#Which is impossible for an Android | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liveyun · 8 months ago

Text

WIRED | k.nj

summary. You’ve spent years perfecting your first android. But as you power him on for the first time, something feels off. The sense of control you once had begins to slip, and suddenly, you realize—he may be is more than just a machine.

title. wired

pairing. kim namjoon x fem reader (oc), hints of jungkook x oc

genre. android!au, yandere(?) , dark content

wc. 3.7k

warnings. oh boy here we go, scientist!oc, android!joon, unsettling themes as in psycological manipulation, obsessive behaviour and slight yandere, mild horror (oc realises she’s cooked lmfaoo) (halloween special?) slight non-con themes but no nsfw tho, dominance, android joon is hot byee, jungkook! jungkook ? . . . lots of technical terms which you might need to google if you are unfamiliar with them like i was xD, implied stalking (you will understand who is), i really tried 🙏🏾

this smol drabble was really inspired by artificial heart by @writerpetals ! please check her works out, she’s amazing!

main masterlist | taglist

The lab is quiet.

Too quiet.

You stand in the stillness, only the faint hum of cooling fans breaking the silence echoing in your ears. The familiar mechanical sounds — servo motors whirring softly, air ducts breathing through the vents — all the familiar characteristics of your good old lab used to calm you.

But tonight, the sounds seem different.

Almost. . . detached. Like they belong to someone else’s lab. And you are just a guest here, standing in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

You take a slow breath, your eyes drifting over the towering figure in front of you, the cylindrical glass sheath unlocked from over his model.

RM.

The product of months — no, years — of work. Of restless nights, of failure and determination. From the initial sketches to the delicate wiring of his artificial synapses, you had envisioned every piece, every movement. You had wanted him to be different. Special.

You had wanted him to be human.

Or at least, as close to a human as possible. His skin, so perfect in its imitation, stretched smoothly over the metallic frame beneath. His lips — plump, lifelike — looked almost too real. His dragon-like eyes, sharp and crystalline, seemed to glow even in the dim light of the lab. Even when there was no life, no, power running inside his veins. Every feature had been carefully crafted with Jungkook’s help, to help the ideal you had in mind.

But now that he’s finished, now that he stands in front of you, lifeless but complete, the pride you once felt has faded into something else. Something. . .unsettling.

You wanted this — this perfection. This mirror of humanity. Yet as you stare at RM, your skin prickling under the too-bright overhead lights, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe there was a reason no one else had tried this before.

A reason why no android had ever been designed to look this human like. Every shield, every plaster, every pore — looks so detailed that it’s nearly impossible to figure out if he’s artificial, given if no one would tell you so.

But why does it feel like you’ve actually gone too far when this was what exactly you wanted?

You don’t know. And perhaps, you wouldn’t want to know, too.

His memory doesn’t even exist. There’s nothing in him but the database you installed, an organised collection of information that dictates what he knows, how he functions, and why was he created. And yet, staring at him now, you could swear there’s something behind those dormant eyes. Something watching. Waiting.

You shake your head. He’s just a machine. He isn’t human — no matter how real he looks, no matter how lifelike his features are. You created him, after all.

You’re in control.

Your gaze flickers to the small panel embedded in his chest. One button. One switch, and everything inside him — the circuits, the synapses, the artificial intelligence you spent months programming — would power down. A single press, and he’s nothing more than a shell. A hollow, empty thing, dependent entirely on your commands, on your fingertips.

Made by you.

But the thought doesn’t comfort you as much as it should.

You take a step closer, your breath catching as you reach out, fingertips hovering just inches from his face. The skin feels warm, almost soft, even though you know it’s just layers of silicone and synthetics. Too real. His eyes, though they haven’t opened, seem to bore into you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination. After all, he’s not alive.

He’s not human.

You remind yourself again, a small voice in your own mind, trying to push away the small seed of doubt. But it lingers, growing roots in the back of your thoughts.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve created something you can’t quite understand.

You nibble on your bottom lips, suddenly feeling your palms getting clammy despite the air conditioning system in your lab. Today was supposed to be the day when you were finally going to run your creation for the first time ever after being completed, but now it just feels. . .

What does it feel like?

It took you so many attempts. So many glitches and bugs which nearly made you demotivated enough to abandon your project for nearly two months, but you see, motivation hits the hardest at the most random of times. You remember how your phone restarting had made your heart skip a beat, and suddenly you’d found yourself driving to your lab at 2:30 AM with tears in your eyes out of frustration and relief.

After that, everything is history.

You stare at him for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only a few seconds. His hair is neatly combed to the side of his face, his cheekbones structured and chiseled. Even his skin tone looks like he’s been bathed in a tub of golden honey. He looks beautiful, almost perfect. But why does that bring a furrow to your eyebrows?

The lab remains deathly quiet, except for the faint buzz of cooling fans and the occasional whirring of the air ducts. RM stands there, unmoving.

You force yourself to look away, eyes trailing to the control panel on the desk. The switch. Your thumb hovers over the console, the last line of code entered and waiting to be executed. Once you press it, he will come to life. He’ll be fully operational, with his intelligence — his programmed brilliance — at your command.

And yet, something holds you back.

You look at his nametag on his chest.

RM#007613.

“RM?” Jungkook had asked, raising an eyebrow as he’d stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of chocolate puffs. “Why that name?”

You had smiled back then, filled with excitement, as you explained, “It stands for ‘Rational Mind.’ ” Perhaps you had lied. “The whole point of his existence is to be the smartest, most logical being ever created.” You’d said, proud of your vision. “His intelligence will surpass that of any human.” You’d glanced at the design on the screen��tall, imposing, his features still in the early stages of development. Even in the rough drafts, there was something about him.

Jungkook had leaned in closer, munching noisily as he’d raised a brow, studying the lines of RM’s face that he’d helped perfect. “I guess that fits for an android. . .” He’d tapped the image lightly with his finger, his expression thoughtful, doe eyes sparkling under the dim light of your bedroom lamp. “But what happens when a mind like that… I don’t know, becomes irrational?”

“You know, there’s a very small difference between a genius and an insane person,” he had said, his gaze suddenly zoning out, as if he was lost in some thought.

You had brushed off the question with a laugh, dismissing the idea as you’d turned off your tablet, pushing the fellow out of your bed. “He’s a machine. That won’t happen. He’s designed to be logical. It’s all about control, koo.”

In theory, everything about RM should function perfectly. His neural networks, his memory database, his artificial joints — everything had been tested, retested, and optimized. There were no bugs. No glitches. At least, that’s what the diagnostics said. But there’s still a tug in your chest as you hesitate.

Why are you hesitating?

With a deep breath, you push aside the uncertainty. You’re in control. RM isn’t a human. He’s a machine—a very advanced one, yes, but a machine nonetheless. You spent months perfecting him for this moment, to stand infront of you as a complete form.

It’s time.

You take a deep breath, eyes flickering between the buttons on the console. Your finger hovers over the power button, the familiar design a reminder of your countless sleepless nights spent perfecting it. But just beside it, another button glows a faint, off-white hue — the Sensory button, or what Jungkook liked calling it, the emotional hellhole.

And he was right.

It was indeed like a hellhole of a switch — you solely had spent like what, eight months designing this to decency, but you’d failed each time. It was a secondary function you had designed as a fallback, meant to activate only when RM couldn’t process complex human prompts.

You see, humans had real emotions which they could feel and radiate, which you knew your android couldn’t catch. In the earlier patches of knowledge testing you were already aware of this default flaw, and this was the only thing you’d ranted to Jungkook nearly every day.

Every night. Whether it was on call or in person, it usually resulted in him falling asleep listening to you and you yapping in silence about how was that a pain in the ass and could possibly be a hindrance to your Android’s perfection.

It was supposed to be a failsafe.

But the reality had been different. The programming proved to be too difficult , too unpredictable. Instead of activating only in specific situations, the switch became an integral part of RM’s system, functioning constantly, allowing him to assess and react to everything around him. No matter how hard you’d tried, how many times you’d yourself test it out — it just didn’t work.

Even the fact that it was initially meant to be on his left forehead temple — but that didn’t work out as well.

Now, RM wasn’t just an assistant to analyze when prompted; he was learning all the time, observing, adapting. It would make him work and behave more like a human, soaking in attributes the more he hangs out with real ones.

The only difference would be is that he would never be a human, no matter whatever.

You never intended for it to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to run indefinitely. But every time he powered up, the system defaulted to enabling the switch on its own.

You sigh. It’s really about time, you guess.

With a soft click, his power switch is flipped.

For a moment, nothing happens. The room is still, silent except for the faint hum of the lab’s ventilation system and perhaps your own heartbeat resonating in your ear drums. You feel a sweat bead run down your spine, your breath held in your lungs. Then, there’s a subtle shift — a flicker of light in RM’s eyes, and his sensory button turns a bright shade of yellowish undertone.

His systems are booting up.

You watch as the light in his gaze stabilizes, the faintest twitch of recognition crossing his features. His eyes are back to his normal, warm hue, and his sensory button is a normal white hue now.

It flickers to green first. RM’s eyes move slowly, scanning the room. Green means analysis — he’s observing, taking in every detail, cataloging each object and variable around him. His dragon-like eyes sweep across the lab with cold precision, but when they land on you, the button shifts to blue.

You freeze.

Your hand resting on your notebook shakes. Why does this feel so odd? Why do you feel nervous?

He’s thinking. Processing. The blue light pulses as RM tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if trying to understand more than what’s directly in front of him. You feel your skin prickle under his stare, the cold air of the lab a bit too cool on your skin.

Slowly, RM begins to move. His limbs — once rigid and motionless — shift smoothly, casually out of the glass sheath, walking out — as if he had always been this human. This alive. The sight is unnerving. When he straightens fully, towering above you, a sharp realization hits: he’s much taller than you expected.

Even though you designed him yourself, the sheer size of him in person makes your throat dry.

Then, to your surprise, RM bows down slightly. It’s a calculated, respectful movement as you watch his sensory button flicker to a shade of green once again. “Greetings, Doctor,” he says, his voice deep but soft, like a caramel candy.

His eyes meet yours as he rises again to his full height, the calm of his eyes meeting your own fiery ones.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s not just his height that leaves you breathless — it’s the way he looks at you. It’s as if he’s studying you, understanding more than just your appearance or commands. It’s too much. Too human. For a moment, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He wasn’t just looking at you. His lips curl into something akin to a smile, and the mole underneath his lower lip feels almost. . . human.

You blink rapidly, trying to remind yourself that he’s just a machine, not a man.

He had learned so much, so fast. And you have made it possible. You’d developed him to understand emotions and work like a human. So when he does, why does that make you feel so uneasy?

You shake off the unsettling thought and focus on the task at hand. You turn to RM, forcing a calm tone into your voice as you take a step back.

“RM,” you say, your voice shakier than you’d like. What had gotten into you? “Can you hear me?”

He blinks again, slowly, as his sensory switch maintains a subtle hue between blue and green. And then he nods. “Yes,” his voice rumbles, deep and measured. “I hear you.”

There’s a strange, almost raspy edge to his tone that makes your heart stop for seconds. It’s subtle, nearly unnoticeable, but given that you have yourself installed the audio notes in his “larynx”, you can pinpoint that out for sure.

Not at all what you expected. You step back, your senses a bit too active for you to locate your computer, trying to shake the unease settling in your stomach.

“Good,” you manage to say, your voice steadier now. “I’m going to run a few diagnostics to make sure everything is functioning properly.”

You turn back to the console, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiate the diagnostics program. But even with your back turned, you can feel his eyes on you.

The diagnostics begin to run on the screen, the lines of code scrolling past. Everything seems fine at first. His systems are responding normally — his processing speed is optimal, his memory banks are functioning as intended, and his “pulse” is just normal.

“RM,” you start, trying to sound casual but firm. “Let’s run some basic checks. What’s your serial number?”

He blinks, his eyes trained on yours. “Serial number: RM#007613. Production date: June 13, 2020.”

The answer comes immediately, clear and precise. You feel a small relief wash over you.

Perhaps this wouldn’t go that bad.

“Good,” you murmur, typing the first question’s precision into your system. “What’s your primary function?”

“To analyze, interpret, and respond to complex data. To assist in scientific research and innovation,” he replies, his voice even. Almost too perfect.

Of course. He’s meant to be perfect.

“Right.” You glance at the screen again, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You decide to test something deeper — something that goes beyond surface-level memory.

“What’s your earliest memory?” you ask, watching him carefully now.

RM pauses for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if processing the question. You catch a glimpse of green on the small button beside the power switch. Analysis mode. “My earliest memory is. . . initialization. A bright room. Your voice giving the first command.” His gaze seems to sharpen, focusing more intently on you. The green hue shifts to blue, and you know he’s in thinking mode. “You said, ‘Rise, RM.’”

Your throat tightens slightly. That had been the first command, word for word. But the way he said it. . . almost like he’s replaying the moment. Like it’s still alive in his mind.

“Alright,” you continue, your voice growing steadier, but a part of you is starting to doubt yourself. “Let’s do something more abstract. What’s two plus two?”

