#unless there are bots that tell you to kys these days

[here-comes-the-harvester]

I love how I come back to this blog and see a kys anon in my inbox like girl can I help you

[justatadmystic]

Emotional Matrix

A Victuuri Robot AU !!

So I finally finished the first part of this! I’ve planned about five chapters behind this idea so we can get some sweet development of not just the world behind this AU but also some development between Robotics tech Victor and Android Yuuri !

Credit to the idea behind this completely goes to @lucifersloveglove / @roboticadraws who drew this !

I recommend reading it here on AO3, however I will post it here as well !

Summary:

UNIT01-KY, a traditional overseer robot, was meant for a longer life then it was given. It was built to help the Katsuki household in keeping their estate together and to guard it from invasion. Hard times fell onto them, and the bot was sold to their nation's ruler to stay afloat. After an assassination attempt leaves UNIT01-KY severely damaged, the bot is abandoned without ceremony and is never seen or heard from again.

Victor, an amateur but up-and-coming small town robotics tech, hadn't expected to find anything of real value when he had gone out scavenging for robotics parts that night, needing new parts to finish a repair order due in the next few days. Instead, he finds a broken bot abandoned near the grounds of the presidential palace. At the risk of taking what could be official state property, he rescues the bot and discovers that this broken overseer bot is much more then even the bot realizes.

"Of course, their arm requires ancient wire cables to move properly. No wonder they complained it wouldn't move anymore..."

Victor muttered quietly, before huffing and placed the robotic arm back onto his work bench. The ancient metal limb had been handed to him two days ago with the request of it being fixed, and the payment to get it done in a week's time. This version of the Hydratech bionic arm had to be several years old at least, seeing as the wiring Victor would need to fix it wasn't being made anymore and would have to be scavenged from anything in the junk yards and scrap alleys around the city. It would have been easier, and probably cheaper, to upgrade to a model that was being made still, but he knew his crowd. He knew his customer base, and he knew that many of them were junkers, or those just scraping a living together at the markets. None of them could afford new model, and very few cold afford simple upgrades.

He wasn't the only robotics technician around these parts, but people came to him because he was willing to go out on his own to scavenge and seek out the older parts needed to keep people's older parts running. He was willing to help these people with older models keep their limbs moving, their machines running, their androids and robots working, and their pets together.

He smiled as he found himself rubbing the head of his sleeping pet, Makkachin. The aging poodle had lost a limb three years back during an accident that wasn't the dog's fault. Several cars had collided and while Makkachin had gone off leash, and out of Victor's hands, to save them, his right paw and leg were damaged due to wounds and burns from the wreckage he dove into. The damage had been done, and they were ultimately forced to amputate the dog's limb to save him.

His adoptive uncle, Yakov, had offered the idea of getting Makkachin a new robotic leg after Victor had delved into a depression at the sight of his long time pup being unable to move like he used to.

Three years ago, Victor did an about-face on his idea for the future. Yakov hadn't a clue how to take care of robotic limbs, having always used other robotic technicians to fix his own robots in the past, and Victor wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of people handling his dog's limb. He abandoned his life-long dream of being a performer for their president, and dove into learning about robotics. How to fix, repair, replace, and remake certain parts and limbs, and how to tell the difference between genuine parts and knockoffs made of fake or otherwise illegal materials ( the black market of robotics was famous here, and wasn't to be messed with unless you had a death wish ). He sought to learn it all for his dog, and eventually the people of his small neighborhood and whoever was given his contacts.

He pulled back the plates of the inner arm again, squinting as he plucked through the various wires, looking anything else that needed attention in the arm. The wires were all but fried, done over by a mixture of overheating, overexposure to the elements, and just simple use. The arm was old, and it had given its all through the years of use and repair. He carefully plucked away shredded wires, and finally found the circuit boards. Pushing the wires to one side, he grabbed for his tweezers, and carefully pulled one of the circuits free from its housing.

"Well hello..."

These were brand new. How that old man had gotten his hands on brand new circuit board chips was beyond him, and he honestly didn't want to ask. That meant he didn't have to go dumpster diving on the far east end for circuits, which would save him getting a new jacket, probably getting new gloves, and about an hours walk to the dump there and an hour back. Carefully as he had taking it out, after making sure it was clean, he put it back into place and repeated it with the others lining the arm leading up to the wrist, making sure the inner shell was cleaned out of lingering rust and bits of metal from previous fixes. He's have to almost gut the entire inner workings of the arm at this point if he wanted it to work properly again.

