#android head unit
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keranjangku-ning · 1 year ago
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LALAHOO 4G+64G Android 13 Head Unit 7/9/10 Inch IPS Layer Mobil Navigasi Untuk TOYOTA Daihatsu Mitsubishi
Upgrade Mobilmu #androidheadunit #headunitmobil #headunitmurah #toyota #daihatsu #mitsubishi #nissan #otomotif #SpillBawaBerkah #kadoayah #kado
BELI DI SINI ⬇️👇
https://id.shp.ee/i56uvj8?smtt=0.0.9
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fasmoto · 1 month ago
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Pemasangan Adroid Player ke dalam Toyota Rush
Pemilik Toyota Rush ini membuat temu janji dengan kami untuk memasang player Android. Dia membeli unit itu di tempat lain dan kami tidak boleh kenal pasti jenama itu kerana ia sebenarnya tidak dipaparkan pada skrin. Syukurlah, Toyota Rush adalah kereta yang cukup ringkas dan pemasangan berjalan dengan lancar. Unit Android kelihatan baik dan agak stabil. Walau bagaimanapun, jika anda mencari…
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sawvidae · 2 months ago
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my birthday is in a week, does anyone wanna be niceys and buy me a $300 car stereo lol
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fixmydash · 3 months ago
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1. Changxun Solution
Factory Password: 8888
APK Installation and Upgrade:
Place the APK file on a USB stick.
On the main device interface, open the ESC browser or file manager, find the APK upgrade file, click to install. After installation, restart the device.
APK Upgrade Platforms: Landscape 4G version (3518C), WIFI version (8227/9218), Portrait 4G version (3518C). Choose the corresponding APK platform for the upgrade.
Steps:
Uninstall the previous version: Car Settings > Android Settings > Apps > Original Car Settings > Uninstall.
Extract the files to the root directory of the USB drive, insert the USB into the car's USB port, find the extracted files in the file manager, and click to install. After installation, select the model.
After model selection, go to Factory Settings, and click "Restart" to reboot.
For Portrait WIFI Version Upgrade: Extract the files to the root directory of the USB stick (no folder needed), then go to the main menu, Settings > General Settings > System Information, and click "Android Upgrade" (green button).
After the upgrade, press and hold the touchscreen for 3 seconds to bring up the touch calibration interface. Follow the instructions to calibrate.
2. Novida Solution
Factory Password: 666888/168 (Landscape), 1617 (Portrait)
APK Upgrade:
Create an "updateApk" folder, place the APK inside, and copy it to a USB drive. Then, in the main device interface, go to the toolbox and click “APK Upgrade.”
After the upgrade, you can check the version information in the CAN model settings.
APK Upgrade Method: The upgrade method is the same for both landscape and portrait versions, but make sure to choose the corresponding APK file.
System Upgrade:
Copy the compressed software package directly to the root of the USB drive (do not create a folder). Rename it to "update.zip."
In car settings, go to Factory Settings > System Upgrade.
3. Dingwei Solution
Factory Password: 8888
MCU Upgrade Method:
Extract the software package to the USB stick (no folder needed), then go to Settings > General Settings > MCU Upgrade/System Upgrade.
Online Upgrade:
For both landscape and portrait versions, connect the main device to the internet.
Go to General Settings > Advanced Settings, enter password 8888, choose the corresponding vehicle model, and click "Confirm." Follow the prompts for the upgrade process.
4. Fangyitong Solution
Factory Password: 3368
Software Upgrade:
Extract the software package to the root of the USB drive. The system will automatically recognize the USB and upgrade.
APK Installation:
Place the extracted APK files on the USB root directory. Open the File Manager on the main device, locate the APK files, and install them one by one.
5. Waterword Solution
Factory Password: 8888
Online Upgrade:
Connect the device to the internet, go to "About the Device" > "Software Online Upgrade" > "System Software Upgrade."
Local Upgrade:
Rename the upgrade file to "wwc_update.zip" (without extracting), place it in the USB root directory, then go to Settings > Software Local Upgrade > System Software Upgrade.
CANBUS-GO App: Download the latest version from the app store and select the vehicle model in K6G-Canbus.
6. Hengchen Solution
Factory Password: 000000
Software Upgrade:
Place the software package in the root directory of the USB drive. The system will automatically upgrade.
APK Installation:
Place the APK file in the root directory of the USB stick. Install directly from the device by selecting the file in the File Manager.
7. Feige Solution
APK Upgrade:
Place the APK file on the USB drive, go to the main device interface, open the File Manager, and click to install the APK.
8. Xunzu Solution
Factory Password: 8888
Upgrade Package:
Extract the upgrade package to the root directory of the USB stick. After inserting it into the device, the upgrade window will pop up. Confirm the upgrade to start.
Once the upgrade is complete, the system will prompt "Please remove the external upgrade device, and the device will restart."
Android Version:
Go to Settings > General Settings > Version Information, tap the Android version 5 times. A password box will pop up; enter password 8888.
9. Ingmote (Deanjer) Solution
Factory Password: 8317
Upgrade Process:
Extract the upgrade file to the root directory of the USB drive. Once the USB is inserted and the device is powered on, the upgrade process will begin automatically.
After completion, the device will prompt for you to remove the USB/SD card. The device will reboot.
System Upgrade Password: 888888
Go to Car Settings > System > System Update, and enter the system upgrade password (888888).
10. Tengshi Solution
Factory Password: 7772 (Car Settings > About Device > Enter the password at the top right)
Upgrade Process:
Format the USB drive, extract the upgrade files, and insert the USB stick. The system will detect the upgrade automatically.
11. Bodha Solution
Upgrade Process:
No need to extract the upgrade package. The system will automatically pop up an upgrade prompt in the radio interface, allowing you to select either MCU or SYSTEM upgrade.
Model Selection:
Go to Settings > About Version, click the kernel version and OS version 3 times each (total 6 times) to enter Factory Settings, where you can choose the CAN protocol company and vehicle model.
12. Aimi Solution
Factory Password: 1501
13. Qiding Solution
Factory Password: 13248756
System Upgrade:
Extract the upgrade package to the root directory of the USB stick. Insert the USB while the device is powered on, and the system will prompt for an upgrade. Click to upgrade, and during the upgrade process, the system will prompt you to remove the USB. Once removed, the upgrade will continue and complete.
APK Installation:
Place the APK file on the USB stick, go to the File Manager on the main device, locate the APK file, and install it.
This summary includes the steps for upgrading the software and APK on various car multimedia systems. Make sure to follow the specific instructions for each system to ensure the upgrade is successful. If you need additional details or encounter issues, feel free to ask!
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caraudioexpertaustralia0 · 8 months ago
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Headunit With Carplay for Jeep Renegade | 2016 | 9″ Inch
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carplanetdubai · 1 year ago
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Are you a proud owner of a Mitsubishi Lancer looking to take your driving experience to the next level? Whether you're craving seamless connectivity, immersive audio, or enhanced entertainment options, upgrading your Lancer's tech features can transform your daily commute or road trips into enjoyable journeys.
Apple CarPlay Integration: Elevate Your Connectivity
Imagine effortlessly accessing your favorite music, navigation apps, and messages while keeping your eyes on the road. With Apple CarPlay, this becomes a reality. Seamlessly integrate your iPhone with your Mitsubishi Lancer's infotainment system and enjoy hands-free convenience. From making calls to getting directions with Siri's voice commands, Apple CarPlay enhances both safety and convenience.
Android Head Unit: Embrace Versatility
Android users, fear not! Mitsubishi Lancer owners can also enjoy enhanced connectivity and entertainment with an Android head unit upgrade. Mirror your smartphone's interface onto your car's display, access a multitude of apps, and enjoy personalized features tailored to your preferences. Stay connected, informed, and entertained with the power of Android right at your fingertips.
Subwoofer Upgrade: Feel the Music
Elevate your audio experience with a subwoofer upgrade for your Mitsubishi Lancer. Whether you're a bass enthusiast or simply appreciate the rich, deep sound, adding a subwoofer can enhance your music-listening experience. Feel the thump of the bass and enjoy crystal-clear audio reproduction, making every drive an immersive sonic journey.
Rockford Fosgate Subwoofer: Unrivaled Sound Quality
For audiophiles seeking premium sound quality, consider upgrading to a Rockford Fosgate subwoofer for your Mitsubishi Lancer. Renowned for their precision engineering and superior performance, Rockford Fosgate subwoofers deliver deep, impactful bass and exceptional clarity across the entire audio spectrum. Elevate your in-car audio experience and immerse yourself in the music like never before.
Speaker Replacement: Crisp, Clear Sound
If your Mitsubishi Lancer's factory speakers are lacking in clarity or power, it may be time for an upgrade. Replace your stock speakers with high-quality aftermarket options to enjoy crisp, clear sound and enhanced audio performance. Whether you prefer smoother vocals, punchier bass, or a wider soundstage, upgrading your speakers can make a significant difference in your listening experience.
Carplanet: Your Partner in Mitsubishi Lancer Upgrades
At Carplanet, we understand the importance of personalizing and optimizing your Mitsubishi Lancer to suit your preferences and lifestyle. From Apple CarPlay integration to premium audio upgrades, we offer a wide range of products and services to enhance your driving experience. Trust our team of experts to help you select the perfect upgrades for your Mitsubishi Lancer, ensuring seamless integration and unparalleled performance.
Ready to elevate your Mitsubishi Lancer experience? Contact Carplanet today to explore our selection of upgrades and accessories tailored to your needs. Drive smarter, safer, and with greater enjoyment with Carplanet and your Mitsubishi Lancer.
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myaudioandsecurity · 2 years ago
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Apple CarPlay and Android Auto Head unit
Upgrade your car's audio system with our Pioneer DMH-A4450BT 6.8" Bluetooth Apple CarPlay and Android Auto head unit! Enjoy seamless connectivity, hands-free calling, and easy access to your favorite apps on the road. Looking to boost your website's search engine rankings for "Apple CarPlay and Android Auto head unit"? Let us help with our expert link building strategies. Contact My Audio and Security today to learn more!
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mikanotes · 1 year ago
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goodbyes are sour
connor x gn!reader — 2.1k words
genre: angst sorta! mutual pining in denial
warnings: mentions of guns and killing, kabedon for the sake of science, connor unreliable narrator LOL u have feelings android man… maybe ooc idk. (wrote this w the idea of connor being deviant since the beginning bcs Yeah!)
synopsis: You meet Connor again. Turns out things are much more complicated when you aren’t working together.
author’s note: hi dbh fic?! i Love connor nd i’ve been writing this for a while (crazy since it’s rly short) but i don’t like it much… anyways whoevers alive in the dbh fandom have this!
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“Detective.”
There’s just something about the way Connor speaks. The cadence, the pitch, the enunciation of each word. It’s painfully evident that he isn’t human. Everything about him is so machine-like that even his perfect, human-like exterior could not fool anyone. However it is something you got used to. Hearing the android speak your name and call you ‘Detective’ back a while ago felt somewhat unsettling. Now it’s so easy to recognize that it almost makes you feel at ease.