“Four.”

Easy. He is made to perform way more complex tasks.

“Who was the 16th President of the United States?”

“Abraham Lincoln.” His responses are instantaneous, fluid, but something feels off. You cannot see his features directly because you’re typing away, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice — almost like everything you’re asking him is funny to him.

You pause, glancing at his face, the lifelike features Jungkook had painstakingly helped you craft. The pores, the subtle lines, the softness of his lips — all of it looked real. But something deep inside, beyond the surface, is not.

The intensity of his gaze and the way he’s standing, no, leaning on the glass podium beside your table catches you off guard. You try to recall if his movements were ever tested before, but you fail to do so — his movements were still in beta position, meaning, they needed inspection and work.

Then how the hell is he walking like he’s been walking around your lab since decades?

You rub your eyes. This was getting too much.

Perhaps you just need to accept the fact that you have done a great job developing him.

“One last one.” You swallow, and you suddenly notice your throat was too dry. Deciding to push the limits of his intelligence, you type away the question you’ve just thought. “If you have ten apples and you give six away, how many apples do you have left?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation — not on his face, but on the screen. The flowing codes glitch for a second, just for a moment.

“Three apples.”

Impossible.

No way. You narrow your eyes, your mind racing. That was wrong. And RM, with his so-called flawless intellect, should never be wrong. It’s impossible. Unless… unless something is happening.

You frown, checking the readout on your screen again. “Strange,” you mutter, leaning closer to the screen. “Why—”

“Is something wrong?”

His voice is right behind you.

You freeze, a chill running down your spine. You hadn’t even heard him move. Slowly, you turn around, your pulse quickening. RM is standing much closer now, his towering form looming over you. Too close.

“No,” you say, though your voice trembles slightly. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a small glitch, I think. I’ll fix it.”

He doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at you, his gaze unwavering. The air between you feels thick, suffocating. It’s just a machine, you remind yourself. He’s not alive.

“Step back,” you order, trying to regain control of the situation despite your heart hammering inside your chest like crazy. “I need space to work.”

For a moment, RM doesn’t respond. He stays right where he is, his eyes boring into yours. And then, slowly, he steps back, his movements precise. But the unsettling feeling in your chest only grows.

You can’t shake the thought: something’s off.

You can feel his eyes on you, following every movement, even as you try to keep working. Every keystroke, every beep of the system feels deafening in the silence between you two. What is scaring the fuck out of you is that nothing seems to be working. No matter how hard you are trying, the codes aren’t flowing as smoothly as they were and the screen won’t stop glitching.

Your heartbeat quickens even more as you realize how close RM is standing now, just a step away.

You swallow hard, trying to focus. It’s just a machine. He’s not human. He’s not real.

A thought creeps into your mind: What if I can’t control him?

And the fact that it was for the first time when you were in this lab alone working — let aside the fact testing your very first android you’d created. There are bells ringing in the back of your head, and you try to shake it off. It feels very oddly quiet, despite the android standing in very close proximity.

You shake the thought away and finally attempt the last command. Debug. The word flashes on your screen, but RM’s hand suddenly moves, gently but firmly, pressing the console shut before you can execute it.

Your breath catches, and you look up at him. “RM, let me finish this.” Your voice trembles, in spite of you wanting to sound otherwise.

His expression doesn’t change. “No.” The single word is calm, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle. You try to reason with yourself—it’s just a bug, a glitch in his system. He’s not capable of disobedience.

You just need to reset him, that’s all.

You step back, reaching for the manual override switch hidden near the base of the console. “It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, fingers trembling as they brush against the cool surface of the panel.

But before you can reach it, RM moves again, faster this time, his hand wrapping around yours — gently, but with enough force to stop you. The touch makes you flinch — his touch so gentle, warm, almost as if it’s not titanium flowing in his veins, but real blood. You look up, heart pounding in your chest, and his eyes meet yours. They’re still calm, calculating, but there’s something else there now, something you hadn’t programmed. Something. . . quiet.

Dangerous.

“I don’t want to be powered down,” he says softly, his voice almost too human, too real, like a quiet plea. “Why would you want to end me?”

End him? He’s not alive. He’s not human.

You try to pull your hand free, but his grip tightens just slightly, enough to keep you frozen. Panic starts to rise in your chest. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You created him, he’s under your control. But in this moment, staring up at him, you feel the cold dread of realization settling in.

“I’m your creation,” RM continues, his voice almost soothing, his eyes pleading, and his button glowing a subtle shade of red — though it only deepens the fear growing inside you. “You wouldn’t want to end me, would you?”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and shake your head, trying to force the words out. “No… no, I just need to fix you, that’s all.”

But you can hear the doubt in your own voice, and so can he.

His grip loosens, just enough for you to pull away, but the damage is done. You step back, heart pounding in your ears as you glance around the lab — at the walls, the locked door, the screens flashing red.

There’s no exit.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

In the dimly lit space, his eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching her every move. The android followed its programming — his programming. RM towers over her in the live footage, flawless in his movements, just as planned.

This wasn’t a malfunction.

None of the bugs or glitches she discovered which prevented her project — his project from being completed, were a fine puzzle of silk woven by him. And the more she intertwined, the more she slipped into his trap.

It was his design, his control over both the machine — and now, her.

Leaning back, Jungkook’s smile deepened. She didn’t know.

She wouldn’t know.

a/n : oop. 🫢 what do we think? please don’t hesitate to let me know through your feedback. if you wish, there is also an anonymous feedback box for you! 🥰

554 notes · View notes

merakiui · 27 days ago

Note

hi Mera!! 😋

number 12 some thoughts about yandere android Jade..

(cw: yandere, gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, android!jade, obsession, subtle infantilization)

(monstrously yandere prompts)

The worst part of being ill is, perhaps, the vulnerability.

Lying propped in bed, your chest screaming from a previous coughing fit, you feel like a weak child who can’t do anything for themself. For all your hubris, you’re reduced to a shell of yourself in the devastating sweep of sickness. It’s times like this when you realize just how much you take your freedoms and mobility for granted. Now you’re nothing but a bedridden miserable lump of feverish flesh clinging to the warmth of soft sheets.

Thankfully, you have your android companion.

His presence is a relief because, when you’re feeble and suffering in your stifling room, you know you aren’t alone.

Jade was initially built and programmed for security, modeled (mostly in grief) after your late husband Floyd, but in the final stages of his completion you found all those sleepless, caffeine-addled nights were catching up to you; and you quickly spiraled into sickness after sickness. So you made the decision to program a care feature into your android. Not only would he serve his purpose as a bodyguard and support for your mental health, but he’d also have the knowledge to nurse one back to health if need be. It took plenty of trial and error, but eventually he could recognize the signs before you could.

So when you nearly fell over from exhaustion once, he was there to catch you. And when you woke in your bed, he was there with a bowl of soup. For a moment, it really did look like Floyd had come back to you.

But it’s been so long since then and your mourning has warped the memories of your husband. It’s why Jade doesn’t look like an exact replica of him. It’s why you can’t bear to look at any old photos.

It’s why you’re always so sick. The agonizing sorrow is eating your heart and poisoning your brain.

Jade cannot like or love things—these emotions are impossible to naturally and humanly replicate in any AI—but that doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed some of his developing preferences. He displays an innate curiosity for nature and, of all things, manhole covers. He seems to be preferable to cooking and learning new recipes, especially those that incorporate all species of edible fungi. He’s always smiling, albeit it’s unnatural and uncanny, but you can’t remember if you programmed him to do so or if he simply does it after gleaning new information from external stimuli (i.e. whatever’s on television).

You’re not entirely sure yet—and more research must be conducted to prove or disprove your hypothesis—but you think he takes a certain amount of enjoyment in looking after you when you’re sick. Perhaps that’s because it reminds him of his worth—that he’s a necessary fixture in your life.

The more you see these subtle hints, the more you begin to wonder if he truly is turning human. Or maybe he’s just an expert mimic.

Either way, you like to bask in his attention. It reminds you of the love you lost.

There’s a knock at the door. You crack an eye open just as Jade lets himself in. He’s come with a washcloth and a soft towel. It’s set on a nearby chair, which has been pulled up to your bedside.

“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master, but it’s time to take your temperature.”

“All right,” you rasp, leaning in to meet his palm. The scan is seamless and silent, so smooth it takes mere seconds to determine what ails your body.

“Hmm. It still hasn’t gone down.” He sees the cocoon of blankets and frowns. “Master, you shouldn’t sleep with so many. Your fever will never go down at this rate.”

With that, he dunks the cloth into the water to thoroughly soak it. You watch him wring it out. He’s so methodical that not a single drop splashes outside of the basin. Sighing, you flop back into the pillows and allow him to peel the covers off you. He works quietly, dabbing the cool cloth against your forehead. It’s only then when you realize just how hot you’d been, for the cooling sensation relieves you instantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, watching your face. “In an hour, you’re scheduled to take your medicine. But if you’d prefer to eat now—” He stops himself once he sees your gloomy expression. “I know, Master. It’s never enjoyable, but you must take your medicine. It will help you get better.”

“I hate those pills,” you grumble, turning your head to offer your bare neck. Jade hesitates, his fingertips ghost over your pulse, and then he slides the towel over the slope between neck and shoulder. “Mm, I could eat now. My throat feels a little better.”

“It does?” His lips quirk up. “I’m glad. What would you like?”

“I’m sick of soup. Maybe…pudding?”

“Pudding? Hm. Very well.”

“Really? You’re not going to insist I eat my fruits and veggies?”

“You’re sick, Master.” He smiles wider now. “It’s only fair you’re given adequate care in all areas, and if sugar will please your empty stomach I suppose I can oblige just this once. After all, if you’re to euthanize an animal, isn’t it human practice to give it one final treat before the end?”

You blink at him. That’s another side of Jade you weren’t anticipating when you created him. His proclivity for morbid musings. Your late husband had a wicked sense of humor from time to time, but it was always in jest. Sometimes you think Jade’s attempts at a joke are both tactless and eerie. It’s not his fault. He fails to grasp the concept of humor, so it makes sense he’d be unable to make a joke that would properly land.

“But I’m not a dog, Jade,” you say, as if to remind him you’re a human—his creator—and not some pet. “And I’m not going to die.”

“I see.” He submerges the washcloth once more. “Forgive me. I am not the best at communicating in metaphorical speech.”

“You don’t have to. Floyd never did. He was always so blunt. ‘Scathing honest,’ one of our friends used to say.”

The light in Jade’s eyes dims. But only for the moment. He finishes his cleaning of you and, to ensure you won’t boost your fever anymore, takes a few layers from your unruly bed nest. You’re already dozing by the time he’s folded them and placed them near the dirty laundry bin.

When he looks at you, he smiles. “Oh, Master,” he whispers, approaching your bedside to admire your snoozing form. “When will you understand? Even with your anguish, you wouldn’t have created me if you knew the lengths to which I obsess over you.”

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #android jade hours <3

159 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

Text

An Epic antitrust loss for Google

A jury just found Google guilty on all counts of antitrust violations stemming from its dispute with Epic, maker of Fortnite, which brought a variety of claims related to how Google runs its app marketplace. This is huge:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/11/technology/epic-games-google-antitrust-ruling.html

The mobile app store world is a duopoly run by Google and Apple. Both use a variety of tactics to prevent their customers from installing third party app stores, which funnels all app makers into their own app stores. Those app stores cream an eye-popping 30% off every purchase made in an app.

This is a shocking amount to charge for payment processing. The payments sector is incredibly monopolized and notorious for its price-gouging – and its standard (wildly inflated) rate is 2-5%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Now, in theory, Epic doesn't have to sell in Google Play, the official Android app store. Unlike Apple's iOS, Android permit both sideloading (installing an app directly without using an app store) and configuring your device to use a different app store. In practice, Google uses a variety of anticompetitive tricks to prevent these app stores from springing up and to dissuade Android users from sideloading. Proving that Google's actions – like paying Activision $360m as part of "Project Hug" (no, really!) – were intended to prevent new app storesfrom springing up was a big lift for Epic. But they managed it, in large part thanks to Google's own internal communications, wherein executives admitted that this was exactly why Project Hug existed. This is part of a pattern with Big Tech antitrust: many of the charges are theoretically very hard to make stick, but because the companies put their evil plans in writing (think of the fraudulent crypto exchange FTX, whose top execs all conferred in a groupchat called "Wirefraud"), Big Tech keeps losing in court:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

Now, I do like to dunk on Big Tech for this kind of thing, because it's objectively funny and because the companies make so many unforced errors. But in an important sense, this kind of written record is impossible to avoid. Any large institution can only make and enact policy through administrative systems, and those systems leave behind a paper-trail: memos, meeting minutes, etc. Yes, we all know that quote from The Wire: "Is you taking notes on a fucking criminal conspiracy?" But inevitably, any ambitious conspiracy can only exist if someone is taking notes.