"At least some of the cables and wires are salvageable. If I can splice them together with new ones, it would save me the time finding new connectors for the new wires. They look alright."

Makkachin whined softly in his sleep, his head tapping Victor's ankle as he worked. He took a moment, and set his tools down again, tapping glowing interface on his wrist and pulling up his digital clock.

21:32 MSK

It was a little late, but he would find better things at night when most scavengers and junkers weren't crawling over the junkyards and alleys. He would have the night to himself, and all the scrap he could get his hands on to fix this arm. There wasn't a set curfew, unlike what it was like a few years ago during the last war, so he would be safe to go out even if he was caught in the yards. He had his interface, he had his ID. Makkachin had his too, so all would be good.

"Alright, Makkachin," he groaned, stretching his back before standing up from his chair and running his hand through the poodle's fur, "Time to get up. We have a trip to make."

Makkachin was slow to rouse, taking a moment to stretch and whine before hearing the sound of Victor's backpack sliding off the ground pushed the dog to action, happily barking up at Victor as he adjusted his backpack straps, settling the sack on his back as best as he could. He wouldn't be transporting too much scrap, but he knew he had to have enough space if he needed several cords to do the job. He stuffed his addition black sack into the backpack just in case. He pulled his sturdy boots out from under his workbench, slowly slipping his bruised feet into them.

'Incoming transmission from: Uncle Yakov' his interface chirped, the glowing blue grid appearing over his wrist, 'Incoming transmission from: Uncle Yakov'.

"Accept transmission."

The grid shuttered as it picked up Yakov's voice, the visual radio waves fluctuating as Yakov spoke. "Are you heading out tonight, Victor?"

"I am." Victor grunted, snapping the buckles of his left boot closed, patting Makkachin as he focused on his right boot, "I need some ancient Hydratech wire cables for this arm that was dropped off. I don't want to push back a scavenging, especially considering the increased security since the attack on the palace."

"I can't convince you to hold back for tonight, can I?"

"Nope!" Victor chirped, standing back up on his feet, and reaching for his abandoned gun belt, checking the pistol for a moment, and checking that it wasn't loaded, "I'll carry my gun just in case, before you ask, Yakov. My permit's stored on my interface already, so I'm safe in case of a random security sweep."

Victor looked down to his wrist as Yakov sighed, going silent for a moment as hushed talking went on in the call. He couldn't pick out the words, and didn't seem interested in doing so as he slung the belt around his waist, making sure it was secure.

"Alright, Vitya. Try to come back at a decent hour tonight. We don't need you profiled by overseers-"

"Got it. I don't think it'll take too long to find what I need. Besides, I don't have the face of a criminal. Overseers of the nightguard know me because I do most of my scavenging at night. I'm a welcomed, kind, and beautiful face. Don't be so worried."

"I'm worried more then ever now that both you and Mila are dabbling in robotics."

"I'm not dabbling in it, and neither is Mila. We've discussed this." Victor's expression soured as he tapped through his interface, looking through the various notes he had recorded on the different scavenging spots and what was most abundant in what places. Makkachin gently pawed at his leg, reminding him that he needed to get going.

"And I'm still not happy about it. Just be careful, Vitya."

"I'll come home safe."

'Transmission ended. Duration: one minute and fourteen seconds. Would you like to save this conversation?'

He glanced at his wrist, noting the automated voice for a moment before fiddling with it, skimming through his messages as he paused at his front door.

"Nope."

'Transmission recording deleted.'

"Now that Yakov has gotten his nightly rant at me... you ready, Makka?"

A resounding bark of excitement followed by Makkachin's wildly swishing tail gave him enough confirmation. He opened the door, letting Makkachin slip out before the cool night air blasted into Victor's face. It wasn't as cold as it should have been for the time of night, and the time of year, but he would accept the slightly less frigid temperatures as a sign that tonight was his night.

His part of the city was quiet, tucked away from the boisterous parties and clubs of the city center and downtown, and the dangerous hushed whispers of the east end. The only thing that could be heard was the far off sounds of music from the president's palace. It's glittering walls and lights could be seen as he walked along the dim lit stretch of walkway. He silently signaled Makkachin to cross the coming up chasm from the other bridge as he clambered up a mess of metal and the remains of a cell tower. A strong I-beam stretched across the chasm down into who knows where, but over the years scavengers made the metal bridge safer by widening it with another I-beam, and stretching strong wires over it to allow anyone to hold onto it. Before long, they had metal beams added to the wires, and it had become the Chasm Bridge.

