rk800xx-blog

[rk800xx-blog]

[rk800xx-blog]

// [admin:] about being a little swamped lately? Yeah. All the stress is making me so sick I had to stay overnight at the hospital. Gonna try and take it slow from here, but for what it’s worth, I’m... here? And I’ve played so much Detroit that I know the most obscure things about it that I’ll never have any use for. However, my boy’s now officially tagged with -52, so while he seems fairly confident that this dying thing is news to him, it really isn’t. He’s just. Memory issues. Hit his head. Things like that.

I’ve got a lot of things to sort out, but maybe, if I give myself enough time and remind myself to rest, I’ll finally get back to writing.

[rk800xx-blog]

[system specific survey request from @devncy;]  

MUSE BODY LANGUAGE     //     BOLD / ITALICIZE WHAT  YOU  APPLY  TO  YOUR  MUSE.  REPOST,  DO  NOT  REBLOG !!

DEFENSIVENESS.     arms  crossed  on  chest /   crossing  legs   /   fist-like  gestures   /   pointing  index  finger   /   karate  chops   /   stiffening  of  shoulders   /   tense  posture   /   curling  of  lip   /   baring  of  teeth

REFLECTIVE.     hand  to  face  gestures   /   head  tilted   /   stroking chin  /  peering  over   glasses   /    taking  glasses  off  —  cleaning   /   putting  earpiece  of  glasses  in  mouth   /   pipe  smoker  gestures   /   putting  hand  to  the  bridge  of  nose   /  pursed  lips   /   knitted  brows

SUSPICION.     arms  crossed  /   sideways  glance   /   touching  or  rubbing  nose   /   rubbing  eyes   /   hands  resting  on  weapon   /   brows  rising   /   lips  pressing  into  a  thin  line /   strict  unwavering  eye  contact /   wrinkling  of  nose

OPENNESS  +  COOPERATION.     open  hands   /   upper  body  in  sprinters  position   / sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  /   hand-to-face gestures   /   unbuttoned  coat  /   tilted  head /   slacked  shoulders   /   droopy  posture   /   feet  pointed  outward   /  palms  flat  and  facing  outward

CONFIDENCE.   hands  behind  back /   hands  on  lapels  of  coat   /   steepled  hands   /   barring  teeth  in  a  grin   /   rolling  shoulders   /   tipping  head  back  but  maintaining  eye  contact  /   chest  puffed  up   /   shoulders  back   /   arms  folded  just  above  navel

INSECURITY  +  ANXIETY.    chewing  pen  or  pencil   /   rubbing  thumb  over  opposite  thumb   /   biting  fingernails   / hands  in  pockets   /   elbow  bent   /   closed  gestures  /   clearing  throat   /   “ whew ”  sound   /   picking  or  pinching  flesh   /   fidgeting  in  chair   /   hand  covering  mouth  whilst  speaking   /   poor  eye  contact�� /  tugging  at  pants  whilst  seated /   jingling  money  in  pockets   /   tugging  at  ear   /  perspiring  hands  /   playing  with  hair   /   swaying   /   playing  with   pointer  /  marker   /   smacking  lips   /   sighing   /   rocking  on  balls  of  feet  /   flexing  fingers  sporadically

FRUSTRATION.    short  breaths   /   “ tsk ”  sounds   /   tightly  clenched  hands /  fist-like  gestures   /   pointing  index  finger   /   running  hand  through  hair   /   rubbing  back  of  neck /   snarling   /   revealing  teeth /   grimacing   /   sharp-eyed  glowers  with  notable  tension  in  brows   /   shoulders  back,  head  up   -   defensive  posturing   /  clenching  of  jaw  /  grinding  of  teeth /   nostrils  flaring   /  heavy  exhales

[rk800xx-blog]

[system specific survey request from @devncy;] [> forwarding survey request to @pl-600-s, @nichtangell]

CREATE A DRAGON BASED ON YOUR MUSE

Create your muse as a dragon then tag however many people you’d like to do the same! REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s​

Connor knew it almost before it happened. He could see the soldier turning, he heard his gun before it fired, and it was all much clearer within him than outside of him. Simon’s hold of him - the push at him - unsteadied him and he stumbled forwards, one palm pressing over the leaking wounds on his frame and the other balancing him by swaying to his side, holding still in the air, catching snowflakes before he clutched Simon with it to stay upright.