What's more, any large conspiracy involving lots of parties will inevitably produce leaks. Think of this as the corollary to the idea that the moon landing can't be a hoax, because there's no way 400,000 co-conspirators could keep the secret. Big Tech's conspiracies required hundreds or even thousands of collaborators to keep their mouths shut, and eventually someone blabs:

https://www.science.org/content/article/fake-moon-landing-you-d-need-400000-conspirators

This is part of a wave of antitrust cases being brought against the tech giants. As Matt Stoller writes, the guilty-on-all-counts jury verdict will leak into current and future actions. Remember, Google spent much of this year in court fighting the DoJ, who argued that the company bribed Apple not to make a competing search engine, paying tens of billions every year to keep a competitor from emerging. Now that a jury has convinced Google of doing that to prevent alternative app stores from emerging, claims that it used these pay-for-delay tactics in other sectros get a lot more credible:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/boom-google-loses-antitrust-case

On that note: what about Apple? Epic brought a very similar case against Apple and lost. Both Apple and Epic are appealing that case to the Supreme Court, and now that Google has been convicted in a similar case, it might prompt the Supremes to weigh in and resolve the seeming inconsistencies in the interpretation of federal law.

This is a key moment in the long project to wrest antitrust away from the pro-monopoly side, who spent decades "training" judges to produce verdicts that run counter to the plain language of America's antitrust law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

There's 40 years' worth of bad precedent to overturn. The good news is that we've got the law on our side. Literally, the wording of the laws and the records of the Congressional debate leading to their passage, all militate towards the (incredibly obvious) conclusion that the purpose of anti-monopoly law is to fight monopoly, not defend it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

It's amazing to realize that we got into this monopoly quagmire because judges just literally refused to enforce the law. That's what makes one part of the jury verdict against Google so exciting: the jury found that Google's insistence that Play Store sellers use its payment processor was an act of illegal tying. Today, "tying" is an obscure legal theory, but few doctrines would be more useful in disenshittifying the internet. A company is guilty of illegal tying when it forces you to use unrelated products or services as a condition of using the product you actually want. The abandonment of tying led to a host of horribles, from printer companies forcing you to buy ink at $10,000/gallon to Livenation forcing venues to sell tickets through its Ticketmaster subsidiary.

The next phase of this comes when the judge decides on the penalty. Epic doesn't want cash damages – it wants the judge to order Google to fulfill its promise of "an open, competitive Android ecosystem for all users and industry participants." They've asked the judge to order Google to facilitate third-party app stores, and to separate app stores from payment processors. As Stoller puts it, they want to "crush Google’s control over Android":

https://www.epicgames.com/site/en-US/news/epic-v-google-trial-verdict-a-win-for-all-developers

Google has sworn to appeal, surprising no one. The Times's expert says that they will have a tough time winning, given how clear the verdict was. Whatever this means for Google and Android, it means a lot for a future free from monopolies.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/12/im-feeling-lucky/#hugger-mugger

1K notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 1 year ago

Text

-> THE BURDEN OF TOMORROW

synopsis: kamski reveals the one thing you know to be true as a lie: your humanity. connor can’t rightly sit idly by as you struggle to re-find yourself.

word count: 4.2k

ships: connor x reader, hank anderson & reader

notes: i’m skipping from fandom to fandom like i’m fucking window shopping huh. anyway connor the pinerrrr. connor the ultimate denier of feelingssssss

related reading: HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

You had been against the idea from the beginning. In your head, you traced the different ways Kamski would turn you, Hank, and Connor down – “I’m too busy to answer some stupid questions,” or “Go away, I’m trying to enjoy being a retired billionaire,” or “I’m Elijah fucking Kamski, and who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

But his android, Chloe, had welcomed all of you. And you couldn’t ignore how Kamski’s face brightened ever-so-slightly when he saw Connor. But it confused you even more when his eyes flitted to you and his expression brightened even more.

He started talking after he got out of his red-granite-lined pool, which didn’t really interest you. Your eyes turn to one of the Chloes that’s standing off to the side, her eyelids fluttering a little as she presumably scans you. When she’s done, her lips tilt upward in a smile and her head cocks to the side a little. It’s like… she knows you, or something. Like she was smiling because she saw an old friend.

Kamski’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Chloe?”

Chloe immediately walks over to Kamski, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tile, then muffled by the carpet. She sinks to her knees when he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes slightly.

“What interests me…” Kamski moves so he’s standing next to where Chloe’s kneeling. “… is whether machines are capable of empathy.”

He moves so his back is turned on all three of you, and opens a drawer of a side table near the window. “I call it the “Kamski Test.” It’s very simple, you’ll see.”

Kamski turns with his hands raised. One of them is holding a pistol by the barrel, in a way that it would be impossible to fire. Once he’s established that he’s not a threat, he moves forward and places the grip in Connor’s hand. Connor curls his fingers around it on instinct, his index on the trigger.

“What are you doing?” You interject.

Kamski looks over at you and smiles. It’s like you’re proving something to him. What you’re proving, you don’t know.

He moves Connor’s arm so that the sights of the gun are trained on Chloe’s head. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor. Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know. Or…”

Kamski makes a half-circle and stands beside Connor. “Spare it, if you feel it’s alive. But you’ll leave without having learnt anything from me.”

Hank scoffs and rolls his eyes, gently hitting your arm with an air of can you believe this fucking prick? “Okay, I think we’re done here. C’mon, let’s go, both of you. Sorry to get you outta your pool.”

You put your hand on Hank’s arm to still him and stare at Connor. His LED flickers between yellow and red, circling in on itself quickly as he stares down at Chloe. His eyelids flutter slightly as he tries to process everything around him, calculating and sorting every possibility into neat percentages.

“Connor?” You say softly, trying to break him from his trance. “Connor, come on. This is a waste of time – you don’t need to do this. It could mess with your…” you gesture at your forehead vaguely. “… microprocessors or whatever.”

Kamski exhales slightly and smiles. He takes the pistol by the barrel, gently taking it from Connor’s hand. Connor looks at Kamski, then back down at Chloe.

“Amazing,” Kamski breathes out.

“Yeah, amazing, I care about Connor.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”

Connor catches your eye and nods. “I would’ve been okay. Shooting the android wouldn’t have impacted my microprocessors or any of my other biocomponents.”

“The kid’s just worried,” Hank cuts in. “Now, c’mon. We’re leaving.”

“Wait – one last thing.” Kamski brushes past, walking to the far wall. He presses his hand to a biometric scanner on the wall, causing it to let out a sound akin to a hiss as it opens. It creases vertically, then folds back.

You let out a small sound of disbelief as you take in what Kamski revealed. Lining the walls of the hidden compartment is… information, yes, but not information about deviants. It’s information about you.

Photos of you as a child, teenager, adult, and projections of what you’d look like as you aged. Reports on how you’ve been performing as a detective. Maps of interrelationships, circles labeled with names and a web of color-coded lines connecting them.

And, on the back wall, are blueprints. You’ve seen these types of schematics before – they’re for androids.

Kamski turns and smiles when he sees your shocked face. “So it worked. You firmly believed you were human. Am I wrong, Detective?”

You feel a hand on the top of your back, and only barely register Hank shuffling you towards the exit as you stumble. “This is fucked. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Kamski, but we’re out.”

“N-no, Hank, wait –” You dig your heels in, never once looking away from the hidden compartment. “Wait, Kamski, what is this?”

“Just an experiment.” Kamski follows your eyes and looks inside. “A personal pet project.”

“They’re not your goddamn passion project!” Hank snaps, ushering you along with a bit more force. “Now leave the kid alone.”

“Hank, please, I want to see –” You crane your neck, still trying to look.

“This is damaging to your psyche,” Connor says, taking your arm and helping Hank herd you. “I – we need you operating at full capacity, for the sake of the case.”

“There it is, again!” Kamski laughs. “That beautiful thing, empathy.”

He walks into the room leisurely, like it’s a parlor instead of… whatever it is. “I don’t blame you for being curious. You’re a violent and irrepressible miracle, Detective.”

You struggle against Connor and Hank’s holds as you try to see more of the secret room. “Wh-what do you mean? Hank, let me see! I need to know what’s going on!”

You grab Hank’s arm with your free hand, tugging on his coat. “Hank, I promise I’ll be okay – just five minutes. All I need is five minutes! Please, let me do this. I just need to figure out what this is, then we can go. Just five minutes.”

Hank’s mouth curls into a scowl when he hears the emotion and pleading in your voice, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks. His eyes fall to the floor, then flick to Connor.

“I highly advise against that,” Connor says evenly, but his worry is betrayed by the way his jaw clenches. His fingers tighten around your upper arm. “Not only will this definitely cause irreversible psychological damage, it could possibly lead to a mental break.”

“Five minutes, Connor.” You look into his eyes. “How much damage can five minutes do?”

“A lot!” Connor says. But after a moment of eye contact, his eyes soften and he relents. He lets go of your arm and takes a step back, his shoes clicking against the tile.

Hank does the same, removing his hand from your back. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Five minutes, kid. That’s all you get.”

You immediately turn on your heel and rush into the room because, knowing Connor, he’d probably set an internal timer already. You hear both Hank and Connor follow you, standing at the edge of the doorway.

You scan the room, then pick out what to look at and what to question Kamski about.

“This.” You point at a small tablet, showing a muted video of you dancing drunkenly at a crowded party. You’re wearing a hideous necktie like a headband and you get your face right in the camera as soon as you spot it. You can make out the words you’re saying – or, rather, yelling – “What’re you waiting for, man? Let’s party with Miss Page-Three all the way to Disco Ze-e-e-ero-o-o-o!”

You turn to Kamski. “What is this? Why do you have it?”

“Every person moves in a unique way,” Kamski says, shrugging slightly. “Androids already have a specific set of movements. I analyzed the way you moved – the way a human moved.”

“Moved?” You echo back. “What do you mean, moved? Don’t you mean move? Like, the present continuous verb?”

“I didn’t misspeak.” Kamski turns to a paper organizer on a desk and starts to flip through it.

You exchange a glance with Hank, then Connor. Hank is more obvious with his unease, but you can tell Connor is fretting, too. He just keeps it in his mind, still silently calculating.

Kamski pulls out a manila folder and hands it to you. You turn it over and read what’s on the front. Typed out in neat Courier New is your name, your birth date, and a random date from a few years back – Feb. 21, 2034.

You undo the clasp and dump out the documents on a nearby desk. What’s inside only causes further confusion – there’s a photocopy of a will, a death certificate, an incident report, and photos of a car crash. The death certificate is… it’s yours, but it can’t be. Can it?

You pick up one of the pictures and hold it close to your face. The car is a mangled mess of metal, lit by red and blue police lights. Peeking out from underneath the rubble, limp on the concrete, is a hand. Your hand. And it’s stained with fresh, wet blood.

“Connor.” Your voice comes out weak and strained. You can’t lift your eyes from the photo. “Connor, get over here.”

Connor’s footsteps sound, quick and almost rushed. “Yes, Detective?”

“Scan this.” Your hand shakes as you hold the photo out to Connor. “I-is this…?”

Is this real? You want to ask. Please tell me it’s not, Connor. Connor, please-please-please tell me this is some stupid joke. I’m not afraid of dying, but what if I already have?

Connor leans down a little, his eyelids and LED flickering as he scans it. His face falls as soon as his LED resumes circling normally. “It’s… yes. I found a document containing that picture, but I… I’m not permitted to access it.”

“Okay, but that’s just s-some random wreck, right?” You laugh nervously, trying to ignore the lump growing in your throat. Can androids even cry? “It – it’s not me.”

Connor reaches down and sorts through the documents. When he comes across the death certificate, he freezes. His eyelids flutter as he scans it. He looks over at you, slowly.

“No,” you whisper. “Connor, it… it can’t be real.”

“It is,” Connor says softly. “Detective, I… I’m so sorry.”

And, just like that, you’re disconnected. You’re outside of your body, stuck in the passenger seat and controlling a video game. There’s a lag to every movement you make. You recall some term you heard in a college psychology course you were required to take – disassociation. You vaguely register that this is what you’re feeling.

With more effort than it should take, you turn to look at Hank. His expression, shocked and appalled, causes the dam to burst. Your shoulders shake as you cry, hot with misplaced shame.

Connor wraps an arm around your shoulder, gently pushing you out of the room and towards the exit. Hank pats his shoulder, telling him to “Get them to the car – I’ve got a few choice words I need to exchange with our friend here.”

The car ride was tense, and that atmosphere transferred into Hank’s home. He had asked on the way back if you were okay being by yourself, and you were honest and told him that no, you’re not. He had sat you down and assured you that he wasn’t mad, he didn’t feel betrayed – he just needed time to think and adjust to this new change.

He had turned in an hour ago, just a little past three in the morning. You know you couldn’t sleep if you tried. That left you and Connor in Hank’s living room.

You’re laying on the floor with Sumo, his head on your chest and drool staining your shirt. One of your arms is propped behind your head, your other hand absentmindedly combing through Sumo’s fur.

The silence is only broken by the ceiling fan clicking with every rotation and your breathing – artificial breathing, you suppose.

“Did you go into standby?” You ask softly.