Generations of scavengers, robotics techs and robotic developers had tread across the bridge ever since the rise of robotics and androids. It was history, and he had the honor to walk on it everyday he left to look for parts.

He looked up from his quiet remembrance of the bridge to find Makkachin patiently waiting on the other side of the bridge for him. He chuckled softly, moving across the bridge a little fast and met his patient dog with a headpat and another soft whistle to keep moving. Their quiet walk to the closest dump was accented with the sound of Makkachin's metal paw on the pavement, and Victor's soft humming of one of his favorite songs, Stammi Vicino.

"Sento una voce," he quietly sang, "che piange lotano."

Makkachin looked up at him as they walked in the silence, hearing the words of a song Victor sang almost constantly, a song he loved to hear despite its somewhat painful lyrics. He had to look up the lyrics when he had first heard the song, unable to understand the gentle Italian being sung, and what he found hit home and the lyrics found a resting place in his heart.

"Acchen tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?"

Have you been abandoned as well?

He continued the song without the words, humming along the tune as they move into the shadows of the palace, diving into the fenced off junk dump with earnest. Most of it was useless scrap, twisted metal and long gone parts of the first generation robotics that couldn't be used anymore. Makkachin was doing his best to quietly dig through different piles, trying to help Victor find the cords he needed. Cautiously, Victor wiped the sweat off his brow, and continued to pull through the metal.

"Hydratech. Please have working cords, please have working cords." Victor murmured to himself, pulling out a half-gutted robotic leg from the pile, picking through what remained and wiping away some of the hardened oil, smiling at the state of the cords within. Hydratech had been known for its somewhat unreliable wire cords but they were sturdy and normally lasted well past their expected life span. It was the trade off most people accepted for some malfunctions in movement and some additional freezing of the data chips.

"This'll do fine. Found it, Makka!"

He waited a moment, waiting for his precious pup to answer, but was met with silence. He turned sharply on his haunches, finding his dog nowhere in the vicinity of the dump. Panic welled up in him as he stood, clutching the wire cords tightly as he let emotion overtake common sense.

"Makkchin!"

Barking broke the silence that followed, drawing Victor out of the dump at the sound of his dog's barking. He turned around the next left corner as Makkachin's barks increased in volume. Another right turn through the alley had him face to face with a blown up alley, a rubble zone, and his dog whining at what looked to be a body slumped against one of the destroyed walls. It was hard to make it out from the dusty entrance Victor stood in, and the moon did little to illuminate the shapes that rest in the bombed-out alleyway. It still slightly smoldered, the remains of the assassination attempt left in the open air.

"What'd you find, Makkachin?"

As Victor approached, and Makkachin whined quietly once again, he could easily now see that what his dog hovered around was a body.

"Oh god..."

Official reports released very few names from the large scale assassination attempt, and the body count was continuing to climb as their city worked through the wreckage that cluttered much of the slums and downtown sectors. He had figured with this part of town being so close to the royal grounds that it would have been swept for bodies, and yet this lone figure rested against a collapsed wall as if abandoned by the world to rot away.

Makkachin shuffled back as Victor came to his knees in front of the body, hands holding onto the cold cheeks of their face. Skin is split open with wounds, marks marring the skin black and soot covering what should be clear skin. However, upon closer inspection, the wounds do not open up into infected wounds, or rotting muscles, but instead expose grey metal, and the tease of wires.

"An android?"

Victor leaned back, and surveyed what was in front of him. The android was in poor condition, left to the elements and to the remains of the battle. the droid had a masculine appearance from the proportions of the body, the first clue being the hips thinner then the shoulders, and carried a touch of feminine facial features. Black hair was slipping out of an immaculate slicked back styling, beginning to cover his forehead. He's missing more then half of his right arm, the limb crudely destroyed and ripped away. Wires were still idly sparking out of the end of the severed limb. His left leg was severed at the knee, the disconnected wires sparking more often then the arm. A quick glance around confirmed to Victor that his leg was scattered across the alleyway.

A quick glance at the droid's other arm confirmed something that had just begun to be questioned in his mind.

The mark of their state. The droid was state property.

Why hadn't the droid been recovered if it was state property? He looked to be a main defender during the attack, and yet he rests now on the ground, torn to pieces, left to anyone if they found him. Victor bit his lip, and pulled up his interface, pointing his wrist toward the android.

"Scan for identification."

His interface took a minute to scan him, watching the blue grid illuminate the wounds on the android's skin, and the barely visible glow of the electronics behind his shut eyelids.