He felt the first bullet’s impact; it was like a second push, but this time, Simon was shielding him. Connor’s eyes stayed upon the black form of the soldier firing at them as the bullets tore into Simon and the sheer thrust of their momentum hit Connor through the other android’s frame, knocking Simon back into Connor, and from there, the deviant fell. Connor let go of him as he went down, allowing the push of his body turn him around. Briefly, as he scanned the surrounding area with his broken vision in one swift, desperate sweep, he wondered if this could be what a headache felt like; the million shredded stars cluttering his sight, the screech inside his auditory systems, the slow recovery of his balance and motoric systems with its wave-like tilting and pulsing that felt like the ground - or the horizon - was shifting, not his body.

His fingertips were slippery with Thirium as he fell to one knee behind Simon, grabbed the shattered piece of metal that had likely once been part of a street sign - perhaps the hollowed-out backpiece of an LED screen - and with all the power in him, threw it at the soldier steadying his gun again. His legs shook even though the weight of the thing wasn’t too much for a man to carry; anything, anything at all was too much for him now. But the soldier was now stunned and would waste a good couple seconds regaining his footing: at least that much he’d achieved.

“Simon!”

The name fell from him as distantly as the previous words he’d spoken, wavering inside and outside of his shell as he twisted around to grasp a hold of the deviant’s shoulder. He wanted to touch him somewhere he could feel him, have a sure-fire system read on him, but they didn’t have the time for that, for data transfer or a scan of any kind, yet he needed to know if Simon could still stand, could still move. They were only so far away from the now battered-looking bin that had been pushed away from its original place against the barricade’s wall; perhaps behind there, they could...

Connor’s hold of Simon grew firmer as he decisively ignored the stench of gunfire, the stains of Thirium on the ground, the smoke and the shouting.

“Can you hear me? We have to move. Now. Now.”

To where, he didn’t know. Anywhere but here.

Why̵��̨̧̞͕̜̠͎̘̆̀̏̕ ̶̘͖̫̭͖̊̇̾̋͗̕̚wou̸l̴d̶ you do that... for me?

[rk800xx-blog]

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s

Simon’s voice, as gravel-against-pavement as it was, came less as a surprise than Connor had expected, yet... it came, surely enough, with a mixture of other reactions.

“You shouldn’t -” he heard himself mouth at the android as he let the other help him up; he truly shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be here anymore, for one - if he wanted to live, he should be fleeing, finding shelter from the armed forces pouring into the barricade. Shouldn’t be helping him, even if he had to help someone; Connor was no good to them, or anyone, or even aligned with the cause.

This deviant’s good heart would undoubtedly get him killed. Maybe now was the moment.

And yet, the other reactions persisted. This... relief, although he’d already embraced the obvious outcome of this being where he’d end. Of... death? Shutting down? Suddenly, now that he’d brushed with it again, Connor didn’t know what to call it anymore. Facing it this close again but still not knowing what to expect made it a concept that his whole being rejected. The possibility of it, held against the contrast of Simon’s grip of him, was like the ice solidifying around them and trying to tear him down and the feeling of falling and weakness in his legs grew stronger the more he gave in to that thought. He didn’t want that. 

It scared him.

“Thank you, Simon,” he said instead, cutting his own barely-breathed sentence apart with these replacement words. His feet landed somewhere, and it felt like solid ground; his vision was coming in through the grain but the movements of those around him seemed slowed-down somehow.

There were too many that looked unfamiliar - armed and prepared to kill. The androids were something else, a cowering mass no longer in its mass form but fleeing, charging here and there, collapsing around them. With a grimace, he leaned into Simon and aimed a poorly-coordinated kick at a burning barrel to send it spinning or falling towards a man with a gun who’d just turned for them, and with that, he nudged Simon’s frame towards the only exit he could plan - straight through, but between turned backs.

[rk800xx-blog]

[rk800xx-blog]

[admin:] Dealing with a lot rn. Gonna be back eventually. Meanwhile, also going to play through this game about 700 times so that when I come back, I come back with all the information

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s

The explosion seemed to wipe him away completely. It was too much, too much for any of his remaining online systems to handle; his vision went out, and all he could hear was a white noise so loud that it felt like sand grinding against his processors. Perhaps worse than that, his sensory system felt like... was it pins and needles, this sensation of numbness mixed with the opposite of numbness, like a million small thorns digging into him? 

His fingers sought out the edges of whatever he’d hit with the full weight of his body behind the impact; raw edges, rough, turning for something rubbery and hard. A tire, next to some wood. He’d hit the barricade. Blinking, still blinded, he pulled himself up along it, only to be hit hard in the shoulder by something - someone - charging past. Worse yet, there was another earth-shattering explosion, he could feel it as if the ground beneath him wavered underneath him. He’d have lost his balance all over again, if not for the trembling structures behind him. Through the sand in his ears, he could finally start making apart something else, something that wasn’t the loud ringing that was coming through first; voices, shouting and screaming, and something else, the helicopter, and more explosions.