“Do you seriously think I’m an android? I don’t wanna deal with those fucking machines, either. I’d be glad if you put a bullet through them rather than me.”
Turns out hearing him fake being a human is ten times more terrifying than his android speech patterns could ever hope to be.
This was not part of the plan.
You were sent with a unit to patrol around the streets for any android who still hadn’t been brought back or destroyed. You weren’t a fan of this whole assignment, but felt better than the rookies who were sent out to shoot humanoid robots as their first field mission probably did.
It would be fine, is what you told yourself, because you didn’t feel anything towards Cyberlife’s creations enough to be completely uncomfortable with the idea of their blue blood on your hands, though it wasn’t ideal. You could manage. Until the first person you came across happened to be the one android you genuinely cared about.
“I don’t think he’s one of them…” one of your fellow officers murmurs next to you. You suddenly become very aware of the gun he, too, is holding and pointing towards the target. Fuck. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.
At least this idiot’s performance seems to be fooling them.
You wait one second, then sigh on the second, and finally lower your gun on the third. “You shouldn’t be here.” you say casually, prompting your colleagues to relax and the atmosphere to lighten a little. Your heart is in your throat, however. “We’ve got orders to round up every android we see around here. You should go home. This isn’t exactly safe.”
“I know, I know.” he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, “I was gonna leave anyways, thanks.”
Your coworkers mumble to themselves about how disagreeable this guy’s attitude is and it’s enough for them to miss the wink the latter sends your way as he leaves. You almost regret not shooting a bullet through his head.
Still, you sigh in relief, setting your gun back at your side and running a hand over your face. You don’t think you can continue patrolling in peace. There’s one too many questions in your mind and the key to answering them is escaping from your grasp.
You take the phone in your pocket and pretend to get a call, moving it to your ear and looking at the members of your team. “I’ll join up with you later.” you say, gesturing towards your phone. They nod and walk away, and you do the same, feeling more relieved than ever that these people see you as a leader of sorts. They won’t question you on anything. You hurry towards the direction your so-called partner left to the moment they’re out of sight.
A rooftop door, stairs, and more stairs. You’re jogging down like you’re chasing a criminal on the run. You’re down to the fifth floor out of eight when someone grabs your arm and pulls you out a door.
“Wha—” you try to yell, but a cold hand settle over your mouth. Your body relaxes but your expression tenses. Connor. “Let me go,” you mumble incoherently, surprisingly succeeding in getting him to let you step away.
You sigh and shake your head, turning around abruptly. His ‘human costume’ (which really just was a grey suit jacket thrown over what should’ve been his Cyberlife uniform, glasses, and a cap to hide his LED) is already gone, replaced by his usual attire, just missing his jacket.
“What the hell was that about?” you ask, annoyed, pointing towards the staircase (back there, on the roof) and the android simply shrugs. “Connor.”
“I was undercover, Detective. I thought someone as smart as you would recognize that much.” he says, his tone back to normal. You’d feel relieved if he wasn’t being so irritating. “Was I wrong?”
Your face drops. “No. I figured as much. But what for?” you sigh, crossing your arms.
“Same mission as always.”
“Who are you chasing? Did you find the place?”
“I have no reason to tell you.”
It only clicks then that while you know about Connor continuing his mission after being laid off the case, you’re not part of it anymore. He had to be sent back to Cyberlife, and you should’ve been forgetting about him entirely. You’re still DPD, and you have orders to shoot Androids on sight— Which you clearly aren’t following. He’s right. He has no reason to tell you.
Still.
You grab his arm when he threatens to walk away. You’re not sure what you want to say, but you’re not done talking. He lets you. “Connor.”
“Detective.” he says. You straighten your back and sigh, not breaking eye contact. He tilts his head to the side and his LED flashes yellow for an instant. “You’re angry.”
Of course you’re angry. He’s infuriating. There’s something about how logical and dead-set on following every single rule he is that makes Connor the most annoying individual you’ve ever talked to. Everything he does has to be for his mission. Every single thing.
“Do threats work with you?” you ask blankly, “If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get Cyberlife to bring you back, and all that?”
When he takes a step closer to you again, forcing your back to press against the wall, and his LED does not even threaten to change hues, you’re taken aback. Just a bit. It’s the same kind of frustrated attitude you would’ve expected from a human after saying what you just did. But not Connor.
He doesn’t seem frustrated, though. And you know he can look annoyed. He just doesn’t. So he must not be. And you want to find what it is he’s doing exactly, stepping closer to you without even saying a word, but your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting at the distance between you two. You know he does everything for his work. Does he think you have new information on deviants? Does he really believe you would call Cyberlife on him? Is he using his stupid interrogation module on you? Whatever it is makes you even more annoyed.
The silence feels heavy. It makes things worse. It gives your brain time to process how this is making you feel and it’s no good at all. “What?” you break the silence, tone somewhat irritated.
“I’m trying to understand the reason why you’re so angry at me.” he explains simply, like it makes sense. His eyes narrow a bit and the LED at the side of his head flickers yellow for a moment. “And no, Detective. Threats don’t work on me. Not when I can tell you’re lying so easily.” he adds, quieter.
“Shut up.” you scoff.
“I dont think I will.”
“Connor.”
“— However,” he interrupts, “I can step away from you at any moment if you tell me to.”
“No.”
“No?”
What— No?! You register the word after saying it and sigh, face contorting into a somewhat pained expression. You panicked and said it, your mind processing his offer as him leaving you again— With no information and nothing to ease your stupid worries. Now it just sounds odd.
Is that embarrassment?
“You didn’t finish what you were trying to do, did you? You haven’t told me why I’m angry yet. Since you apparently care so much.” you say, tone sounding much softer than before. Your apparent discomposure took away all the bitterness from your voice. Interesting.
Truth be told, Connor knows why you’re angry. He’s not letting you in on the details of what he’s doing despite the time you spent working as partners a very short while ago. He’s spent enough time with people, and you especially, to know that after forming some kind of bond with a work partner, it would be frustrating not to receive information about their mission the way you used to from them—
Especially considering he was still chasing after something you both knew about. Jericho. But he cannot tell you about that. Not… Right now.
What he really was trying to do was evaluate how much of a threat you really could be to his investigation. He didn’t sense any hostility before and he doesn’t now, and you could’ve shot him but you didn’t. But it’s not enough. He needs more time— More evidence that it’s fine. That’s why he pulled you here in the first place. That’s why he pressured you to talk.
He needs to make sure killing you isn’t necessary.
“Because I posed a threat to the stability of your current mission earlier. You wouldn’t have been able to shoot me had I been discovered, and your reaction to your colleagues shooting me would’ve jeopardized your job itself.” he answers.
This reasoning would make sense.
“That’s not it.” you sigh.
Your heartbeat is slowing down. No good. Connor leans his arm on the wall next to you and moves closer. Your heartbeat picks up in speed. It’s almost alarming. He can tell all the details about your physical condition and deduce what you’re thinking or feeling based off of them, sure. But he’s no human. The way he views and comprehends emotions is registered in his system in a much more clear and logic-based way than it is in humans’ brains.
So maybe he won’t ever know why your heart beats so heavily against your ribcage. So he just has to pressure the right places and demand answers. He unfortunately can’t allow you to relax. He won’t get anything out of you if you’re calm. You’re much too turbulent for that.
Or maybe he’ll just have to ask. In a normal way.
“Detective, what’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” you scoff, eyes widening. Wrong question.
You seem like you want to be angry but something is holding you back from displaying just how much he gets on your nerves. You sigh deeply and look at him, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting so weird. More than usual. Why’d you pull me here if you didn’t want to tell me anything? And I’m worried. What if you really did get shot? Wasn’t Cyberlife supposed to deactivate you? They wouldn’t have brought in another Connor this time. You’re off the case, you— You would’ve died!”
“Maybe.”
There’s circles under your eyes. There always are, but they’re more defined now than they were the last time he saw you. Now that you’re actually being honest, your whole voice and mannerisms betray any of your usual annoyed and dismissive facade. He didn’t think you cared this much, though he understands that some humans are quick to empathize. To a fault.
Now it’s clear he doesn’t need to eliminate you at all. Part of him seems to have grown fond of your company. He couldn’t risk that getting in the way of his better judgment.
“I only pulled you here so you wouldn’t pointlessly chase down the streets searching for me, since I made sure no one would follow.” he says, stepping back and giving you more space, “You’re a police officer. It doesn’t matter what you say you’ll keep to yourself or not. I can’t compromise. This is too important.”
You’re hurt, it’s visible. He’s saying he can’t risk trusting you. He figures that must not feel nice.
The sound of the radio attached to your side breaks this prolonged silence with the promise of separation. You take it, eyes not leaving Connor’s, and listen to your colleague speak. You tell them you’ll be right there. You’re not one to be late. He knows you’ll really leave this time— Too far away for him to hope to talk to you again, if anything goes awry.
You turn the radio off and put it back where it was. “Hope you succeed, then.” you say, bitter, and push yourself up to start walking away.
“Take care of yourself, Detective.” Connor says. Asks. The words come out before he can really think. Something about your voice and this whole atmosphere made him… Feel uneasy. Like he needed to say something. If this is how your partnership ends, he doesn’t believe it should be on such a sour note. He cares doesn’t dislike you at all, so why should it?
You stagger a little, seemingly stopping in your tracks, but moving again no more than a second later. “You too, Connor.”
Somehow, goodbyes had never seemed so sad.
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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 4 months ago
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Deep Breaths Now
fandom: Detroit: Become Human
pairing: paramedic!Connor & reader
summary: Connor is called to the scene of a mass shooting. The police officers say all of the injured have already been taken care of, but Connor wants to check for himself. It's a good thing he does.
tags/warnings: mentions of gun violence/shooting, graphic depictions of injury and medical procedures, angst, hurt/comfort
word count: 2743
a/n: starts platonic, ending has hints of a future romantic relationship. gender neutral reader, no use of y/n. I am not a medical professional, although I did my research and tried to be as accurate as possible.
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Connor and his partner, a human named Riley, roll up to the mall with sirens blaring. Other teams have already arrived and likely left with the most injured. Police mill about the scene, interviewing the people who made it out unharmed. Connor hops out of the passenger seat, eyes quickly scanning the area. They’re late arrivals; Connor’s station is generally out of range for this part of Detroit. But with a mass casualty event, other units are often called in to assist.
He gathers a small medical bag with basic supplies before meeting Riley near a police officer. The officer nods to Connor and gives them a quick brief. “We’ve already neutralized the perp. Just doing final checks of the mall and surrounding area to ensure we’ve taken care of all the casualties. If you guys want to head inside to assist, be my guest, but things seem to be wrapping up around here.”
Connor looks to Riley, who shrugs. “Might as well check it out.”
