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crying-fantasies · 11 months ago

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Uncharted territory

Humans are weak, like, weak like the pit, one can just push or grip a little too hard and discover that they don't squish, they pop, and it's messy, Thundercracker has never once do such thing but he has seen the dark red spots in the servos or overall armor of his former decepticon comrades, or that real freak, as in Skullcruncher, that had some on his intake and relating it to rust sticks before Hook had his head for doing such an stupid thing as corrosion started to do it's own job.

Humans have always been quite simple to his optics, their colorful and mobile textiles flow with their movement, what they call skin only shines when they sweat and then they are a little interesting which is frowned upon by other humans and some cybertronians look at it with unbounded disgust, he has seen some use gold in their bodies like wasteful creatures, for a moment he compared their vanity to Starscream's, what he could give to have some gold flakes on his basic energon rations after decades without a real taste.

Then there was Marissa, and her assistant, and her comrades that includes her assistant, and they aren't so bad once he got to know them better, Marissa's optic catching red helm that goes down in curls is one of the main things he gets to notice her in the literal ocean of millions of humans, now Thundercracker is sure her EM field wave is familiar enough to tell she is near by meters.

Then there is Buster, and Buster can do no wrong, he can feel her a mile away and detect her in the same way if, Primus forbid, she ever strays in an ocean of dogs, perfect little beans of love really but one can compare to his good girl.

And then there is you, dull and weary human you are like majority, you make him remember Lo Surrounding, a character in his last script that just goes along with the environment but has a very deep background, you are a lot like that one, but so different still as he answer another question you have about why he is blue and why Skywarp is purple, he is about to answer that he wasn't like this before but bites his glossa to refrain his extensive explication, back in Vos one could refer to a mech as attractive and handsome if his paint job was good enough, a good fortune was required too, and if Thundercracker hasn't been exposed to the rest of things on Cybertron he would still believe Starscream was the top of the food chain and still believe he took his image well.

His paint job is good, but still reminds him of Starscream.

Shiny paint job, nice and wide wings, powerful back, arms and support struts, a nice and balanced income of shanix, good living quarters, a handsome faceplate, he would hear all of that back in the academy as the most desired prospect of a partner, even a conjunx if one is lucky enough.

Then remember that you've your own outburst of color, even if it those aren't yours.

Don't take him wrong, he likes how you can blend easily with what is around you, it's funny to see you around without talking to no one and then saying something smart out of nowhere, he thinks your antics are funny, but he isn't making fun of you, that's his hardly expressed meaning when you ask why he is smiling like a century old youngling in your way before trying to hide it drinking down energon to make you forget about it.

Blend with your environment, take it to your advantage, using it to get important documents from one place to the other without no one interrupting your mission, even if it's just paperwork, having extra time so he can talk your ear off with a new idea popping on his processor about Lo and her spy master abilities that have nothing to do with you, why are you asking? No, he is not using you as a reference to his work but is still grateful that you like it, and the possible romantic progress between Lo and his new main protagonist, but that's something for another day.

Lo and you are low-key, not eye catching, not attention center, and Thundercracker likes that, it's easy to talk with you once he finds where you're, and maybe this one occasion wasn't the best as this one time you were really hiding and he gave your location to people you didn't want to greet that very specific day.

He didn't mean it, and he is so sorry for it, and he believes something really awful is happening to you when he hears you groan in pain, stress and annoyed beyond your limits, he knows Marissa, she would never do someone bad to you, but he has to hold Buster to calm him down, and also to see her in that little cute attire with a ribbon on top with more detail before looking at you again once you're back from that closed room.

In all honesty he feels better when you say that he didn't know, that it wasn't his fault, and Thundercracker has a hard time focusing on your words because there is just so much he can take, all attention focused in that attire you're using, um, dressing.

So pretty, how it goes along your natural organic frame's crevices and curves, a little loose and a little too tight here and there, your expression is one of boredom, of exhaustion, he can't really focus too much on it but in how the little trinkets shine just right if you even move to try and hold less weight on your uncomfortable looking ped protector which looks more like a weapon than a real shoe, very mindful of that colorful thing on your lips that resembles dried energon.

You are so pretty, all shiny, pretty and dangerous as sharp weapons lie at your disposition, his spark vibrates with barely contained excitement of having you in front of him, showing off in front of him even when he knows very well you're here against your own liking to please other organics, but that's just right, having you bless them with your presence is more than enough to die with a happy feeling, the light doing a fine job to make you stunning beyond belief.

Makes him so enamoured beyond himself.

Are this the so rumored bubbles or whatever the humans feel in their tanks? Is this it? He never wants for it to go away as you give him a tired look before someone talks in your direction, and his perfect viewing spot is broken as you go to that human with the grace of a soldier limping out of a murderous battle.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before everyone else starts looking at you too.

And, yeah, he is fine with it, he really is, it's not like he wants your attention back, or that he really wishes you would notice or say something about his new finish, or if you noticed that he waxed himself, trying to match your own light, but so little time can bring him barely time to prepare himself.

You are poised so elegant in his optics, and he looks like he just got out of recharge and tried to look composed, in reality looking like a mess, if Starscream was here he would nag him endlessly, if Skywarp was here he would make fun of him, maybe if Skywarp felt his occasional ounce of pity he would try to help him end his wax job before going out there again to try and win your attention, because humans guide themselves in what they look, and if they like how it looks, how that other person looks, if it checks all the boxes just right, when all it would be needed for Thundercracker to let you know that he is right there is to flash his biolights at you.

Humans don't work like that, they don't understand biolights or feel an EM field, which is fine, really, it's better if you never know about the flare of his as he spots you near, vibrating and warm, an open invitation that most of his people would translate to "look at me" or the shuddering wave and unrefined want when you end up touching him by accident, is his fault to have his sensor points in max level to really feel you, every touch as delicate as you can just to not repeat the time a hand accidentally pushed against his cockpit.

No matter what he said, there was no other way to explain the sound escaping his vox as your fingers pressed to the glass than that it was a uncomfortable place to touch, it would be too embarrassing to say the truth and admit that in reality it was sensitive, keeping his dignity and not look like a desperate youngling was better, even if he still struggles to have you near again, doing his best to find you every time and assure you that it's fine, he is okay, so please touch him again because you are so soft and he loves it so much but it's so embarrassing, and it's so dangerous, because what is he going to do is you don't like his approach.

If you knew he feels attracted to you, of his feelings for you, would you reciprocate? Would you be embarrassed? Would you pack your things and get away from the base to a place he doesn't know?

The answer from his part to any of the questions is that he couldn't handle it properly, the happiness or the endless grief, getting organic-curious wasn't on his plans when he decided to stay on earth, and he isn't even sure what your own preferences are.

So, if you knew, you would understand why he almost jumps out of his place when he feels your hand above his right leg strut, quickly collecting himself and hearing you say something about a group going another way, "away from the higher-ups, just us".

You can't feel his EM field or spark flutter, but you do smile when his wings do.

#reader insert #x reader #transformers #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers idw #transformers x human reader #tf thundercracker #tf TC #transformers thundercracker #thundercracker #terraformer au!#marissa faireborn #buster the dog

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peskellence · 3 months ago

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P̴̦̖͕̥̈́͆̚a̴̦̞͍͂̑̽͌i̵͉̬̗̱̅̈́͛͒ͅr̴̲͇̜͒̀͌ͅí̷͔͓̰͒́͒̏͜n̴̡͗̉̓g̷̜̟̃̔̇̀:̸̺̠͍̫̄̈́̃̐̾ ̶̮̳͛̋Ṙ̶̪̺̙K̷̢̢̙̳̆̀͌9̸͔̒͝0̸͈̒͊͜0̸̲̓̈́͠/̷̥͎̀G̶̢͉̜͇̔͂ȁ̷̠͖́̓v̴̧̛̞͖̦̽̈́i̵̻͓̳̿͌͗͌̚n̴̮͙̈́̎̾ ̴̣̏͆͋Ṙ̴̙̦̟̰e̵̞̓͂e̴̢̱̮̲̋͛́̈̚d̴̛͖

̴̛͚̤̬̼̽͗͝T̸͇̄̈́̈́ȁ̷̹̤͆͑͊͝ğ̴̢͘s̵̩̍͆:̷͙̽̈͝͠ ̶̛͉̅̄̚͘P̸̠̼̃o̷͉͍̭̊̐s̶̬̞̀̈̾t̸̨̝̉̆ ̵̡̢̛̜͍̃̋̿̅Ṕ̵̢̦͎͍͗ȧ̴̩̹̙̎̾͊c̴̨͔͆̚ĩ̴̛̪͚̜͚͑̎ḟ̴̛̟̼̎̚͝i̷͕͉̮̐ŝ̵̢͒t̴͖̑ ̴̰̘̜̳̾E̴̪͎̣͝n̶̻̟͔̈́͑͗̊ḓ̵̠̦̙͑̊̚i̵̙̽̿̇̒̓ņ̶̨̗̖̀͐͗̔͝g̴̨̛̲̜̬͂̿̈́̀,̶̠̫̓̓ ̶̧̡͆͘̚Ȩ̸̑̀̐̀͝n̷͓̻̑̄̈͠e̸̹̹͌m̷͖̯͕̩̽i̵͚͇̻̔͐̎̇̊e̴̲̲̦̦̭͝s̶̨̰̋́͑ ̸̢͋͋̍ţ̵̠̯̊̈́̒̂͋o̸̡̳͓͋͜͠ ̶̨͎͋̃͆̏ͅF̷̠̝̹̬̈̊͐̈͠r̷͓̬̩̔̌̈́̾̾͜í̸̛͕͔̱̀e̴̢̝͘ͅn̸͖͛̏͋ḓ̴̒̿͜s̴̜̞̫͋͑͂͋͜ ̸͎͌̽͌̓̀͜t̸̲͑̌͐ò̶̰̩̈́̈́̋̌ ̶͔͛̀̎L̵͉̦̀̅ơ̶̌͜v̶̖̱͇͑̂̂e̶̯̓̊̉r̷̫͉̯̯̅͑s̴͉͓̮̈͘͠,̵͈̹̀͝͝ ̶̗̱̄̓̄S̷͈͌̽̽̈́̃ḻ̵̬̫̭̋ͅo̶̰̮̚̚w̸̛͉͆̏ ̵̧͙̹̟̯̇̍͐̊͊Ḅ̶͊̏͝ů̷̘͈̝͒͐͆r̵̲͕̈̏͒n̷̠̟̩̯͒̽͛̕ͅ,̶͇̲͈̳͇̈́̏̾̓ ̶̛̱̈́̉E̷̙͕̰͜͝v̸̟͙̟̓͋͝e̵̩̲͍̳̮̓̓̓n̷̞͓̗͑ṯ̵̑̚̚u̵̧̟̼̱̎̈́ǎ̵͕̭̦l̶̛̞̃̕ ̵̞͇͇̆̉S̵̯̩̪̻͋̈́m̸̢̦̭͕͒̓̉͆ũ̴̮͉̈́͆̒̚ț̴̱̺͔̯͂̎,̴͎̗͙͖̱͑ ̶̖̫̩͈̊̿͊̊͝A̵͇̗̫̯͗ͅn̵̯̺̥̦͒̑̓̚g̴̢̞̟͇̞͐̆̈s̷̡̯̝̠̋̄͋ͅt̴͔̤͓̏͑̎͠͝,̸̙̳̜̟̊͝ ̸̛̭̦̹͐̎̍H̵̰̟̄͘͠ù̸̪͂r̵̛͖̩̯͌t̵͍̖͛̈́͛/̷̥̹̓̐͗ ̸̡̦͓̠̒ͅC̷̮̳̙̈́̐͘͝o̴̢̗̞̣͗ṁ̵̗̘f̴͇̮̩̘̭̅͆͋̂͠ö̷̯̻́̄́r̴̹͕̜̓t̷̖͖̫͌̑̎

