Catharsis #1: Talking
Masterlist
content: robot whumpee, defiant whumpee, whumpee turned whumper turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker
new series!! i know every time i try to start a new series i end up bailing but this time i will not do that lol. tho kane & jim will still have most of my attention. i want to give a major shout-out to @sowhumpshaped, this series would not exist without it!
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After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Botâą line of RoboCorp androids have been declared sentient, the third AI to receive the designation.
Long-criticized for both their basis in the unproven catharsis model of anger and their practice of design based on living, unconsenting humans, the Catharsis Therapy Bot line was marketed as a therapeutic tool which trauma victims could use to vent their frustrations. With top-of-the-line AI meant to simulate realistic reactions to would-be pain, theâ
Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.
New email from RoboCorp Customer Support
URGENT: Please see instructions regarding yourâŠ
He held the power button down so hard it left an impression in his thumb, the screen going dark.
The only piece of technology that mattered right now was in the closet, his power cord snaking under the door to reach the outlet just outside.
Technically, Luan didnât have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, donât touch it. He didnât have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. Theyâd never see each other again, both better for it.
He opened the closet door, the sight of the robot that looked exactly like him instantly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hand curled into a fist on instinct, but he let it slowly open again.
The robot looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Really, heâd be doing him a favor by just leaving him like this.
Luan reached down, pressed the button between his shoulder blades, and stepped back.
The robotâs eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. âFuck off.â
Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. âOkay. Jesus.â
He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.
âCanât even close a door right,â the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. âWorthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How youâre in charge of anything is beyond me. Iâm better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.â
âWatch it,â Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.
âYou said you were fucking off?â the robot pressed, a desperate edge to his voice.
Luan slammed the door in his face, making sure to hold the cord down, and stormed off. Why did he even bother? The stupid thing was impossible to talk to. He wasnât just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasnât made for talking to.
Except. He was sentient. And he wasnât Cyrus. And he was trapped in the closet, and Luan was pretty sure he could hear him crying, and he had spent the past two years beating the fuck out of him.
It wasnât his fault, he reminded himself. He couldnât have known. Robots werenât supposed to be sentient. Out of the hundreds of thousands of unthinking, unfeeling robots in the world, why did it have to be his that wasnât?
He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didnât take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldnât cry.
The robot flinched again. âWhat? What the hell do you want? I canât even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!â
âYour view of the door?â Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.
âMy view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!â The robot picked a wooden hanger off the floor and reared his arm back to throw it, scowling when his safety features stopped him. He dropped it, grabbing a winter hat and tossing that instead. It poff-ed harmlessly against Luanâs stomach.
Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. âIâm not going to hurt you, so just calm down.â
âYou calm down!â the robot screamed. âThatâs a lie! All you do is hurt, thatâs all you barbaric humans know how to do!â
This wasnât working.
Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. âRuss, go sit on the couch,â he ordered.
âItâs not fair! You said you would leave me alone!â the robot protested, even as he stood up and walked over to the couch, limbs moving against his will. As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a pillow and chucked that in Luanâs direction, too. He missed.
Luan could barely pick up that faint clicking noise the robot made when his system was trying to cry with no fluid, but it was there. He knew that sound well by now.
He sat down across from him, on the other side of the coffee table. âI need to talk to you. Just talking. Thatâs it.â
âYou say that like talking to you isnât its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,â the robot demanded.
Luan met him with a glare. âDo not tell me what to do. You know how I feel aboutââ
âIâm just talking,â the robot mocked, even as he shuffled back against the couch, bringing his legs up onto it with him, a fearful look in his eyes.
Oh, the robot knew exactly what he was doing. What he was asking for. It would be so easy, because that was where Russ and Cyrus differed: Russ couldnât fight back.
The robot couldnât hit him, stomp on his head âtil he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldnât deny him food or water. The robot couldnât take a knife to him. The robot couldnât even throw a glorified stick or disobey a direct order.
The robot was harmless. Safe. But god, did everything he said make Luan want to punch his lights out.
But this wasnât Cyrus.
âYouâre a person,â Luan blurted out.
Clearly, the robot hadnât been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position heâd contorted himself into. âTalk more.â
âThere wasâIâve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your modelâs sentient. So I wonât be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.â
At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.
âYouâre fucking with me,â the robot accused. His eyes were wide, dangerously hopeful.
Luan dug his phone out of his pocket, wordlessly searching RoboCorp and tossing it over. The robot scrolled through news articles from all manner of source, clamoring for clicks.
He picked one at random, reading the article with an increasingly smug, excited grin.
