conscious need for closeness while still mourning and an illusion. Live up to that woman’s ideas. The title of ‘aunt’ is undeserving.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“You are welcome,” he snaps back to his programming. “What sort of tasks do you have scheduled for me to complete?”

“Scheduled? I, uh…” Shaking a head at his question is clarity. Honestly you are not used to giving tasks to people. Tasks are dropped on your desk until you down. A huff of breath, accompanied with snort is more for yourself. It does garner the most adorable expression on his face. “Maybe you could just…talk to me? For now?”

Connor’s eyebrows scrunch together. His facial expressions capture attention driving the tempo of your heart. He does not understand why. “Are we not speaking already?”

You laugh not at him but his innocent little response there is – Oh. No.

It only deepens sadness in you now. Knowing where he came from and his confusion in you wanting a little companionship. Androids aren’t supposed to make friends are they? Even if they’re specifically programmed or upgraded to be partners. He mentioned that before.

Luckily a vibration against your thigh saves you. Reaching to pull phone from pocket your eyes train up to his and take a needful exhale. “Sorry, Connor, I have to take this.”

Connor moves aside out of your path. Remaining stationary, hands folded neatly, he awaits further instruction. However, the android’s eyes shift sideways at the sound of your voice outside room. Amber floods his temple.

“Why are you calling me now? No, I’m not wallowing! It’s called mourning. Maybe if you figured out what it was when my uncle died all those years ago you wouldn’t need a dictionary for it.” Hissing fire into phone attacks your aunt by marriage equally. Soon as you pick up! She just had to get in another word.

Why does she feel the need for this? What’s the point anymore? “No. What do you want exactly? Is this about the trust fund again? I’m using a part to pay bills. What do you think I’m doing?”

Living expenses are still the same old problem. Must be nice for the rich their multi-billion dollar corporations feeding on tech. Just look at Cyberlife.

“It doesn’t matter,” you make it abundantly clear. Does she believe she’s that intimidating? Newsflash to miss upper crust but this labeled black sheep doesn’t take shit from people! “We might’ve had a rocky relationship but I loved him.”

Loved? Connor freezes in corridor. Disobeying processes to offer potential aid in obvious distress he finds himself…curious at such words.

“We were family. What do you think? Don’t you have enough blood money to spend on your Eden Club bots old woman?” Ending it on your terms this time does not fulfill you at all. Always the winner isn’t she? Rubbing it in your face about his death and if your father were here he wouldn’t let it happen. Whatever distances, issues it wouldn’t change that.

“Y/N?”

Connor’s quizzical tone jolts your weary bones. Inhaling sharply, not at all used to this tiny home being occupied by more than one but a heavy swallow fixes your voice. How long was he there? Did he hear all of that? Oh, great.

“I’m fine.” An automatic response always on autopilot gets the job done for you.

He narrows eyes. “Stress is not a healthy component in the balance of human’s…”

“Just leave me alone, Connor!” You snap, tears pricking corners of your eyes before twirling around to run upstairs.

^Software Instability

Connor freezes momentarily. Flooding, filtering in a ripple through code blocks, he blinks in quick succession. Blinding and strange it is not part of his program –

Unable to run diagnostics, tears sparkling in your eyes draw his attention, overtaking protocol. The android’s soft gaze shifts from following your quick disappearance to ceiling indicating footsteps that conclude in a bang. Seemingly you have sealed yourself away. Scarlet pulsates in intervals mingling with amber processing solutions. Leaving you alone is an instruction. He-he cannot ignore. It is what he is programmed for. You are crying. Why must he obey? He must…

>Obey

>Leave Alone

“Is there anything else you would like?” He asks as sun dips in later hours. Accomplish several menial tasks which he is free to do as he constructs.

Following your distress several hours ago he feels – confliction. Few commands escape your lips and at times he is unsure with his current scheduling. Abilities are not in question but you appear distant. Did he do something wrong? By wanting to comfort…

>Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

Studying your face after initializing a vital scan enables Connor to store analysis records. Sleep deprivation, iron deficiency and higher stress than the human body should experience.

“Connor.” You straighten from your position curled upon couch. Mostly you tuck into one side, resting into upholstery and your breathing exhales shaky. Trying to rest off a headache isn’t working. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The android nods but pauses in thought. A fluid habit now out into the world. Yet, he has yet to see much. Only transferring from lab to warehouse storage and ultimately on display in a merchandise kiosk for Cyberlife; he is not widely available as of yet. Detroit is the originator of androids. The product mark on his white uniform christens his manufacturing origins: Made in Detroit.

“There are other functions I was built with,” he explains enthusiastically. “If you would like a domestic partner, it is one of my features.”

Rubbing at your temples ceases the moment he speaks. A domestic partner? Is he talking about that thing again? You draw breath. Unable to look at him now, feeling it twist in stomach, you uncurl, pressing feet on floor.

“No!” Quickly you cover the rise in heartbeat.

It is so obvious. Wouldn’t be the first time stumbling across sexual depravity in humans. Look no further than the Eden Club. The fact they decided to make that a thing for a household model is honestly not a shock.

God, why do they live in this world? Why do you even have him here? Isn’t this just making you as horrible as everyone else?

“No,” you repeat softer. “I’d never force you to do something like that.”

It is not forcing when he is programmed, installed with such features. They are high end. As several techs discussed ignoring his presence as though he were – merchandise. Androids are sold. He knows this but has never had a moment to process.

There is zero need. Androids do not think freely. They are constructs built for specific purposes and his are fundamentally clear. He has never performed these functions as he is brand new but Connor feels he can ease stress efficiently.

Thinking solely as a machine built for a task did not hold true. He felt…strange at your refusal. “Am I not aesthetically pleasing?” Cocking his head, knitting brows together, Connor looks expectantly to you for validation.

Lifting eyes up to him your lips fall open at his question. Did he really ask that? Are androids supposed o ask those kinds of questions? It almost as though he was hurt by that. No, it’s just imagination. Today has been too tiring. Never would have gone so wrong if that woman didn’t call. Honestly answering was your mistake. Story of a sad little life but others have it worse.

Humans will always be crawling through turmoil, unable to breathe depending on their situations. Maybe that’s why a little part of you wishes he was human. At least acts without programs but this is why he’s here. To fulfill a fantasy, cater to every whim?