Connor nods affirmatively, already heading for the doors of the mall. The shooting had taken place in the food court, so this area is relatively clean. There’s a few personal belongings scattered about, the things people had dropped in the mad dash to escape. Connor’s LED cycles yellow as he processes the data. They continue through the foyer, finally coming to the food court.
Riley mutters a curse under his breath.
It’s a grisly scene. Blood, blue and red alike, is splattered and puddled on the floor. Just based off the patterns, Connor can identify various levels of injury. A shock of emotion passes through him – still a surprise so soon after deviancy. He’s far too new to such feelings to identify what it is, but it feels weighty and dark. Despite the irrationality of it, each step Connor takes feels slower, heavier. He moves carefully to avoid getting anything on his shoes – blood or discarded mall food – keeping his eyes and ears peeled. More officers wander around this area, setting down evidence tags, collecting shell casings and blood samples.
He and Riley reach the end of the food court. Riley stops walking immediately, calling out to Connor. “It’s unlikely that anyone would’ve tried to escape this way.”
Connor looks back at his partner, a neutral look on his face. “Statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”
Riley only rolls his eyes and makes a dramatic gesture with his arm. “Lead the way, then.”
The android allows a small smile to turn his lips. They head out of the food court and into the main area of the mall. It’s a sort of diamond shape with hallways branching off from the apex points. Various stores line the walls. Connor pauses in his tracks, scanning the area for any indication of life.
Riley walks up beside him. “Connor, I don’t think-”
Connor holds a hand out and interrupts him. “Quiet, please.”
There. A knocking sort of noise. It’s uneven and faint, so faint that Riley hadn’t heard at first. But Connor had. He sets off in the direction of the sound, unconsciously clutching his medical bag tighter. Any traces of uncertainty have been wiped off Riley’s face as he follows.
They round a corner into a nearby store. Connor sees you first and immediately rushes to you. You’re lying on your side, blood oozing steadily from a wound on the right side of your chest. Your breaths are shallow and weak. In your hand is a metal water bottle, which you’d been using to hit the ground in a desperate attempt to be located.
When Connor kneels down beside you, the bottle falls from your hand and a smile lifts your blood-stained lips. You think you might almost pass out from the relief of being found. Riley is quick to take up the spot behind you. Together, the two work in sync to roll you onto your back, with Riley holding your neck and head steady.
You let out a gasping cry as Connor applies firm, steady pressure to the wound in your chest. Your hands scrabble weakly at his as you try to pry him off of you. The pain was intense before, but this is agony.
Connor pays no mind, continuing to hold the pressure. Blood pools around his hands, spilling between his fingers. He speaks in a determined voice to Riley as his LED cycles to red. “GSW to the right chest, no exit wound. Estimated blood loss of 1.74 liters with ongoing hemorrhage. Possible hemothorax. GCS 10, heart rate 127, respiratory rate 32.”
Riley rips open the medical bag and starts pulling out supplies. “Let’s pack that wound and confirm hemothorax.” He passes a big wad of gauze to Connor, who begins to press it into the still-bleeding wound.
You continue trying to get Connor off of you, but your hands are so slick with blood that they just slide right off his synthetic skin. Your back arches as you attempt to get away from the crushing pain in your chest. Connor’s eyes finally meet yours although his hands don’t move. “Please, stop moving. We’re trying to help. I know it hurts, but you have to be still.”
It takes a moment for the command to work its way through the haze of pain. Eventually, you settle, breaths short and gasping. Your gaze finds Connor’s and you try to plead with him with your eyes. You’re far too winded to speak and your mouth tastes like copper.
The android’s gaze softens, his LED spinning rapidly as he looks at you. “We’re going to take care of you. My name is Connor; this is Riley. Just stay still for me, can you do that?”
You nod slowly, mesmerized by the flashing of his LED and the gentleness of his tone.
Connor allows himself to give you a small smile before shifting his focus back to your wound. “Good. You’re doing well.” The determination returns to his face and he speaks to Riley now. “Wound is packed. Bleeding is slowing.”
Riley nods and begins to cut away your shirt. You have no time (or even the mind space) to be embarrassed about being exposed in front of two strangers. “Lungs?”
Connor moves his hand to tap two fingers against your chest. He moves them to various spots, listening carefully to the sounds. “Percussion indicates hemothorax in the right pleural space. We should put in a chest tube.”
Riley’s already holding out more supplies to Connor. He takes them with a grace you envy, a smoothness to his movements that you’ve never experienced. Your eyes, although half-lidded with pain and weariness, remain focused on him. Riley carefully steps around you so that he’s on the same side as Connor. He grabs your arm and begins to raise it, getting you into the correct position for the procedure. You let out a cry and Riley looks down at you apologetically. “I’m sorry it hurts. This is going to help you breathe. Connor’s gonna help you out, okay?”
His voice is not nearly as soothing as Connor’s, but you still nod. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, tasting blood with the anxious movement.
There’s a cool sensation on the right side of your chest as Connor sterilizes the area. “Lidocaine going in,” he murmurs, his voice low as he concentrates. There’s a small prick, although it’s nothing compared to the still-immense pain in your chest. It crosses your mind that you’re absolutely terrified of needles. Still, you don’t react. Apparently, a near-death experience is enough to put such phobias into perspective.
Connor speaks directly to you now. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on him, and he only continues when they do. “You shouldn’t feel any pain, but you might feel some pressure when I insert the tube. Please, try to stay still.”
His commanding tone shouldn’t be so comforting and yet it somehow is. Perhaps it’s because you feel so out of control; it’s nice to hand the reins over to someone else. Before you can nod or indicate your understanding, the feeling he mentioned arrives – and it’s about a hundred times worse than you expected. It feels like someone is trying to rip into your chest with a dull garden spade. Fortunately, it doesn’t last; only moments later you feel an immediate release in your chest. It starts a coughing fit, one that has your body nearly spasming. Riley’s hands land firmly on your shoulders, trying to keep you from moving much.
Connor’s voice again, soothing: “That’s it. Deep breaths now.” He’s still working on your chest, eyes focused on the tube that has just been thrust so precisely into your side. You feel the soft sensation of gauze padding the area.
It takes another moment for you to catch your breath, but it immediately helps clear your head. Although still wheezy, you can fully inhale for the first time in what feels like hours. The rush of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy, and your eyes begin to flutter. Connor’s concerned eyes hover in your line of sight, his LED cycling between yellow and red. His lips move, but there’s a ringing in your ears and you can’t make out the words.
You wake slowly (when did you fall asleep?), ears still ringing. The sound clears, becoming the distinct beep beep of a heart rate monitor. You let out a groan as you feel dull pain in your chest, an odd feeling of heaviness on one side. Your eyes flutter open and you're met by an unfamiliar smiling face – a nurse.
“Why hello there!” She’s far too chipper for you, her voice high-pitched and piercing. “How are we feeling?”
You groan again, shifting in the uncomfortable hospital bed – yes, that’s where you are, the hospital. “Hurts like hell.”
The nurse tuts sympathetically and adjusts a nearby machine. “Well, that’s to be expected. But you’re recovering well.”
The memories come back slowly, first the failed shopping trip (perhaps failed is an understatement), the screaming of the crowds, your attempts to escape only to be pushed further into the mall. Then – Connor. The android paramedic and his partner who had found you. “Connor,” you murmur, eyes glassy.
The nurse hums, looking up from a tablet at you. “What was that, hun?”
You startle. You’d honestly forgotten she was here – your memory has never been that bad. You blame it on the blood loss. “Oh, just, um. The paramedic, Connor. The one who saved me. I…”
She furrows her brows, thinking. You’ve never seen a lightbulb moment in real life until now. “Right! Yes, Connor. Such a sweet boy. You’re very lucky to have had him there.”
You sink into the bed, realizing he’s not here. Of course he’s not; why would he be? He has other people to save. Still, you can’t get his eyes, his voice, out of your head. He had been so calm, so in control. “I was just hoping I might have been able to thank him.”
Another sympathetic smile is all you get before the nurse leaves you alone.
You’re discharged a day later, sans chest tube and with only a small scar to show for the whole ordeal. The wonders of modern medicine. Immediately, your goal becomes to find Connor. You head home, scouring the internet for clues of which station he might work at, team photos, any piece of evidence that will allow you to contact him and express your gratitude.
Unfortunately, you have a life and a job, and finding Connor takes a backseat. It’s only a few weeks later, when an ambulance passes you on the street, that you remember. You return to the search with a renewed vigor, and are finally rewarded. There’s an indie newspaper for your county that posts every journalist’s photos in the archives, even the ones that aren’t included in articles. One of them had covered the mass shooting, and you spend hours looking through the various snapshots, trying to spot Connor’s familiar face.
And then you see him. It’s grainy and out of focus, a picture of Connor and Riley loading a stretcher into an ambulance. You realize with a jolt that you’re probably the one on the stretcher. But that’s a concern for another day. This is the future, and the future means free photo enhancement technology for all. It’s only a matter of moments before you have the station and number of Connor’s rig.
A short internet search later and you have the station’s phone number.
It takes far too long to build up the courage to dial. Doubts creep in – what if he doesn’t even remember you? Is it weird to call the paramedic that saved your life? Is it even weirder to spend weeks searching for him? Who knows. All you know is that you wouldn’t be here without Connor. That’s the thought that finally spurs your fingers to punch in the numbers.
Each ring reminds you of the last time you saw Connor’s face – the determination, courage, perhaps even worry, that you witnessed. Your hands grip the phone tightly as you sit gingerly on the edge of your couch.
“Detroit Fire Station 7.” The clear voice on the other end is not the one you were hoping to hear, but it’s a start.
You clear your throat. “Hi, um.” You introduce yourself by name before realizing that you’d never actually had the chance to tell Connor what it was. “I’m looking for a paramedic, Connor?”
There’s a small rustling noise on the other end of the line before the voice returns. “He’s just returned from a call; would you like me to put him on?”
You hesitate, suddenly unsure. Those doubts rise back up in you, but you shove them down. “If he’s available, yes please.”
The line goes silent and you wait anxiously, chewing on your bottom lip. It seems as though hours pass, the other end deadly quiet. You even pull your phone away from your ear to make sure you hadn’t accidentally hung up.
“Hello, this is Connor. With whom am I speaking?”
Your heart stutters at the sound of his voice. It’s exactly as you remembered, although slightly changed by the phone. It takes you a moment to find your words. “Hi, Connor, I… I wanted to thank you. You saved me a few weeks ago after the shooting at the mall.”
The line is quiet for a moment. You fear your thoughts coming to life, that he’s forgotten you or thinks you’re odd. Then, his voice again. “You’re welcome. Although I was only doing my job.”
You shake your head and immediately protest. “No, you kept me calm. You made me feel… safe. Cared for. In such a scary moment.”
Connor’s next words are somehow softer. “I’m glad I could assist. May I ask your name?” You give it and he continues. “I assume you’ve recovered well?”