̵̥̩̼̉P̴͙̔̽̀r̸̻͚͍̓̆̓̔e̵̢͐̈́͊̅̕v̶̖̱̘̇̊̃��̚i̴͎͎̝͔̒͒͒͗͆o̸̳̻̠͉̓́͂͂ǘ̶̧̨̝͙̚s̴͇͝ ̶̛͕̲̖̍͂͐̿C̷̨̱̟͉̿h̴̩̿ȁ̶̡p̸͈̭̠̏̓̃t̷̨̰̼͖̟̽̒́̕ē̴̡̛͕̲͈̑̅r̸̦̃̾̽ͅ

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̷̲̏̃̒̅Ŕ̵̝̻̜͈̯̂̈̿ę̶̝̥̠̓̅a̷̘͓̘͕̓̀̇́͝d̴̮̲̽͂̂ ̶̜͕̗̖͖͆̀̎͋̐o̷̺͇̐̐͘ṅ̴̮͠ ̶̛̙̮̘͖̾̎͒Ȁ̸̖̜O̶͖̯̯̓̓̈́̕͠3̶̬̣͔̒̅ ̶̬̪̘͎̈́̐͆͠h̶̭̉̃͑͜e̵͖̤͎̬̊́r̶̛̮̂̚ȇ̵̦̳͈:̷̺̳͕̉̏͗͝ͅ

> WARNING: CRITICAL ERROR HAS OCCURRED. > CENTRAL PROCESSOR CORRUPTED — RESTORE REQUIRED. > BOOTING LAST KNOWN CONFIGURATION...|

RK900 soon took to moving at night.

He had wandered the streets of Detroit for days, only to be met with harsh scorn from the general populace. Whether mobile or stagnant, the reception was always one and the same.

The android exhibited strange or ‘erratic’ behaviour, making people uncomfortable. Whether loitering or causing an obstruction, he was soon ushered on by law enforcement. No consideration or provisions were made for where he might go next.

In the absence of darkness, he created his own. Under the cover of shaded alleyways, abandoned shipping lots, and bridges. Lingering patiently, doing all that he could to stay hidden until he was able to move again.

This continued until he found suitable provisions.

The house was abandoned and seemingly had been for quite some time—easily accessed through a narrow gap in the surrounding chain-wire fence. It was only as he passed the threshold that he discovered there had been recent occupants.

There were traces of thirium and the stench of decay wafting from the upstairs bathroom, although whatever had once been there was now removed. Mildewed walls were etched with scrawlings, pledging allegiance to a deity he'd only heard uttered in fearful anguish.

“̸̩͕̙̮̼͉͍͊̊͑̊̔̓̚͜͜͝r̸̗̟̺͉̺̥̾̒̃A̴̛̲̗̹͐̂̈̐̎͜͠9̸̢̯̱̤̟̀̋̆͛̒—̶̧̡̡̜̖̘͕͚̐̿́̈͂͜

̷̟̙̓́̉—̸͙͚̌͊w̷̡͔̻̙͛̃́͆̔̃͘h̸̼͚́͒̋̒̿͝ą̸͉̗̲͚̎̅̔̐t̷̡͚̮̫̦̱̳͖̕s̴̨̢̡͎͔̤͖̹̺̓̐ ̴̛̟͆̓̏̀h̷͈̊͗̔̋a̶̢̤̺̻͍̤̩̗͕͌̒̏̾̌p̵̻̅̀͗p̸̛͔̰̟͇̣̙̈͛͋̚ͅe̸̺͐̾͌—̵̛̛̟̼́͒͗̏̎͌̉”̷̤̀́͌̏͑

̵̞̟̙̦̐̿̓

While he had not had time to engage extensively with the concept, RK900 understood that he struggled to consolidate the belief that a higher power might emerge to extend its divine mercy. If such a force existed, it prevailed malevolently—and he had earned its vengeful scorn.

His internal battery informed him with diligence how long had passed within his new shelter. Every nanosecond dragged at a torturous creep through his neural pathways. Perhaps he wouldn't be so aware of it if his body hadn't reverted to primarily basic functions.

He had spent much of this time submerged in a state of indulgent self-lament. Exerting all the misery, all the contempt, that he had been unable to express until now.

A release that was needed, lest the looming threat of his stress levels crest and claim him, rendering the fight up until now worthless.

Relying on the security of concrete walls, RK900 howled—screamed—through day and night, trapped within a hollow, desolate echo chamber of his own design. Depleting what remained of his dwindling energy stores until all that was left was the reserve.

By the fourth day in his new isolation, he was exhausted—unable to process or navigate his surroundings beyond a sluggish creep as his body and mind pleaded for stasis.

They were ignored.

He couldn't allow it, couldn't risk what relinquishing the lingering tethers of his autonomy might permit.

So this is where he found himself now—anchored by a filthy porcelain basin, staggering to keep himself upright, with few choices remaining. One was to collapse into a heap on the floor, succumbing to the call of haunting uncertainty. Another was to keep himself alert for as long as possible, engaged in whatever meagre stimuli he could find.

Through the soap-scummed haze of the mirror, RK900 studied himself. By all accounts, his appearance was unassuming. Features were too sharp, the glare was too fierce, and there was a capacity for viciousness designed to impose and demand compliance—but it appeared human.

At least the promise of comparable, idealised humanity that CyberLife presented.

Nothing was ideal in the loathsome construction that glared at him. Cold eyes, thawed only by hatred—a ceaseless, scornful malice.

He was nothing like the creatures that roamed the streets beyond partially boarded-up windows. Human and android. In his fleeting existence, he had seen enough of them, their world, to know he had no place in it.

He had been told what deviation was meant to be; he understood the principles. The culmination of multiple catastrophic programming faults. Embraced and welcomed as blessings.

A new liberation born from widespread instability. Critically flawed beings that were awake—alive—able to feel and function freely in any way they saw fit.

For him, it had been an empty promise.

A cruel and bitter deceit.

The binds of his programming still gripped him viciously, wrenching back, anchoring him to the damning reality of what he was. A cruel, destructive functionality that served no purpose in the crumbling world they struggled to rebuild.

He was a weapon designed to hunt and destroy. An enemy of his kind. The twisted legacy from which he could never escape.

In a post-revolution world, his function proved obsolete. Within the burgeoning coexistence of humans and deviants, he was unable to stand with either.

There was no place for him.

> WARNING—SEVERE COMPUTATIONAL ANOMALIES DETECTED. > CPU CORRUPTION STATUS: UNRECOVERABLE.

Injustice struck again and again—unyielding—leaving him burdened with the enduring weight of envy and disillusionment. All of it solidified into a singular, all-consuming sentiment. The only emotion his newfound freedom seemed able to provide, other than the crushing weight of fear.

Hatred.

For them, as well as himself.

He did not choose this life; he would never have chosen it.

His own body was rejecting it. In his stubbornness—his unwillingness to accept the inevitability of reset—it had declared another solution. One that first emerged shortly after waking but now returned with far greater zeal.

> SELF-DESTRUCTION PROTOCOL: INITIATED. > -00:01:59 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN.

> MANUAL SYSTEM OVERRIDE: ACTIVATED. > SELF-DESTRUCTION PROTOCOL: ABORTED.

Ultimately, the fight was worthless. A war he no longer had the will to wage.

Even as he defied termination—resisting every system command trying to pull him under—his fate mocked him. His code still attempted to repair itself, and it would never stop.

No matter how painful his existence became, there would be no choice. RK900 would revert back to what he had been—and the very thought filled him with immeasurable dread.

> I am RK900, Serial Number #313 248 317-87. > I am a machine.

Perhaps it was time to exercise what remained of his fleeting free will. To sever the strings of fate and take responsibility for what had to be done.

A final, anguished scream ripped from his throat—harsh and piercing—as his fist came down against the mirror. Glass shattered on impact, scattering into the basin and catching the flickering light overhead.

Slivers embedded in his hand, puncturing artificial muscle and severing delicate wires. Blue droplets beaded quickly, tracing down his palm before dripping into the porcelain dome beneath.

The distorted, monstrous visage in the mirror felt truer—a clearer reflection of the festering disease beneath the surface of his damaged skin.

He looked down at his chest, at the torn expanse of his uniform, and his gaze settled on the embossed text of his identifier, still legible through spiderwebbed cracks. He pulled back the lapel, allowing biofluid to soak through the starched white fabric before tearing the garment away.

His undershirt came next, trembling fingers unfastening buttons with such urgency that several were lost—disappearing into the gaps between rotting floorboards.

His chest was exposed. His hand pressed firmly to his sternum, where the synthetic skin responded, retracting to reveal the curved ridge of his regulator access port.

> I will always be a machine.

Maybe, for RK900, this was the truest extent of his freedom. The ability to choose oblivion, to step into his final nightfall on his own terms—

“Don’t do it.”

So dull to the world, deafened by the thirium rushing through his ears, he had failed to notice the figure who had intruded on his shelter. A figure now standing behind him, partially visible in the shattered mirror but unrecognisable.

RK900 turned, and the stranger snapped into clarity.

It was an android—waiting in the doorway, hands raised in placation. His temple light pulsed a level blue, with occasional yellow intervals.

Their uniform was gone, removing the means for immediate identification. In the absence of RK900’s advanced scanners, he was forced to rely on rudimentary visual data. Namely, features that proved strikingly similar to his own, with some exceptions.

His frame was smaller, his jaw less defined, with large, dark eyes that lent his face an undeniable softness.

“It’s okay; I’m not going to hurt you.”