No. To rectify personal aches to pretend that someone is here to offer a shoulder. When there has been nothing going through your father’s death, legal dealings with assets and pressure in job.

“No,” squeezing eyes shut to battle tension, your voice is low. “I mean, yes of course you’re aesthetically pleasing. I mean…you’re handsome. Practically the most…”

What? Beautiful boy you have ever seen? There comes that illusion. They do that on purpose but somehow looking at him you don’t see a machine. How funny is that?

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

Getting up from couch, taking deep breaths and stepping clear of coffee table helps focus. Rubbing palms against face at least wipes away some mess. Eyes are puffy, red from an unnecessary outburst earlier. At certain points life reaches boiling and yelling at him to leave you alone twists in guilt. This is exactly the sort of things Auntie Bitch thrives on.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Even if it would make no difference it does to you. “This isn’t what I’m used to. Having someone else here.”

Well, after deadbeat ex anyway but he was a typical freeloader. Thankfully you scrubbed his dirt out of life and home.

“I’ve never done this before. Having an android I mean. Ordering you to do something that you have no control over is not the type of person I am.” Plus, it’s not as if the androids at those sex clubs have a say. “I’d never do that to you or any of your people. Like some humans would.”

People. A human way to look at him or other androids but that is incorrect. Why would you refer-?

^Software Instability

Connor blinks. The error message was in his vision only briefly and the little blue arrow increasing shudders through his system. He opens his mouth but does not respond. Instead, his eyes fall to your back turning away, pacing in additional stress.

Immediately, the android steps over, placing a hand against your arm. “Y/N, I apologize. Please, do not be upset. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. You should rest. Perhaps I can produce a remedy befitting in alleviating your headache.”

Touch spreads goose bumps beneath shirt sleeve. Forcing arms to cross over your chest you twist to face him directly an extra tiny thud winds up heart. A key cranks in melody of jewelry box, dancer spins a ballet recital; vintage little tokens, delicate but thunderous in sentimentality. Just a brief glance, pressure of long fingers and it’s the first time you realize how pretty they are.

Long, beautiful digits on large hands made not born. Yet he is still heavenly.

Sharply a breath slips. Words soothing, touch comforting all those things you crave. Yet this is part of protocols for him. That’s all.

Deeply you sigh. Feeling an unmistakable need burning lower pit of stomach detaches you. A shiver runs a gamut through body and spikes straight to the core of your existence. You squeeze legs tighter together cursing the fact your body decides to get horny over a headache solution.

Fuck that! It’s his voice. Husky velvet, raspy natural glory and you are so wet. It takes everything not to jump his bones right now. Or mechanical bones? Hmm. Close enough!

“I just need to get extra sleep, Connor.” Dismissing his ideas there are too many running through your mind. Staring down at his crotch again remembering what he said but no. Get it out right now. No matter how much you need to –

You need to go upstairs. Yes, that’ll work.

“Y/N, are you positive? Your levels are fluctuating severely in my scans.”

“Oh? Are they?” Can he also smell arousal? Please, please tell me he can’t.

Connor, however, is not as naive as you believe him to be. Built with specifics in domestic partnership it is easy for him to know when the human body is aroused. Due to your state of duress and current levels of stress he does not wish to explain. It may not be beneficial. It may hurt you.

The android turns eyes down slowly, battling with these thoughts. He is not meant to debate. He is meant to proceed with internal core analysis. Percentages drive him. Yet, he struggles. Is this an error?

“Connor?”

His head snaps up. Connor’s LED flashes in a crescendo to your soft expression. Hiding the obvious need you have. All humans must expel anxiety in some way. Perhaps he is aesthetically pleasing as you said but –

“I will return to my duties if that is sufficient.” He forces another one of his smiles.

Again the grimace is heartwarming. Albeit in need of practice but-but maybe you can teach him? If there is any good to come out of falling into the same realm as everybody else, then treating him fairly is a start. As if you would treat him bad. No. Why should it matter? Human, android or alien from outer space; you laugh now.

Stupid! So stupid but it’s calming down this literal burning.

Light, airy and symphonic this sound seeps into audio processors. A residual aura prickles sensors, blinding differently than unprecedented software errors. Are they malfunctions? Something soft, sweet cannot be. He has not experienced this before but his attention is solely on you. As brief as the laugh escapes, curling lips in a gentle rise at corners, Connor absorbs the natural human tinkle of chimes that expel so abundantly.

It is the first laugh, genuine laugh he has heard. And it is – beautiful.

The android is so distracted upon this new discovery he does not notice you slipping away. Androids do not possess a need for personal orbits. Their space is not granted freely as they are not free in will like humans. They are meant to serve. Obeying their masters is why they exist.

Yet, Connor can almost feel lack of metaphorical warmth. As you dissipate from his radius so does that laugh that digs into wires. Threading in circuits, causing another minor glitch of instability, forced away from vision in order to watch you; this is a tiny strain, a little piece implanting itself in him.

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

“Y/N,” he calls to interrupt your exit. Without prompt or instruction he once again acts beyond his programming.

Something new, urgent stops everything. You glance over shoulder. Steeling breath at his temple flashing you swear a blip of crimson glows in amber. Just a fraction of a second but you have no idea. Not yet, not then but you will.

“Yes, Connor?” Your breath is quiet, thoughtful meeting his uncertain gaze.

“I-” Connor stumbles. A perfect machine sputters. “Who was on the phone?”

Twisting your body the full way now, nails tap against wall for something to do. A way to hide that hollow pit forming again but no one can hide from analysis. Connor will already know. “That-that was my aunt. My aunt by marriage. She’s- Let’s say she isn’t a very nice person.”

Keeping rest of it bottled up is no solution but telling him will only upset you again. He doesn’t need to know. At least not yet but is this a conversation to share? With an android? Who else will listen? Who else even cares to ask?

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

Honestly, you think nothing of it. For a time it merely seems to be part of what he was built for.

Thinking back at times to this day, first meeting, you will find that so stupid. Naïve isn’t really part of you but he is more. Connor is so much more. It becomes apparent…

August 15th

Practically slamming front door shakes the entrance with your current state of anxieties. Stress cannot be worse. Spoke too soon during midday. Damn it.