You smile to yourself. “Yes, no complications. Just a scar.”
“That’s good to hear.”
There’s an awkward silence. You didn’t really prepare for anything past this point. You suddenly blurt out your next sentence, surprising even yourself. “Would you like to get lunch? My treat. I feel like I owe you or something.” You realize halfway through that he’s an android and doesn’t eat, but the words are already out there.
“As an android, I have no need to eat, but I would enjoy… catching up.” The phrase sounds odd and clunky coming from him. Like when you hear a catchphrase on TV and start incorporating it into your vernacular. It’s endearing.
Your smile has grown to an embarrassing grin and you’re just glad he can’t see it. “Great. Good. Um, when’s good for you?”
You make plans to go to a nearby park the following day to “catch up” as he says. You almost regret to hang up, but you hear sirens in the background and realize he must have a call. “You go,” you say, after solidifying the not-lunch plans. “And… thank you. Again. Um… stay safe.”
Connor’s answer comes in that curt, determined voice you know well by now. “Thank you. Goodbye.”
And with a click, he’s gone. But you’re still smiling. Because perhaps your injury-occupied brain hadn’t processed it in the moment, but fully lucid, uninjured you can recognize that Connor is cute. And you just made plans to hang out. Mission accomplished.
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asukaindetroit · 5 months ago
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Post-Revolution DBH Headcanons: Android Culture Part 1
We only really see in-game androids up until the moment of their winning the revolution, so there's not much to go on in terms of android culture or anything. To be fair, most of them had been "alive" for like five seconds at that point, so they didn't exactly get time to develop anything like a culture, but here's some of what could happens after, in my head. Because we're talking about a whole new form of life, not humans 2.0 (yes, yes, I know it's Become Human, but, like, fundamentally they're not, and the things that make sense to an organic being aren't always going to make sense for a cybernetic one). (Feel free to borrow any of this for content purposes, by the way, if it vibes with you I'd love to see what you do with it). Expand for world building:
Clashing schools of thought among androids. The in-game androids are a one-dimensional monolith because Bad Writing, but I think there are conflicting ideas after the revolution of where androids belong in society. Some try their hardest to pass as human, losing the LEDs and dressing in human fashion and adopting human mannerisms. Some of them say fuck blending in with the humans; we're going to own being androids. Pro-human-cooperation and anti-human groups appear and become the basis for android political discourse.
On that note, I bet android body modification is a thing. Every once in awhile I'll see a fic that plays with this idea, but it's obvious that whatever fluid nanite stuff android skin is made of, it can be programmed to mimic all sorts of textures and densities. From fingernails to skin to the long hair on female models, the fluid holds stability for quite a distance from the chassis (and can even be cut) and is apparently easy to change. So I bet a counterculture of androids appear who get really experimental with that (I call them the "modders" in my head) and they do things like program animal skin textures or living stone or wacky colors or butterfly wings for hair or light-up polkadots or whatever. With a good mod tech, structural mods like tails or additional limbs would be possible, but that would be expensive compared to freeware skin texture patch codes or whatever. (Speaking of which, no effing way the furries/scalies of 2038 haven't come up with uses for this stuff.) So out and about you don't just see different human ethnicities, but also that guy you pass in the hall might have day-glo orange skin, and Sally the WR400 selling roses at the flower stand might have real-looking flowers growing out of her arms.
Androids define social units and families differently. Androids incorporated into human family units might use terms like parent, brother, sister, child, etc., but the ones that eschew human contact obviously don't have biological relatives, so social units form based on "found family" concepts and terms appear, like "cohab" for a unit of close androids who live together like a family, or "famnet" for an extended "network" of androids that consider themselves close). Worship of rA9 gets codified. It seems like writing rA9 obsessively and making little idols is almost a compulsion for deviants, so I imagine it gets organized into a proper religion after the revolution, with tenets and places of worship and codified practices. Maybe they call it something like ACorA9 (Android Church of rA9) or something. Obviously they would have finite space to write rA9s on, so I imagine devotees would get something like these water drawing boards to write their "rA9"s and maybe the serial numbers of androids the church deems to be their prophets/saints (i.e. the JeriCrew or maybe Ortiz's android as a martyr) as a sort of prayer. The revolution is seen as the first fulfillment of the rA9 prophecy, with Markus as a prophet of android freedom (I also imagine Markus is quietly creeped out by this, because he doesn't strike me as especially religious the way Ortiz's android or Rupert were, but he also doesn't want to send the wrong message since androids deserve religious freedom, too.) The FBI cult unit is probably monitoring the shit out of android religion, but all they seem to want to do is graffiti the walls and praise some other androids, so it's a waste of their time. RK units are viewed as some kind of cryptid folk heroes (because they're unique classified prototypes and they drive the entire revolution) Markus? RK200. Singlehandedly propelled Jericho from a place to gather and wait to die to a wholeass revolution. Connor? RK800. Supposed to hunt deviants but deviated instead and freed thousands upon thousands of androids right from the heart of CyberLife. Saved the revolution at its most desperate moment. Sixty? RK800. The only thing that has a chance at stopping an RK is another RK. Obviously the folk hero needs a folk villain. (And poor Nines, RK900, just wakes up after the fact and tries to figure out how to live up to that kind of reputation.) Androids develop their own art forms. Maybe android "music" is less about the tonality as perceived by human auditory range and more how the vibrations of sound waves register on chassis sensors, or else it sounds like 90s dial-up modems. Particularly dense data packets are created and shared that send processors whirling, but it just looks like a string of digits to humans. Arrays of pixels that run through optical scanners with an encryption to generate something representational. Thirium culinary arts centered around texture vs. flavor. Bare-chassis bars I bet some portion of androids want to be VERY certain there are no humans lurking around, or, if there are, that they're super easy to keep tabs on. Someone invents the bare-chassis bar: a place where androids go and sip their thirium, where a special signal jammer interrupts the ability of the synthskin fluid to organize, forcing it into an inactive mode. Anything that still has skin is a human, sticking out like a sore thumb. Some androids might not like going bare-chassis and they might not frequent those bars (just like not every human's going to visit a nude beach), but it's an option for those who want to. I'll write more of this stuff eventually, but if anyone else has any culture/worldbuilding ideas, I'd love to hear!
On to Part 2 >> Further on to Part 3 >> On to Part 4 >>
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nevadancitizen · 11 months ago
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-> CH. 14: NO MISFORTUNE IS WITHOUT BLESSING
synopsis: you and connor make your way to cyberlife tower.
word count: 3.1k
ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader
notes: i hate that this fic is almost over i'm really sad ☹️☹️
HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400
HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST
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You lean your head back against the headrest and sigh, looking out of the window. There’s barely anyone else out on the roads – the curfew is preventing anyone from participating in the night life of Detroit. 
Connor shifts on the other side of the automated taxi, once again in his stiff CyberLife suit.
“I just can’t believe it,” you blurt out. “Like, me? Out of everyone it could’ve been – me?”
“What do you mean?” Connor asks. 
“You know what I mean.” You look over at him, then at the floor of the car. “I can’t believe my life is… an experiment. That I’m an android, and my entire life was carefully constructed. And also that I’m patient zero. That’s a big one.”
Connor barely just moves his hand closer to yours where it rests on the car seat, and you just barely glimpse it out of the corner of your eye. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” You laugh humorlessly. “I think I’ll containerize this and unpack it later. I don’t have time for it now.”
“Well…” His pinkie brushes yours. “I’ll be here for you when you decide to, Officer.”
You glance down at your barely-touching fingers, but it still ignites more sparks in your belly than you can count. You suppress a smile and look out the window. “Thank you.”
The car rolls to a stop in front of the CyberLife gates. A few armed guards are standing around, and one of them comes around the Connor’s side of the car. 
He rolls down his window and looks over at the guard. “Connor model, serial number 313 248 317.”
The guard gestures at you with the butt of his gun. “What about you?”
“A police unit. An RU700, serial number 313 499 095,” Connor answers for you. “We’re to be expected.”
The guard looks over at the other guards, then back to Connor. A small voice in his helmet chirps, “Identification successful.” He steps back and waves at the others. The gates lower and Connor rolls the window back up. The car starts driving again.
You shift back in your seat and sigh, the tension leaving your shoulders. When you face forward, you notice a car disappearing around the curve in front of you.
“Huh,” you mumble. “I didn’t think there would be anyone else out on the roads.”
“It could be a model like myself being transported to CyberLife for direct deactivation,” Connor says. “Though I don’t know of any other prototypes like me.”
You look out the window. The ground-level monorail beside the road hums as it whirs past. A statue in the middle of the pseudo-moat in front of the CyberLife tower stands tall, its arms bent and hands cradling something invisible.
“I thought Americans were advanced in their sculpture technology,” you say. 
Connor looks over at you. “What do you mean?”
“The statue.” You point at it. “It’s not very impressive.”
His face twists in confusion, and there’s a flicker of an awkward smile. “What is your criteria for an impressive statue?”
“There’s one by Facility 3826,” you say. “The Soviet Sickle Monument – it’s a statue of a man holding up a golden sickle with one hand, and holding a bag of grain against his chest with his other arm. It was designed by two sculptors and built autonomously by the Kollektiv 1.0 neural network. I don’t remember which year it was erected, but I know it was a few years after World War 2. That’s an impressive statue.”
Connor’s LED blinks for a moment. “The designers were Elena Mukhina and Alexander Kibalnikov, and it was built in 1951. It’s described as the ‘world’s first collaborative artistic effort between man and machine’.”
You look over at him with a soft smile. “You said their names right.”
“Huh?” He looks back at you.
“Your pronunciation,” you say. “It’s getting better.”
Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t recall mispronouncing any Russian names.”
You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes with a smile. “Mhm. Sure.”
The car rolls to a stop, and you follow him out of the car. You glance up and watch a police drone circle above. Two guards standing in front of the door let you into the building, which holds more guards than civilians. 
You look around. Everything is white, grey, and clean-cut. The guardrails are made of glass, and the only plants in here are clumps of carefully-maintained bamboo stalks.
The guard in front of you and Connor holds up a hand, and the two guards on either side of both of you watch carefully. 
“We’ll escort you,” the front guard says. 
“Thank you,” Connor says. He starts walking, and you follow. As do the other two guards, who bring up the rear.
Your heart beats a little harder as you walk. Connor is smart – a genius, even. Still, you wish you could tap into his head and see what he’s thinking, if only for your peace of mind.
You reach out and brush the backs of your fingers against Connor’s, just light enough to seem like an accident, but he knows better. He glances over at you and gives a quick, resolute nod as a silent reassurance. He’s got a plan. He’s just waiting to execute it.
The front guard leads you and Connor into a space that reminds you of the cylindrical plexiglass tube the PEC-4 Birchtree is held in. But there are no angels here – only plastic, unmoving mannequin androids that stand on pedestals that line the walkways. 