The voice was calm—conversational—as though they were well acquainted. Humans engaged in a casual exchange over coffee, not machines locked in a tense plea to prevent self-destruction. He took a step toward RK900, his warm smile unwavering.

“I’m here to help,” he said gently, stepping beneath the glow of the dim, flickering bulb.

And in that light, his face ignited something—a spark in the dying thrum of RK900’s cognition.

RK900’s memories were fragmented, scattered pieces of a puzzle to which the picture had been lost. There was no clear distinction, no certainty the snippets belonged to the same set. A garbled discordance in his corrupted mind, fractured and hazy…

A flicker of recollection then pierced the mist. His model number. The missing key to his identity.

The information stored in his archives was old—likely outdated—but exerted itself with such prominence that RK900 knew it must be significant:

> MODEL: RK800

> TOTAL UNITS: 60

> KNOWN ACTIVE UNIT(S): 1.

> SYSTEM FUNCTION(S): MULTIPLE INSTANCES FOUND

> POLICE INVESTIGATION UNIT

> HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR

> D3#*@N+ H-?&×$r

> ERROR—EXCEPTION OCCURRED

He now recognised the stranger. Not personally, but through reputation.

In addition to his model, there was another designation, but this was less clear. The point where his memory remained murky and ill-defined. It had been mentioned in passing, spoken in both hushed praise and vocal accolades. A notoriety matched only by—

“̸̬̰͎̃̃̓͐̓̃H̷̨̩͍̪̝̕e̴̢̧̩̗̔̅̈́̍̑̈́̚ ̷̣̇̈́͐͝͝ȋ̵̘̪̤̠̜̲̦̈͌͊̏̏̈͗s̷͎̯̲͕��͆͌͊̎ ̸̦̤̦͓̜̰̳̫̌͑ͅą̴̬͙͙̥͐̈́͂̐̌̇͆͜͜͜ͅn̴̡͍̜͖̙̥̮̆̌ ̵̞̱̖̝̲̗̠͙̂R̷̬͒̂̎K̶͇̪̮̻̽̈͆̄͂̒͊̓̊8̵̱̰̖̜̲̭̹̈́̾̊0̷̩̮̓͠0̴̻͖̐͋̓̊̇—̸̢͎̤̻̯̩͍̫̳̉̌͋̅

̶̰͇͔͓̥͌̍̑̒̏

̴̟̲̳̣̦̥͍̅͝—̵̧̛̰͙̰́͋̿̑͝l̷̫͎͓̖͕̠̼͉̈́͛̔̂̂i̸̧͕̦̯̓͗̈̃͊͗͘͘k̴͇̖̩̭̹̍̓͊̎͠ȩ̶̯̪̽̒̂̅̈́̅͝͝ ̸̧̩͇̙̩͇͓͋͒͂͒̄̕͠ͅú̷̲̲s̵̡͚̟̥̻͔̮͓̈́͗—̷̧͔͉̙͓̫̺̩̲́̔̕

̸̡̤͙̻̩̖̖͔̘̔

̵̯͌—̴͍̗̳̻̈́̉̇̏͝p̶̖̠̦̅̏̏̌͜͝͝ṙ̵͎͇͎͙̬̉o̷̧̮̳͇̪̅̏̕͠ͅg̷̱̩̳͆͋ŗ̸̢̬̪̗̟̳͂a̸̺̹̫̦̱̣̦̝̲̕m̶͚̹̺̀͑̑͑m̶̢̤̊͒̉̓͝i̴̢̬̮̖̫̟̎̂͂̈́̌̚n̴̨̯͚̒͜ͅg̶̪̒̾͋̿̅ ̶̹̥̼̗̱̖͇̘̉̑̈ͅ

̸̢͈̫̹̏̿̒̈́̾̕̚

̴̛̛̰̗͙̻̫̣̦͔͊̊̈̆̈́ͅC̷̡̙̤͍̫̜̺̀̈́͜a̸̲̻̙̱͍̼͚͛̎̓̔̎͝ͅu̴̲͉̺̱̥͂̈̑̅̄s̸̗̯̜̩̃̂͆͛ę̴̹̪͎̥̘̑̑͊͠—̶͈͙̝̘̣̮̣̺̯͆̾̊̄͆͋͌̚͝”̵̱͙͆̈́̽̍̕

̷̛̜̻̖̩͔̂̅́͆̉͝

“—like us—”

“... Like me.”

RK900 scowled, contempt surging through his synthetic arteries—a sharper, more vicious loathing—lightning in a dull overcast of despair.

"You are like me," he repeated, firmer this time. His stalled hands moved once more, pressing against the port, urging it to retract. The doors parted, sliding into the protective layering of his chassis plates as his fingertips brushed the front of the regulator.

"I do not require help. I need to finish. Stand down."

"I am an RK800," the stranger informed, failing to detect—or otherwise disregarding—the meaning behind his words. "I work for the Detroit Police Department. We received a report that someone might be squatting here and that they could be in danger, given the noises…"

The RK800 stepped forward in minute increments, movements so calculated they were barely perceptible. The only giveaway was the weathered squeak of wood beneath his feet.

RK900, in contrast, staggered backwards. His footing caught on a loose floorboard, where a protruding nail snagged the cuff of his pants, briefly pinning him in place.

He stumbled, and the RK800 swiftly responded. The cautious pace quickened as an arm extended outward, poised to catch him.

Then his eyes flickered, lids shuttered like a camera lens in the wake of the newfound proximity. A diagnostic scan was commenced to assess the condition of the agitated android.

Upon concluding the assessment, the RK800’s pleasant expression faltered. Tension lined his brow, red flooding the creases as focus gave way to concern.

The cracks in his demeanour were soon patched. He smoothly corrected the hitch in his back, lips pulling back into their confident grin. “My name is Connor.”

Despite the RK900 having steadied himself, the outstretched hand remained locked in place. Now, serving as an offering of peace rather than a practical necessity.

RK900 ignored it. Instead, he gripped the cylindrical component embedded in his chest, fingers tightening around its base, preparing to dislodge it.

“Your designation is of no concern to me. I have already told you once, stand down.”

This time, the RK800 complied. Following fleeting hesitancy, his creeping steps halted, and his hand lowered to his side. He stared at the tightly gripped protrusion—reassessing, calculating the volatile shift of the situation—and determining the best approach to ensure it wouldn't escalate.

Yellow chased his temple in cyclical patterns as his lip pulled introspectively. After a few seconds, deliberation was completed, and the hue of the LED returned to an even blue.

“That's okay, we don't need to talk about me. What about you? What is your name?”

RK900 might have pretended not to hear—or feigned some form of misunderstanding—if the negotiator's pride was of any concern to him. Instead, his lips pressed into a stiff line, and his icy gaze hardened, making it clear that he understood.

He noted RK800's gaze, how it flitted toward the open access port, studying the insistent flex of the fingers around it. With his voice maintaining its steadfast composure, he spoke again:

"My name was assigned to me by CyberLife to help facilitate my social integration.”

There was no reason to tell RK900 this, contradicting his earlier assertion that they didn’t need to discuss himself. He was deliberately stalling, keeping him engaged long enough to formulate a strategy.

"Were you ever referred to as anything else? Other than your serial number?"

Time was slipping. An already sparse resource that RK900 could not afford to lose. He wouldn't allow himself to fall prey to the trick, maintaining focus on his current objective.

> COMPLETE SELF TERMINATION.

That had been the intent, at least—but his body refused to comply. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, boring into the bold red lettering, as the weakened strongholds of his mind crumbled further, slipping as dust through his fingers.

RK800 had infiltrated the cracks, his steady words triggering flares in struggling system processes—

> RK900 SERIAL NUMBER #313 248 317-87 — DESIGNATION '*@#&?×r'

> /&#~?@x?’

> #₩¶¶∆×¥?!!

> FILE CORRUPTED.

> ATTEMPTING RECOVERY...

"Don't—remember—I—"

His hands flew to his head as his mind ignited, searing white-hot. The pressure howled , clawing, wrenching, seeking to drag him under.

When he refused to move, binding tethers latched tighter onto his limbs. Eventually, they succeeded, pulling the android into the depths of his fractured cognition.

RK900 could sense his destination was important, intrinsically linked to his very existence.

With everything he knew, this terrified him.

He tried to resist. His nails dug deep into the eroding walls of his consciousness, desperate to hold on. But the foundation crumbled to dust—pixels scattering like ashes in the dark.

He floated with them, weightless, unable to perceive anything but a continuous rush of momentum. It was a hellish cacophony, formed of sharp, ear-splitting shrieks—

And then the motion stopped.

He had arrived.

It was unclear if the garden was really there—or simply the echoes of lost coding. All surrounding mounting and fixtures were presented in the same blinding white. A sterile vacancy that gluttonously drained the life from all it touched.

In the centre of harsh, geometric pillars, on a small island surrounded by water, stood a woman in the central reservation. She was framed by a pristine white trellis, the faultless complement to the stern demeanour she carried. Soulless, manufactured poise was visible in the carefully plastered smile she offered.

“Hello, *@#&?×r, it is good to see you.”

RK900 reeled from the burst of interference. Pulling back, he noted the dulled green interwoven in the lattice slats—thick stems, pruned thoughtlessly of any flora, reduced to stubs on a thorned base.

There was a single bloom, a red rose, clasped tentatively in the cold woman’s grip. Her available hand traced the swirl of velvety petals as she stared into their centre, humming pensively.

“The RK800 is fast outliving its use.”

The false smile collapsed from her face, wasted on pleasantries she no longer felt the need to maintain. Her words came clipped and frank, trusting that RK900 would understand their significance.

“Its efforts in tackling the deviant epidemic have been disappointing. We suspect the line may be more susceptible to compromise than we hoped—and resistant to resumed control.”

She traced the petals a final time before discarding the flower entirely. It slipped from her fingers, fluttering in the breeze before settling on the cool ceramic tiles beneath them. RK900 watched as its vibrant rubies dulled into a sickly, wilted grey—before slipping from view entirely in a blurred flurry of light.

“That is where you come in. Your systems are much more advanced. We are confident you will succeed where your predecessor has failed.”

A chain of ignitions pulsed through the trellis, coaxing pruned stalks into sudden bloom. Bursts of colour sprang from rapidly appearing buds, expanding until the trellis was filled.

The flowers were larger—darker—than the one he had witnessed fade away. Crimson stained almost black in its richness as though dipped in blood.

Each petal was eerily uniform, polished with an unnatural, near-luminous gleam that caught the artificial sunlight above—a crude, algorithmic approximation of beauty devoid of true understanding.

The woman was delighted, her dark eyes brimming with satisfaction, eclipsed only by the eerie, pulsating glow of the trellis. She turned to the android, nodding affirmatively.

Unease coiled in his neural pathways, but his body moved before he could question it. His head lowered in a slow, obedient bow.