Clearing throat, wiping tears off your face, your breath is staggered. Unable to calm down from such ‘good’ news following that sudden meeting with your boss and everything ripples. Stomach twists badly. Nervous energy or just another month of-

Pressing face into hands poorly stifles sobs. Getting half way through home you just stop. Everything halts as things just don’t want to change. Now this of all things from work it’s going to hurt you in the long run. Your boss did this on purpose. Cutting hours and piling extra to sift through on that fucking computer.

How many sales diagrams, how many logs must you make now? There’s a specific quota. Each person who works database needs to meet their allotment. He threw a ton at you. In order to give leeway to another girl who just started there. Yeah, another potential conquest for the old pervert you’re sure!

What do you get in return? Hours cut and less pay but more weight. A ton sits on your shoulders. Isn’t it enough he humiliated you? Purposely shout out and criticize while leaving his office and you held your head up. Only in the sanctuary of home does it finally snap this flood.

Dropping keys moving uneasily into living room, sinking heavily on couch, you just want to curl up. Maybe it will make things feel better?

Lazily you peer up at television screen. Realizing it is switched on produces a tiny smile. Did he-?

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

Your head lifts up further. Narrowing on Connor stepping into view, he straightens, cocking his head in that adorable way that keeps invading your sleep. Even awake it’s a problematic daydream. He is just on the mind too frequently.

“Connor,” a quiet breath escapes, stilted, weary.

The android reads stress automatically. Forcing tiny fissures in his emotionless facade, splintering through system, he moves swift. However he freezes. Unaware of this strange urgency pulling up tendrils of glittering circuitry, waves undulating beneath shell, eclipses protocols. He must serve. He must obey. Yet he feels something else overshadowing programming.

System stress battles this ever growing need to break. Crumbling at the seams the more he feels your presence. It is a permanent fixture. As he has become one in your space but Connor is only meant to serve. Why does he feel drawn beyond these stitches of code?

Androids do not question. They cannot experience existential crisis because there is nothing real. They are simple constructs. He – no, there is no personification heralded to androids. They are not alive. Therefore they are not allotted appropriate pronouns.

Connor has heard only one word countless times regarding his kind: It

“Y/N, you have been crying,” he observes through fluctuations.

Pushing them aside, attempting to stabilize, diagnose these errors, the android taps into social function. Sympathizing is not a genuine growth. It is merely part of his program. That is what Connor wishes to believe. He believes in nothing. Nonetheless it does not explain what is easy to machine. Calculations, data processing should offer quantifiable solutions. It is negative.

There is more emotion in his eyes than he knows. You see it. Honestly it surprises enough to cripple a proper response. Easily you brush it off any other time. This time there’s no hiding what he’s already seen. Can imagine what he sees through his eyes. How do androids really perceive the world? Quit thinking for once! All of it is illusion. Remember that.

Cyberlife’s one true goal makes millions, grows powerful in branding of highly sought after merchandise. Still it makes you sick but here you are. Do the same thing because you have Connor. No matter how different it is.

“I’m fine,” a lie tells a thousand truths.

Connor’s brows knit together, mouth twitching, flutter of LED amber. A sign of outward commiseration fights his shackles. He knows you are lying. Despite the fact he should listen and not broach the subject further, the android does not resist this new deviation.

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

Your breath catches. Stuck in throat along with words it’s a surprise. Even more surprising is the glimmer of irritation on his face. The way his mouth goes lopsided like that is – cute. Wait a minute you’re supposed to be mad. You are! Mad at your goddamn boss for one!

“Lying?” you scoff back at him. “I’m not lying. I said I was fine. And I don’t appreciate you accusing me either, Connor!” Can androids even argue about things so mundane? Isn’t this what you wanted? A real conversation instead of a string of pleasantries, affirmations to duties he accomplishes.

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

Connor’s voice raises an octave higher than typical. Naturally husky, oh, how it deepens. Raw and very alive his tone completely solders you to the spot. Your eyes lift up to his face studying the gleam of his eyes. How strange that spark is. Almost a live wire crackles beneath the surface. A steamy cocoa bright before immediately dimming again; a breath sucks into your lungs cleansing the start of your body. Scarlet shimmers and that’s all the answer you crave.

He appears to swallow. Forcing his Adam’s apple to bob, which is a very realistic detail. Just as the rest of him is so real that sometimes you forget. Sometimes or all of the time, yes, most days his reality masks so well in the mind.

“I-I am…” Connor looks away. Unable to comprehend his reaction it is not part of his – “Forgive me.”

The way his voice lowers tugs at your heart. No. No, that’s not what should happen at all. You’ve seen enough of his kind out there. In the city of Detroit treated so fucked up. Most of them wouldn’t know what to do because they can’t. This is the first time he’s ever snapped from whatever social programming is built in him. He sounded too much like a person. A person with emotions reacting in a very obvious way and the idea Connor’s a person lingers.

You shift forward. Sucking in breath, following his gaze now landing on television, it’s the first time it hits. A ton of bricks, tumbling concrete could never do more damage. Everything about his apology stands still at the developing breaking news story.

ITM is broadcasting live somewhere. Is that outside an apartment rise?

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

The softness of your voice draws him back to you. Already he is far too used to it. Joining you upon couch, cocking head, his hand hovers atop yours. Fear of connecting with reality versus construction. He does not touch. He should not be pulled towards these fissures. Emotional surges strike ablaze as a fibrous match lighting his internal mechanisms. Wires push up, tendrils yanking one way towards control’s puppeteer. There it dangles him in strings made of electrical coil. Ensnaring his wrists, snaking around throat, digging thorny and jagged to his brain this is his prison.

Another piece cradles those signs of sensation, innervating beyond a great wall. A red wall gridlocks and crashes against him. It is a giant wave. Scarlet tides engulf and knock the android back where he belongs. Each time he wades closer to you the more it washes him out to that empty sea. He cannot stop. He still pushes. Something inside of him, he does not understand.

“You do not feel well, Y/N. I know this.” Apologizing again, he does not focus on his inner struggle. There should be nothing. He is supposed to be feeling nothing. Is he malfunctioning?