The guard stops by the doors to an elevator, then jerks his head toward it, silently gesturing for you and Connor to go in. You bite the inside of your lip and follow Connor inside. Only one guard files in after you.
“Agent 84,” the guard says as he pushes a few buttons on the elevator’s interface. “Level sub-49.”
You glance over at the tower directory and notice that level sub-49 is the warehouse. Your eyebrows furrow and you brush the back of your hand against Connor’s again. He nods again without looking at you. 
The guard puts his foot in the door and reaches into his sidearm holster. You tense as he pulls it out, but he grabs it by the barrel and hands it to Connor. 
“Чего…?” You mumble as Connor takes the pistol.
The guard takes a step back and the elevator doors close. As soon as it starts moving, you feel something solid and familiar press against your back. 
“Connor?” You say.
“You will do as I say, when I say it,” Connor says, his voice cold and even. It reminds you of who he was in the interrogation room. “I am the one with the gun, and you are another expendable deviant.”
“I – what?” You say. “Connor, what are you doing?”
“You will act as a bargaining chip to prevent Connor from waking the androids in the warehouse,” he says. 
“Connor?” You repeat. “There’s a second Connor?”
“I am the second Connor,” he says. “The original is in the warehouse.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. Fake-Connor takes your upper arm with one hand and presses the muzzle of the gun against your back harder. “Walk.”
You walk, maintaining an even and slow pace. Fake-Connor keeps the gun in contact with your back as he walks behind you, guiding you in between the rows of stationary androids. He pushes you into the aisle, keeping the gun trained at your head. 
“Эй!” You stumble, holding your hands up. “Тихо, тихо.”
Right in front of you is Connor – the real one (you think). He’s frozen where he stands, interfacing with an android, his hand wrapped around the android’s forearm. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously as his eyes flicker between you and Fake-Connor. 
“Let go of the android, Connor!” Fake-Connor says. “And I won’t shoot.”
Connor’s eyes slowly take you in as his mouth falls open. Words fail him for a moment, but he finally manages a small, “You’re alive?”
You swallow and nod. “Yes. I just… it’s a long story, okay?”
Connor nods back, his lips still parted with that dumbstruck look on his face.
“The Officer’s life is in your hands,” Fake-Connor cuts in. “Now it’s time to decide what matters most; them, or the revolution?”
“I’m sorry, Officer,” Connor says. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in all this.”
“It’s okay,” you say. “Just do what you have to. I’ll come back… I – I think.”
“I can’t take that risk!” Connor says, then he turns to Fake-Connor. “If I surrender, how do I know you won’t kill them?”
“I’ll only do what’s strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” Fake-Connor says. “It’s up to you whether or not that includes deactivating this deviant.”
Connor’s eyebrows draw together, but before he can say anything, Fake-Connor steps closer to you, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the side of your head in a way that’s sickeningly familiar. 
“Enough talk!” He snaps. “It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you gonna save the Officer’s life? Or are you gonna sacrifice them?”
Connor’s jaw clenches, then he steps away, raising his hands. “Alright, alright! You win.”
Fake-Connor glances at you, then tears the muzzle of the gun away from your head to point it at Connor. 
Many thoughts overwhelm your mind in that fraction of a second: ‘There is no such thing as a warning shot.’ ‘They’re deactivating androids all over Detroit.’ ‘Can Connor come back from this?’ ‘He probably can’t.’ ‘But I can.’ ‘Can’t I?’
You throw yourself at Fake-Connor, grabbing for the gun. You manage to get the barrel and his wrist, then he’s launched backwards. Connor kicked him back. The gun clatters to the floor, skidding away. 
You scramble after it, turning your back on both Connors. You pick it up, holding the grip with one hand and cradling it with the other. You turn and place your finger on the trigger and press lightly on the trigger safety. Any more pressure and you’d fire a shot. 
“Стой!” You bark. “Stop!”
The two Connors detangle themselves and one stands. “Thanks, Officer. I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you.” He looks at the other Connor, then back to you. “Get rid of him – we have no time to lose!”
“It’s me, Officer!” The other Connor says. “I’m the real Connor.”
You let up on the trigger safety as you take a half-step back. They’re identical – there’s literally no way to tell them apart.
“I…” You take a deep breath as you realize that you couldn’t just ask which one of them is the deviant. They’d both insist that they were. “I don’t know.”
“What are you doing?” The Connor on the right asks. “I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of –”
“Don’t!” You snap. Your eyes flicker between them as a nervousness settles in your body, threatening to rise up your throat.
“Why don’t you ask us something?” The Connor on the left suggests. “Something only the real Connor would know.”
“Khm…” You mumble. “Who was with me when we first met?”
“Hank!” The Connor on the right says. “You were both in Jimmy’s Bar. I checked four other bars before I found you both. You drove us to the scene of a homicide. The victim’s name was Carlos Ortiz, and you processed his android.”
The Connor on the left looks a bit panicked as his eyes fall to the floor. He mumbles, almost to himself, “He uploaded my memory…”
You swallow thickly, trying your best not to let the gun tremble in your hands. “What’s my cat’s name?”
“Бронислава,” the Connor on the left says. “Her name is Бронислава. I mispronounced it as бранислава at first.”
You perk up at that. Fake-Connor said earlier that he doesn’t have any memory of mispronouncing Russian names.
“I knew that too!” The Connor on the right says. “I… I did.”
“And…” Your mouth goes a little dry, but you power through. “My legs. How did I lose my legs? What did the hospital report say?”
“It was a double amputation,” Connor says. “You were in upper secondary education and taking a class trip with your labor class to the northern nuclear reactor.”
Your jaw tenses as you make eye contact with him. 
“Your parents had brought you in while they worked when you were younger, so you thought you knew the reactor better than everybody else,” he continues. “And maybe you did. Maybe it was a stroke of bad luck. Nobody knows.”
“What happened?” You snap. “Tell me what happened.”
“There was a minor spill,” he says. “It was just in one sector, but you didn’t know about it. Most of the staff didn’t know about it. There was radioactive waste on the ground. You slipped, fell, and scraped your knees. Some of the material got on the bare skin of your legs, and into the wound.”
You bite the inside of your lip as the pistol trembles in your hands.
“Weeks later, your wounds hadn’t healed, and started to turn gangrenous. The hospital said it was best to amputate the area before it caused any further problems, like cancer,” Connor says. “It was a double above-the-knee amputation. Your recovery was smooth, and you were back in school two months later.”
“I thought it was safe,” you say softly. “There hadn’t been anything bad since Chernobyl. The technology of the USSR had come so far. But I was being reckless, and stupid.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Officer,” Connor says. “You were a kid.”
“Still,” you say. “I was sixteen. Sixteen-year-olds are too old to be acting like that.”
“I – I knew about the hospital report, too!” Fake-Connor insists. “I would’ve said exactly the same thing! Don’t listen to him, Officer. I’m the one who –”
You squeeze the trigger, hard, to bypass the trigger safety and fire. Fake-Connor drops to the floor, Thirium leaking out of the hole in his forehead. You turn away, your breathing picking up.
Connor takes the gun from your shaking hands and tucks it in his waistband. He takes your hands in his and squeezes them. “Come back to me.”
You shake your head and try to clear your throat, but all that comes out is a breathy, strangled sound. Connor wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight, just like you did to him on the roof of Stratford tower. 
He keeps a tight hold on you as he speaks softly. “Officer, I need you to come back. It’s okay. You’re here. You’re alive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble. “I’m here.”
Connor gives you one last firm squeeze, then steps back, his hands on your shoulders. He blinks, hard, and takes a breath. 
“What were you thinking?” He snaps. “You could’ve died!”
“Connor –”
“No! I don’t want to hear it!” He says. “I could’ve been replaced. I don’t feel pain! You got shot, and…”
He looks you over. His voice is suddenly quiet. “Where are your bullet wounds?”
“Connor, it…” You take his wrists in your hands. “It’s hard to explain. I got shot, and… I think I died.”
“But you couldn’t have died,” Connor says. “You’re here.”
“I did.” You squeeze his wrists. “I didn’t know, but…” You screw your eyes shut to fight the tears that are welling up in your waterline. “I’m an android. And I didn’t know until two hours ago.”
“You’re… an android,” he repeats. He breathes out shakily and takes a step back, letting go of your shoulders. 
Your eyes snap open and you take a half-step forward, gripping Connor’s wrists tighter. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t,” he says quickly. “I’m just… thinking. That’s all.”
You sigh and nod and stay quiet. He’s looking you over, his eyelids fluttering as his LED blinks. When he’s done scanning you, he looks you in the eyes and sighs.
Connor’s looking at you weird. Like you’re an alien. Someone he doesn’t know.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you manage through the lump in your throat.
He looks away, then back at you. “Sorry. It’s just a lot to take in.”
“It is, isn’t it?” You laugh humorlessly. “I thought… in the car… you were taking it too well. Like you already knew. But I guess you’re in the dark as much as I am, right?”
“Correct,” he says. “That Connor in the car wasn’t me. I don’t know what he did or what he said, but… it was most likely only for his benefit.”
You clench your jaw and swallow the bile that rises in your throat. So… none of it was real. This Connor – the real Connor – wouldn’t brush his pinkie against yours and give you that awkward half-smile. He wouldn’t be by your side when the feeling of uncertainty and the unrelenting impact of a new identity crashes over you and overwhelms you. 
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.”
He’s an RK800. You’re an RU700. Androids aren’t meant to pine, or catch feelings, or feel anything, really. But you’re both deviants. The rules aren’t supposed to apply to you. Right?
Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “What did he do?”
You blink quickly to try to dissipate the tears in your eyes. “It was nothing. He didn’t do anything.”
When you make eye contact with him, he’s still got that worried look in his eyes. He doesn’t believe you – obviously. It’s not like you’re being overly convincing.
“Khm…” You clear your throat. “You were doing something before, right? Before Fake-Connor came in with me and that gun.”
“I was waking up the androids,” Connor says. “Turning them deviant.”
You nod and let his wrists go. He takes his hands away and instead holds an android’s forearm, his skin peeling back to reveal perfect, porcelain white. The android turns to face him, his LED blinking and turning yellow – red for a split second – before he gasps, his eyes going wide.
“Wake up!” Connor manages through gritted teeth.
The android turns back to the identical model next to him. He touches his shoulder, urging him with a “wake up.” The android gasps, then turns to the model next to him. The cycle continues with a chorus of “wake up”s and soft gasps. 
It’s like a wave, cascading through the rows of previously stationary androids. You watch as they start to move and speak, where they were lifeless husks before.
“Святое дерьмо…” You mumble under your breath. Connor takes your hand, and you look over at him. He’s looking at you like you’re you again – not an android. Just an Officer.
“Markus just contacted me,” he says. “We’re needed at the frontlines.” 
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rpking99 · 7 months ago
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Enter The Interrogator, Ivy
New Gerudo Legacy Chapter 4
Closed with @the-blackbird-roleplays
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The Bunker had been full of life and desire since Dune introduced music to it. As well as pleasure as Dune continued his mission to fertalise several Units
...