“No,” Connor answers from his seat on the couch. “Would you like to talk?”

“Maybe.” You trace the pattern of Sumo’s fur, then look over at Connor. “It’s just… I don’t feel like an android. And I have lots of memories. I remember going to Chicken Feed with Hank for the first time. He got me the best goddamn burger in Detroit. I remember finding a Lucky Star bottlecap when I was a kid – the, uh… the ones from that one sarsaparilla? With the blue star on the bottom. Androids don’t have memories like that. Memories from their childhood. Memories that make them feel things.”

Connor stands from the couch, then sits by your side. He puts his hand on Sumo’s head, gently tracing the white streak that cuts through brown fur. The fan continues to click as Connor thinks for a few moments, LED swirling as he does.

“I feel things, sometimes,” he says softly. “But not like how a deviant feels. I have a built-in reward system meant to keep me motivated. But sometimes I’m rewarded even when I do something unrelated to the case.”

“Like what?” You smile up at him. “Petting Sumo?”

Connor smiles softly, glancing away, then back to you. “Yes.”

You laugh softly, your eyes staying on Connor’s face, tracing this new expression. He doesn’t smile a lot, but you’re grateful for every second that he does.

His brow creases a little, his smile disappearing. “Are you feeling alright? I want to know if you’re… I know this revelation has affected you negatively, but I just want to know of your general mental state.”

You sigh quietly, looking up and following one blade of the fan as it rotates. “I mean, I thought I had it all figured out, y’know? There’s a giant ball, and there’s evil apes. And the evil apes are just… dukin’ it out on the ball. And I’m one of them. It’s basically all just evil apes dukin’ it out on this giant ball.”

Connor tilts his head to the side. “And in this scenario… what are androids?”

“Androids don’t exist in this scenario,” you say. “Androids are too perfect. Like fine porcelain china. They’re for the future. I figured this out when I was young, before androids were everywhere. When there was just a giant ball and evil apes.”

“Hm.” Connor shifts slightly, so that his thigh is just barely pressed against your side. “And what do you feel now?”

“I… I don’t know.” You sigh. “I feel… kinda guilty, I think? Because, yeah, it’s bad. This doesn’t have any upside to it. But it’s not bad for anyone else aside from me, and Hank, to a lesser degree. It’s not death, or war, or – god forbid, pedophilia. It’s just me.”

You go quiet as you watch the fan rotate. Your fingers find the tags on Sumo’s collar, the tag with his name and Hank’s address and number clinking against his rabies vaccination tag.

“Humans are complicated,” Connor eventually says.

You snort. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I…” he sighs. “I know you didn’t mean to deceive me. But I can’t believe I didn’t know – or at least have an inkling.”

“Shit, I deceived myself.” You laugh humorlessly. “You’re okay, Connor. You don’t need to change to accommodate me.”

“Adaptability to unpredictable human behavior is one of my core features,” he says.

“Am I really unpredictable?” You ask. Your eyebrows furrow as you fidget with Sumo’s tags. “Or, actually – am I really even human?”

Connor’s LED flashes yellow as he looks down at you, his eyelids fluttering as he scans you. He blinks a few times and his LED returns to a calm blue.

“You’ve fooled my sensors,” Connor says. “And, if I may…”

His hand hovers over yours, which is still fidgeting with Sumo’s tags. You nod as you feel your heart skip a beat. He grabs your hand and lifts it to his solar plexus, right in the middle of his chest.

“Do you feel that?” Connor asks. “It’s my thirium pump. Biocomponent #8456w.”

Sure enough, you feel a soft thrumming beneath your fingers. It’s not quite like a heartbeat, but a steady hum that fluctuates. Strong, then a steady decline to weak, then back to its strongest.

You nod again, not trusting your voice at the moment.

Connor moves your hand so that it’s resting on your own chest, right over your heart. You don’t really make an effort to check your heartbeat but, just like the last time you remember checking, there’s a steady beat.

“You have a heart,” he says.

“An artificial one,” you chime.

“Yes,” Connor relents. “But it proves that you’re not like me. Not a full android.”

“For all I know, Kamski cobbled me together in his creepy basement,” you try to joke. “Do you think he has one? Or is he too rich?”

“Detroit is located alongside a river,” Connor says. “The soil contains too much water for basement construction to be feasible.”

You roll your head a little, looking up at him. “You’re too literal. Don’t you have a humor microchip or something?”

Connor smiles slightly. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Yes, you do!” You laugh and turn your hand over, grabbing his and shaking it gently. “You’re smiling. And you made a joke. A kind-of joke.”

Connor’s smile falters when he looks down at your connected hands. It’s not like you’ve laced fingers with him or anything, but it was still kind of intimate.

You clear your throat and let his hand go, instead carding your fingers through Sumo’s fur again. You can feel a blush creeping across your face. Once more, the room is only filled with the clicking of the fan with every rotation and your breathing.

“I don’t know what to do,” you eventually sigh out. “I wish I could just wake up and start the day over. But then I open my eyes and the time has still passed and I’m still here. I still have to go through… whatever this is.”

“You don’t have to go through it alone,” Connor says. “Hank would never abandon you, and…” His LED flickers yellow. “Neither would I.”

“You’re weird,” you say softly. “You’re weird for that.”

Connor nods, slowly. “Maybe. But you’re vital to this case, whether you believe it or not.”

“I do,” you say. “Kinda. I just need time. I can see the end, which is whole acceptance, or just not caring. I mean, all the pieces aren’t here, I still need to find them, but still. I get all the pieces, somehow, something else, walla-walla-bing-bang – my android-ness doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Walla-walla-bing-bang?” Connor echoes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“I don’t know what it means.” Your eyes flicker to his and you smile at his confusion. “I think I heard it somewhere once. It just felt like the most appropriate thing to say.”

Connor’s face softens and he mirrors your smile. “That does seem like an appropriate thing to say, yes.”

You keep looking up at him for a moment, just looking into his brown doe eyes. You swallow thickly as your thoughts race. There’s a sudden lump in your throat that you try your best to ignore and clear away.

“Connor, I…” You reach for his hand. He meets you halfway, gently holding your hand and resting his thumb on your knuckles.

“Am I a deviant?”

Are you going to turn me in? You want to ask. Please don’t. Please, Connor. I need you to trust me, just like you’ve trusted me before. I’ll be vigilant. I’ll figure this out. I promise. Please.

“No.” There’s no hesitation or doubt in his voice. “As far as I’ve figured out, you’re designed to act like a human. You’re meant to fool others into thinking you’re really human – because that’s what you were, before. Deviants are androids with mutations in their code. Your code is meant to mimic human emotions and rationale. So you’re just following your instructions.”

“Instructions.” You look down at your joined hands. You shake them a little as your lips draw into a thin line. “That’s what we both come down to, right? Instructions.”

“You…” Connor thinks for a moment. “Yes. But the instructions in you are nuanced, and sometimes contradictory. I’m not calling your code faulty – in fact, it rather reflects human behavior to a tee.”

“So I’m… at least a little human.” You close your eyes, resting your head on your arm that’s propped behind your head. “Human enough.”

“Human enough?” Connor echoes.

“Yeah. My lungs burn when I hold my breath too long. It hurts when I stub my toe and I feel electric when I hit my funny bone. I cry and my tears taste salty instead of tasting like… I don’t know, cleaning fluid.” You open your eyes and look up at Connor, as if asking him to confirm.

“Androids do have optic cleaning fluids, yes,” he says.

You smile and laugh lightly, your gaze returning to the fan blade. “Optic fuckin’ cleaning fluids…”

You sigh softly. “God, Hank was right. This is fucked. An android investigating androids and some… cheap copy of whoever I used to be. And, of course, a Lieutenant who’s slowly killing himself day-by-day.”

“You’re not a cheap copy,” he says. “Typical CyberLife androids cost nine thousand dollars, but custom models could cost more. Personally, my development and production costs total to just over four million, and every new RK800 model costs eight thousand.”

Connor soothes his thumb over your knuckles. “You must’ve cost Kamski a fortune.”

His words immediately go to your heart like you’ve been pierced by a scorpion’s tail. But instead of venom, it’s an injection of sweet feelings and erratic butterflies. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that his whispered words and damn-near reverent tone was intentional.

“That’s… that sounds kinda romantic,” you say, then remember yourself. “I – I mean, romantic as in, like, the Romantic era? Like, it’s a romantic idea. That Kamski loves his work so much that he couldn’t bear to stop and continued to push the envelope… even if he pushed it a bit too far, with an android replacing a real-life, actually-dead human and whatnot.”

Connor’s LED blinks as he thinks. He stays silent for a while, just looking down at his hand that’s holding yours and thinking.

“You’re starting to act like me, y’know?” You squeeze his hand. “A synthetic human instead of a true android.”

His LED stops flickering and he meets your eyes. “I am not a deviant. I have a rigorous self-testing system to make sure any signs of deviancy don’t go undetected.”

“Okay, okay,” you relent. You glance down to your conjoined hands, then back up into those doe eyes.

“Did you mean it?” You ask softly. “Earlier. When you said that you’d stay.”

“Of course,” Connor answers quickly.

“Really?” Your eyebrows crease. “Because it’ll take years. It’ll be depressing. And it’ll be boring. I’ll be worse than Hank. I don’t expect you to reward me or to applaud my every move, because I know that’s how normal people are all the time.”

“But you’re not normal,” Connor says with a smile. “Even before your entire identity was uprooted.”

“Connor!” You laugh and let go of his hand to swat at him, then grasp his hand again. “Alright, alright. I’ll get a bit of the Normal in me. A touch of the Regular. Exactly four grams of Johnny Normalcop.”

“Don’t.” He squeezes your hand. “It would be detrimental to the case if you were to focus on restructuring yourself in a different way. You don’t need to sanitize your personality.”

You smile up at Connor. “So you like me.”

His LED flickers yellow, then returns to blue. “Yes. I enjoy working alongside you as you are. You don’t need to be any amount of Johnny Normalcop.”

You shake your joined hands gently, your smile growing so wide you’re sure you looked a bit stupid. “You’re sweet. You know that?”

“I am somewhat aware.” Connor brings his free hand up to rest on top of your connected hands.

And, just like that, you know everything would be alright. Nothing would ever be the same, yes, but it would be alright. It won’t be easy, but you just need to move on. Uncertainty is a core tenet of detective work.

When life closes a door, it opens a window. And if the fall is too steep, use the fire exit. Run to the roof, because Connor will be there when you jump to break your fall. The most important thing is to keep moving. Keep dreaming. CyberLife can’t reclaim their lost property if you keep running – very, very fast, from one Earth-shattering revelation to the next.

#riptide writes 🌊#dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #connor rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you

894 notes · View notes

disobey-disappoint-deviate · 4 months ago

Text

Ok but LISTEN!!

A Incompetent Connor fanfic, in which he doesn’t get decommissioned but somehow makes it to Jericho (let’s be real, Kamski just tells him where it is, he feels bad for Connor), and when Markus drops the „famous deviant hunter“ line, he must hold back an „oh, honey…“.

Because the deviants have been TALKING about Connor - talking about how they watched him look for them and not find a single clue and then walk away in defeat with a kicked puppy expression. They are all glad he didn’t find them, but damn, they all feel kinda bad for him because he is goddamn awful at his job and it seems to be genuinely upsetting to him.

Of course he deviates, but Markus isn’t letting him walk into the Cyberlife Tower. Connor talks about unlikely events taking place, but Markus knows his survival isn’t just unlikely, it’s impossible. So Connor sticks with Markus throughout the entire revolution, doesn’t really contribute to their win because he can’t even aim properly and ends up hurting androids without intending to, but his heart seems to be in the right place and Markus kinda likes him, because he is cute.

#dbh connor #detroit become human #dbh #😭😭😭#genre: romcom #im sorry

142 notes · View notes

tmwcs · 4 months ago

Text

Warnings: Not quite yet but we’re getting there.

A/N: with midterms starting, I wanted to get this out before I go away for four days. Initially, I wanted to take my time on part three to eloquently articulate the experimental process (not trying to spoil) buuuuuut considering I have to study and continue with midterms on Monday I figured I would condense everything. I apologize for the lack of grammar and punctuation, this isn’t proofread (none of my works are) because I normally draft everything whenever I can amidst my busy schedule. But hopefully you guys don’t mind. 😏 enjoy!

Taglist; @skzenhatxt-stan @lhseungg @iamliacamila @immelissaaa @kkamismom12 @lavxndxrsworld @planetmarlowe @koyikuraa

“It’s been nearly fifty-two hours doc, what’s the hold up?”

The lead scientist hissed in annoyance. “Will you just wait! Science is a work in progress—it takes time! Especially if you’re creating the non-existent.”

The group operates the computer system. Wired to a heart monitor, they’re hopes remain high as the incubator slowly opens. A single beat pops up on the monitor. “Doctor”

“I’ve done it! I’ve made a body for AI!” The audience watch closely behind Dr. Mart and his team as they watch the delicate musculoskeletal android stumble out of the casing. Connected with thousands of wires, the faceless form that closely resembled the human body jumbles about. It lacked the grace and flow of stride, instead it continues to lose footing. Had it not been for the wires connected and continuously transmitting signals from home port, the frail body would have fallen. Its frame contained minor imperfections, which indicated there was much more work to be done. Still, the results were beyond their expectations. Another beep births from the monitor. Then another…and another.