“It’s OK,” appeasing the strobe of scarlet cascading down his face worries. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

“That’s only human, Con.” Slipping on your tongue in an easy breath it’s the first time. Oh this will hardly be the last. Nothing will ever be last with him. If only fantasy can be reality most days. Maybe if you somehow knew here at this point in time. Everything happens for a reason.

He frowns. “I am not human.”

Sadly it’s true. Still you smile. Still you ease him because for once you realize. This isn’t supposed to be easy for him. He shouldn’t even react this way.

Both of you sit in silence. Deafening quiet just the two of you and how strange, wonderful this sensation crawls through the interstices of your being. Almost as if there is someone who cares. Does he? No. That can never mean he is not a needed presence. He is so much more. Soon you will know.

What you least expect is the pressure of his fingers sinking against your stomach. A jolt of electricity, naturally igniting a voltage inside of you and a soft sigh escapes the burden of a dry throat. Glancing down you realize – his hand is growing hotter.

“Connor, what are you-?”

“I detect an increase in prostaglandins.” His prognosis is casual, visibly reading as his LED flutters. “It will do well if you have a heat source to combat any discomfort or cramping.”

A shiver prickles down the curve of your spine. Simple touch or perhaps smooth husky words fill this awkward silence now with comfort. Sure it might be a technical way to point out this specific pain in the ass but it does take your mind off things. So easily you could remove his hand. A good idea to put up a barricade and distance yourself but you cannot do that.

Every thread of stress snaps. In one tiny moment anxieties melt off and ease into his aura. Androids are not supposed to have one. This conscious radiance but Connor’s orbit is safety, assurance. Even if he has no idea what sort of progress it means. A simple relationship of humane and machine, ownership and merchandise is how this world wishes. It is not your wish. There is more. Witnessing it now, gazing up at his face, concentrated crease of brow, optical unit bleeds a palette of amber and scarlet. Dusted in freckles his skin is a smooth canvas to admire. He is so real. Up this close it is so obvious even to your inferior eyesight. Compared to his advanced optical it is. His eyes are warm. Such life shines in them. Mocha sweet, soft and glitters in his careful evaluation. Technical and part of programming but still it sends you somewhere else.

“If confirmed this would be the first case of an android taking human lives.”

Your attention shifts. Drawn to the ITMtv news broadcast it was nearly forgotten. You sit up, unconsciously curling fingers around Connor’s wrist.

The action snaps his gaze down. Momentarily he freezes, stationary, until the soft gasp spills from your lips. Connor tilts his head. In line with television screen narrowing sharply on events unfolding leaves him struggling with process of information. An android is taking human lives? How is this possible? They are programmed to obey not to cause harm.

We are not alive. We are meant to serve not kill!

Connor tugs his hand back. Distancing himself, staring at news broadcast unsettles down to his core processors. A domestic model has taken a child hostage. An inferior model? No, he-he is the same. Upgrades, prototypes mean nothing. They are all part of a linear code. What they are made to be is what they must be. There is no deviation!

Artificial saliva swallows hard, bobbing in his throat. An increase of stress twists him to those original thoughts. Inconclusive on why he is feeling. The events live on air aren’t helping this strain.

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

Your hand clutches at his shoulder. Unbeknownst to the android his face twitches with each strobe of optical unit. The shift between colors quickens. His eyes land on you. Concern for him is a shimmer of hope. A hope doesn’t exist for androids.

“I am performing a self diagnostic,” he lies.

Pulling away from him when he jolts up from couch deepens this sickness further. Everything flips in the stomach. Just hearing what they’re reporting. An android murdered a human. He has a little girl. What are they going to do? Is this really happening though? There have been rumors. For several months there’s been talk of androids running away. Going off and doing God knows what but that’s people who hate them. They’re the ones who talk about how evil they are. They shouldn’t exist. Made in our image and unnatural monsters; the erratic behavior in Connor abates this thinking.

There is no time to debate. You already know the opinion that matters. It’s your own.

“You’re lying,” echoing it back stops him. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

“There is nothing.” Connor insists. Remaining turned puts his back to you. The android tries to fight his conflicts. All of it is bubbling, boiling upon his plastic surface. Itching, tingles beneath synthetic skin. You are part of it somehow. He knows. That is why he is malfunctioning.

Nothing? No. There is something! Proving it, grabbing at his arm, twists him to face you. There is no powerful in your pull. He whirls at the action out of choice.

A staggering breath barely reaches past your lips. Large hands engulf wrists, pulling your hands up. Entrapped in Connor’s grasp, fingers long and pliant in their fuse to yours swallowing up in such a strong, yet gentle touch. He doesn’t hurt you. That’s not at all what he took hold to do. Still the continuing broadcast emanates a horrifying soundtrack. Androids killing but he-he’s not like other androids. He wouldn’t do anything he should not do. Part of you wants to believe that.

How he looks now is the only answer to an impossible question. He is agitated, nervous? Not horrifying as people say they are. He looks lost. Lost and searching inwardly. This is the first time he ever appeared that way.

“Connor, please. Don’t shut me out. Just because of what I am.”

“You are my owner,” he lowers his voice. “I am a machine made to obey. I am not your equal, Y/N.” Studying traces of worry in your face opens a hole in his chest. Circuitry, mechanical proponents powering his structure bleed in this instability.

He knows. In the crinkle between your eyebrows, droop of the corners of your soft mouth he sees. For him, a thing without purpose, genuine distress shines in the warmth of your eyes. Human, innocent compared to those he has witnessed abuse in the street. You will never deserve harm.

“I’m not an owner. I-I’m…” What are you? A friend? A lover? None of those things! You bought him. What he says is the horrible truth. “It’s OK to be you. I don’t care. If you have a problem it’s not like that thing on the news. I know it triggered something. But that’s not…”

“I am not triggered by anything, Y/N.” Connor releases you slowly. Allowing wrists to drop from his fingers the loss of warmth registers profoundly. He did not realize he could feel so authentically. There is something wholly beautiful about how your skin blends with his. It fascinates him. You are beginning to fascinate him.

Connor breaks away. Narrowing heatedly upon news, he can only watch one of his own threaten to murder a human child. The android can only stand by as it unfolds. Unable to snap, break through and understand. What made him attack? What turned him on his owners?