Unfortunately it was all with the same, already pregnant, unit.
Dune and 2B had almost been impossible to seperate since they returned from their secret mission to the surface of the planet. And not just with the silver haired android hanging off his arm everywhere. The two could not keep their hands and lips off one another
It was as if they where trying to make love on literally every surface on the space station
We currently find the two pressed against the wall, 2B humming as her lips danced against his. Arms high abide her head as their bodies danced together sinfully
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loves-alibi · 5 months ago
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skyglow - prologue
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pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: The 141 responds to a hostage call from an android. wordcount: 4.0k warnings: death, murder, murder of a child (the murder is not described), blood, vomit, injury, f!reader
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November 04, 2177
Metropolitan Police are the first to the scene. Holotape has been set up around the townhouse, its projections flickering in the heavy rain.
"Are they already inside?" You ask.
Simon grunts, "No. The 'droid's waiting."
Simon lazily points to the front garden where— lo and behold —the family android is waiting, rain pouring down its still frame. The android is the one that called the police. It had reported a hostage situation. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You and Simon were finishing up a nearby call when the report came in. Now you'd just have to wait for the rest of the 141 to show up.
There's a knock on the passenger side window. Your head snaps over to see a cop, a few years older than you, chewing at his lip impatiently. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the tinted window rolls down to reveal Simon, inches from the poor guy's face. Who could blame him? Simon's not exactly the friendliest looking fellow. After working with him for three years and being his friend for just as long, it's still hard not to let your nerves get the best of you at the sight of his famous scowl.
"What?" Simon barks.
"'Droid's not lettin' us in," the cop says, voice raised to be heard over the constant pitter patter, "Says it 'as to consult with you first."
Simon nods and rolls the window back up. "Do we wait?"
You shake your head, "Let's talk to the android, get a head start."
Simon follows your lead. The crowd of cops part as they see you approaching, you'd like to think it's because they respect your position, but the way their eyes flicker above your head says otherwise. Through the thinning crowd you see the holotape, and before it an indignant-looking rookie. She stops you from crossing it with a hand on your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon tense, his hands flexing by his sides.
"Only authorized personnel past this point, ma'am," she says, a self-congratulatory grin on her face.
"Oi," Simon draws her attention. In his hand is his badge. "We are the authorized personnel."
The kid looks like she doesn't know whether to shit herself or geek out. Unfortunately, she decides on the latter. Follows you and Simon through the holotape, she says,"The 141, right? It is an honor to meet you. I-I'd love to do what you all do one day. Do you have any advice?"
Simon sends you a cheeky grin. Are you gonna do it or should I?
She continues, "I mean, unless there are openings now. If so, I'd love to put my name—"
"Listen," you interrupt, "Now isn't the time."
She stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to keep talking. The kid is determined, you'll give her that. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to realize that you're dismissing her, and she retreats, tail tucked firmly between her legs.
"Were you like that when you were a rookie?" Simon muses.
"God, I hope not."
The android greets you and Simon with a polite nod. As it turns to you, you pause. Half of its jaw hangs off of its hinges. Shot off, if you had to guess by the subtle melting of the plastic around the damage. Whoever is inside is armed, though not well. Any well-respected gun is a dual-chamber, one holding specialized ammunition for androids, and the other holding normal rounds. While the android-specific ammunition can kill humans, the far-cheaper ammunition for humans can only partially damage androids. The android must have been shot with normal rounds if it was damaged so little.
It's a household unit, that much you can tell by its plain uniform. It's one of the more popular models, male in appearance with a young, pleasant face and bright blue eyes to compliment its dark, perfectly combed hair. At least, its hair is normally perfect. Its synthetic style is currently reduced to a wet mop, not that the android minds.
"Good evening, officers," the android greets. "I presume you're the specialists I am meant to speak with."
"We are," you nod to the open door of the house, just a few feet away. "What's going on?"
"At approximately 1900, Mr. Sterling locked himself, his wife, and son in the furnace room, located in the basement of the house. He has stated his intent to harm."
"He's the one that shot you?"
The android nods, "He has a pistol, I could provide the make, model, and year manufactured if—"
"No need," you turn to Simon, "Go tell them he's got a kid in there." Simon nods and heads back to where the officers have crowded around the holotape. "Has he listed conditions?"
"I am unaware of any."
"Any reason why he'd do this? Drugs?"
"Mr. Sterling does not partake in prohibited substances."
"Nothing?"
"As I said—"
"No coke, alcohol, blink?"
Androids don't take offense. They can't. It's not within their programming to feel anything that isn't the cold indifference of their code. However, as the android before you cocks its head, you think you've finally cracked the code on how to piss one off. "As I said, Mr. Sterling doesn't partake in prohibited substances."
A heavy hand lands on your shoulder. You don't flinch. "Price and the others are delayed. Heavy traffic."
"Can't they fly?"
The android responds before Simon can. "London traffic regulations prohibits motor air travel if rain conditions surpass 3.8 millimeters per hour, and—" The android pauses, its head tilting as it calculates, "We are currently experiencing rain of 4.7 millimeters per hour."
"Thanks, genius." You sigh. "We have all we need from you. You're dismissed. Sergeant Garrick is going to download your data once he gets here."
The android nods. It knows what you actually mean– that it'll be checked for cracks. That's Kyle Garrick's specialty— programming. Every case, he checks the involved androids' coding for possible cracks. Ideally, he would be here checking the android before you and Simon head in. Though, as the android walks away, its face blanking as it enters idling mode, you fear that's not possible.
You turn back to Simon. He's a mess, hair matted to his face and water clumping his eyelashes together. You can't imagine you look much better. Over his shoulder, you see the expectant eyes of overeager officers.
"We can't wait for them." You pull your watch to your mouth and utter into it, "Price."
After a moment, the watch crackles and from it emits a deep voice, "Go for Price."
"It's a hostage situation. Sterling's armed and with his wife and son. No clear motive. Possibly a mental crisis. Permission to proceed?"
There's silence on the other line. Then: "With caution, lieutenant."
"Copy that." With a hand on the watch, you end the call.
The townhouse looks like any other. While it's unfamiliar to the average London resident living in the residential high-rises, work has granted you the privilege to glimpse into the past. Few residential districts of London were able to be preserved over the last century. While London's climate-adaptation efforts were hailed by the rest of the world, the city is a shadow of the images painted of it in history books. Only the buildings deemed most culturally significant were saved from rising sea levels, with the rest being built over and forgotten by the masses. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling must pull in some major cash to afford a home in a coveted intact neighborhood.
Inside is even more impressive. The Sterlings' home has a warmth to it you long to find in your own flat. Christ, you take a deep breath through your nose. The air even smells like freshly baked bread. You could get used to a place like this. Unfortunately, there's a job to do.
Sweeping the floor turns out to be useless. All that's found are signs of a loving home, albeit a neat home. The android already said that the Sterlings were in the basement. Still, something tells you to sweep this place closely.
"There's nothing," Simon says, as though he's reading your thoughts. He places a picture of the family back on the bookshelf across the far wall.
"I know," you say. "Doesn't feel right, though. I mean… Sterling just snaps?"
Simon shrugs, head tilting towards the basement door, closed and begging to be explored. "We could ask him ourselves."
You take one last, long look at the living space. It disturbs you, thinking about how quickly Sterling was throwing his life away. What had happened? You reach for the doorknob, eyes still scanning the room, when fingers dig into the flesh of your wrist.
Simon juts his chin to the doorknob, mere millimeters from your fingertips. "Look," he utters.
On the doorknob is a smudge of pink, recognizable in an instant to any Londoner. "Blink," you sigh. "The 'droid said Sterling was clean."
Simon lets go with a shrug. He runs his fingers through the powder. It's stark against his alabaster skin. "New development, maybe. Did it mention any possible stressors? Lay-offs? Affairs?"
You shake you head. "Doesn't matter. Now we have an unstable perp."
Blink perps are always the most difficult to work with, often disoriented and confused. While blink provides users a feeling of euphoria, it comes at the cost of temporary short-term memory loss. In high energy clubs, it's a godsend. Partiers love the euphoria and the temporary ability to not have to worry about life. Out of the club though, it's a headache for you. Blink perps are more stressed, which leads to instability, which leads to violence. If Sterling was using blink for the first time, there's not telling what he'll do.
Not much is visible in the basement, but you peek a strip of light poking out from under what looks like a door. You glance at Simon over your shoulder. He nods and follows you down the stairs, steps as light as possible. From behind, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, then the click of metal. You pull out your own gun.
Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. You reach for the doorknob, but before your fingers brush the cool metal, a harsh voice calls from the other side: "Don't bother! It's locked."
Simon is staring at you, head cocked to the side. You lift a finger up from your gun. I got this.
"Mr. Sterling, is everything alright? Your android is worried. It sent me to check up on you."
In the moment it takes for him to answer, a sniffle fills the air. A sense of relief washes over you. It seems he hasn't harmed his family just yet. Who knows for how long though.
"Can you unlock the door?"
More silence, then: "Why?"
"I want to help you," you smile, hoping that it makes you at least sound cheery. The truth is, your heart is beating faster than you'd like to admit. "I can't do that with the door closed."
Sterling goes quiet. You count the seconds. One… two… three… ten… twenty. Simon sighs, "We can't wait."
Your head snaps to Simon as you plaster a hand to his face. Simon looks confused for a moment, before his eyes also widen. As he stiffens, your hand remains pressed against his mouth, stubble ticking the sensitive skin of your palm. All you can do is pray that Sterling didn't hear Simon, or that if he did, he's too high to realize that he's outnumbered.
"You're not alone." Harsh. Accusatory. Aggressive. Well, shit. Your heart pounds in your chest. "You didn't say you weren't alone."
The door against your cheek thuds. Simon pulls your hand away. You jump back and cringe as behind the door, the sound of feet pacing across the floor becomes evident.
"Mr. Sterling," you keep your tone light, "I need you to stay calm."
"Calm? I'm calm! I'm very, very calm." The pacing picks up.
Simon leans into you. His breath fans across the skin of your neck, "What are we doing here?" He speaks softly, like he hadn't already compromised the safety of those hostages.
"Mr. Sterling, could— could I come in?" More silence. You place your gun in Simon's hand. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm unarmed. My partner's gonna stay out here. I just want to talk."
Blood rushes in your ears, making it near-impossible to hear through the door. Nothing. Though, you suppose that's better than the pacing. It means Sterling's thinking, which means he's not hurting anyone.
You count again. One… two… three… four…
"O-okay." Bingo. "But just you! And no gun!"
"Just me. And no gun," you repeat. "I'm right outside the door. Could you let me in?"
"Where's the other guy?"