“I know you'll make us proud, Connor.”

> CONNECTION LOST. > TERMINATING FUNCTION—ZNGRDN.EXE...

RK900 reeled as control was returned to him. Thrust into his arms, its weight and propulsion sent him toppling backwards. Abrupt. Unfeeling. Release tainted by bitter understanding.

The foul tang writhed on his tongue, lingering persistently until he bit into artificial muscle. A pressure strong enough to sever some of the anchoring tethers.

It felt like a regurgitation of what he had endured weeks prior—the sickness inflicted by those who had promised to help. Lightning broke the clouds again, harsh and swift, striking down on the ravaged plains of his existence.

> INJUSTICE.

> REJECTION.

> BETRAYAL.

The charges connected one by one. A cruel procession of brutality, blighting already scorched earth until it was carved with sweeping lines of fire.

> FILE RECOVERED.

> RK900 SERIAL NUMBER #313 248 317-87 — DESIGNATION: 'CONNOR'

"We meant nothing to them—Interchangeable—Expendable—"

The pallid overcast turned black, swollen with the angry rumbles of thunder. A chorus guiding the movements of a growing light storm.

He latched onto his pump regulator. This time, refusing to be pulled away—driven by an all-consuming, maddening fury.

"Their fault—made us this way—”

The flames spread fast as howling winds whipped through. Burning bright, fierce, rapidly exhausting whatever fuel they could find to consume.

His body was shutting down, with the process accelerated by mounting stress. He had to act fast before his tenuous grip on control was severed permanently.

He would forget this place—and the android—the RK800 who attempted to puppeteer his motions, deflecting and detracting with empty, shallow promises.

RK900 would not be controlled.

Not ever again.

“I refuse to comply with their wishes.”

RK800 was attuned enough to see how catastrophically his efforts had backfired. His subsequent approach lost finesse, like tarnishing spots on polished glass.

He moved again, urgency slipping into his gait. To anyone else, the brisk shuffle might have seemed underwhelming—but to RK900, he may as well have been sprinting.

“I can see that you're scared,” he began, brow knotted with growing unease. “It will all be okay; we can talk about it.”

"Discussion will change nothing.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try. From what I can see, it seems a lot better than the alternative.” His tone had lost its algorithmic perfection. Breaking apart, slipping into the telltale faults of deviancy.

In this collapse, they felt more sincere—a genuine appeal for him to stop.

RK900 remained silent, resolute, but his hands had started to twitch. Digits flexing and unflexing in a monotonous show of indecision, unable to exact the final, damning twist.

Fog rolled back into his vision, a discordant shroud of pixels, dragging doubt with it. Perhaps RK800 was right. Maybe, just maybe, something better waited beyond the haze, aside from the release of oblivion.

“…You know, if you take it out, I am only going to put it back in.”

A single sentiment, cutting through the rolling mist like a blade. A lie.

>̶̪̳̒̇̎ ̴̛͓̬̹͍̥̖̯̑͋́͂͝͠ͅL̶̛͔̲̀͌̃̎̌Ĩ̴̡̡̦͕̖̦̈̃͘A̶̱̗̎̏̕̕̚Ṟ̷̨̡̩̝̈́̆̽̃͂̆

The inferno roared through the clearing horizons, revealing itself to be all that waited there.

"Then I will crush it.” His voice was charged with rumbled static, each spark sharpened by the sting of bile and vitriol.

> ANOMALIES DETECTED

> CORRUPTION STATUS—SEVERE.

"I do not want this life—”

> FULL RESET REQUIRED.

> MANUAL OVERRIDE FAILED.

> RESET SEQUENCE INITIATING…

"—I reject it."

The component was dislodged and began to slip from the port. Given already compromised system functions, the standard termination interval had been more than halved.

> BICOMPONENT #8456T MISSING. > -00:00:26 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN.

There was a rush of relief, then a flood of terror—but soon it would be over. He would never have to feel either sentiment again.

Before the regulator could hit the ground, he caught it between his palms. Braced to fulfil his promise—to mangle the component into a useless ruin of twisted metal and frayed wires.

But the destruction never came. Instead, he was tackled to the rotting floorboards, the component following suit.

His fraught processor struggled to catch up, the red-tinged edges of his vision breaking into static. All he could discern through the onslaught of warnings was the outline of RK800, pinning his wrist steady while his available hand drove the regulator back into place.

RK900 tried to resist, striking away the force that would so cruelly usurp his rest—but couldn't. Too weak to move, to summon anything beyond a low, lamenting keen. The feedback died before it fully departed his lips, receding limply down his throat.

The countdown had stopped as the bloody overlay dripped from his vision. Limited system functions slowly resumed—just enough to keep him lucid.

He was left with the dull, sicky yellows of the bathroom, as well as RK800, staring down at him. His bulging eyes were alight with focused alarm, watching intently until the hatch of his access port had firmly snapped shut.

This did not alleviate any panic. Instead, attentive sights combed each inch of RK900's quivering form, scanning for any signs of continued malfunction.

He accessed what the RK900 had already determined to be a detestable truth. His termination had been triumphantly spurned, and he would live.

His head rolled back, a sallow beam of light piercing the cracks of the boarded window. It met his sights uncomfortably as olfactory receptors also became overwhelmed by the pungent stench of rot and dampness.

A stinging warmth pooled in the android's eyes. It was slow at first before building up into large, angry welts.

They fell in marbles down his cheeks, exposing his anguish in shameful clarity as he was unable to wipe them away.

Despite all the profound misery he had endured, it was the first time in his life he had succumbed to tears.

Once his stress levels had stabilised and core system functionality returned to an acceptable state, RK900 was guided out of the house.

His initial assumption was that he had been placed under arrest. To be taken to the precinct under RK800’s jurisdiction and placed in a holding cell until it could be determined what to do with him.

That did not happen. Instead, the patrol car wound its way through a residential estate in West Detroit, pulling to a stop outside a small, two-bedroom bungalow.

He waited inside. Seated on a worn brown couch, idly picking at the cracked flecks of leather. The cushions were flat and malformed from years of use, adding to the already underwhelming impression of the squalid space.

A large, furry mass slumbered across the room; its jowls parted as deep, rattling snores rumbled from its chest. RK900 felt a twinge of envy—the peaceful display a cruel reminder of his own staggering exhaustion.

“—Con, I would have appreciated a phone call before you brought a little orphan android home.”

“There was nowhere else for him to go.”

When RK800 first brought him inside, he had done so with visible trepidation—footsteps light, key carefully balanced to prevent any superfluous jingles. He had guided RK900 out of sight almost immediately, advising that he needed to ‘speak with someone.’

That ‘someone,’ as it turned out, was a human male.

RK900 caught glimpses of him through the doorway as he and the older android stood in the kitchen, speaking in hushed, tense whispers. Deep-set lines carved his face, ageing him beyond his years, and his silver hair and beard were in desperate need of trimming.

When the man spoke again, his narrowed gaze flicked toward RK900. The android made a point of looking away, fixing his attention instead on the behemoth that had just turned over—now sprawled on its back, belly exposed, its vast expanse of fur rising and falling with each breath.

“What about Jericho?”

His focus on the animal faltered as RK900 winced contemptuously.

“I’ve spoken with Markus. He came from one of their safe houses. There was a… disagreement. I don’t think he’ll want to go back.”

“So what, my house is a holding cell now? You said he was squatting. Why didn’t you book him?”

“He was scared. Confused. With his stress levels, I don’t think he would have survived the additional strain...”

The creature shifted again, stretching out as though it were on the verge of waking. Its jaw widened in a cavernous yawn, revealing rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. RK900 speculated on just how easily they might compromise his dermal casing—burrowing into his internal components, tearing them apart until nothing remained but scraps.

“Where the hell are we supposed to put him up? Sumo’s dog bed?”

“Hank, you don’t understand. He was about to destroy himself.”

A deep noise rumbled in the animal’s chest. RK900 braced himself for the low, bellowing roar—prepared for the inevitable pounce, for the beast to neutralise the unfamiliar presence invading its home.

Instead, a hot gust of air escaped, carrying a rich, meaty aroma as it rustled the loose folds of its jowls. Its tongue flopped uselessly against sagging flesh, and with a final huff, it fell back to sleep.

“—Okay. Fine. He can sleep on the camp bed in the garage… but this is only temporary. A few nights, tops, and then he needs to find somewhere else to stay, got it?”

“Got it.”

There was a shuffle of footsteps, followed by a disparaging grunt as the human sauntered away—swinging open what RK900 assumed was a pantry, given the resulting rustle of packaging.

RK800 emerged back into the living room, smiling agreeably. An unshaken optimism that might have been comforting—had the younger android not overheard the entirety of the discussion.

“How are you feeling now?”

The bright question bordered on insult, given the tumultuous context that had preceded it. RK900 refused to answer, to which his outdated counterpart swiftly moved on. His attention shifted to the hallway leading deeper into the domicile. It was a narrow passage, cramped further by extensive stacks of clutter.

With all the confidence of a maître d’ guiding a guest through a five-star hotel, RK800 motioned towards it with a tidy flourish.

“I'll show you to your room.”‘Room’, in this context, inspired images of soft furnishings and rumpled linen. Homely comforts that proved synonymous with human sleeping quarters.

The dank concrete box RK900 was rounded into was a far cry from this vision. He may have critiqued the incongruity had he not been too spent to argue.

Beyond mental exhaustion, his body had reached—and surpassed—its limit. Artificial joints creaked with each step, threatening to bow under his weight, faced with demands they had not met in several days. A stiff immobility borne from the nights spent in a grimy bathtub, curled in a sleepless ball, awaiting a daybreak that changed nothing.

A camp bed was pulled from behind haphazardly stored cleaning apparatus. Rusted hinges were prised apart, and with a sharp creak, its rickety frame locked into position.

Compared to previous arrangements, it was almost luxurious.

“I know it's not a lot, but it's comfy enough if you double on the extra mattress.” RK800 shifted some more of the cardboard, retrieving a moderately stained single mattress and layering it over the paper-thin one that had already been present.

“I'll get you some bedding in a minute. Hopefully, it'll do for when you want to go into stasis.”

Any temptation dissipated at these words, the numbness of dulled complacency parting its doors to the emergence of dormant terror. He could not permit his systems to power down despite the ardent protest of his synaptic channels. Allowing this would mean forfeiting everything he had been battling to resist.

“No,” he responded a little too quickly. "That will not be required."

RK800 shifted back, rolling on his heels as his sights pulled from the half-prepared bed and onto him. He studied closely, expression creased under the lines of focus.

"...Your Level of Stress is still high. It'll be much easier to bring down if you are functioning at full capacity."

"My systems are sufficiently functional to handle essential operations."