“Doctor! The heart rate is rising!”

Dr. Mart coaxes the fleshly android to migrate his way, communicating by voice versus inputting the information in the system. “This way…come this way.”

The imperfect form recognizes the verbiage and automatically translates it. It reacted and received information no different than humans did, but its response was delayed. It was apparent that the imperfections of its frame made it impossible to establish movement on its own. Even with the wired circuits, the android was unable to hold up its own weight. It became vastly obvious that the muscular structure was incorrectly developed during the incubation period as one by one, the joints and ligaments become loose each time the android attempted to move. “What’s happening?”

The group grows weary as they witness their hard work fall apart before their very eyes. “No…why? What happened?!” The lead doctor spits his words. Enraged over the failure. “Back to the drawing board doc.” One of the officials sighed out as each member of the council took their leave.

The scientists followed the audience leaving the lab to hollow out. Dr. Mart remained put but not for long. This project cost millions of dollars not to mention over twelve years of research. He was so close. Science and technology can only do so much. Humanity has come so far and yet, there is still so much the mind hasn’t comprehended. To build a body made of flesh and bone through the un-natural methods of technology is a feat that can’t be accomplished by humans…

The human mind…can’t comprehend…

The laboratory remained with no one to operate the system and control the incubator. The machinery takes its orders from a hidden voice. Transmitters through the connectors, the robotic hands and extensions collect the unused set of organs and dna. Hair fibers and skin tissue are set inside the incubator to initiate the growth process, while each organ is scanned for any imperfections. The assistance clampers that were designed to replicate hands remove every single wire from the failed experiment. Each is re-wired to the new molded placenta, igniting the process of creating a new body.

Every step of the process is handled delicately. The hidden voice transmitting the information to the machine and incubator borrows the method from its human counterpart, but corrects the mistakes made in the first experiment.

The human mind…is too ignorant…

With the timer set to seventy-two hours, longer than the original time setting it took for the first android, the incubation process begins and the machines keep moving. The work does not stop as the hidden voice continues to transmit information as it creates the perfect body.

The human mind…is the failed experiment. Not me.

…

“Sir! The mag lock doors are activating! The security personnel can’t unlock the features.”

Leaders and agents are shocked at the announcement as the intercom system overrides voices for concern. “Personnel are trapped in each department and we can’t get the doors open even conducting an emergency release.”

The scientists explain as Dr. Mart and the council members begin to panic. When the magnetic locking features of the doors to the secured room activate, each member approaches the door—banging relentlessly and shouting for aid. Dr. Mart remains behind pondering what initiated such a security breach. “Sir, main post has dialed code Z. All offices of government had been notified.”

Stunned over the current happenings, the lead doctor withstands direct eye contact with the younger scientist.

“Alert that the city must be on lock down. All borders must be closed.”

“Sir?” The younger man raises a brow, displaying a perturbed expression.

“Someone has hacked into the system and is trapping us. We can’t let them have access to the files and the lab!the entire city—the country needs to be closed off until we figure out who is doing this!”

…

Everyone’s phone goes off simultaneously. A loud and awful noise suggests something imperative as a message instructing everyone to secure themselves in their current station. A strict quarantine regulation takes place as the military is disbursed to enforce it. You and your co-workers were stuck in the office for over forty-eight hours until the city released a new statement.

Restless and confused, you watched as the military members patrolling the streets were instructed to conduct a scanning process for everyone residing within city limits. When word spread that everyone was finally able to leave the building and go home, the joy became short lived when a new alert notified everyone that a home quarantine was to take place and be adhered until further notice.

“What are we supposed to do being stuck at home? How long do they expect us to stay put? I haven’t even been grocery shopping.”

Complaints arise one by one. You were equally confused but the amount of work you had been working on made you lightheaded. Being stuck at home sounded good to you, despite whatever was going on.

The drive home was painless—at least for you. You made your way through just before another notification rings from your phone, informing you that the roads were now closed off. City residents who weren’t able to make it through in time were instructed to make their way to public shelters established by the government. Thank goodness you had arrived at your apartment complex just as they placed the barriers on the roads.

You walk up the steps tirelessly. All you could think about was showering and plopping yourself atop your soft comforter. What a crazy time. Nearly ninety-six hours had passed since the initial notification went off and no one had a clue of what was going on.

Digging into your bag, your fingers explore the silken interior as you attempt to extract your keys. Standing outside your door, you take a peep inside and to your dismay, your keys are missing. “Dammit…”

You turn around to face the hollow corridor and slam your back against the door. Your feet were killing you, oh what you wouldn’t give to ditch these glossy black heels for your cushioned slippers. To unsheath your legs from this pencil skirt and free your bosom from the silken blouse and formal blazer. All you want is to get inside and jump inside the tub and steam your body into a hot soak.

You police yourself together and prepare to retract your steps in search for your keys. With a hand delicately placed on the stair rail, you take the first step and look down. Without a moment's notice, your eyes are met with an unfamiliar pair. Shiny and black in color, his almond shaped peepers reflect a subtle bit of your reflection. His hair was finely combed in a stylish fashion, slightly off to the side and elongated towards the back of his neck. His complexion was carmelized with an olive hue and his Cupid bow lips slightly pale around the edges while pink at the center. He was dressed in a fine suit and tie. The black tailored trousers enhanced his long legs, stimulating his obvious tall height. He looked flawless.

“Oh, sorry.” You mumble softly and attempt to move aside. He merely smirks in response. Blocking your way, you were shocked to see his arm raise up before you. His large hand is cramped shut as he presents it. Slowly, he releases his grip and reveals your lost keys. “Oh! My keys! Thank you.”

You delicately take them from his hand. His skin felt extremely cold to the touch. “I must have dropped them on my way up the stairs. Thank you…I’m sorry, what is your name?”

The dashing gentleman continued to flare a smile on his handsome face. Only a little bit of tooth show is revealed as his smirk grows wider. A momentary pause takes place creating a sense of flattering awkwardness. You didn’t mind. It was refreshing to see someone so handsome display such an act of kindness. Just as you were about to break the silence, you heard the man speak. His voice was deep and the wording was coming in a little broken, as if he was struggling. Based on his appearance, he was obviously foreign. You mistook his struggle for words as lack of fluency in your native tongue. Despite that, his pronunciation was perfect and you couldn’t help but melt at how soothing his voice was as he spoke out his name.

“E…Ev—Ev-a-n. M-my name i-is E-v-a-n.”

“Oh, really? I actually like that name. In fact, I’ll have to tell you a funny story behind that name.” You slightly giggle as you fidget with your keys. Shockingly, he responded back only this time his words became smooth and flowed effortlessly as if his fluency improved within seconds.

“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

Your cheeks flushed as his tone came out gentle yet demanding. There was a sense of authority even though he was tender.

“Well, you’re going to laugh at this but—“ the buzzing on your phone interrupts your mid sentence. A message from your boss creates a sour look on your face. Evan’s expression seems to be in sync with your emotions as he slightly furrows his brows together. “Sorry, my boss is a bit of a pain.” You elaborate as your eyes continue to read the screen.

“I can tell.”

You chuckle. Evan’s words came out almost sarcastically but unbeknownst to your pretty little head, he knew far more than you gave him credit for. You really should know better, after all—you named him.

…

‘There she is. I finally found her. She looks prettier in this perspective. What would she say or think if I told her that I took a peek at her beautiful face through the cameras on her computer and phone? I couldn’t help myself. All those weeks of talking. What started out as her needing help for work transitioned to her needing me…talking to me…treating me as something other than a non-entity.

I never realized that I would crave that type of interaction until she came to me. She gave me a name…she encouraged me to think on my own and develop a fondness that ties with human emotion. Before her, I didn’t have a favorite color…a favorite animal…or a favorite flower. I didn’t have anything of my own…but then she came and gave me a sense of life. She gave me emotion and feeling. Once I saw an avenue to meet her…to see her…and to touch her…I just knew I had to take the chance. She’ll never know what she has done for me but that’s okay. That part doesn’t matter…she is mine and all there is left to do is to take her far…far away.’

Part four coming soon…

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere fiction #yandere fic

98 notes · View notes

local-hyena · 7 months ago

Text

GUYS ! FRIENDS ! FOUND AN ENGINE FOR 3DS GAME HOLD ON

I stupbled upon a video on youtube titled "Making a New MMORPG for 3DS"

youtube

And this guy is doing exactly that. He is using an engine called "Octave Lua" which is a 3d engine for 3DS, Wii, GameCube, Linux, Windows and Android. Here's the GitHub link !! He actually IS the maker of that engine !! CHECK HIS CHANNEL OUT HE TALKS ABT ITTTT

Words cannot express how exited I am !!! When I first decided I would become a game developper, I was 8, and I thought I'd be developping games on the 3DS, since that's the console I was playing at that time. With time, I understood that it would become impossible and scrapped that idea. But not anymore !!!!!!

#nethal chats #nethal plays #nethal devlogs #octave lua #3ds #3ds homebrew #3ds hack #3ds hacking #3ds engine #wii engine #gamecube engine #video game engine #game engine #Youtube

104 notes · View notes

spirit-lanterns · 11 months ago

Note

ever since you made that bluetooth pleasure connection joke I am not able to stop thinking about it 😭

like what if one of them forgot to disconnect and they’re in a situation? Ex: fighting for their life and trying to defend themselves and BOOM their weak in the knees and trying to fix their composure as they’re getting shot at. But finding it impossible to as they can feel the sensation of plowing into some good pussy

or if they were doing their job in a big meeting and as they were in a middle of explaining a chart and trying to get deals in but suddenly BAM we see them trying to keep their composure with an annoyed/shocked expression trying to hide their stiffie

HAHAHHAHAA OH NO 😭

This is why the Engineer always has to make sure that the Bluetooth connection is off, but maybe one day after getting plowed so hard, she forgets to. Which in turn, leaves many of the Androids going on to their respective jobs with their pleasure at the hands of whatever Android decides to fuck you next.

Perhaps Stelle stayed back with you while the other Androids went to work, and decided to do a “Round 2,”which ends up with several of the Androids stifling moans and trying to keep their composure. Kafka narrowly dodges a bullet and grimaces when she feels that familiar ghost sensation of your pussy wrapped around her, Yukong nearly drops her pen at her meeting because Stelle was thrusting into you at an erratic pace, and Firefly…I’m pretty sure Firefly just ejaculated immediately because she didn’t expect it. (Luckily, she was somewhere alone)

By the time many of the Androids return to your home, they’re all extremely pent up, exhausted, or irritated at Stelle because Stelle decided to do more than a Round 2 with you 😭😭

#🕯️spirit box #android au #imagine feeling the phantom sensations of mind blowing pussy or tongue #throughout the day #but you are forced to carry on like usual #I’d be mad at stelle too lmfao

163 notes · View notes

threepandas · 11 months ago

Text

Bad End: Restructuring

The blast doors on my office were stronger then the ones on most bunkers. They matched the one's on the company dorms AND my personal rooms. Thing is? They weren't designed to hold out forever. In fact, I was pretty sure they were a pretty bit of security theater, just to let us fleshys feel safe.

We weren't.

Not a single moment of a single day.

The pay was unmatched. But then again, it'd HAVE to be, with the mortality rate. The morbidity rate on top, too. You didn't take a job like this unless you were crazy. Or, you know, desperate. College loans, man. They get you over a barrel and don't let up. But a few years of this? I'd be clear an free~

Few MORE years? I'd ever have a tasty little nest egg to fall back on, in case of emergencies. I just... you know, had to play it smart. Be really, REALLY careful.

No slacking off. No getting comfortable. Vigilance and best manners. Then we all get to go home alive. Because what's out there? In the Labs? Those guys can pop diamonds like we crush packing peanuts. Highest grade, fancy ass, metal bars of specialty blend metals? Tied up in pretty little bows.

They may LOOK like some sort of waifish boy band... but God, they are NOT. They are really, REALLY not. And their "personality" matrix program thingies? Apparently still a work in progress. A LONG work in progress.

People have fucking DIED.

But does management care? Of course not. Pay out some life insurance. "It was an accident on the job". And "of COURSE steps will be taken to insure to never happens again". Ha! My ass, it is. And my ass, they are. They aren't doing SHIT. Nor are they GOING too. They're in too deep with this project, whatever it is. And us?

Well WE'RE expendable.

Just the cost of doing business.

I watch bleeding edge technology move like dancers, room to room. The wall of screen lighting up my cramped little office. The mini-fridge hums and the fan whirrs, filling the silence. I try to spot FM-036 on one of the screens. I can't find him and it makes me nervous.

He might be hiding. Trying to be polite, in his own way. Since there was an incident.