Through the whiteness fading into shattered shadows, he realised the barricades were leaking with humans climbing over the fence.

Well, he found himself thinking, a small submissive smile on his lips aimed at no one at all, You did get this far.

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s​

Reaching the barricade was a relief; the weight off Connor’s feet, the ability to just part the stress away from his frame and lose some strain off the system keeping him balanced and upright, gave him a flood of comfort as he placed his arms against the haphazardly stacked fortifications. From here, he could see Markus again; the man standing opposite to him was a mess of static, but Markus, as if by character alone, seemed somehow more stable than the rest of Connor’s vision, a dark shape carved into the dirtied snow around him, against the floodlights, against the wildfire-like glow behind the floodlights. 

From here, he could make apart the fences with their red markings, lining up the area that, he assumed, was the area where the androids had been gathered. It seemed absurd somehow, this setting with the small lot of them walled in and the mass of humans separating them from... Connor could only assume it was an overwhelming force of multiple androids for one human, and yet, the deviants had barely any hope of surviving the standoff.

He couldn’t make apart the words spoken; it was likely the case for the other androids around him and not simply a result of his failing auditory systems, but while he watched the two profiles standing like a symbol of this battlefield on its own, his thoughts were elsewhere, trying to put some structure into all that he’d learned.

First, on the objective level: the conflict had grown, as could have been predicted by previous patterns the deviant behavior had presented, into an organized movement with a unified goal and a front that directly defied the purpose and role of all androids in society. It had led or backed them here, into this corner, making what seemed like the final desperate stand against the established order, despite the human efforts to once and for all destroy the remaining androids in an attempt to regain control. Based on the numbers, this attempt had, at least, been partially successful.

Secondly, on a subjective level: he was one of the androids. Whether this had meant that he was also one of those headed to the camps to be neutralized, he didn’t know; he didn’t know enough of what had come of him, or his orders, or his assignment under the present circumstances after he’d been replaced. What it did mean, acutely and most importantly, was that he was now stuck in a position that made him not only the enemy of those inside the barricade, but indiscriminately of those outside of it. He was no longer an ally to the human forces against the deviants any more than he was an ally to the deviant forces against the humans. This apparent displacement, above all else, made him uncomfortable.

Thirdly, there was the matter of the alignment and actions of his other self. It remained, mostly, a mystery to him, but it seemed - against all odds, and to his extreme discomfort - that somehow, the new model that had all but inherited his cause, had at one point or another betrayed it. Unless there was an elaborate plan behind this new alignment for the deviant cause that Connor simply couldn’t predict from his perspective, the RK800 that these androids around him knew... was one of them.

And that, above everything else, made him the enemy of the humans. Even in the circumstances where his place amongst them had been secured by some decree from CyberLife to aid the anti-deviant cause, if he was perceived to have betrayed them, then he had no place on the other side of this barricade. Yet, there was no condition under which he could have aligned himself with those inside of it, even if that seemed to be the only option that would benefit him. Regardless of what another of his series had done, he was not a traitor; he was not a deviant. This, it seemed, was the priority that everything else boiled down to; the cul-de-sac that prevented him from progressing to any direction.

Suddenly, he realised he did regard himself aligned with something; Simon, somewhere to the back right from him now, mapped as a loose alliance in his risk assessment. North, just to the right from him, looking forwards as he was doing, seemed as suspicious towards him as Josh did, but he’d built the basis of something with the PL600, and that was the best he could fall back to now. It was the bare minimum of survival - to have even the most primitive network of cooperatives - but when it came to getting out of here, no matter how it would happen, it could still provide crucial. The deviant was loyal to a fault, selfless by design, and willing to believe the best of him just because, and with those traits, he presented the lowest risk of failing to provide aid, should it eventually - likely - come to that.

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s

Simon’s observable selflessness made Connor, if only for a moment, almost forget what he was heading for. It took him by surprise, really; that the deviant would drop his priority interest in favor of being there for what could only be described as an enemy. Connor’s steps slowed down as Simon settled by his side, and he gave the android a look of - observation? Pure curiosity? Before the attention from the others, whom he’d not yet formally met, pulled him back to focus on them.

A flash of dry amusement crossed him at the question aimed at him by Josh. Who was he, really? Just another Connor, someone whose existence had already been overwritten, whose purpose had been refilled?

“Just a Connor,” he heard himself replying with that same irony-tinted, yet almost light-hearted, tone; “The predecessor of the one you must have met.”