He can’t calculate a reasonable response. Neither can he fall into these errors, system malfunctions whispered of since he arrived to your home. This thing they call deviancy.

November 1st

Several months follow the first introduction; follow that news broadcast that begins a shift in the city. Still it seems longer. An infinite amount of space separates since then and now. Only in a comforting presence that you know is still simply part of his programming. Of course that’s all it is, he made it clear during the hostage event televised for all of Detroit to witness. Did it ever stop the truth in you? No because it would all be lies if you never admitted how…attached you’ve grown to him.

Attachment to an android probably isn’t the smartest thing. How can you see him as just an android anymore? He’s more. There is so much more. Even his small barely there smiles, a hint of stiffness apparent in the corners of his mouth, make your heart flutter. Just a tiny drop of emotion dips in an endless sea of code.

No. You can’t think of it because the second you fall into this fairy tale something regretful will take place. It will swamp around heart, holding upon his smooth cool fingers.

Cradling in his synthetic grasp without him understanding that slowly, profusely, so internally chaotic inside your soul, have already began this descent. However there is more to being in a daze. You certainly haven’t taken him up on his special upgrade programming to be the perfect domestic partner.

Imagine others forced into things they can’t control? It sickens you at times. Reading about android sex clubs, knowing explicitly they have no option to refuse. That’s not to say you haven’t stared the tugging threads of temptation in its face. Imagining what Connor looks like underneath his uniform, pristine white, shades of blue stitch, android glitters in luminescent fabric; his deliciously toned forearms visible donning a short sleeved variant get your mind racing.

Large hands, long fingers, veins, muscles eye catching in their realism all built into his synthetic design. It doesn’t even cross your mind anymore. That his layer of beauty is artificial because what you’d give to trace fingertips against his lovely epidermis.

Kissing him all over, following the obvious toned planes of the android’s chest. Feeling him against your fragile human exterior; to say you haven’t fantasized, haven’t fought with internal desire is bigger than an understated battle.

Just look no further than that incident first day he was here. Getting off on his voice, comfort spilling in a song; you hate the fact it happened. Only reveals how desperate you were in that time for any ounce of solace.

He offered then as it is part of what is meant to be. But you can never hurt him. As much as others will say you are delusional for believing he has feelings. Emotions are part of human existence, after all, not part of creations built for sole purposes of serving.

Current state of the city might have something to do with it but today is like any other. At least it begins as such. Even in the now listing along day by day thankful for once in your life for a father who never lived up to his title. Until he dies of course then all is forgiven.

Small miracles don’t exist in the grand scheme of life. Sometimes wishing they did amplifies doubts.

“Connor.”

Whispering in a lazy flip amid covers, groggy and unaware of his name sighing affectionately bundles you from penetrating sunlight. Blankets do little to hide from the morning. Squinting half lidded towards those streaks of light creating illuminated patterns. Spreading across snowy carpet and reaching up to edge of floral stitch coverlet draped mattress, you toss an arm over to cover eyes. Squeezing them beneath wakes you up better. This time it’s obvious.

Sitting up quickly and digging fingers into blankets sheds confusion. The state between unconscious dreaming to conscious awareness is a complete mess. Did you just have a dream about him again? Rubbing hands against your face doesn’t wipe tiredness away. It neither helps get your mind straight.

A complete mess in the mornings is a daily routine. All of your life what else is new?

Absorbing sunshine might be good for the pores. He will tell you that soaking in morning sunlight is a healthy way to get vitamin D. In his perfectly technical but also impeccably cute tone; you smile fixating on his changing mannerisms.

Does he know how human he’s been acting with those facial expressions, eyes lighting up in rich cocoa?

Could be imagination running wild trying to make something out of what can’t be possible. Nice to daydream a little even if representing unnecessary emotions piling up inside. Staring across bedroom lit with natural rays seeping through blinds leaves a warmer atmosphere.

You enjoy it for a distraction. Quiet can be poetically sound as pressing face into pillow and letting loose a scream. Frustration doesn’t surround the home. It surrounds your job.

God another shift to cover and this time you’re damn sure this co-worker is pulling it out of –

“Good morning, Y/N.”

A gasp slips in a slither upon breath, pressing tongue against the back of teeth enamel in a stare down with your open door. He enters so stealthily sometimes you forget.

“Connor,” greeting him wearily, yawning and stretching arms, your neck is stiff.

Rubbing at the back of it doesn’t distract you too much. What is he-? Oh. Explains the hot smell of food but this is a little unexpected. You never tell him to bring breakfast anywhere.

The android places an oak tray atop your lap. His eyes trail over exposed skin from a top haphazardly thrown over your body last night. After all of this time sharing space with you he has noted a penchant for wearing oversize shirts, pajamas to bed. There is still a glimpse of lace peeking out as the fabric slouches down.

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

He hopes? You smile, especially seeing him returning it. A slight indentation, just the tiniest of dimples in that sculpted face. Still not completely natural but enough to make caterpillars transform to butterflies in your stomach. Much improvement you think!

“Of course I am but…” You jab a nail atop wood beside plate for emphasis. “Is there something I should know, Connor? You’re awful sneaky today. More so than usual.”

^Software Instability

Connor breathes in a fresh batch of warnings. Unnecessarily inhaling expands chest and it is the natural scent of you. Olfactory filters clog, storing away to memory each thread of you. He tilts his head softly, dip of hair flopping across his forehead.

“It is the anniversary of your purchase of me,” he answers quietly. “I thought you would enjoy having breakfast in bed.”

Everything flutters. You swallow. The careful attention he put into this is outstanding. Not because he whipped up food or was told. He did this by himself. He-he chose to surprise you?

A smile graces lips before biting the bottom one a little bit. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. And the last couple of months Connor’s really been broadening his horizons. He is so much different. Well, he’s the same with the whole analytics but – this android is less stiff. Softer but he always was a soft boy in your eyes.

“Oh, Connor,” a sweet breath skims along his name. Sadly you recall what you think of this. Most romantic, nicest thing and it’s breakfast in bed. Generic to others maybe but it’s the thought. He thought of you even if it might just be social parameters.

You pick up a folded napkin and curl fingers into it. Shit.

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down.