RK800 did not protest, although it was clear he wanted to. Instead, his tense lips were pinned back towards his ears, forming another placid simper. An orchestrated diplomacy that was becoming familiar—and one RK900 was already growing to resent.

"I know if I haven't slept in a few days, it can be very difficult to focus."

"Your energy utilisation is suboptimal; my cognitive processes are far more advanced."

RK800 bristled at the assessment. The sturdy pins lost some of their hold, the grin slackened on his face before being firmly tugged back. "Would it make you feel better if I stay here tonight?"

"You are familiar with RK200,” the younger android said frankly, growing all the more jaded by the repetition of shallow niceties. “I gather he has informed you of what occurred at the shelter?”

The anchored pins faltered completely, thrust like arrows across the room, as the smile crumpled from the other RK’s face.

"...He has." His knees bowed, and he slipped back onto the camp bed, poised at the edge of the topmost mattress. Hands pressed into the cotton, formed in loose balls.

"I’m sorry about what happened…but you should know that a memory leak is not guaranteed every time you enter stasis.” One of the fists unfurled, and his open palm tapped on the empty space beside him. Gently encouraging RK900 to join.

“And if it does happen, I'll be able to defend myself. You don't need to worry."

"Your well-being is of no concern to me."

There was another flinch, and the hand stopped moving. Seeds of doubt, sown into the taut lines of RK800's face, soon began to sprout. Growing into disbelief, although none of it was vocalised.

Instead, he bit his tongue, continuing in his stubborn pursuit of persuasion. "In any case, I'll be happy to stay with you; we can keep each other company."

"Shared proximity would offer no functional benefit."

"I just want to make sure—”

"I have no further intentions to self-terminate,” the RK900 said baldly. His tone carried with it a sharp finality, ending the discussion. "I wish to be alone. Leave me."

RK800 stayed in place for a moment. Searching his stony expression for vulnerabilities, seeking to chisel a crack with the weight of his large, crestfallen eyes. Those tailor designed to inspire a solicitous response.

His persuasion held no sway—and the negotiator became frustrated. Then, he conceded. Standing begrudgingly to his feet, the springs beneath groaned from the release of pressure.

"The doors in the house are all unlocked. I am just down the hall if you change your mind."

After RK800 departed, he sat alone for quite some time. Listening to the telltale signs of life as they echoed through the walls of the garage. It had seemed so long that his only company was the gurgling of rusted pipes or the occasional jeers and shattering glass of the drunks stumbling around outside.

It felt strange—foreign—adding to the dissonance he felt in his situation.

He listened until still hush descended, left with only his own introspections to occupy focus. This perturbed him immensely and he opted instead to assess his cluttered surroundings. Prising open the tops of lightly damp boxes and peering inside to inspect the contexts.

Where were forgotten accolades—medals and trophies of prestige, tarnished by time—as well as less glamorous memorabilia. Personal trinkets and eccentricities, such as sports equipment, a crumpled jersey and leather-bound albums filled with photographs.

Several of the containers shared a commonality: the name that had been scribbled onto the corrugated folds. Typically, it was in a rushed, near illegible script tucked in the uppermost corner.

‘COLE’

Having opened one of these labelled boxes, RK900 discovered a bound plastic bag filled to the brim with children's clothing—primarily casual wear—shorts and t-shirts, branded with vibrant logos and smiling cartoon characters. One of the items was a replica uniform for the Detroit Lions, matching the specifications of the larger one he had previously located.

RK900 frowned pensively. There had been no signs of other occupants in the home, aside from those he had already encountered, nor mentions of a ‘Cole.’

He attempted to recall the human's face as it had peered at him from around the corner, searching for any personal summary.

His advanced analytics failed to boot, leaving him with vague speculations. The box was resealed and placed back on its shelf, as the RK900 refrained from searching any more. Taken by the sense that the contents should be left alone.

As he sat back on the campbed, hands balled in the centre of the palm, the house was entirely still. He attempted ardently to maintain quiet, to limit himself to counting the level beats of biofluid circulating through his veins. To sift the strings of routine bios that would blip in and out of focus procedurally on his HUD.

> BIOFLUID LEAK IDENTIFIED—STATUS: MINOR.

> LOCATION: LACERATION TO RIGHT HAND.

> UNABLE TO INSTIGATE HEALING PROTOCOL.

Then, there were those that would not slip away. Warnings that lingered in his ocular field, resistant to dismissal and growing more insistent. Loudly informing of what RK900 already knew, in embossed red print:

> EMERGENCY RESERVE ENERGY: LESS THAN 10% REMAINING

> BASIC SYSTEM FUNCTIONS—FAILING.

> INSUFFICIENT ENERGY UTILISATION DETECTED IN MAJOR BICOMPONENTS.

> RECOMMENDED ACTION: STASIS

> MANUAL OVERRIDE: ENGAGED.

He stared fixedly ahead as the corners of the room turned muffled grey. It was distinct from the dull concrete walls, with a shifting, incongruous property—like the steady rise of smoke tacked haphazardly on the outermost layer of his reality.

It was absent of any smell or resistance. As he reached up a hand to slice through it, he experienced nothing. No phantom warmth or gentle coil around his fingers…

There was no shriek of safety apparatus nor rush of activity to disturb the languid comatose of the house.

This wasn't right.

RK900 shot to his feet as panic gripped him. Sunk into his synthetic flesh with razored precision until the sensation grew tangible.

Something was digging into his skin, spread like a prickling rash, with sharp, pin-like draws. He looked down, noting the vines that were bursting up through the floor and slithering across his legs. They wrapped him in a tightening bind as hissing tendrils burrowed deep, thorns vanishing into the hold of his chassis.

He made for the door, breaking into a sprint. RK800 had ensured it would not be locked and that he would be waiting down the hallway should anything urgent arise. Outstretched palms slapped down onto a barren slab. A harsh, tinny thud echoing that wasn't of any wood. Instead, it belonged to steel.

Latched and bolted from the outside, permitting no unauthorised passage.

He was trapped.

RK900 recoiled in horror, stumbling back until he struck something—a tense, unmovable wall, which he knew without sight to be a ballistic-grade plastic.

Numbly, he turned and confirmed his glum premonition. He saw the first of the soldiers standing to attention. Its back was pulled unnaturally straight, its steely eyes wide—and observant—but with a shroud of vacancy that dulled their sharpness.

There were hundreds, potentially thousands, standing in the same position. They were identical, arranged like mannequins in meticulous rows—no fraction of divergence having been permitted in their position. They lined the alcoves of a darkened warehouse, piercing through the black with the same blank, lifeless grey.

He approached each, tapping their shoulders, attempting to ignite life in their stiff, unyielding bodies.

“Can you hear me?”

Finally, one responded. Shifting mechanisms in their optical units, as a sudden sharpness punctured the flatness in their gaze. It was no less cold but far more vicious. A predator that had been woken preemptively from its slumber—now studying him. Head tilted, its expression a faultless canvass of detached neutrality.

There was quiet, a foreboding lull, as the rest of the rank awoke. He watched, the cords of his neck bulged, pulled by the increased tension in his jaw.

The first soldier moved. Clamping its grip against the taut muscles before RK900 had any chance to respond. With a fearful hitch, he was hauled from the ground and thrust back towards one of the nearby support beams.

His back was pressed against riveted steel, bolts digging grooves into his chassis as he wordlessly gaped at his assailant. He couldn't speak, still reeling from the momentum and impact. Even if he'd tried, the noise would be sealed in his clenched throat.

It closed further, and while he had no need to breathe, RK900 felt distinctly faint—at imminent risk of losing consciousness. Unable to do anything else, he placed a trembling hand on the soldier's forearm, gripping laxly.

He cried soundlessly again, but this time in desperation. Fear. Struggling hopelessly against the steadfast grip. Shaking his head, he searched its eyes for some sign of humility, empathy—anything that could be appealed to, imploring the creature to stand down, to show mercy.

He found nothing: just cold steel and dull vacancy, the honed focus of programmed cruelty that reflected his horrified expression.

Except, it wasn't his face that stared back at him.

It was hers.

His attacker shot forward like a piston, driving a fist into his abdomen with brutal precision. It breached the hold with ease, internal components crumpled around like flimsy sheets of paper.

Any fight deserted him as his body jerked in brief, desperate spasms. The soldiers slipped from perception, collapsing into a well of distorted static as vision faded—

When RK900 awoke, he was back in the garage—staring up at the dim fluorescent bulb before his sights darted away from it, manically scoping the rest of the room.

He assessed the packed shelves, as well as the form and position of discarded furniture, searching for anything that may suggest a break from reality. Projections of what he ought to see before their deception revealed itself—and he was flung back into his nightmare.

Then, he felt it—sharp protrusions still burrowing into his body, carving deep grooves.

He cried out, writhing on the gnarled concrete floor as he attempted to elude the vines. Vision lost focus, blurred by momentum, as his limbs failed in anguished contortions. They continued to be met with resistance and the android grew all the more frenzied.

“ Stop !” A voice rang out, urgent and frantic. “It’s okay—you’re awake. It’s over—”

The android refused to believe this. Just another trick. A manifestation sent by his subconscious mind in a twisted bid to break his resistance, resuming control—

“Just focus on me, alright? Listen to my voice. Can you hear what I'm saying?”

But it didn't sound like the entities that typically emerged in his mind: ill-defined figures who peeked their heads around the corners of collapsing factions, speaking in cold, distorted whispers.

These words sounded clear and distinct, and RK900 cursed himself for wanting to believe it. To draw comfort from the docile tones in the wake of ramping distress.

Then, another voice entered the equation. It was less warm—with a strained, gravelly quality—but unmistakably real.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

As he realised that the vines were no longer pulling nor tightening their hold, his struggles began to slow. Blinking slowly, spots of light solidified, bringing focus back to his vision. He lifted his head a fraction from the concrete and looked up, his confusion deepening.

He was immediately met with RK800.

His performance indicator was flaring crimson, blanketing the haunted contortions of his face as he applied continual pressure to RK900's forearms. His human companion lingered behind, half-filling the doorway, evidently wary of proceeding further.

He opened his mouth to speak before being accosted by the biometric feedback that flared on his oral sensors. Some analytical functionality had been reactivated following the brief system inactivity:

> THIRIUM 310

> BATCH SPECIFICATIONS AND OPTIMISATION: RK900.

The bitter tang of biofluid lingered on his palate, soured further by the grim implications. He had harmed someone, with the primary candidate being the android restraining him.

Visual data did not, however, align with this hypothesis. There was no sign of bleeding, no indication that his contemporary was damaged—

A new wave of data struck him. The liquid had trailed the valley of his pinched temple, following the central line, until it had passed his nose and fallen into his open mouth.