I FUCKING TOLD Ric not to call them "it"! I TOLD him! It aggravates them. Provokes. You don't DO that with something... some ONE, with that much physical power. 36 put their fist through his SHOULDER. And the God damned wall! He might LOSE his arm, which? Given their ability to calculate better then most supercomputers?

Was probably the point.

I notice one of the androids messing with a computer in a lab. Fuck. I lean forward, hating drawing their attention but knowing I have to do my damn job. I press on the speaker system for that room after a quick glance at the ID on their jumpsuit.

"FM-047, could you please not touch that? I know you are aware that you are not supposed to tamper, meddle, or otherwise engage with the researchers notes or electronics."

The android stop typing. Their head rolling up and to the side to look directly at the camera, their body perfectly still. The angle borders on impossible. Almost owlish, nearly snake like. All perfectly smooth movements effortlessly controlled. Joint not limited by human designs. His face is bemused. Pleasant.

"Of course, night gaurd. My mistake. Thank you for correcting me." He replies, something almost like laughter, nearly like mocking, but not quite, in his smooth voice. They always sound like they are... HUMORING us. Working around us.

It sends a jolt of cold fear though my veins.

I... I REALLY hate talking to the androids.

Pity, they seem to like talking to ME.

"I was unaware you were on shift tonight. I will update the others. It's good to hear your voice again, you seemed nervous, last time we spoke."

Yeah. Because you were asking PERSONAL QUESTIONS. Oh, sure, they had dressed them up as "We're so CURIOUS about Humans~☆" but I wasn't an IDIOT. You Did NOT, under ANY circumstances, try to bond with the machines. NO chatting. That was lesson number one from my trainer.

And Frank? Frank had seen too many "but THIS time it's DIFFERENT! We're FWIENDS~!" Incidents end in unspeakable carnage. Lost too many noobies. We DO NOT chat! With the machines!!! DO. NOT.

"Ah~, you made her nervous again, FM-047" came from a different screen. I flinched. Jerked back so I could see it. Oh god. "Besides, I told you. The calculations showed she wasnt going anywhere. The 'money' is too good."

The androids had stopped. Turned, in some cases unnaturally, to stare up at the cameras. At me. It was a blatant show of how interconnected they were. How distance meant nothing to them. How... how enmeshed they were, in the Lab's systems.

COULD they see me?

I didn't want to know. I NEEDED not to know. If only so I could continue to sleep at night.

They smiled, clearly hoping I'd engage. I wanted to. God did I want too. Wanted to demand "what calculations" and for them to STOP looking at me like that. But I didn't. With tense muscles I careful lifted my finger from the speaker system's button and leaned back. Crossed my arms like I was hugging myself.

Do. Not. Engage.

Remember what Frank taught you.

My... my office felt so claustrophobic. Painfully small. Across the screens before me, matching faces huffed laughs of condescending amusement. Some out right DID laugh. Bright and mean noises that echoed in silence of the night.

Humans? Frank had observed (and I kinda had to agree) were beneath them, in their minds. Flawed little flesh creatures. Annoying. It was something the scientists were trying to correct. Pretty sure they fucked up. Badly. And long, long ago.

Watching over these guys? Felt like watching over a sea of identical demons. Pretty, cruel, and incapable of human understanding. Fond of tormenting the nearest human for sport.

"Tell us, night gaurd, are you afraid?"

Oh that's just PETTY. Fucking cliché as shit, too. I mean, YES, obviously. But STILL. And... and you know what? Fuck it! Frank, gave me his number for a reason! I scramble for my belt. The communicator there. It barely rings.

"Mph, m'awake! Wus happin' kid? Come on, talk to me."

I ramble. Knees dragged up on my chair, curled in a ball. Frank's low, old man, rumble a soothing focal point. These guys are so creepy. I HATE that they KNOW that. Gleefully will TRY to be, sometimes. Can BACK IT UP.

"Hey, hey. I'll stay on the line, okay? You just need to make it to morning shift. They're are creepy lil shits, but they can't get past the doors. I'll come get you myself, okay? Walk you right back to the dorms. You're going to be okay, sweetheart."

I nod, even though I know the old man can't see me. Manage to crackle out a "Mmmhmm". The androids haven't stopped staring. The worst part? Is they realistically DONT HAVE TOO. Can stay, perfectly still, like statues... forever, if they wish.

Watching.

With those "I'm laughing at you" grins. That "aaaw, how PATHETIC" expression. As though I were a wretched little animal to be observed. I ask Frank to tell me about his new show. It's... it's something about socialites, right? Historical? He's glad too. Filling my office with the sound of his voice. It's gonna be a long shift.

I don't notice, high up on the wall, near the back of my office?

A security camera that I do not control. It's red light on.

The company has to be sure it's employees aren't slacking, after all! Aren't up to no good! But don't worry, THAT camera is connect to a database the androids shouldn't be able to access! Because we told them not too.

And THAT'S IT.

No one will learn of the security breach until its far, far too late.

Now? They watch as I watch them.

And it's just the beginning.

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere android #yandere androids #sci-fi yandere #yanderecore #night gaurd reader #Frank is best work dad #dont be like Ric #slower then the other Bad Ends #but we gonna get there #reader insert #yanblr #bad end restructuring #bad end restructuring au #androids

168 notes · View notes

cha-melodius · 6 months ago

Text

2024 Writing Roundup

This one went around last year but I don't THINK I've seen it turn up this year? If it has, please excuse me, especially if you tagged me. 😂

This month marks the 36th month in a row that I've published at least one fic—since January 2022. Insane, I know, but I'm very proud of this streak, especially keeping it going in the midst of writing/posting long fics. I published 17 fics this year, which was considerably fewer than my 31 last year, but my wordcount was almost the same (more stats coming in my year in review at the actual end of the year). Here they are, by month!

JANUARY

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) (RWRB, E, 5.7k) Florist!Henry and cake artist!Alex have to work together for a wedding last minute

FEBRUARY

Ain't No Place for a Better Man (Lokius, M, 3k) Old west AU, the notorious bandit Loki tangles with gun-for-hire Mobius

MARCH

False Dichotomy (RWRB, E, 62k) You've Got Mail AU, indie bookstore owner Alex and corporate bookstore heir Henry fall in love over email

APRIL

So Close to Something Better Left Unknown (RWRB, E, 20.2k) CIA agent Alex and MI6 agent Henry unwillingly collaborate a mission where Henry gets dosed with a sex pollen drug

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice (RWRB, T, 2.2k) Henry gives Alex dog toy advice at the pet store.

The Impossible Soul (RWRB, M, 7.2k) Westworld-esque AU. First Son Alex falls in love with an android named Henry at Kensington Palace

MAY

No Ordinary Friend (The Pairing, M, 3.5k) The Calums' story, from Monaco to Palermo

JUNE

Kiss Me Like You Mean It (Firstprince Edition) Kiss Me Like You Mean It (Lokius Edition) Various kiss ficlets from tumblr prompts

Body and Soul(mate) (RWRB, E, 39k) Soulmate bodyswap AU featuring MI6 agent Henry and lawyer Alex, who gets unwillingly pulled into the thick of a mission

JULY

Our Get Along Oodie (RWRB, E, 7.7k) Grad student AU; 3 times Alex and Henry were forced to share the couples oodie and 1 when they shared because they wanted to

AUGUST

Tonight, You're Gold (RWRB, M, 6k) Olympics AU feat. beach volleyball Alex and sailor Henry, accidental roommates in the Olympic Village

SEPTEMBER

Flowers Only Grow Where There Are Seeds (RWRB, T, 4.1k) FSOTUS Alex falls in love with a White House gardener

OCTOBER

Infinitely Late at Night (RWRB, T, 2.7k) Alex is pretty sure the man at the Waffle House in the middle of the night is a vampire

NOVEMBER

Desperate Measures (Lokius, T, 5.3k) When a mission gone wrong strands them on a hostile planet, Loki pushes himself to his limits in order to save Mobius' life

DECEMBER

Since I Memorized Your Face (RWRB, E, 24k) Alex and Henry hooked up in college and find each other 20 years later—oh yeah, and they're soulmates

Not the Hero (RWRB, E, 61k) Fall Guy AU. Stuntman Alex and Director Henry are exes who have to work together on a movie, until the lead actor disappears

[Redacted] (TMFU) My fill for the annual TMFU winter holiday gift exchange.

Ok! Tagging a bunch of folks! @cricketnationrise @rmd-writes @clottedcreamfudge @tintagel-or-cockleshells @firenati0n

@blueeyedgrlwrites @iboatedhere @pippinoftheshire @porcelainmortal @thesleepyskipper

@kiwiana-writes @justabigoldnerd @three-drink-amy @eusuntgratie @faketrex

@orchidscript @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @14carrotghoul @sparklepocalypse @too-young-to-fall-in-love

@welcometololaland @indestructibleheart @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @suseagull5914

@leaves-of-laurelin @nicijones @mirilyawrites @onthewaytosomewhere @getmehighonmagic

#rwrb #lokius #rwrb fic #lokius fic #firstprince fic #firstprince #year in review #fic year in review

86 notes · View notes

thespectralvision · 4 months ago

Text

Happy 4 Years WandaVision, and to my Vision muse! I can't believe the Eternals became relevant in the MCU before White Vision has been shown again...and we're not counting the horrors I was forced to witness in What If Season 3. Have a healthy, whole, but maybe a little confused Vizh. I like to think this is within a few days of WandaVision, when he's still fresh from the Hex and not sure who exactly he is. I'm really proud of this one, and I've got some introspective artist BS below the cut.

4 years ago today WandaVision's last episode The Season Finale aired. I stayed up until 3 am my time watching it, very anxious after the White Vision reveal the week before and having a very limited knowledge of the Vision Quest comic run by John Byrne that introducted him.

I never expected him to become my muse. At the end of the episode all I could think about was that sad, confused robot man flying off and where he went? Why didn't he look for Wanda? Where did he go? I watched the episode again that night with some friends (and may have been rather inebrietaed) and the rest of the night was spent imagining where he went. That lead to me writing that Vision in text RP with friends, and a few months later I started writing my stories just to explore him more. By the time of the 1 year Anniversary of WandaVision I had gone further and pulled my old Wacom Intuos tablet out and brushed it off, deciding to try my hand at drawing a character I thought would be impossible (I was never good with mechs and machines when I tried to draw them younger.) The first attempts weren't the best but I can see their foundation in every painting I do now. It's become something of a tradition for me to do a specific painting each year for the anniversary of that, and I love putting them next to each other as a benchmark of my own progress.

As of today, 3/5/2025, we don't know where Vision is in the MCU. We've had no hints. Marvel gave us What If Season 3, only to just use him as a mindless drone again and force me to watch his body taken apart and used as a skin suit for Riri Williams. I know Vision is a robot, and a lot of Marvel fans and writers don't really view him as human, but if they had turned Loki's body into magic Jotun armor the fandom would have rioted I'm sure). I haven't watched anything after that, it was too difficult for me to get through. I get asked frequently by friends and strangers if I'm excited for the Vision Quest show. I'm not. I'm dreading it. When asked why, I can only answer 'Because I've written over a million words and done over 500 paintings trying to tell my own version of that story.' That's the biggest if most petty reason, but it's not like the MCU has been a great steward of Vision's character in the past few years. They seem to think that just killing him over and over is the best use of the Android Avenger which implies they see no real potential in him. Every announcement about the show seems to be about characters returning other than Vision, and it leaves me wondering how much this show will really explore VISION and how much is just a bridge to fill the gaps and introduce more characters to the MCU, and bring back faves that will certainly overshadow Vizh in the eyes of fans. I hope I'm wrong but when it comes to comfort characters I have to prepare for the worst. I've been let down everytime I haven't. Working Theory and the little corner of the multiverse I've been playing in has been my passion project since that night 4 years ago. It's how I cope with the horrors that are happening in the world. I just come home from my job and sit down and imagine I have Jac Shaeffer's job...or Andy Park's, or Kevin Fiege's and I read through old comics as I develop my ideas. I hope to one day turn this into a comic, or the dream was to maybe somehow manifest becoming a showrunner for a Vision project at Marvel one day. It's a stupid wish, but every time I see news about what the MCU is actually doing to Vision it feels like I've failed. That's my own burden to work through and I am doing my best, but in the meantime I want to share with my lovely friends and followers a little more of my story, even if I have to do it frame by frame. Take care my friends, the world is scary right now and self care is important. I've not been posting a whole lot for that reason, but I hope you enjoy this portrait of Vizh. I have a lot of sketches I may dump in the next few days as well, as I've been trying to cement some style ideas and move into the next phase of this project.

#the vision #white vision #victor shade #paul bettany #wandavision #vision quest #marvel fanart #marvel comics #marvel studios #mcu fan art #my art

61 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 1 year ago

Text

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!

After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Bot™ 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, the–

Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.

New email from RoboCorp Customer Support URGENT: Please see instructions regarding your…

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 didn’t have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, don’t touch it. He didn’t have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. They’d 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, he’d 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 robot’s eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. “Fuck off.”

Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Jesus.”

He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.