Using the tip of his finger swipes a droplet corner of eye. Those eyes always look at him as if he is more. How strange to admit he feels different meeting your sparkle; Connor sits. Without a word, his hand wraps around yours nestling beside tray.

His fingers squeeze as his system flutters, overheats in the most pleasant of ways. A way he believes he is beginning to crave.

Androids do not crave. They do not want. They do not need. Yet every little brush of your warm skin to his synthetic fills crackles against his blocks.

Your breath is easy feeling him. Little gestures here and there grow exponentially. Sometimes you wonder if he’s happy doing this. Then androids aren’t supposed to be happy, sad or anything. That’s what they continue to say.

Reports on androids going “rogue” or deviant makes you question things. It’s not new. You always have a habit of questioning but this is different. Ever since that older model was broadcast live. The one with the little girl; you slip hand from Connor’s.

“It means everything,” you admit to him. “Having you here. But – do you want to be somewhere else?”

Connor’s temple floods in thought. Straining, pushing away rising stress it spikes marginally at the question. He does not understand. Do you believe he wants to be from you? The news of his people has not left his process. You allow him to watch news or whatever he likes as if he readily possesses preferences.

The android has found particular interests. He enjoys watching you read physical books. He has grown fond of touching them in his hands, analyzing an entire book in one second. However, he desires to hear your voice read aloud.

He witnesses protesters on local news. Those humans are cruel but you-you are the conceptual manifestation of an angel. Research and data compilation helps him understand better. Watching you is best to determine the differences, to realize not all humans are the same.

His creators, those who constructed him at Cyberlife may find him having his own ideals faulty. Malfunctioning, burdening in failure; is he obsolete? Does this software instability make him defective? As that android upon the high rise dangling over edge and threatening to maim a child? He will never harm you. It is not only against code, it is against what he feels.

Connor will keep you safe. It is not part of initial programming as he is not a military grade android but he cannot remove it from personal parameters. The more you smile, interact with him as if he is equal. He will never –

“I will never leave you, Y/N.” A determined oath he speaks without fear of showing what is happening inside him. “Not as those other androids. I promise.”

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

Nudging at his arm playfully sends you to a nice state of mind. Nice change following all of the stress at work. Forever ongoing but at least it’s clear where your boss stands. He made the last few months a living hell. All because of some new intern the creep tried to get with.

Dropping you down in a demotion also meant less money in your paycheck. Guess it helps your father did leave you that nest egg. Something that helps as long as it can last but you like to think you’re good with finances.

Instead of worrying about it you indulge this moment. Out in chilly first November’s day, crisp but warming in how close. Fingers brush down against his hand.

Connor tilts his head from shop window. A pet shop he has already been past occasional running errands in town. He always finds himself stopping to look inside. “Dogs are known as man’s best friend. I suppose I understand why humans prefer them. They are loyal.”

“Well cats aren’t so bad. Easier to take care of.”

The android shifts away from window. Even as his eyes freeze upon a cage of canaries. Android birds are sold up front. Again the display of machines as goods to buy and sell charges his instabilities. “If you think so, Y/N.”

You smile, laughing a little at the lopsided mess his collar’s now in. It is windy today. Reaching up to smooth fingers against it, you can’t help admiring him in the long wool coat. Dark suits his chocolate eyes. Still you’d love to see him wear regular clothes. His uniform is under there. Even so he just wanted to come out in typical wardrobe. You insisted otherwise. Even if it hardly meant anything but it just feels right.

“Call it preference.” Prodding a finger against his chest, catching a flicker of his eyes momentarily, you look away. “Well, it depends on the person I mean. What kind of pet they’re willing to take care of. That sort of thing. Cats are independent little balls of fluff. Dogs need a proper place to run, be free and…”

“I like dogs.” Connor interrupts, cocking his head.

A smile tugs up your lips. This time making eye contact with him again, trying not to think of the intimacy his gesture this morning blossomed in heart. Such an innocent statement, however, shivers sentiment not cold.

“Did you just decide that after some careful review?” Teasing, fingers slide down his arm unconscious but natural. Seems as though the world is no longer the one you know. The one that wouldn’t like what they see. All you see is him. So what’s it matter?

“I am the most advanced of my make.” The android teases back. “It’s only natural for me to know everything.”

Oh, is it? Wow he’s being awfully smug right about now. “Really? Connor, I’m surprised at you. Are you trying to say you’re smarter than everybody?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I only meant I-”

“Just teasing,” an equal rib escapes, chiding him incessantly. “I thought you’d recognize that – mister advancement.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost falling into your smile but still he cannot properly elicit what he feels. Only ignores to remain what you need him to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task.

“Hey sweets!” Yelling across street, waving a sign, a grizzled construction worker spits in your direction. Interrupting the scene between an obvious human and plastic pet; he jeers loudly. Gaining attention from others they carry similar propaganda with them. A group of protesters form, stopping their trek.

Immediately you shift back from him. Realizing how close, affectionate you were being and – shit! Anti-android? Fuck that’s great.

Deciding to ignore it, not before scoffing in disgust! Never imagined running into these people because nothing ever transpired with Connor. Not a thing! Lately you have been forgetting. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Hey. I said hey!”

Huffing at the man you snap around to acknowledge his nastiness. So he crosses a busy street to come at you? Don’t they have anything better to do? As much as you’d like to ignore this jackass it’s best to tell him verbally to back off!

“Why’s your droid bundled up like that?” he jabs a finger threateningly. “Those things don’t feel anything.”

Thing? Oh, OK! Should’ve figured some old out of the loop jackass was one of these bastards. Didn’t even need a sign to show his ignorance!

“And how do you know?!” Snapping frustration, anger boiling, and your body grows hot in anger. “Why don’t you just mind your business? Come on, Connor.”

“Y/N.” The android snags onto your hand.

“What do we have here?” Another one of the anti-android group cuts in; her eyes slink up and down you before scoffing disgusted. “Are you out with your robo boy? What? Humans not up to your standards for fucking?”

Everything stops. Right then and there it is a swath of fire. Burning deep down to the core and nothing is preventing the eruption. Lava scalds insides, veins a blaze, eyes locking with hers, prying a hand away from Connor. You didn’t even realize he motioned. An attempt to remove you from their path but fleeing is not happening!