'Scan complete, identification confirmed.'

Victor watched the window open up to the android's identification profile, holding his breath as the interface vocalized the information.

'Android Robotic Unit01-KY. Currently under the ownership of President Royal Klimova. Employed as an Overseer for Section 9 of the Presidential Palace. Warning: information has been changed for this android's profile. Changes logged four days ago. Status of Unit01-KY has been changed. Unit has been declared destroyed, or lost to the rebellion. Unit01-KY has been released from its duties as an overseer, and has been released from its previous owner by President Klimova.'

"But he's right here!" Victor futilely argued at the interface, huffing out a breath as he looked to the android again.

No matter what maker, no matter what walk of life... nothing deserved to be abandoned like this.

"Run a deep diagnostic on him."

'Diagnostic in process.'

The diagnostic took about five minutes, ensuring it got through everything without doing a complete in and out scan of the android. Once complete, his interface VI chirped, his interface opening the information gathered. Victor paused, unable to draw his eyes from the damaged android. Their own leader had abandoned a loyal overseer, and simply thought him dead or stolen.

"Is he operational?"

'Unit01-KY is powered down due to loss of external limbs and internal damage, however preliminary diagnostics show that he is not damaged beyond repair. His internal systems are still operational. All neural abilities are intact. All internal capacitors, memory systems, CPU units, and artificial nervous system are intact and operational. Diagnostics suggest Unit01-KY will need a complete background reset to be back in working operation, as well as have repairs done to both minor internal and major external systems to avoid permanent damage to its neural networks and operations systems. Premature rebooting could result to complete internal system meltdown due to stress on the unit's systems.'

He could do repairs, but doing the reset would take work, unless he could somehow trigger a reset through repairs. It was possible with something like androids and robots. He didn't want to leave this droid rotting here in the destroyed city, but also knew the dangers of taking in what was in essence an abandoned child separated from its mother.

He looked to Makkachin.

The dog was curled up alongside the droid, giving Victor a look that made up his mind without a second thought.

Have you been abandoned as well?

"We're not leaving him here, Makkachin."

The dog's head lifted, tail wagging immediately as Victor moved off his knees and scavenged for the the missing parts of the android, stuffing them into his backpack as best as possible. He had to make some room for the whole of the leg he found several feet away, but it would be worth it if he could reattached it. He seemed to have all of the pieces needed to put it back on the android's body. His backpack was going to be a bother, but at least all the pieces he could find fit well enough. Hoisting it over his shoulders, Victor readied himself once again, and turned back to the silent android.

He took a moment to just look at him. At the plains of his dusty cheeks, at the small marks marring his skin, and at the thing black lines that had frozen on his skin. The equivalent of human blood, though androids were rarely seen shedding oil in such a fashion.

"Keep quiet and lead the way, Makkachin."

Victor was careful in lifting the android into his arms, struggling for a moment until his knees allowed him to stand. He wavered, trying to keep his balance with the droid in his arms, but found his footing. He carefully adjusted the android, paying close attention to the severed arm and severed leg, frowning at the unit's state.

It felt wrong just calling him an android, a robot. Many of the active droids he knew, and had repaired, were given real names and weren't just called by their manufacturer numbers and state-given identification sequences.

Abandoned by the state, left to rot away.

"You're going to start a new life with me," Victor quietly commented to the silent android, looking forward as Makkachin trotted ahead, finding a quiet route to return home on.

"Unit01-KY. It's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

His interface quietly chirped at his rhetorical question.

'The diagnostic revealed files trapped behind heavy firewalls before losing contact with the state. All of the files are censored but some information was able to be obtained from the parts not covered in black tape. The name 'Yuuri' was present among the uncensored information, however there was no explanation for the inclusion of a human name for the android.'

"Yuuri... Alright then. From now on, Unit01-KY, you'll be called Yuuri."

'Would you like Unit01-KY's information and identification modified to include the new name?'

"Absolutely."

'Unit01-KY's official name has been changed to Yuuri. The original name will be changed into a secondary call sign. Information also updated on Yuuri's official ID page includes its current ownership, and a temporary status change. All records have been updated and are now up to date. Upon Yuuri's reboot, all changes will take effect unless complications arise within the android.'

Victor couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he would get in trouble for taking in a state-labeled robot, but he didn't particularly care about the consequences. He looked down once again to Yuuri's battle-worn face.

Have you been abandoned as well?

"Let's get you home, Yuuri."