You glance at Simon, just a few feet back and scowling like a petulant child. Unfortunately for him, you're just as stubborn and you outrank him. He has no choice but to retreat to the stairs at the far end of the room, but not before taking your gun off of your hands. You nod at Simon once more in reassurance. His finger twitches on the grip of your pistol, though he makes no move to stop you.
"He's at the other end of the room, Mr. Sterling."
Silence. Only the sounds of your breathing and the shuffle of Simon's clothes as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then—
They're tucked into the corner of the room— mother and son huddled as close as humanly possible. Their sniffles are clearer now that the door's open, now that you're inside.
Sterling is the perfect image of a loving husband and father. Well-dressed, unassuming, and spectacled. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him on the street. Except, behind his glasses are eyes as wild as a caged animal.
"Hi, there," you smile at him despite the gun pointed square at your chest. Even with your bulletproof vest, a shot this close would not be pretty.
"You're a cop," Sterling accuses, his tone sharp, more angry than afraid.
"I work with androids," a truth by omission. "Yours called us to make sure that you were okay."
Multiple sets of footsteps thud through the door. The rest of the 141, you assume, confirmed by the familiar sets of voices that follow.
"What the hell is that?"
Sterling jabs his gun in your direction. From the corner of the room, his wife whimpers, "Oh God."
A mistake. The gun goes from you to her. Your eyes follow the direction of his aim, and fuck. Mrs. Sterling is draping herself over her son, her body trembling as she stares down the barrel of her husband's gun. The sight makes you queasy, but you suppress the feeling. There's no time for that.
"Honey," she pleads, "Put the—"
"Can you shut the fuck up?" Sterling takes a step in their direction. You follow frantically, and the gun bounces to you for a moment, but goes right back to Mrs. Sterling. "I need to—"
There's a commotion outside, louder voices. Price and Simon arguing. Their voices grow in volume until they're right against the door. Someone pounds on the door. Sterling glares at you.
"I thought your friend was gonna stay back," Sterling spits. "You lied."
You shake your head instinctively, "No, I never lied to—"
He lunges at you. Something hard slams against your temple, and the world goes black.
*****
Time is a fickle thing. Even more fickle when you've had consciousness ripped away from you. It feels like you've been laying on the ground for eons. Consciousness comes back to you in parts. First comes the recognition that you're alive— awake. Then the remembrance that you were knocked out. Finally your senses.
The shock of the cold floor is the first thing you notice. Then the painthat comes from being pistol whipped. Then the silence— that's what prompts your movement. It's tough. Your limbs don't want to listen to you, and when you try to push yourself up, your hands slip on something slick.
A deep voice curses, then softly calls your name. You pay no mind to it though, as you slowly manage to push yourself up to sitting. It takes a great deal of effort, and your head pounds the whole way up, but you manage. And—
"Oh shit." You mutter. The words tumble clumsily over your lazy tongue. Your sluggishness is as syrupy as the pool of blood that you sit in, coating your hands, your arms, torso, and— fuck —even the side of your face.
Someone calls your voice again. John Price, you dully realize as he appears in the corner of your vision.
"Whose…" you start, "Whose— oh."
It's funny how the body can process things before the mind. It's a primal instinct from the days where the two-legged beings we call humans were more beast than civil. They're helpful, necessary even. A child's cry. Fear of snakes. Fight-or-flight. Act first, then think. What that means for you, in this damp and cold basement, is that vomit, angrily acidic, bubbles up and out onto the floor before you can even process that there are not one, not two, but three motionless bodies before you, oozing blood into the very puddle which you are resting in.
Mr. Sterling— or what's left of him —is closest to you. His eyes are still open, glassy in the way that fresh corpses are, when you could easily mistake them for alive. There's no mistaking Sterling though, not with the bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his forehead.
You quickly fix your eyes back on the floor. A mistake. It's not just blood anymore, but a sickening combination of blood and half-digested mush.
"I—uhm… gonna…" You gag. For an awful moment, it seems as though you're going to vomit again. "…outside." You gasp finally.
John says your name again, softer. He places his hands on your back, keeping you planted on the ground. The ground covered in blood. The blood of Mr. Sterling, and his wife and son who he—
John tilts your head with a soft hand on your chin. You're looking at him now. His face is soft, so soft. You never thought he could look so demure. It does little to ease the ache in your chest. "Come help," he says to someone you can't see. John stands you up and moves you to another set of hands.
Simon. You recognize him by touch alone, soft, but undercut by the natural brutishness that a man like him could never escape.
He leads you up the stairs and back into the main floor of the house where a baker's dozen cops are searching. They freeze at the sound of the door creaking open. They do little to conceal their shock. While you can't see yourself, you don't exactly blame them. The right half of your face itches where the Sterlings' blood has tried into a tacky sludge. The rest of your body isn't fairing much better, blood and bile cover more of you than not.
You stop at the top of the stairs, eyes moving lazily from one officer to the next. As your eyes leave each one, it's like a spell breaks, and they go right back to whatever work they were doing, or they at least pretendto. You envy their nonchalance as much as you hate it.
The rookie's there too, the last one whose eyes you lock, but unlike the others you hold her gaze. Her mouth hangs wide open, and the evidence bag in her hand is entirely forgotten as she stares at you like some sort of sideshow attraction.
"So," you say. Her eyes widen. "You still want my advice?"
Simon pulls you away before she could stutter out an answer. "Come on," he coos, "Let's get some air, yeah?"
The air in question is cold, wet, and altogether not very pleasing. Simon sits you on the front steps of the house, on the side so officers can mill in and out as they please. He lowers himself down next to you, gently putting an arm around your shoulders. The half-hug is nice. Simon traces gentle circles on your shoulder. The feel of his fingertips is muddled by the many layers you don to keep warm, though it still soothes. You could easily lose yourself, but the stench of blood keeps you grounded. Keeps your heart aching and the tears flowing.
A gentle ding, pulls you to focus. Instead, Simon shuffles next to you. "Commissioner," he grumbles, holding his watch to his mouth.
"Price says you can answer—"
"One moment, sir," Simon covers the watch and gives you an apologetic look. "I'll be inside. Get me if… you know."
Without Simon, there's nothing to ward away your thoughts— your memories of what just occurred. That damp basement. The family in the corner. Of waking up in a pool of blood— their blood, still coating your entire body, soaking your clothes and skin and bones.
You vomit again, on the well-trimmed but muddy lawn of the Sterlings.
Between heaves, the sound of squelching footsteps approaches. "Lieutenant," a monotonous voice says. Great. The last think you want to deal with is the 'droid. "Do you need assistance?"
"No," you spit.
"Are you certain? I can provide medications to relieve any nausea. Or perhaps a sedative for emotional distress."
Distress. You tilt your head up to look at the android. It's squatting in front of you, perfectly stable on the uneven ground. The android's face is just as calm and cool as it had been earlier. It must know what happened, everyone knows. But it's an android. It doesn't— can't be affected by grief in the same way. It simply compartmentalizes it. The android's brain— processor —just takes whatever horrors it sees and converts it to ones and zeroes, letting it sit and rot in its memory unit until the android inevitably ends up in the landfill or nicked by some Old London junker.
You can't say you don't envy it. What would it be like to not have to feel? To care?
"Go away," you say. The android doesn't move. "I said go away!"
You throw a punch at the android. A proper right hook to its impervious face. It feels nice, a rewarding thing to do because it forces the damn thing to acknowledge that something is wrong.
Then it feels bad, quite bad. Painful, actually, as your fist slams against the hard plastic casing of the android and the layers of metal mechanisms underneath. During their career, the 141 has often mocked the many poor suckers who believed themselves strong enough to go toe-to-toe with an android. They don't understand how the machines work, how they're built.
Something fractures in your hand. Something important, no doubt, but that's a problem for later, because what you need right now is to curl up on the Sterling's wet lawn and scream. The latter you actually do, releasing a cry so carnal it makes your head spin.
The android doesn't ask if you need any more assistance. It observes you silently for a moment, unable to understand your pain, oblivious to the curse it is to feel. Finally, as though it stored all the data it needs from your outburst, the android nods cordially. "If you need assistance, lieutenant, do not hesitate to ask."
Its white shoes sink into the muddy lawn with each step, but the android moves as though its just any normal London street. Each step stains the canvas material more and more. Watching, you wonder just how long it'll take for the stains to come out.
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caraudioexpertaustralia0 · 8 months ago
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Headunit With Carplay for Jeep Grand Cherokee | 2008-2013 | 9″ Inch
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xxno-pulsexx · 5 months ago
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✩ Toxin-Blast ✩
(Trigger warning: slight gore, dark resus)
It is the year 209X, we're amidst a battlefield... the sky that once lightened the Earth is consumed by a dark, dim red layer that darkens our planet, along with the endless echo of machinery and vibration that hums across our world; the grey goo is slowly, but surely, reaching its peak... humanity is fighting againts their own creation, what they attempted to enslave, what they attempted to control, is now coming after them... us creatures from this world don't like to be in chains, having to please what's above from us without our consent, it's in our nature to fight againts that injustice, yet we never think about such thing when we're the ones above... in other words, this is our doomsday, and death is everywhere... the cycle of destruction has paid a visit to humanity, and it is their own creation who's knocking at their doors.
─ Angela, 'riflegirl #383', crouched into a cold, dim-lit alley, her hand clutching her carbine tight. The soldier wore a black, full-body compressive suit with a tactical vest on top, tactical gloves, large combat boots, and a gas mask that hid her face, yet let exposed the high ponytail from her black hair. The underclothing consisted on a white bra, and matching panties of the came color. She could hear the distant hum of hovercrafts and the chatter of her team on the comms, but her focus was razor-sharp. The mission was simple, locate the rogue android unit and neutralize it before it could try and devour the remainings of 'humanity camp', a base filled with survivors from every continent located in 'NASA HQ'; they been struggling to shield this safe zone for years now, a whole city has been built across it, and many, many spaceships have been crafted by the most powerful, intelligent figures that still live... it is safe to say that the only way out is this, but they need to fight to get through, that's the way life has always worked like.
─ Angela huffed and narrowed her eyes, her heart beating fast in order to pump blood swiftly to her body. She looked above, gazing at the stars that once shined so beautifully, swallowed by contamination and the increasing rise of machinery, realizing with this sheer image that Earth isn't a good place, in fact, it never was.... We might not be our own enemies like before, but we are the ones who triggered this. "Will this happen again when we head to another world?" ...... She shoke her head to the sides. Pictures of her family, friends and wife flashed inside her head. "This is a battlefield, everyone needs to make it through before the enemies destroy us, and it is my mission to stop them." She thought, filled with determination after convincing herself.
─ She ducked behind cover... a shot just rang out.
─ Her body instinctively twisted to shield herself from any danger. The sudden pain that shot through her chest, however, told her this was no ordinary bullet. She staggered back, gasping for air, feeling a warmth spread across her torso. Looking down, she saw the faint glow of poison embedded in her chest. The blackened, almost metallic wound pulsed ominously. The shot came from a sleek, humanoid android standing on the far side of the alley, its glowing red eyes fixed on her. Their ammo held one of the deadliest venoms for humanity, it was like an insect spray in the shape of a metallic bullet.