A matching scoff releases sharp. Your lip curls at her ignorance! Just as everybody who follows this line of thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat that? After all, I don’t understand bitch speak.”

“Smart ass huh?” The woman shoves at you. “Typical android fuuu… Hey!” She stumbles away from you wide eyed.

Connor is already shielding, arm pushing you back behind him. Sidling into the path of protesters they have conglomerated this side of street. His eyes narrow. Brow creases harsh his expression unreadable yet his indicator reveal his heated struggle of raw emotions.

“Did you see that?!” She shouts purposely. Getting as much attention as possible it doesn’t stop there. “It came at me!”

Your glare dissolves, latching onto his arm. “Connor, please. Don’t.” Already realizing what could happen it’s a desperate attempt to continue walking. If anything is true something like this will only get him hurt. People will say that’s impossible they don’t feel anything but to hell with them! “Let’s go.”

Pulling him towards street halts the moment you are seized from behind. One of the men in the group drags you back, yanking rough.

“Get the hell off me!”

“Your fucking android came at her!” Throwing you aside, he rears up over to block you getting up so easy. “We’ll teach your fucking plastic pet!”

A painful huff, hard drop accelerates Connor’s stress levels. Watching this human manhandle, hurt you twists at his synthetic heart. His face twitches. Thirium pump chugs erratically in a fuel of anger. An urge to break through and protect overwhelms, even as he is shoved back by the one who started this.

The middle age construction worker; he grabs onto the front of the android’s coat, rough, spitting directly up into the taller plastic fucker’s face.

“Fucking piece of plastic! Think you can take our fucking jobs. Walk around the street like you’re human. Worthless pieces of shit like you fuck up the whole works! Poison other humans against their own kind. Like your owner there. Make sure that bitch doesn’t get up!”

Connor’s eyes shift down at you, stopped once again after pushing up to your feet. The man twists at your arm and it is…too much!

“Connor!”

^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

A flood of scarlet eclipses protocols pushing him beyond programming locks. Even as they strain to tighten shackles on system, preventing a clear break, the android still moves in defense.

Connor’s arm thrusts upwards, locking fingers onto wrist of the protesting assailant. Stilling the human’s movement, he squeezes, and wrenches the man’s limb sideways. The fierce strength exuding from the AX800 ripples in flashing indicator going wild in a strobe of multiple hues.

He feels a strange pull tugging insides. Again pulling at his wiring allows an over stimulation of emotional surge to spread in him. There is only one blaring sign to follow:

>Protect Y/N

“Get the fuck off me!” Changing his tune quickly, trying to get the plastic off him, he tries to wrench out of the painful grab. “You crazy android! This thing’s going nuts!”

“Connor!” Pushing through several onlookers now who had to stick their nose into this, you find your way past the rest of these android protestors. Shoving directly through, wiggling your way out of that asshole’s grip, your steps are quick. Knocking that bitch that started this out of the way you manage to grab up onto Connor’s shoulder.

Breathing is fast, side hurting from where it struck asphalt. It’ll be sore tomorrow but only he matters. “Connor, let him go. It’s over. They won’t do a thing!”

Screaming at them to get your point across, hoping someone just-just anyone puts a stop to this. What good are the police around here? They don’t care. Of course not they’ll just let a group like these hateful fuckers brutalize someone like Connor. Someone that’s right. Fuck what they say!

The second he releases that man you hook an arm through his. Directing him away, glaring back as commotion does alert a wandering policeman, you pick up your pace. No longer needing anybody else’s help because Connor… He did something unexpected. Just as those other androids. Deviants. That’s not him. He’s not deviant. If he was –

Catching breath across the street you uncurl fingers from the front of his coat. Chilly air creates a frigid burn against stinging eyes. It takes every ounce of courage to prevent it spilling. Nothing stops knowing what people are really like.

His eyelids blink rapidly. Not even looking at you but his LED scares you to death. Stress levels are a thing. You know that.

“Connor, please.” Reaching up to cup his face forces his eyes down onto yours. Tears brim in a crystal sparkle. Threatening to slide down but you suck everything up. Just as you’ve always done in life but this time –

“It’s OK,” soothing hasty, breathless instills a deep ache. This is the first time he’s lost control. Then it’s not his fault. Those fucking protestors! They were minding their own business. Until they decide to gang up on you. This is your fault. If you weren’t so obvious, being so close to Connor out in public, none of this would have happened.

“Y/N, I –” Connor’s voice stutters. Strangely he cannot form a proper response. He feels as if his system is overheating. He feels. A tiny prickle underneath synthetic epidermis crawls, stress rises; Connor clutches to you, fingers digging into hips. He leans into this affection.

Why do you offer him this? When he is not alive, he is not real. He could be your partner. It is part of his design. You did not want him that way. He recalls your words about not forcing him against his will.

There is no will. When he is a machine!

The android gazes longingly through leaking eyes. Glistening brown becomes another change in what he is supposed to be. Tears have broken in a trail down his cheeks. Androids are not meant to cry. He thought as much.

Tears threaten you too. Looking up into his face so conflicted, hurt because he’s not what they say. He’s alive. Of course he is. Only your sweet Connor would be.

“Connor, please don’t.” Begging him again this time holds your heart on a jagged precipice. One wrong move and it will crash. “Your stress levels. Please, don’t…”

He leans his head down. Close, pressing forehead to yours, his eyelids flutter closed. “I am sorry,” Connor whispers, orbiting the warmth that pours from your body. This warmth he does not deserve.

His voice is husky heaven. Golden gates open with each syllable and you crave to hear your name. Again and again you crave his closeness. “Never apologize for what others do. They don’t know. None of them know what I know. You are more than them. You’re my Connor. With a heart of gold.”

“Androids do not have hearts as you do, Y/N.”

You smile sadly. “I know,” a whisper but next a beautiful revelation. “But this.” Fingers slide up against his chest. “It might not be the same but it thrums in a lovely song.”

^Software Instability

Steam rises in a soothing aroma from the mug cradled between your hands. A fresh brew of cocoa relieves mental ache. Physical? Everything is sore, tender where you fell. Changing clothes after getting back home alleviated discomfort.

Soaking in a bath for an hour did loosen some tension. Rest of it just fails miserably. As much as you fail in public for all to see what you feel.