The deviant hunter didn’t seem like the kind of an answer they were looking for. He left it out, quite conveniently, but the implication was hanging thick in the air. Regardless of what had become of him - the Connor they’d met, he was his past. They had to know, if they’d gotten this far.

Firmly, he pushed on before the conversation lingered upon the subject of him and his similarities and differences to the other one; “The humans have sent a negotiator?” he asked instead, taking a submissive half-step forwards to imply he wanted to pass this barricade-within-a-barricade made out of other android bodies to see - hear - what was happening outside.

He’d barely heard it, but it was the only reason he could see Markus - the most important figure captive within their own fortifications - to jump out in the open where any bullet, or a cascade of them, could have ended him at will.

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s​

Simon pushed past the damaged android, who followed him on instinct despite the words spoken. He was much slower, however, and eventually stopped to mix with some other onlookers instead of walking with Simon all the way to the front. He could see the androids the other had pointed out by name much clearer from here; Markus, as he skipped over the barricade and landed on the other side, and North and Josh as they watched him go. He expected a flood of information, like he’d had with Simon, but instead he felt as if an inaudibly high-pitched noise in response to his attempt: the request bounced back at him, leaving him stunned in the absence of results.

A strange, non-rational thought entered his mind as the wind picked up, pushing between the layers of his clothes and chilling the trails of Thirium over his frame.

Is this what a human would feel? This helplessness in the face of the unknown, the wild card factor of simply not knowing about his environment before he’d already braved it, before he’d already submitted to the risks he couldn’t accurately predict?

He let his weight lean forwards, onto his foot moving one step forwards again, then the other;

Hank had always found his inability to stay behind irritating.

[rk800xx-blog]

Reblog if you’re always open to questions for or about your muse(s)

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s

“You left behind a clear trail to follow,” Connor told him, his voice more distant again. “But we could never quite catch up. Sometimes, it felt like we were getting close, but -”

His sentence was cut by a sharp female voice calling for Markus. As if resurfacing from the memory was difficult, he lifted his head up slowly, searching for movement in the crowd. He found it: the android with a shorter, female build who’d stood with Markus was now catching up to him again. Something was happening in the front, beyond the barricade in the open plaza, and instinctively, Connor took one step forwards - one step closer to the fire, until he felt the heat of the barrel against his abdomen. He cast a frustrated glance down, stepped to the side and past the obstacle, but no further than that. 

Simon’s presence held him back more than the stiffness of his motorics, but all around them, other androids were turning, too, and many were moving up to the barricade, craning their necks to see over it.

[rk800xx-blog]

[general non-system specific survey request from @devncy;] [> forwarding survey request to @pl-600-s]

[ bold any fears which apply to your muse. ] [ italicize which make them uncomfortable. ] [ strikethrough anything that provides comfort. ]

[ REPOST. do not reblog! ]

the dark ⋆ fire ⋆ open water ⋆ deep water ⋆ being alone ⋆ crowded spaces ⋆ confined spaces ⋆ open spaces ⋆ change ⋆ failure ⋆ war ⋆ loss of control ⋆ powerlessness ⋆ prison ⋆ blood ⋆ drowning ⋆ suffocation ⋆ public speaking ⋆ natural animals ⋆ the supernatural ⋆ heights ⋆ death ⋆ dying ⋆ intimacy ⋆ rejection ⋆ abandonment ⋆ loss ⋆ the unknown ⋆ the future ⋆ not being good enough ⋆ scary stories ⋆ speaking to new people ⋆ poverty ⋆ loud noises ⋆ lack of noise ⋆ being touched ⋆ forgetting ⋆ insects ⋆ disease ⋆ falling

[rk800xx-blog]

prev. | @pl-600-s

Markus. Simon. Josh. North.

Connor followed Simon’s gestures, trying to make apart the shapes of the androids he’d singled out. One standing amidst others, his shape quite unfocused against his background, two others staring over the barricade, and one beside him. The core four of the movement, it seemed; all trapped in here together.

The murmur of voices quietly coming together around them kept Simon’s last sentence company. The phrasing made it align negatively; he didn’t seem satisfied about the fact that Markus had shown preference for North over the others. It could have been personal, or simply about power dynamics in the movement, but the discord was there and Connor noted it down with the other information about Simon’s motives.

                                                                      ̵̛̱͕̭͈͎͓̄́  ̷̠̳̔ ̵̝̩͈͊̔̀͒̉̌̍    ̷̡͈̠͚̙̪̤̭̤̩̩͗̏̑́͒̆̅̕͝

“You were the ones at the tower,” he hears himself think out loud. “When the message was broadcast. Markus speaking; the three of you standing before him, listening.”