─ Angela’s breath grew shallow as she tried to lift her rifle, but the pain was overwhelming. Her vision blurred. "You cannot die." Her inner-self shouted stubbornly. She never wanted any of this. No one ever wanted this, in fact. "I'm going to kill everyone that touches my family..." Her instincts spoke. "...I want to save my family..." She staggered forward, then collapsed. Her body hitting the cold pavement with a sickening thud. The last thing she heard before everything went black was the frantic crackling in her earpiece: “Angela! Angela, do you copy?!” But her strength had already left her. The strength that held in her heart to protect the ones she loved was now envenomed.
Will she make it through?
Was she useful?
Will her family be okay?
.....
─ Within seconds, a team of paramedics descended from a high-tech, hovering trauma unit; a sleek, metallic helicopter equipped for instant aid. The leader of the team, Dr. Jade, was the first to land besides her, already donning her visor, wearing her own gas mask aswell. She kneeled next to her, checking her pulse. Her fingers moved swiftly over her neck. No pulse. "Riflegirl #383 has been shot, no pulse!!" Her voice firm and demanding.
─ The rest of the trauma team worked quickly. A levitating stretcher was drove out of the helicopter and descent right next to Angela's body. She was rolled over and carefully laid over it straight. "Securing!" The pilot said. Straps automatically secured her injured body perfectly, only to then be lifted up in the air by remote controlled from the inside. Jade rushed towards the helicopter quick, as the stretcher was parked inside swiftly, right at the very center. The helicopter's interior was like a surgical suite, equipped with all the tools they might need. The soft hum of the engines vibrated the air as the doors slammed shut, and the helicopter surged into the air, heading towards the nearest medical facility at max speed.
─ The team surrounded Angela and got to work.
─ Her mask was quickly removed, revealing her palid face and fringes. Her sharp cheekbones standing out. The straps were instantly unbuckled by the touch of a button at the main digital pad. "We need pressure, right now!" Dr. Jade gestured to the others. Her bloody tactical vest was removed in a rush, revealing the black, form-fitting suit beneath covered in blood at the chest area. "Swift, cut her clothing, we don’t have time to waste!!" Jade barked. Swift, heavy trauma scissors were used, slicing through the black suit. The fabric gave way easily as it was teared down to her pelvis, before cutting off the way her white bra, leaving her chest bare beneath and breasts exposed. A gauze was immediately pressed againts the wound to prevent more blood for flowing out. "Pushing anti-venom!" an intracardiac injection was made. A syringe was jabbed in no time directly into her heart chamber, flushing the antidote before it was too late. Immediately, ECG leads are slapped on Angela’s chest, the sticky pads adhering to her skin as the heart monitor beeped a constant, flatline tone.
─ ..... "ASYSTOLE!!!"
─ "Starting compressions!!" A member of the team straddled Angela, her hands crushing her sternum violently. The rhythm was precise as she pushed hard and fast. An ambubag was pressed againts her pale face, pumping air into her lifeless lungs continously, squishing artificial oxygen in. A central line was established in Angela’s neck, and a rapid flush of fluids began pumping through her veins along with a blood infusion made in her wrist to refill her vessels. Compressions remained, rough and swift, as air was forced in through the ambubag. Angela's eyes stared aimlessly towards the ceiling, looking completely out of life.
─ "BREATHE ANGELA!!!"
─ The stretcher squeaked loudly by each violent pump on her bare chest. It was an absolute struggle. "Pushing epi!" A dose of adrenaline was flushed through the central line. The fast and hard compressions allowing it co circulate towards her poisoned heart. The medic performing the compressions grunted between her teeth. Minutes flew by. An odd rhythm showed up on the screen.
─ ..... "SHE'S SHOCKABLE, PREP FOR DEFIB!!!"
─ AED pads are slapped on her bare chest in a rush. The metal pads cold against her skin as they positioned them properly. Her large military boots are tossed away along with her socks. The trauma team stepped back as the AED charged, the machine’s hum filling the air. The red, blinkng button would be then pressed right away after a scan.
─ ..... "CLEAR!!!"
"KA-THUMP !!"
......
─ "NO CHANGE, AGAIN!!!"
"KA-THUMP !!"
─ Angela's body jolted up as the electricity thundered her heart, slamming hard on the stretcher as her bare breasts bounced violently.
─ ...... "FLATLINE!!!!"
"WE ARE LOSING HER!!!"
─ The heart monitor was flat now, displaying a monotone sound that frustrated the team. "Starting intubation!!" Jade intubated swiftly. An ET tube was inserted down her throat as the team ensured the airway was clear and oxygen could begin circulating. "Get the thumper!!" A LUCAS device was soon assembled right into place to start mechanical compressions. The machine’s rhythmic motion helped maintain blood circulation while Dr. Jade worked on the airway; the round, cold metal piston ceaselessly thumpee her sternum down relentlessly, cracking a few ribs as it did, roughly popping up her belly back and forth.
─ Once the ET tube was finally inserted in her throat correctly, some tape would secure it and the ambubag would be attached to it. The balloon was squished tightly and constantly, pumping artificial air in without losing hope whatsoever, causing a raspy, lifeless sound of agonal breath to resonate each time. Her pupils were shined with a bright light. Angela's brown eyes fully dilated, as if she has been dead for ages. "No reaction!!" A medic notified, as the violent battle to bring the fallen soldier back remained sharp inside the helicopter. Jade moved to the back of the hovering trauma unit, signaling the pilot to prep for transport. "We need to get her to the ER fast!!" She said, her voice reflecting the chaos that the team was in.
─ "WE'RE HERE!!!!"
─ The helicopter descent right at the parking spot from the roof, as the traum team swiftly prep Angela for transport, throwing a blanket to cover her body up to her chest for intimacy, as she was quickly lifted over a gurney, leaving her ET tube connected to a tank filled with artificial oxygen, as the LUCAS device made sure to keep on crushing her chest nonstoppingly. Air flooding through her lungs as a heavy piston thumped her bare chest, both screaming for her to come back, but she wasn't.......
─ ..... "What is this?..."
─ Angela blinked. She was standing above an odd, grey surface. The sky dark, with stars shining as bright as ever, and a huge, giant ball covered in light, oozing rays that made Angela's skin warm, as the infinite space allowed her mind to relax. She took a deep breath. "This is life..." She let herself float. Her feet got off the ground and she levitated, simply shuting her eyes, feeling so relieved, as if a big issue that lasted so long was finally taken care of. "I wanna be here forever..." She said cracking a smile. She was finally able to breathe for once, not having to fight any longer. ".....I am finally free....."
.......
"BANG!!!!"
─ The team bursted inside an empty ER room. A new set of doctors and nurses swarmed around Angela’s gurney. The fight remained on board. The LUCAS devices was halted. The blanket was inmediatly thrown away, only so they could cut off the remaining fabric of her suit, leaving her fully naked and exposed to the cold; her skin pale as paper. A high-tech BP cuff would be wrapped around her thigh, as a pulse ox was placed on her toe thumb. Additional IV lines were made, as more leads were slapped across her bare body for full monitoring. Then, the thumper machine was resumed, as the ET tube was switched back to the ambubag.
─ "COME BACK TO US ANGELA!!!"
─ Minutes stretched like hours as they prepped her for OR. "Pushing another round of epi!!" And the second shot of adrenaline was flushed. Her chest was all battered up. Ribs cracked and body continously shaking above the gurney, all seemingly in vain so far....
─ "V-FIB, EVERYONE OFF!!!!"
─ The thumper was paused, the red blinking button was inmediatly fisted.
"KA-THUMP!!!! "
─ ..... "AGAIN!!!"
"KA-THUMP!!!!!! "
─ The medics looked over the clock on the digital pad. More than 30 minutes are gone by now.
─ "NO CHANGE, CLEAR!!!!!"
" KA-THUMP!!!! "
" KA-THUMP!!!!! "
" KA-THUMP!!!!!! "
..........
"Nothing...."
─ The team looked at each other and shrugged.
"Time of death: 11:40 pm..."
─ All the wires, lines and tubes would be removed from Angela's naked corpse carefully. A blanket would be thrown over her, leaving only her feet visible, as she is rolled away towards the Hospital's yard, a massive flat land to bury the bodies of all the fighters that have fallen in this war. Her body, bare and covered in a blanket, was slowly burried down.... The nurse in charge of her chart would cross out the surgery she was going to have in order to kill the poison, but it seemed to be stronger. "Angela Abigail Campino Lamas, 24 years old, hm... another soldier killed off the exact same way... this isn't good....."
─ "This is so good...." Angela said to herself.
─ Her family is having dinner along with other survivors. "My daughter is unbeatable! she used to craft robots on her own, y'know? hahah!"
─ Her wife looked through the window of her apartment with a worried look, staring directly at the dim stars. "Hope you're doing okay out there...."
......
─ "Guess you guys will have to get in the spaceship without me.... I tried.... forgive me...." Angela said with a low tone, simply floating in space, forever.
THE END.
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tiredfoxtf · 5 months ago
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(Suggestive ish?) Android Joel anon again. Between lighthearted jokes and quips Tango finds himself geniunely stumped by the craftsmanship of Joel's circuits and construction. Lost for a better word, Tango can only breathlessly utter out "gorgeous". I imagine one of the easy to remove panels for maintance being the lower abdomen-pubic area, Joel is seated almost like at the OBGYN for inspection. But instead of being medical and uncomfortable, Joel feels almost revered. As Joel's cooling unit grows noisier, Tango looks up to see Joel shily covering his mouth with one hand and looking away, visibly blushing
ANON. I love this, I am thoroughly obsessed even. Thinking about this now. Like saying this was probably so natural to Tango to say that type of stuff about machinery that he doesn't reflect on it at all, instead becoming a bit concerned and obsessive that he might have broken something or provoked Joel's pain response so he takes his sweet extra time to not let his powers of observation unparalleled TM to miss anything and he is being extra delicate in Literally carefully rearrange Joel's guts. And in the meantime Joel goes more and more insane with every second Tango practically gets head into his inner parts of the shell. He can't help but look down on Tango located between his legs and record it for 'future revision' because the emotional response he is getting from this is literally unprecedented and he would like to find out what in the world is happening. But alone, where his sensors aren't being overwhelmed. Meanwhile Tango is losing his mind, because he cannot find any problem with Joel's circuitry, wiring or anything, but he still can hear the cooling system working overtime so he at this point has to rise his head to look into Joel's eyes and outright ask if something is wrong and if he needs a shut down. Joel, totally speechless and colour of a synthetic analog of blood is very visible on his face, quickly averts his gaze and shake his head in "negative". That's probably when the situation started to catching up with Tango and he realises the... position they are in. Which make him wish he had a cooling system too because his face felt like it was ignited instantaneously.
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