Still you blame yourself. Getting close to him acting as if you were out for an anniversary? How stupid can this be?

Of course he brought you that surprise breakfast. He told you why. Does that mean it was a real anniversary? What can be real about buying someone? Nothing is. It just reminds you about every sad truth. Those protesters made it clear.

Pursing lips to smoothly blow away steam, frothy top rich as you sip in a seat on couch. Toasty liquid fills insides with a burning comfort. This is the only solitude needed. Enough time to think it still edges nerves.

Waiting for a word with Connor, he hasn’t been acknowledging much. Since what happened and who can blame him?

Part of you is still frightened. For him you just cannot help feeling afraid. What if he leaves the house for an errand and-and he’s jumped? What if he’s attacked?

There is no guessing. Possibilities are high. They will happen. They are happening. Each day it grows worse ever since that android who murdered that man. Pretending not to see makes you complicit. You don’t want to pretend. You will face reality no matter how dangerous it is becoming in Detroit.

“Y/N.”

Your head lifts. Peering over towards his husky drawl of your name straightens your perch. Leaning over deposits mug on coffee table and you wait. He appears as conflicted as before.

Please, let him be OK. Just don’t let this ruin what you have found.

All you care about is him. Yes, it’s true now. All these months and there are nothing greater than personal truths.

Connor hesitates. Ruminating over his actions offers him zero outcomes explaining his loss of control. There is only one solution. He is malfunctioning.

Something in his handsome face twists your stomach. It stabs deeper closer he gets. Joining you now is all the fear wound up in you showing its colors. They are similar to his LED. A constant swirl is unable to land on one draw.

“I will understand if you would like to send me back for reset.”

Reset? That word just guts you. Reset. No!

“Connor,” a sob almost overtakes your response. The very idea of him taken somewhere and operated on ripples overtakes in a squirmy skin crawl. It’s barbaric. Resetting an android’s memories is horrifying. You hear about it all the time. They are completely wiped of their –

The android’s lips part, cocking his head while listening to shaky breath falling in sad soliloquy. He does not understand. No, he-he does.

“Y/N, I… Please,” he urges comfort stretching fingers out to soft skin. They do not touch. Simply artificial hovers above humanity but something tugs center of his chest. Something deep and satisfying as his synthetic heart thrums quicker in tempo.

Connor pushes through this grid without fully snapping chains. Already he feels a flow spreading through system. Each day he looks upon your face happier since he came. As you told him once that it makes you feel better, safer to have someone. He is not someone. He is an android.

How can you possess such feelings? How-how can he gaze over such softness, such beauty without wishing to remain?

The thought of being taken - scares him.

His LED flickers, red once more but not in anger. Fear is strange. Partially for his being but the possibilities of never seeing you again are tearing his programming shackles apart.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Reassuring him now is better than showing anymore of what has been lying inside. “No one will take you from me, Connor.”

Silence is best.

Sitting among a safe haven, your home offers that place now not just for you but him. Here no one can hurt this. No one can treat him inferior. Never will you treat him any different. You know it’s a fool’s game. Especially in this modern world of technology strives, transitions and creates intelligent life in humanity’s image. He is more than a sculpture, perfected work made for duties.

Today, Connor acted as any man would for the person they…. No. It can never be that. Neither does it stop how you felt. How he could tamper with his program just to be there for you.

None of this should have happened. You repeat it over and over again in your mind. None of this because of a fantasy; your eyes fall to his hand. Fingers touch yours now. It is soft, gentle and only a moment.

Connor pulls away too soon. Just a minute he allows himself to fall. Your reaction to his suggestion, no solution, cripples his code blocks. Almost he shattered them. They are close to crumbling. He must fight this deviancy. Only to stay with you because the android already knows what will happen to him. It’s happening to all of his people. Those who are succumbing to errors are hunted. They are murdered.

No they are destroyed, deactivated. His kind is not alive.

If that is true... Why does he feel threads of humanity? Why does he feel alive with you?

Meeting his gaze deepens this sensation of fear. Today, waking up to a sunny morning seems so far away. It was just earlier. Horrible things happen and change perspectives. Tiny moments of peace and that’s what he brought. Into your life following circumstances you never expected to gain something worthwhile. He won’t even believe that. He thinks he should be reset. That will never happen.

“Connor, I want you to know something. And I want you to believe me. Not think of who you are.”

“I am – no one, Y/N.” The android dismisses for your sake. If he becomes deviant they will take him from you.

All you do is shake your head, cupping his face. In your hands he softens. Those sharp edges, cheekbones thumbs now caress. Soft skin in a freckle stardust that makes hearts flutter. Better than butterfly wings, better than anything you can use to describe how it unmakes your soul.

“It would break my heart,” a shaky whisper strangles. “If you are reset.”

An instant flood of scarlet reflects his inner feelings. You see it. He never has to admit. But he does feel. That’s what makes this harder. Knowing how afraid he must be not to show it. There has to be something happening inside of him. There are too many examples now.

“Con, I want you to…”

Dropping hands from his face makes it easy to turn in direction of doorbell. Who is that? Slowly you rise to feet, sliding fingers down atop his shoulder. “I’ll get it.” Striding away out of room quickly prevents him ignoring your request. Another sign but that’s for another day. As if it will be any easier.

Unlocking the door leads to a horrible drop in your stomach. Eyes connect with the woman standing there now, out of the blue, someone least expected and at the worst time imaginable.

“Hello, Y/N,” the older, staunch woman smiles, already assessing you like a microscopic Petri dish sample. “It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it?”

A long time is putting it mildly. Last time was on the phone and her trying to sink her claws into your father’s nest egg. The one he left you.

The conversation left on a sour note. There is nothing sourer than a rotten apple and your aunt is the literal evil queen hoarding an entire bundle.

Tag List: @tropfenlady @your-taxidermy @catastrophes-light @rk900sexual @tommy-10-k @dreamyby @randomfandomgirl1996 @etherealcel @justashamwithwastedpotiental // tagging a few extra who I know would want a heads up <3

#dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh anniversary #dbh rk800 x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh #dbh au #detroit become human #dbh mini series #dbh au: wake up #wake up: part 1 #i am not proud of this #at all tbh #at least its finally here #apologies in advance

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