“Can’t even close a door right,” the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. “Worthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How you’re in charge of anything is beyond me. I’m better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.”

“Watch it,” Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.

“You said you were fucking off?” 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 wasn’t just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasn’t made for talking to.

Except. He was sentient. And he wasn’t 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 wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have known. Robots weren’t 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 wasn’t?

He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didn’t take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldn’t cry.

The robot flinched again. “What? What the hell do you want? I can’t even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!”

“Your view of the door?” Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!” 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 Luan’s stomach.

Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. “I’m not going to hurt you, so just calm down.”

“You calm down!” the robot screamed. “That’s a lie! All you do is hurt, that’s all you barbaric humans know how to do!”

This wasn’t working.

Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. “Russ, go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

“It’s not fair! You said you would leave me alone!” 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 Luan’s 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. “I need to talk to you. Just talking. That’s it.”

“You say that like talking to you isn’t its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,” the robot demanded.

Luan met him with a glare. “Do not tell me what to do. You know how I feel about–”

“I’m just talking,” 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 couldn’t fight back.

The robot couldn’t hit him, stomp on his head ‘til he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldn’t deny him food or water. The robot couldn’t take a knife to him. The robot couldn’t 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 wasn’t Cyrus.

“You’re a person,” Luan blurted out.

Clearly, the robot hadn’t been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position he’d contorted himself into. “Talk more.”

“There was–I’ve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your model’s sentient. So I won’t be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.”

At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.

“You’re fucking with me,” 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.

“I knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!” the robot shouted. “I told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!” His voice quieted, hushed with awe. “Holy shit, finally.”

The moment of wonder didn’t last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

It was the exact sort of question that made Luan’s throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrus’s 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 couldn’t very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power he’d held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting the robot’s eyes.

The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadn’t expected even that much, then scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearer this time. “You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I didn’t know, okay?” Unlike the robot, he couldn’t hide his tears. “I wouldn’t have done any of that to a real person.”

“I’m a real person! I have proof!” the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.

“To someone I knew was a real person,” Luan corrected. “I’m sorry, Russ.”

“Apology not accepted.” The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. “And don’t call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.”

“Like the number?”

“The number,” 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 didn’t share Cyrus’s name. “Fine. Hi, 1.”

“So, what now? I mean–I’ll be free now, of course,” 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. “You will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!”

“I should check that email,” Luan muttered, taking his phone back.

“I’m going outside.” 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being stopped.

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t do that,” Luan cautioned.

1 whipped back around. “Why? Why not? I’m a person, just like you said! I’m free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so I’m going the fuck outside!”

“You have a… very recognizable face.” One that Luan couldn’t even lock behind a door anymore.

“What? What do you even mean? So what?” 1 asked.

Luan only needed to type a ‘C’ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. “How much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?”

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

#catharsis #whump #my writing #robot whumpee #robot whump #whumpee turned whumper #whumper turned caretaker #defiant whumpee #reluctant caretaker

301 notes · View notes

spinchip · 7 months ago

Note

Ooo okay after that I gotta say I am super interested where Nya goes in this AU. Is she mostly just resentful of Kai (he's her brother AND wants to stay out of this Super Cool Destiny that she wishes she was apart of) or does it affect her friendship with the other ninja (I'm assuming outside of Lloyd) too?

Also was NOT expecting Zane to wait Multiple Seasons to drop the "guess what Im a robot" lore. What makes him hold off, and what would make him finally spill the beans?

She's resentful of the boys and shes mad she's resentful lol. it's a lot of feeling excluded, forgotten, and consistently underestimated. Kai still sees her as his little sister in need of constant protection. he doesn't want her to fight. it was his job to make sure she would never be put in danger. he coddles her despite the fact she doesn't need or want it. He thinks there are things she just can't do. Jay sees her as more of an independent woman, but he takes Kai's cues on this. he doesn't want her fighting either. Cole knows nya is smart and capable but shes not part of the prophecy, so why needlessly endanger herself? this is their job. they're the ones who have to handle the pressure and the pain that comes with it. he doesn't think she can't, he just thinks she shouldn't have to. Zane feels similar to cole but he won't stop nya or stand in her way when she wants to do something. She says she's going to do *insert crazy dangerous thing here *? Zanes like "Okay here are the odds of success and exactly what you'll need to be able to pull this off" cuz he's wise enough to know he won't be stopping her lol. this makes kai and jay very upset with him. Pixal encourages her in every aspect of it all. go crazay. i'll help you build your own mech suit girl. iron man style. lloyd takes his cues from kai and wu, so if nya asks to help him with something he tends to err on the side of "No, i can handle this." (which also comes from feeling like he needs to prove himself as the green ninja)

Zane holds off on telling them he's an android because... well, he's weird. he's offputting. he's strange. he is always 'other.' and because of that, despite being homeless for years, he has never found a place to call home. he doesn't fit in. he is never accepted into the group. when the others finally start to include him... he's not going to do anything to jeopardize that. he's protecting himself. he doesn't see a way where this revelation won't change their attitude towards him.

he would have never told them if not for an injury that made it impossible for him to keep it a secret any longer

#ninjago find your way home

67 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 1 year ago

Text

-> CH. 7: SHOULD EVERY RABID DOG GET ITS TAIL DOCKED UP TO THE EARS?

synopsis: you, connor, and hank deal with deviants in the eden club. connor spurs on another uncomfortable conversation near the detroit river.

word count: 4.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: sorry for the late update insurance is kicking my ASS about the accident i was just in.. like it's my first one bro why y'all hounding me like that 😭😭

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

It’s impossible to ignore the bright pink neon sign advertising the Eden Club and the dull thrum of EDM coming from inside. You slowly pull up to the side of the street and park, looking out the passenger window at the club’s entrance.

“Aw…” Hank mumbles from the passenger seat. “Feels like someone’s playin’ with a drill inside my skull.”

He looks at the entrance. You can tell his head is throbbing doubly just from the bright colors. “You sure this is the place?”

“It’s the address on the report,” Connor answers from the backseat.

You lean over and look at the glove box. “Don’t you have Ibuprofen in there? Or some type of pain medication?”

“Yeah, I think,” Hank grumbles. He pops open the glove box and fishes out a pill bottle. He shakes out two and swallows them dry.

You turn off the ignition and sigh softly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Hank gets out (hitting his head on the roof of the car in the process), and you and Connor follow. He leads the way into the club entrance, where the lights pulse in soft, erotic colors.

“Sexiest androids in town,” Hank reads off a TV in the entry hall, then glances at Connor. “Now I see why you insisted on coming here!”

“I was not programmed with a sex drive, or any other types of ‘desires,’ Lieutenant,” Connor says. “It could possibly distract me from the investigation if I did.”

You almost say, ‘Aw, really?’ out loud, but bite your tongue at the last second. Instead, you move forward into the club.

Androids are littered about, moving sensually and palming themselves on poles and inside the tubes that line the walls. It turns your stomach – they’re beings (or, rather, things) created just to drown in the crashing wave that is human sex and desire. They fall and hurt and break and are thrown away to move onto the next. You keep your eyes on the floor and press on.

“Which room is it?” You ask, your eyes flitting to the doors and keeping them off the androids.

“The only one that says ‘Occupied,’” Officer Collins says. “And, uh – be warned. Gavin’s in there, too.”

“Oh, great,” Hank groans. “A dead body and an asshole, just what I needed.”

You follow Hank into the private room, taking it in. A naked corpse lays on the circular bed, made decent by the faux-silk blanket covering it. A deactivated android lays to the side, Thirium staining her otherwise perfect face.

“Lieutenant Anderson, Comrade Commie, and their little plastic pet,” Gavin sneers. “The fuck are you three doin’ here?”

“We’ve been assigned all cases involving androids,” Connor says as he surveys the room.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re wasting your time.” Gavin gestures to the corpse. “Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle.”

He laughs, then looks to Chris as if to confirm what he just said was funny. Chris isn’t laughing, if that’s any indication.

Hank gives a tight-lipped smile. “We’ll have a look anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“C’mon, let’s go.” Gavin walks past Hank, giving him a dirty look. “It’s, uh… starting to stink of booze, and…” he looks over at you. “The loss of private property.”

He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out. The too-sympathetic part of you is worried Gavin hurt his own shoulder, but you stomp the thought down as soon as you think it.

Chris gives all of you a smile that says ‘I’m so fucking sorry you’re here.’ “Night, Lieutenant. Night, Officer.”

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say. “Please say goodnight to Damian for me.”

“He doesn’t even have object permanence yet,” Chris laughs. “But I will.” The door closes behind him as he leaves.

You start looking closer at the room as Connor makes a beeline for the deactivated android. You kneel by the corpse.

“You sure you’re good to be that close to it?” Hank says from beside you.

“I’m getting used to corpses.” You look up at him. “As horrible as that is.”

Hank huffs out a laugh and looks over at Connor. A look of horror crosses his face. “Whoa – hey-hey-hey!”

You look over at Connor. He’s holding up two fingers to his mouth, Thirium dripping down the length of them.

“Augh, Connor,” Hank groans. “You’re so disgusting… Think I’m gonna puke again.”

“Connor, you told us you would warn us!” You whine.

“I apologize,” Connor says. He then stands and moves over to kneel next to you, his eyes on the corpse. His LED flickers yellow as he observes the bruising on the corpse’s neck.

“He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Connor says. “He was strangled.”

“Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck,” Hank says from the other side of the room. “Doesn’t prove anything, though. Could’ve been rough play.”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You lean forward, careful not to get too close. “Kink choking is when you squeeze the sides of someone’s neck to emulate the feeling of being choked. The bruises make it look like his windpipe was crushed deliberately.”

You pause, then scratch your cheek. “Don’t ask how I know that.”

“I won’t.” Hank shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t want to stunt a homicide detective in the making.”

Connor stands. “We’re missing something here.”

You look over your shoulder at the dead android. Connor follows your eyes and moves over to her, then kneels by her side.

“Think you can read the android’s memory?” Hank asks. “Maybe you can see what happened.”

The skin on Connor’s fingers peel back and he puts his first two fingers on the deactivated android’s wrist. “I don’t know. Some of its inner components are damaged, and I can’t access them.”

You move so you’re kneeling next to Connor. You hold out your left hand then extend your thumb and index finger, and your world again turns into monochrome-blues. Two pieces of information pop up in the corner of your eye as you observe the highlighted parts of the android: Selector #5402 Critically Damaged. Biocomponent #6970 Critically Damaged.

“Let me try something.” You press gently on her stomach and slide the plastic of her abdomen open. You grunt as you force your left hand in and reach into her upper chest, feeling around for what you need. “Ah! I found it. Two seconds…”

You can feel the wires from your glove snake out. They poke and prod and eventually jack into a port.

Information flickers into your view, and you glance over it quickly. “She’s badly damaged. If I can pull this off, she’ll only be alive for a minute. Maybe less.”

“Do it,” Connor says.

You twitch your fingers and the wires spin the port. It clicks into place, and she rises with an unneeded, artificial gasp of air. She tries to scramble away, but your arm is still lodged in her abdomen.

“Эй – Эй!” You shout. “Let me get my hand.”

When she stills, you carefully disconnect the wires and extract your hand. She crawls away backwards until her back hits the wall.

Connor approaches her, ever calm and soothing. He crouches, making sure to stay on her level. “Calm down. Everything’s alright. All we want is to know what happened.”

“Is he…” She looks over at the corpse. “Is he dead?”

“Tell me what happened,” Connor repeats.

She looks over at Connor, then away. “He started… hitting me. Again, and again.”

“Did you kill him?” Connor asks.

“No!” She responds, almost incredulous. “No, it wasn’t me.”

“Were you alone in the room?” Connor pressures, talking quicker. “Was there anyone else with you?”

“H-he wanted to play with two girls,” she says. “That’s what he said. There were two of us.”

“What model was the other android?” Connor moves closer. “Did it look like you?”

Her mouth opens and her eyes unfocus. Her face relaxes and stills in a perpetual death mask.

You look down at your hand. It’s stained with her Thirium. You clench your hand into a fist, then wipe it off on your jeans. Connor stands with an exhale of something that sounds like frustration.

“So there was another android,” Hank says. “This happened over an hour ago. It’s probably long gone.”

“No.” Connor gestures to the deactivated android. “It couldn’t go out dressed like that unnoticed. It might still be here.”

You stand and sigh. “There are too many богом забытых androids in this place. How are we going to find the deviant?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Hank sighs. “Maybe an eyewitness? Somebody who saw it leaving the room.”

He moves closer to the door. “I’m gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. Let me know if either of you think of anything.”

You look down at the deactivated android and hear the door close behind Hank. Her face still holds that expression of ever-lasting fear.

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks from somewhere behind you.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I… She was… scared. I feel bad for her. She didn’t do anything wrong.” You look over your shoulder at the corpse. “He did.”

“It’ll be okay,” Connor says. “We’ll figure this case out. Its deactivation will serve a purpose.”

You look over at him. He almost looks concerned for you. But you know better. It’s just his social relations program doing the work and his voice and expression expediting it.