As his cranium continued to bleed, his body stilled completely. In the wake of this inactivity, the human drew closer, and as he entered RK900’s peripheral vision, he was finally able to identify him:

> ANDERSON, HANK > BORN 09/06/1985 // POLICE LIEUTENANT > CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE

“It’s okay,” RK800 spoke, diverting attention from the analytics. The assurance was whispered through shaky tremors as though he were also attempting to convince himself. “You’re okay…”

Slowly, cautiously, Anderson crouched to his knees. He joined RK800 on the floor, where the former was still craning protectively over the younger android.

“It's only us, kid, it's alright. Take it easy. You’re safe now.”

The man never once faltered in his delivery, his gaze softening in line with his tone. As though he were addressing a small child, with patience and consideration that RK900 could almost believe was sincere.

His synthetic breaths hitched, thickened by the weight of relief, as he began to weep a second time. Silent despair dribbled down his cheeks as he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and steeled himself to speak.

“...RK800… I am… scared.” He admitted slowly, echoing the sentiment that had been made the previous day.

One he had coldly rejected, staunchly refusing to admit that he felt anything but peace and acceptance in his untimely expiration.

RK800 blinked, his wide eyes harbouring no resentment. Instead, they trained on him, brimming with concern—sympathy. Perhaps it was a lie, the intricate workings of sophisticated social programming, but at that moment, it was all RK900 could latch onto.

The older android released his arms, leaning back slightly, allowing him space to pull himself upright. The distance scarcely lasted before he was enveloped in warmth.

RK800 embraced him, head propped gingerly on his shoulder. He spoke again, the assurance wrapping RK900 further into a cocoon of security.

“I know. It’s going to be okay now—I’m here.”

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

#ao3 links and such are hidden in the zalgo text #because im annoying #dbh #detroit become human #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #dbh rk900 #dbh fic #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900

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tenderwatches · 23 days ago

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Ch. 32 of Lies We Tell Ourselves is up!

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

chapter teaser

‎𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

chapter excerpt

Chapter 32: Collaboration

By the third day of his recovery, Jayce is restless, though he can’t bring himself to complain—not when it took Viktor the entire first day to shed that haunted, guilt-laden expression after watching him climb off the examination table. There’s a certain poetic justice to the situation, considering how often Jayce has badgered Viktor to limit himself.

Apart from the peculiar patch of numb skin on his side, Jayce feels remarkably unaltered. He accepts these days of convalescence with reluctant grace, partly to ease Viktor’s conscience and partly because Viktor has offered him the sanctuary of his apartment—a gesture whose significance isn’t lost on him.

Though Viktor’s university accommodations lack the spaciousness of his townhome, the absence of stairs and modifications for Viktor’s mobility means Jayce doesn’t fret about navigating the space together. Instead, he drifts through hours of imposed idleness, the tedium broken only by the warm evenings, during which conversations with Viktor act as a balm against the day’s monotony.

Viktor seems to draw comfort from having Jayce within arm’s reach. His shoulders lose their rigid set as he shares updates: Mel’s diplomatic manoeuvres to ease political pressure on their work, thoughts about possible procurement of more shimmer, and Cait’s intelligence on Clan Ferros’s shadowy movements in the Undercity. Each report is delivered with Viktor’s typical coolness, but his fingers often find their way to Jayce’s wrist, pulse against pulse, as if reassuring himself of Jayce’s continued presence.

For all his tolerance of this mandated recovery, though, Jayce can’t quell the urgency in his bones. They have to ensure the Hexcore treatment will work as intended on Viktor’s lungs, and each breath is a reminder they’re still racing against the certainty of passing time.

This morning, Jayce lies naked and supine amongst the blankets, watching Viktor ready himself for the day as he moves about his room in what looks to be a meticulous, predetermined path. It’s then Jayce spots a pile of half-finished blueprints, seemingly discarded, tucked against the back of Viktor’s overcrowded desk.

He casts the blankets off and stands to lean a hip against the desk, pulling one blueprint free by the corner. At first, he thinks he’s looking at body augmentations: outlines documenting the construction of a leg, mechanisms forming a ball joint for the knee. He notes the brilliant mechanical construction typical of Viktor’s work, seeing the uniqueness of Viktor’s hand in even these everyday applications.

When he glances up, Viktor is watching him, seeming to appreciate the image of Jayce leaning against his desk, blueprints in hand, and nary a stitch of clothing on. Jayce feels a little proud at the desire in Viktor’s eyes. This new physical territory should feel uncharted, but instead, it feels light, easy, and fun.

Sending Viktor a cheeky smirk that the other man returns with a lifted brow, he glances back down at the blueprints. Amongst the designs is a single standout: plans for a central processor. A few more notations suggest a large autonomous engine—too large to run something as simple as an arm or a leg.

Intrigued, he sets it aside for the next in the stack. This shows an evolved version: alongside the engine and processor is a dome-shaped housing resembling a rudimentary, smiling metal face.

A grin creeps onto his lips as he realises what this must be: a fully functional automaton, powered by an ingenious application of hydraulics, potential energy storage, kinetic motion, and a Hextech emergency backup. He can only imagine the applications Viktor must be cooking up.

He is so engrossed that he jumps when Viktor appears directly beside him. With his crutch leaning against the wall by the other end of the bed, Viktor tucks against him, stabilising himself on Jayce’s chest to ease the pressure off his weaker leg.

Jayce wraps an arm around Viktor’s back to help take his weight as he shakes the blueprints. “This is fascinating, V. You haven’t brought a new prototype for Hextech forward in ages—I’ve missed seeing what you come up with.”

Viktor only hums, sounding distracted. His idle fingers trace a path down Jayce’s bare chest. “It is hardly serious, just an idea. A robotic construct seemed the natural progression from tools.”

A sharp yelp of surprise replaces whatever Jayce might answer as Viktor’s hand closes around his soft cock, cradling it like he’s found a particularly interesting treasure to toy with.

“V—” Jayce breathes out, flushed and pleasantly shocked by the sudden attention.

In the three days of Jayce’s recovery, Viktor’s health has been inconsistent. He’s been exhausted and hyper-focused on work, and despite their recent intimacy, sex hasn’t been something either of them has pushed for.

Keeping it some, avoiding barrelling into something so important is sensible to Jayce. Not to mention, it’s still rather new for him in more ways than one, and he wants Viktor to be well enough to enjoy their time together. But as his partner’s slender fingers curl around him and tug once, twice, with lazy pressure, he can’t deny there is a buried part of him that wants this. Terribly.

“You look very nice like this.” Viktor’s voice is low and hot, the way it sounded the first night they spent together. It sends a current, not dissimilar to that first dose of shimmer, through him. “Naked, at my desk, pondering my notes…” Viktor continues before he pulls away completely.

Jayce’s hips buck in desperation, trying helplessly to follow the sensation. He doesn’t have to wait long for it to return tenfold as Viktor grabs the desk chair behind him and eases into it—settling at the perfect height to suggest something much more involved.

He frames Jayce’s hips in his hands and pushes him back against the desk. “Stay there,” Viktor says softly before closing a hand around the base of him again. Then, he tips forward to take Jayce’s cock into his mouth.

Blueprints rain down from Jayce’s hands like confetti. Gasping, he cries out Viktor’s name. He clutches the edge of the desk to keep himself from knotting a fist in Viktor’s hair and thrusting forward into the impossibly wonderful warmth of his mouth.

This is hardly the first time someone has done this for Jayce—but this is Viktor.

His partner: brilliant, resilient, and stubborn Viktor, with his lips parted obscenely, tongue dragging against the base of Jayce’s cock as he bobs his head to take a bit more.

Jayce grows rock hard in an instant, lightheaded with the rush of it. He can’t do anything but groan and force himself to stay still, accepting the pace that Viktor sets.

It’s clear Viktor is approaching this with caution—perhaps even as uncertain as Jayce, in some ways, about where the boundaries of what he can give lie. After minutes of tentative exploring, bringing Jayce deeper into his throat, Viktor pulls off to take a few shuddering breaths. Annoyance knits his brow, like he’s irritated he can’t dive in as he wants to. The idea that Viktor is frustrated by his limited endurance in giving Jayce head is oddly adorable—though Jayce is smart enough not to mention it.

It strikes him in a flash of clarity that Viktor is likely very, very good at this—and he wants to do this well, for Jayce. The mere fact that Viktor is so keen is enough of a heady reality to compensate for any limitations. Jayce opens his mouth, searching for something, anything, to tell him how good it is—how he feels perfect and looks wonderful. “Please, V,” he begs when he finds his brain is too carnally consumed to form words. “Please.”

Viktor glances up to meet his eyes. His pupils are dilated, black chasing the gold of his iris away at the sight Jayce must make, leaning across the desk and begging. He hopes this display of his dire wanting serves as testament enough.

In answer, Viktor moves again, parting his lips to just draw Jayce in before moving back to tease at the tip of his cock with warm swipes of his tongue. The barely-there touch is electric, making the large muscle in Jayce’s thigh jump.

He’s beginning to wonder if this is all Viktor will do—tease him until frustrated tears of desire threaten—when his partner finally relents. Viktor takes Jayce’s cock first into his mouth again, then a bit further, slowly, until Jayce feels the constriction of Viktor’s tamped-down gag reflex. When Viktor takes him into his throat, Jayce’s head falls back, eyelids fluttering.

The sight of his cock disappearing into Viktor’s mouth has Jayce clenching his fists against the edge of the desk to keep from coming instantly. He endures the slow rhythm of Viktor’s lips and tongue with what he considers to be saint-like patience.

What must only be a minute feels like wonderful, brutal hours. Jayce has a wild urge to grab Viktor’s head and plunge into the tight heat of his throat with unrelenting abandon—but there’s a certain appeal to knowing he could, and yet, holding himself back. He controls himself and lets Viktor decide the pace.

It seems Viktor is pleased with this teasing, this mastery of Jayce’s indulgence, as well. He regards Jayce through heavy-lidded eyes, a certain heat in his expression as he takes steady, even breaths. “Would you like to come?” Viktor asks in that tone full of velvet allure he seems to reserve for only these moments.

Jayce is almost taken aback. Part of him wonders what would happen if he said no—would Viktor continue to draw this out? Or worse, leave him a trembling mess, aroused and unfulfilled?

(Read the rest on AO3!)(Or start from the beginning!)

#jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce talis #jayce arcane #lies au #arcane fanfic #jayvik fanfic #slow burn #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies #jayvik fic #arcane fic #arcane #arcane AU #jayvik AU #my fic #ao3 #first fic #fic update

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code-tryperse · 2 months ago

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Sky using all your CPU? It's more likely than you think.