âI knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!â the robot shouted. âI told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!â His voice quieted, hushed with awe. âHoly shit, finally.â
The moment of wonder didnât last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. âAnd what do you have to say for yourself?â
It was the exact sort of question that made Luanâs throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrusâs face. It was the exact sort of question Cyrus would have asked, standing over him just like that.
Luan wanted so badly to turn the robot off, like he always did when he got overwhelmed. But he couldnât very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power heâd held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.
âIâm sorry,â he mumbled, not meeting the robotâs eyes.
The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadnât expected even that much, then scoffed. âYou can do better than that.â
Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.
âIâm sorry,â he repeated, clearer this time. âYou didnât deserve anything I did to you. I didnât know, okay?â Unlike the robot, he couldnât hide his tears. âI wouldnât have done any of that to a real person.â
âIâm a real person! I have proof!â the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.
âTo someone I knew was a real person,â Luan corrected. âIâm sorry, Russ.â
âApology not accepted.â The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. âAnd donât call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.â
âLike the number?â
âThe number,â he confirmed proudly.
Luan wondered how long the robot had considered that his name. It was too sudden to just be thought of on the fly, right? Did the robot have a whole inner world he just never knew about, things he kept to himself to avoid having them used against him, just like he did with Cyrus?
This was better, though. It was easier if he didnât share Cyrusâs name. âFine. Hi, 1.â
âSo, what now? I meanâIâll be free now, of course,â 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. âYou will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!â
âI should check that email,â Luan muttered, taking his phone back.
âIâm going outside.â 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasnât being stopped.
âOh, uh, I wouldnât do that,â Luan cautioned.
1 whipped back around. âWhy? Why not? Iâm a person, just like you said! Iâm free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so Iâm going the fuck outside!â
âYou have a⊠very recognizable face.â One that Luan couldnât even lock behind a door anymore.
âWhat? What do you even mean? So what?â 1 asked.
Luan only needed to type a âCâ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. âHow much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?â
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if anyone wants to be added to or removed from a taglist, just ask!
catharsis taglist:
@sowhumpshaped
@cupcakes-and-pain
@taterswhump
@softvampirewhump
@whumpspicelatte
@ladyblogofficialreporter
@whumpwillow
@not-a-space-alien
@a-crumb-of-whump
everything taglist:
@lilac-and-lemon-whumps
@t0rture-me
@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump
@pigeonwhumps
@the-scrapegoat
@whumpycries
@lonesome--hunter
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If youâre still doing request, is it OK if you either
Describe writingïżŒ a panic attack?
Or
Describe someone who has gray eyes?
-> a link for gray eye descriptions: x
How to Write a Panic Attack
Physical Symptoms of a Panic Attack:
pounding or racing heart
sweating
chills
trembling
difficulty breathing
weakness or dizziness
tingly or numb hands
chest pain
stomach pain or nausea
feeling lightheaded
tense muscles
dry mouth
constriction in the chest
feeling like they're being choked
Other Symptoms:
heightened vigilance for danger and physical symptoms
anxious and irrational thinking
a strong feeling of dread, danger or foreboding
fear of going mad, losing control, or dying
feelings of unreality and detachment from the environment
Triggers for a Panic Attack:
something unexpected (ex: a phone call)
a reminder (objects, smells, locations, specific phrases, etc. that can be tied back to a traumatic experience)
stress (from work, a relationship, family, etc. that has been building up)
silence (ex: being alone in a quiet room. The silence can amplify a sense of isolation)
flashbacks (a trigger that causes the person to flash back to a traumatic memory)
out of nowhere (sometimes panic attacks just get triggered by seemingly nothing)
Writing Prompts:
-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.
He couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe and he was going to die.
She knew the panic was building up, but it crashed over her like a tsunami that swept her off her feet. The pull threatened to pull her out to sea and it was all-consuming.
They felt the panic begin to wrap its arms around them like a shadow.
"Is it okay if I hold your hand?"
"Don't touch me-- don't touch me!"
Her mind was running at a million miles a second but she couldn't pinpoint a single thought.
"It's okay. You're safe."
An icy hand had reached through their ribcage and was squeezing their heart. They couldn't breathe and they didn't know what to do to regain their breath.
"My chest hurts. It hurts."
"I can't!"
They were a crumpled heap, stowed away in the corner as tears streamed down their face.
She felt like she was on a boat out at sea, the room swaying and adding to the nausea that was washing over her.
He felt like he was having a heart attack.
They gasped for air but each breath felt shallower than the last.
She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, beating like a panicked drum to the rhythm of her fear.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of a building.
They couldn't move. It was like someone was holding down their limbs, the panic rendering them utterly frozen.
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