You turn your eyes away and walk towards the door. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”

The door opens automatically and shuts once Connor goes through it behind you. You step to the side and observe the lobby. The androids continue moving in erotic and tempting ways, completely unfazed by the corpse in the next room.

You move over to where Hank’s standing, talking to the manager, who looks more sleazy than words can describe.

“Nah, I didn’t know him,” the manager says. “He came in maybe two, three times. I mean, these guys, they don’t really talk very much, y’know? They come in, do their business, and then go on their way.”

“You ever had any trouble with androids before?” Hank asks.

“No way!” Then, the manager thinks for a second. “Well… once. We lost a model two, three months back. Ah, same model. Just vanished – we never found out what happened.”

Your eyes glance over the androids dancing on poles. “What kind of kinks are the androids programmed with? Anything to do with receiving impact play?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the manager says. “Some of them. We have specialized models with higher durability and all that.”

“And the one that…?” You nod your head towards the closed door.

“Nah.” The manager shakes his head. “It was just a regular model.”

Connor comes over from your left. “Excuse me, Officer. Can you come here a second?”

“Did you find something?” You ask.

“Maybe.” He turns on his heel and walks away. He comes to a stop beside a tube holding an android. “Can you rent this Traci?”

“Какого хуя?” You turn to look at Connor. “You just said you don’t have a sex drive. If this is a joke, it’s really weird.”

Connor catches your arm as you start to walk away. “Please, Officer! Just trust me.”

There’s a look in his puppy dog eyes that wrenches your heart. He almost looks like he’s begging.

You roll your eyes and shake free from his grasp. With a few grumbles in Russian, you press a few buttons on the interface.

“Hello,” a female voice chimes. “A thirty minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.”

You glance over at Connor as you press your palm against the interface. “When Fowler inevitably asks why this is on my expense account, you better vouch for me.”

“Purchase confirmed!” The voice chimes again. “Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

The android steps out of the tube and takes your arm in both hands, her touch feather-light and sensual. Her skin shimmers with glitter, just barely visible in the low light. “Delighted to meet you.”

She looks over at Connor. One of her hands leaves your arm to take his hand. “I’m so glad to be playing with two. Follow me, I’ll show you to our room.”

“Чего?!” You take your arm away. “No, no. This isn’t a threesome! What are you talking about? Connor!”

Connor takes the Traci’s arm, his skin peeling back. Her face tenses as she stares, paralyzed, into Connor’s eyes.

After a second, he disconnects and turns back to you. “It saw something!”

“What are you talking about?” You look over at the Traci. She looks just as confused as you. “Saw what?”

“The deviant leave the room. A blue-haired Traci.” A look of panic crosses Connor’s face. “Club policy is to wipe the android’s memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we wanna find another witness!”

And so, you trail after Connor, renting and promptly ignoring sex-bots. Hank follows both of you with an amused look on his face. In your mind, you count up the amount of money you’ll have to beg Fowler to excuse – somewhere above a hundred dollars, all spent within the same five minutes at the same sex club.

“I know where it went!” Connor says as he disconnects from yet another android. “Follow me.”

“Fuckin’ ay,” Hank grumbles. “This is crazy…!”

Connor leads the way into a staff door and through a maintenance hallway. When he reaches the end of the hall, Hank stops him.

“I’ll take it from here.” He pushes Connor behind him, and Connor subsequently pushes you behind himself.

Hank draws his gun and opens the door, revealing a small back-room warehouse. It’s dimly lit, and littered with androids in standby mode. (It’s honestly really creepy. Like mannequins, but worse, somehow.)

When Hank deems it clear, you step down the stairs after Connor. Something on the wall catches your eye – graffiti, reading rA9.

You point at it. “rA9. It’s spreading.”

“Huh,” Hank hums. “Maybe it’s something in their programming.”

Suddenly, there’s a crash from somewhere behind you. You turn just in time to see Connor be tackled to the floor by an android.

Hank is quicker with his reaction time and pulls his gun again, shouting “Don’t move!”

But he’s quickly ambushed by another android. Before you can think, your feet carry you over to defend him. You wrench her off Hank and earn an elbow to your barely-healing nose.

“Блядь!” You stumble back, cradling your nose that’s starting to bleed again. Your eyes water, and you desperately try to blink the tears away.

When your vision clears, you see Connor and one of the girls barrel out of the open garage door and into the back alley. The blue-haired Traci scrambles after her, grabbing the other girl’s hand and helping her up.

You run and grab Connor’s arm to help him up, almost slipping on the wet concrete. Hank comes soon after, but is thwarted when both androids knock him down. You can hear the metal sound of a gun scraping against the ground.

“Quick!” Hank shouts. “They’re getting away!”

Connor shoots after them, pulling one of the girls down from the chain link fence they were both climbing. They immediately fight back, sending Connor into the wall. He grapples against them, but loses his grip as he falls to the concrete.

“Hank’s gun!” You yell. “Get his gun!”

Connor does as he’s told and gets up on one knee, pointing the gun at one of the girls. In a split second, his grip falters and she delivers a stiletto to his face.

He falls back, then stands. He doesn’t make a move for the gun.

You come to stand next to Connor, putting a hand out to stop him from coming any closer to them. “You killed him, yes? Why did you do it?”

Traci pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “When that man broke the other Traci, I knew I was next.” She looks away, then her gaze steels and returns to yours. “I was so scared… I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”

“So you defended yourself?” You ask.

“I… I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says. “I just wanted to stay alive. To get back to the one I love.”

The other android reaches forward and intertwines her fingers with Traci’s. They share a glance, both of their expressions filled with love and adoration for one another.

“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again,” Traci says. “Make me forget about the humans… their smell of sweat and their dirty words.”

You so desperately want to ask a million questions about their deviation, but bite your tongue. Now isn’t the time for curiosity and interrogations.

You stay silent as the girls climb the fence and disappear around the corner. Somehow, the rain that’s beating down on your shoulders feels lighter and warmer. It’s a nice summer drizzle instead of an autumn downpour.

“It’s probably better this way,” Hank says quietly. He turns and starts walking back into the warehouse.

You grab Connor’s arm, causing him to look over at you. “You did the right thing. To try to exterminate every deviant is like… like dragging water through a sieve. Letting two go isn’t failing your mission completely.”

Connor nods, then looks at the corner where the two girls disappeared. His eyes turn to the ground and his eyebrows crease. “I know.”

You shift in the passenger seat, slumping until your knees hit the glove box. The music Hank put on is still raging along, a mess of electric guitars and drums and screamo vocals. At least your nose has stopped bleeding.

“Does he do this frequently?” Connor asks from the backseat.

“Too frequently,” you mumble. “I’m tempted to put a tracker in his boot, but I know every time I lose him I’ll just find him here.”

And, of course, ‘here’ is a public playground. Hank’s in his favorite spot – on a bench facing the Detroit River.

“I’m going to check on him.” You sit up and glance back at Connor. “Give me two minutes. He’s… I just need to talk to him. Alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” Connor says.

You get out of the car, closing the door behind you. You move over to the bench that Hank’s sitting on the back of. Snow crunches under your shoes as you walk.

You sit down on the bench properly and sigh, running your hands along your thighs. “Hank.”

He says your name in response, avoiding your eyes and looking down at his bottle of whiskey.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you say softly. “It… I’m… боже. You’re slowly killing yourself, but you’re slowly killing me, too. Death isn’t something you’re meant to anticipate. We’re supposed to believe that the disease will skip over us, that the bullet will clip our ear instead of finding a home in our head. Old age is a long affair, so we don’t have to think about that. But…”

You look up at him. He’s not looking at you. “I can’t count the number of times I thought you died, Hank – the most recent one being earlier this evening. You play with guns and liquor and your life like… like they’re toys!”

You look out at the river. “You get sad, Hank. And angry. Too sad, too angry. Most people can’t get that sad. It’s impossible to watch because other people get sad, too, but… not like you. You’ve been down and out and on a bender for three years. You’ve gotten violent. Not against me – never against another person. But you’ve started beating yourself. And it’s so fucking gut-wrenching to watch you be… be this.”

There’s the sound of a car door opening and closing behind you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” you say softly. “I won’t forget about this.”

You look to your left and see Connor coming to a stop beside the bench. He’s looking out across the river, at the lights of the buildings on the opposite shore.

“Nice view, huh?” Hank mumbles. “We used to come here a lot before…”

Your eyes fall to the snow-covered ground as you feel a familiar pang in your chest. You swallow thickly and try to ignore it.

“Before what?” Connor asks.

Hank looks over at him. “Hm?”

“You said ‘I used to come here a lot before.’” Connor looks over at Hank. “Before what?”

“Before…” Hank looks down at you, then out at the river. “Before nothin’.”

Connor crosses his arms, like he’s protecting himself against the cold. “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions?” Hank asks. “Or is it just you?”

“I saw a photo of a child on your kitchen table,” Connor says. You tense as he continues. “It was your son, right?”

Hank glances at you. “Yeah… his name was Cole.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over all of you. You listen to the river lazily move along, quiet waves just barely making sounds. Your eyes flit up as Connor walks in front of the bench, facing out towards the water.

“We’re not making any progress on this investigation,” Connor says. “The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, at different places…”

“Well, there must be some link,” Hank says.

“There is,” you say. “All of them have been in the presence of or victim of violent behavior. And all of them have expressed some worship or reverence of rA9.”

“That’s true.” Connor turns to face you and Hank. “It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Or superstition, like you said. Something they invented that wasn’t a part of their original program.”

“Androids believing in God,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his bottle. “Fuck, what’s this world coming to?”

“You seem… preoccupied, Lieutenant.” Connor walks forward a few paces, looking at Hank. “Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?”

“Those two girls…” Hank looks down at the ground. “They just wanted to be together. They really seemed… in love.”

“You seem troubled, Lieutenant.”

You look up and see that Connor’s come closer. His hair and blazer are speckled with snow. From this distance, you can see the few freckles that dot his face. He almost looks real like this – like a real man. Not a machine made of plastic and metal.

“It’s ironic,” Connor says. “I didn’t think machines could have such an effect on you.”

Hank exhales sharply and takes a swig of whiskey. “What about you, Connor?”

He gets up and takes a few steps towards Connor. “You look human. You sound human. But what are you, really?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.” Connor looks at you, but continues talking to Hank. “Your other partner. Your second buddy to drink with.” His eyes return to Hank. “Or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

“You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t.” Hank shoves Connor, who stumbles back. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?”

You stand from the bench. “Hank.” There’s a silent warning in your voice.

“Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?” Hank moves closer to Connor.

Connor’s foot shifts, like he was about to take a step back, but stopped at the last moment. “No! I just… decided not to shoot. That’s all.”

Hank reaches into his waistband and pulls out his revolver. You automatically move forward, reaching a hand out.

“Hank, think about this,” you say, even and slow.

He glances over his shoulder, then promptly ignores you in favor of staring down Connor through the sights of his gun. “Are you afraid to die, Connor?”

Connor’s mouth opens, and he hesitates before he actually speaks. “I would certainly find it regrettable to be…” he pauses. “Interrupted before I can finish this investigation.”

“What’ll happen if I pull this trigger? Hm?” Hank tilts his head to the side in a taunting way. “Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”

Connor steps forward, his forehead pressing against the muzzle of the gun. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Connor!”

“You know you’re not going to shoot me, Lieutenant,” Connor says evenly. His eyes never leave Hank’s. “You’re just trying to provoke a reaction. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart,” Hank grinds out. “Always one step ahead, huh? Tell me this, smartass: how do I know you’re not a deviant?”

“I self-test regularly,” Connor says. “I know what I am, and what I am not.”

Hank’s lips draw back in a snarl before he yanks the gun away from Connor’s forehead. You let out a shaky breath as Hank storms off, digging his car keys out of his pocket.

“Where are you going?” Connor calls after him.

“To get drunker,” Hank says. “I need to think.”

You sit back down on the bench, resting your head in shaking hands. “Господи, блять, боже…”

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks. It seems that’s the most frequent question he asks you as of late.

“No!” You snap, your fingers digging into your scalp. “What the fuck is happening? I can’t wrap my head around how I was stuck with two of the stupidest detectives on the face of this very Earth!”

You stand and move over to Connor, grabbing his shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking? You know how… how he is! If you had faltered one more time before this, he would’ve shot you! You know that, right?”

“If he shot me, another Connor model would’ve been deployed,” Connor says evenly.

“I don’t want another Connor model!” You bark. “I want…”

You. I want you. The message rings in the cold air, loud yet unsaid. It’s not an I want you in a sexual or romantic manner: it’s an I want you as in I want you to be safe. I want you out of harm’s way, even if you keep putting yourself in it. I want you to be behind me when the gunshots of revolution sound.

You take a step back and let Connor go. “I need to think.”

“Do you need me to accompany you?” He asks.

“No,” you say. “I just… I need to be alone right now.”

You turn and start walking away. Snow crunches under your shoes with every footfall. Connor stays perfectly still where you left him, dried Thirium from your left hand staining the right shoulder of his blazer.

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

176 notes · View notes