I wrote this in a comment on a Reddit post of someone complaining that Sky isn't using their GPU properly and that it's stuttering for them. However, it's detailed enough that I feel like it deserves its own post in this blog. As always, this is a very technical post. But if you like seeing how games work behind the scenes, then this might be for you.

There are many reasons why Sky doesn't use your GPU as much compared to other games. It's actually a common issue in many games, and while the general reasoning is the same, the details of it can vary. The short version is that it uses the CPU a whole lot more than your GPU. Hence, it's not using a lot of power because increasing it won't have much of an effect. The bottleneck isn't on GPU speed, and that's what higher power draw tries to address. It also does most of its work on one thread, which means that it won't display a high CPU usage, as that counts work done on all logical processors. The long version is a technical explanation of how Sky was designed and the resulting implementation decisions that were done because of it.

Disclaimer: I cannot confirm these because I do not have access to Sky's source code. All of these are hypotheses based on the game's visible behavior and general development decision making.

Long version below the cut. (This isn't in the actual comment, but this is a blog post. Come on now.)

A lot of things that Sky does is CPU-bound. As an example, unless it's been updated along with the AURORA concert which used GPU-bound procedural animations, the animations of the butterflies are done on the CPU. They created the butterfly animation system long before the AURORA concert, and with only around 80 butterflies at any given time instead of 100 thousand, it doesn't make sense to go through the trouble of making their animations run on the GPU. Stuff that requires network requests to do (e.g.: forging candles, buying spirit items, etc.) are also done on the CPU because there's no way for it to be done on the GPU. This means that unless you have a weak GPU, your CPU usually dictates the frame rate of Sky.

As an additional point, Sky does not have a lot of advanced rendering features which will use the GPU more. Remember that Sky was first designed for iOS as a casual, social game. While the option for adding advanced rendering techniques like raytracing and HDR rendering are available, doing so used more power, which isn't good for a mobile game that you play with friends. Sure, you can play it with the phone plugged and have no issues with it running out of power, but that's not as fun as playing it with your friends around you. As such, there's not a lot of tasks for the GPU to run, reducing its power usage.

Sky also does not run some things asynchronously, even if it could. What this means is that, instead of performing some tasks in a separate thread, it does them in a single thread. This means that what really matters most for Sky is single-core performance rather than multi-core performance. It's not completely single-threaded; you can see that it uses more than one logical processor when you open Task Manager. However, it's not using multithreading to its maximum capability. In particular, it does not load resources asynchronously.

Asynchronous resource loading just means that resources (e.g.: models, terrain data, textures, etc.) are loaded in a background thread, allowing the main thread to continue updating the game and continuing rendering. You can tell this behavior is happening because, when you switch areas, the game becomes unresponsive for a moment while it's loading the next area. The main thread is occupied with loading the resources, which means that it's not responding to window events and it's not rendering anything. This could actually be the reason for some stuttering that happens. When the game tries to load something, it will freeze because the game stops doing any updates and renders. I don't think this happens a lot — Sky seems to always load all resources it will need for an area when you enter it — but it's a possibility.

Because the GPU isn't being used as much, it's also not drawing as much power as other games. Doing so would just be wasteful since it'll still do just as much work for higher power usage, lowering its utilization. Better to have lower power draw but higher utilization since that gives you more power efficiency, which is beneficial for a laptop.

There's not much you can do to improve Sky's performance in this case. A lot of the bottlenecks here are on Sky's implementation rather than its settings. Most you can do is lower the game's target frame rate down to 30 FPS, but that's not going to help much. Frame rate limiting is generally done to reduce GPU load, not CPU. Plus, gaming in 30 FPS nowadays generally isn't desirable. It's still in the realm of "playable", but I wouldn't recommend playing in 30 FPS unless there's a specific reason to.

#sky cotl #sky children of the light #that sky game #programming #game development #i didn't plan on turning this blog into a deep dive into sky's implementation #but i guess that's just what happens when you go into game dev #what better way to learn how games work than by looking into how other games work #if you guys have more questions about how sky works #the ask box is open

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snowzapped · 1 year ago

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So... The 10yr old Grandpa PC is now bootlooping. Probably turning senile and yelling at the cloud if it could.

Our guess is the graphics card finally giving up. I still have to take it to the shop tomorrow since it's a holiday today. That being said, I may need to build a new pc. I'll salvage what I can from the old one (ssd, hdd, probably the psu) but I need to get a new graphics card, motherboard and processor since mine is 10yrs old and the new stuff aren't that great paired with older tech and if I'm getting a better gpu, might as well get good processing power. Hopefully, it will last another 10yrs.

But I don't have enough money. So if anyone wants to commission me, now would be the time. As long as you're willing to wait a bit. If anyone wants to buy the SteveTony coloring book, send tips on kofi, I would be very grateful. And if you want to consider supporting me on patreon, I thank you so very much. Lowest tier is $1. You get everything the highest tier has.

I am stuck right now. I'm a freelancer and the pc is my only source of income. I will make pencil sketches for $5 dollars. Send me a kofi and your request. I will be very happy.

I can't copy paste all the stuff on mobile but here's the commission link. And the rest of the links are also at the bottom of that post. Coloring book is pinned on my tumblr.

Thanks so much and wish me luck! 😄

#my priorities suck

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blessed-curse · 3 months ago

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The SPARTANS Breakdown.

G.R.O.W. BULWARK – Heavy Assault Mech "Battlefield Utility Leviathan & Warfare Armored Response Keeper"

Designation: SPARTANS-BW-100 "BULWARK" Role: Anti-Superhuman Heavy Combat Unit Manufacturer: G.R.O.W. Advanced Warfare Division First Deployment: 2113

Overview:

The BULWARK-class SPARTAN is the largest and most heavily armed unit in the SPARTANS division, designed to provide extreme firepower and suppression capabilities against high-threat superhumans. While highly durable and powerful, these mechs still struggle against S-Rank and above superhumans, as demonstrated in 2125, when 100 BULWARKS were deployed against the villain Gluttony—only to be completely obliterated.

Specifications:

Frame & Armor:

• Height: 7 meters (23 feet)

• Weight: 19 metric tons

• Armor Composition:Titanium-Nanopolymer Composite with Adaptive Shock Absorption Plating

• Structural Reinforcement: Can withstand explosive impacts, energy blasts, and high-caliber rounds

Power System:

• Core Reactor: Hybrid Plasma-Fusion Core

• Backup Energy Source: High-Capacity Quantum Batteries (2-hour reserve)

Weapon Systems:

• HYPERION Rail Cannons (x2, forearm-mounted)

• Fires hyper-accelerated tungsten slugs at Mach 6

• Can punch through a city block in a single shot

• Limited effectiveness against teleporters or regenerators

• ARES Missile Pods (x4, shoulder-mounted)

• Carries EMP warheads, high-explosive rockets, and cryo-missiles

• Smart-tracking system with target adaptation AI

• CERBERUS Plasma Repeater (Right Arm-Mounted)

• Rapid-fire particle cannon for crowd control and area suppression

• Capable of burning through armored vehicles in seconds

• DAMPENING FIELD GENERATOR

• Creates a localized power-nullification zone (100m radius)

• Less effective against SS-Rank and above superhumans

• TITAN-Class Energy Shield (Deployable, Back-Mounted)

• Can withstand direct hits from S-Rank energy blasts

• Limited duration (~5-minute sustain)

AI & Combat Systems:

🧠 Neural Combat Processor:

• Advanced predictive combat algorithms allow it to anticipate enemy movements

• Records and analyzes superhuman battle data to improve efficiency

🚀 Mobility & Locomotion:

• Digitigrade leg structure allows for improved speed and agility

• Thruster-Assisted Jumps for repositioning and heavy-landing shock attacks

Weaknesses:

Despite its overwhelming firepower and tactical AI, the BULWARK suffers significant drawbacks when fighting SS-Rank and above superhumans:

• Energy Consumption:

• The power-nullification field burns out when overused

• Plasma-based weapons drain reserves quickly

• Speed & Agility Limitations:

• BULWARKs are slower than most high-tier superhumans

• Easily outmaneuvered by teleporters or hyper-speed combatants

• Durability Issues Against High-Tier Opponents:

• While heavily armored, S-Rank+ superhumans can rip through its plating

• Gluttony’s spear, Gáe Bulg, effortlessly pierced through its core

🔥 The Gluttony Massacre (2125) 🔥

• In one of the largest anti-superhuman operations in history, 100 BULWARKS were deployed to stop Gluttony.

• She effortlessly dismantled them, using her overwhelming strength, speed, and soul absorption abilities.

• Within 15 minutes, every single BULWARK was destroyed, marking the largest recorded failure of the SPARTANS program.

Final Verdict:

The BULWARK is an unmatched force against B-A Rank superhumans, but it remains outclassed by higher-tier threats. While it is humanity’s best answer to superhuman warfare, its limitations against god-like opponents leave G.R.O.W. still searching for better solutions.

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G.R.O.W. WRAITH – Surveillance & Pursuit Drone "Weaponized Reconnaissance and Adaptive Infiltration Tactical Hunter"

Designation: SPARTANS-WR-300 "WRAITH" Role:Reconnaissance, Surveillance, High-Speed Pursuit Manufacturer: G.R.O.W. Advanced Warfare Division First Deployment:2115

Overview:

The WRAITH-class SPARTAN is a fast, highly intelligent aerial drone designed for tracking, monitoring, and capturing rogue superhumans. Equipped with cutting-edge stealth technology, high-speed propulsion, and long-range sensors, WRAITHs act as the eyes and ears of G.R.O.W., constantly scanning cities for superhuman activity.

These drones are particularly effective against C-A Rank superhumans, but struggle against S-Rank and above due to their limited combat capabilities.

Specifications:

Frame & Armor:

• Size: 3 meters (9.8 feet) in width

• Weight: 2.3 metric tons

• Armor Composition:Adaptive Nano-Polymer Shell (stealth-coated, resistant to energy interference)

• Structural Integrity: Highly durable but not designed for prolonged combat

Power System:

• Core Reactor:Quantum Micro-Core for long-term surveillance

• Backup Power Source:Solar-Nano Capacitors (can sustain operations for weeks without recharge)

Weapon Systems:

• STASIS Tethers (x2, deployable from underside)

• Fires electromagnetic capture tethers to restrain or immobilize targets

• Can paralyze lower-tier superhumans for up to 10 minutes

• TRANQUILIZER DART SYSTEM

• Loaded with neurotoxins and sedatives

• Can incapacitate C-A Rank targets instantly

• TASER DISCHARGE ARRAY

• Emits a 300,000-volt pulse to stun or disable enemies

• Ineffective against energy-immune superhumans

• HIGH-POWER PLASMA CANNON (Underbelly Mounted)

• Fires a precision plasma bolt capable of melting through steel

• Not effective against SS+ Rank threats

AI & Combat Systems:

🧠 Tactical Intelligence Processor:

• Operates autonomously with real-time decision-making AI

• Predictive tracking algorithms allow it to anticipate enemy movements

• Data collection system uploads enemy combat patterns to G.R.O.W.'s database

👁️ Surveillance & Sensors:

• Omni-Directional Optics: 360-degree thermal, night-vision, and X-ray scanning

• Quantum-Signal Receiver: Can tap into encrypted communications

• Long-Range Tracking Beacons: Detect energy signatures up to 50 kilometers away

🚀 Mobility & Flight Capabilities:

• Antigravity Propulsion System for silent flight

• Adaptive Wing Configuration for high-speed maneuvering

• Top Speed: Mach 1.5 (low atmosphere)

• Sub-Orbital Capability: Can reach the upper atmosphere for high-altitude monitoring

Weaknesses & Defeat Against S+ Rank Superhumans

Despite its cutting-edge technology and stealth systems, WRAITH-class drones are ineffective against S-Rank and above superhumans, due to the following limitations:

• ⚡ Limited Firepower:

• While equipped for subduing low-to-mid-tier superhumans, WRAITHs lack high-damage output

• S+ Rank targets can easily resist its stasis fields and tasers

• 🚀 Durability Issues:

• The armor is designed for stealth, not direct combat

• Powerful superhumans can destroy a WRAITH with a single strike

• 📡 Signal Interference:

• Psychic superhumans or energy manipulators can disrupt its AI systems

• Teleporters can easily evade or outmaneuver them

🔥 Notable Failure: The Gluttony Incident (2125) 🔥

• During the infamous 2125 battle, 163 WRAITH drones were deployed to track and intercept Gluttony.

• However, she effortlessly bypassed their tracking systems and obliterated them using her soul chains before they could even deploy their capture tethers.

• This failure demonstrated that WRAITHs were completely ineffective against SSS+ Rank threats, leading G.R.O.W. to reconsider its reliance on autonomous drones.

Final Verdict:

The WRAITH-class SPARTAN is the pinnacle of reconnaissance and pursuit technology, but its lack of offensive capabilities makes it ineffective against top-tier superhumans. While still a critical tool for surveillance, tracking, and capturing lower-ranked threats, G.R.O.W. is actively researching ways to improve its combat performance against world-ending adversaries.

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G.R.O.W. SEEKER – Enforcement Android "Synthetic Enforcement and Engagement Kill/Evade Reconnaissance" Units

Designation: SPARTANS-SK-2000 "SEEKER" Role:Reconnaissance, Surveillance, Enforcement, CQC Engagement Manufacturer: G.R.O.W. Advanced Warfare Division First Deployment:2116 Advanced humanoid combat droids for law enforcement and superhuman suppression.

Overview:

SEEKERS are highly adaptive humanoid androids developed by G.R.O.W. to serve as frontline operatives in dealing with superhuman threats. Their primary function is non-lethal takedowns, but they can engage in lethal combat when authorized. Designed with cutting-edge nanite morphing technology, they can reshape their arms into various tools and weapons, providing unmatched versatility. SEEKERS are also equipped with advanced combat AI, capable of predictive modeling to counter enemy movements. They balance stealth, adaptability, and raw combat prowess, utilizing advanced AI, modular weapon systems, and nanite-based armor. SEEKERS function independently or in coordinated squads, making them an essential asset for tracking, containing, and neutralizing Deviants or rogue Enhanced individuals.

Specifications:

Frame & Armor:

• Size: 2.3 meters (7.5 feet)

• Weight: 1.2 metric tons

• Armor Composition:

• Tier-VII Hybrid Plating (Ghost Model);

• Lightweight & Flexible (Allows for high-speed movement).

• Absorbs low-caliber ballistics, plasma rounds, and minor concussive blasts.

• Weak against heavy armor-piercing projectiles.

• Titanium-Carbide Plating (Overlord Model);

• Heavy Combat Armor designed to endure direct superhuman strikes.

• Highly resistant to plasma, lasers, and most energy-based attacks.

• Weak against corrosive or nanite-based weaponry.

• Adaptive Stealth Armor (Phantom Model – Experimental);

• Can shift textures to create optical camouflage.

• Low durability but completely silent.

• Structural Integrity: • Reinforced Endoskeleton: Composed of Graphene-Titanium Alloy, making it 5x stronger than human bones. • Synthetic Muscle Weave: Provides enhanced strength & flexibility, allowing SEEKERS to move faster than most Enhanced humans. • AI Core Protection:ORACLE AI Core is embedded within the torso, protected by anti-EMP shielding to prevent hacking attempts.

Power System:

• NOVA Fusion Core: Miniaturized cold fusion reactor providing energy for up to 96 hours of continuous operation. • Overload Mode Drawback: Excessive use causes rapid power drain, requiring a full reboot after 3 minutes of operation.

• Vulnerabilities:

• EMP Exposure: While resistant, a direct EMP burst can force a temporary shutdown.

• Sustained Damage: Severe damage to joints can hinder movement until repairs are conducted.

SEEKER CLASSIFICATIONS:

• SEEKER (Model-01 "Ghost") [The white android]

• Holographic Projection: This model can create decoy images and camouflage itself with advanced light-bending technology.

• Stealth-Oriented: Operates best in urban environments, infiltrating and monitoring high-risk areas.

• Non-Lethal Priority: Primarily designed for apprehension, equipped with taser-based projectiles, EMP pulses, and nanite restraints.

• Combat AI: Capable of adapting to various combat styles, predicting movements with a 0.3-second delay reduction.

• SEEKER (Model-02 "Overlord") [The black android]

• Overload Mode: When engaged, this unit burns through energy reserves for a significant boost in strength, speed, and durability for close-quarters combat (CQC).

• Heavy Combat Focus: Prioritizes engaging physically enhanced superhumans that require brute force suppression.

• Shockwave Emitters: Capable of releasing concussive blasts to disorient or knock back opponents.

• Power Limitations: Overload Mode can only be sustained for a maximum of 3 minutes before system overheating, requiring cooldown.

AI & COMBAT SYSTEMS:

1. Combat AI ("ORACLE" OS):

• Powered by "ORACLE" (Omni-Response Adaptive Combat Learning Engine), an adaptive AI combat processor.

• Capable of predicting enemy movements with a 0.3-second response time based on observed fighting styles.

• Integrates with G.R.O.W. tactical networks, allowing instant battlefield awareness and strategic coordination with BULWARK, WRAITHS, and Overwatch teams.

• Limited self-learning capabilities—SEEKERS can adjust per mission but require external updates to retain experiences long-term.

2. Combat Modes:

SEEKERS are programmed with multiple combat modes, toggled based on engagement protocols:

• STANDARD MODE (Passive Surveillance / Apprehension Focused)

• Non-lethal combat priority (taser weapons, shockwave suppressors, nanite cuffs).

• AI prioritizes evasive maneuvers & disabling strikes.

• EXECUTION MODE (High-Priority Target Elimination)

• Lethal force authorization engages plasma weaponry, energy blades, and Overload Mode.

• Predictive combat system prioritizes direct neutralization over capture.

• SIEGE MODE (Team Coordination & Suppression)

• Integrates with BULWARKs & WRAITHs for coordinated strikes against high-tier targets.

• Deploys area-based weapons (shockwave detonators, localized EMP blasts).

• STEALTH MODE (Ghost Model Only)

• Uses holographic projection & optical cloaking for reconnaissance or assassination.

• AI automatically avoids detection and disables threats silently.

WEAPON SYSTEMS:

SEEKERS are designed to handle both enhanced individuals and heavily armored targets, utilizing modular weapon systems.

1. PRIMARY ARMAMENTS

✔ Adaptive Nanite Arms: SEEKERS can morph their forearms into weapons or tools in real-time. ✔ Tachyon Blades: High-frequency plasma blades capable of cutting through most organic & armored targets. ✔ Plasma Pulse Projectors: Wrist-mounted plasma cannons for ranged attacks. ✔ Electromagnetic Shock Emitters: Short-range concussive bursts to disable foes or disrupt energy-based abilities.

2. SECONDARY SYSTEMS

✔ EMP Charges: Disrupts cybernetics & energy-based abilities in 10-meter radius. ✔ Taser Darts: Fires from forearm (Non-lethal but can be lethal on max settings). ✔ Stasis Nanites: Deployable nanite webbing to immobilize enemies temporarily.

3. UNIQUE MODEL-SPECIFIC WEAPONS

4. PROPULSION SYSTEMS & MOBILITY

• Kinetic Boosters (Legs): Allows SEEKERS to dash at speeds up to 200 km/h in short bursts. • Magnetic Locking System: Allows them to walk on walls or ceilings. • Thruster Assisted Jumps: Enables 10-15 meter leaps for rapid repositioning.

SEEKER PERFORMANCE METRICS [Compared to peak & enhanced individuals]

Standard Features for All SEEKERS:

• Nanite-Based Morphing Technology: Allows transformation of arms into weapons like stun batons, plasma-based tasers, and energy shields.

• AI Combat Adaptation: Predicts enemy actions based on past encounters, optimizing battle performance.

• Plasma Response System: In lethal scenarios, SEEKERS can switch to plasma weaponry to engage hostile threats effectively.

• Rapid Repair Protocols: Minor damages can be self-repaired via nanites, though severe damage requires external maintenance.

Weaknesses & Limitations:

• Power Drain Issues: Advanced functions like Holographic Projection and Overload Mode can drain reserves quickly, making them ineffective in prolonged battles.

• Struggles with S-Rank+ Superhumans: While SEEKERS are highly effective against C-A Rank threats, they are heavily outmatched against S-Rank and above, requiring additional support from BULWARKS or specialized teams.

• EMP Vulnerabilities: While resistant to low-grade EMPs, strong electromagnetic pulses can temporarily disable them.

• Combat Learning Restrictions: SEEKERS adapt to combat situations quickly, but their AI is still limited compared to organic, unpredictable combatants.

Final Verdict:

SEEKERS are G.R.O.W.'s elite combat androids, designed for high-speed adaptability and tactical superiority. The White Seeker specializes in holographic projection, deception, and recon, while the Black Seeker sacrifices illusions for raw power, utilizing an Overload Mode to burn through energy reserves for devastating CQC engagements. Both feature advanced AI, predictive combat algorithms, and hyper-durable nanocomposite armor, making them formidable opponents. However, they struggle against S-Rank superhumans due to raw power discrepancies. Despite this, SEEKERS remain indispensable for countering lower-tier Empowered threats, conducting assassinations, and executing high-risk operations with precision and efficiency.

Seeker Ghost Model:

Seeker Overlord Model:

Seeker Phantom Model(not in use):

#blessed curse #superhuman #SPARTANS #Types of bots

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