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WangXian Week 2019 | Day 6: Reunions | In which after 13 years of imprisonment for a crime he didn’t really commit, WWX and LWJ reunited. [Android AU]

Written for WangXian Week 2019 @wangxianweek

Title: Viral [Part Two of Two] Day: 6 – Reunions Summary: After thirteen years of imprisonment, Wei Wuxian is finally reunited with Lan Wangji. Everything has changed, he thinks — this time, for good. [Android AU] Characters/Ships: WangXian; featuring android!Wen siblings, Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen, android!Lan Sizhui, android!Lan Jingyi Rating: PG-13 A/N: Prequel to “For Man and Machine Alike”.

Read Part One.

“Wei Wuxian… Wei Wuxian! Get up!”

“… Wen Qing? What’s up?” Wei Wuxian rubbed his eyes, still gummed down from sleep. He’d once again fallen slumber at his desk — nothing unusual for the workaholic engineer these days — but his spine and neck ached in sharp, jabbing pain when he stood up, his back slightly hunched from the terrible posture and general exhaustion.

“T-there’s something wrong with Ah-Ning!” Wen Qing, who had been programmed to act composed to perform her tasks as efficiently as possible in all sorts of emergency and stressful scenarios, was pulling her creator’s sleeve in a desperate attempt to make him move faster. Only now did he notice the cuts and tears of her clothes, and her messy hair that fell limply over her forehead. “Please, you have to run a scan on him.”

Wei Wuxian glanced over at her, and saw that the hazel in her eyes was displaying genuine fear for her sibling unit. For whatever reason, Wen Qing had always “felt” a sense of affinity with Wen Ning ever since she “woke up” and started running, as if they were a real family. Wei Wuxian found it fascinating and so decided to leave that setting alone to observe how it would develop. Over the years, the strength of their kinship had only grown sturdier, which was as strange as it was enthralling.

Despite the uproar of the public of how AI and androids should never be mistakenly treated as actual human beings, Wei Wuxian wanted to argue that androids, to a certain extent, could feel and express authentic emotions that were as real to them as they were to humans’ experiences of them.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“Downstairs, in the lab. I… I had to lock him up.” Wen Qing almost looked ashamed of herself.

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand the gravity of the situation until he set foot into his laboratory in the basement of his residence: expensive equipment had been shattered and strewn about, and bits and pieces of the projects he’d been working on for the past few months had been scattered into a mess that would take way too long to tidy up and put back together.

“…What the hell happened here?”

He gingerly picked up a fragmented limb of what was to be his next project in the WEN series, an android he’d tentatively named Wen Yuan for the moment. The rest of its body — head, torso, and one of its legs — was still sitting on a steel table in the corner, a tangle of cables thankfully still attached to the various parts of the android, its face oddly peaceful as if it were merely asleep and untouched by the violence around him.

“I-I don’t know!” Wen Qing replied as they approached the room that she’d locked her sibling unit earlier on. From the window, they could see Wen Ning prowling like a caged animal, his kind, green irises turned grey, and his arms transformed into numerous of gun barrels sticking out in odd, sickening angles. “One moment, we were just talking normally, and then the next, he was in complete combat mode.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Wei Wuxian muttered, palm pressing against the window so hard that his skin was turning white. As if he could detect his creator’s presence, Wen Ning slowly turned towards the window, his head twisted into an impossible angle — steel grey irises staring into troubled scarlet ones through the thin layer of glass — as the warfare android advanced towards them, the dark void of the barrels along Wen Ning’s arms aiming directly at his creator and sibling unit.

He opened fire, bullets raining against the window, cracking it but not enough to break through it entirely… yet.

“This makes no sense,” Wei Wuxian pulled Wen Qing back until they could stand as far away from the agitated android who finally broke through the glass and easily jumped over the ledge, bits of broken glass fell to the ground behind him, crisp and deadly. “Only my voice could activate his combat mode.”

He turned sharply to Wen Qing. “Where did he go yesterday? Who came in close contact with him?”

“We gave a presentation and held a demonstration session for newly-recruited cadets at the Lanling military base,” Wen Qing recalled, “that was it.”

“Lanling military base…” Wei Wuxian murmured under his breath, his frown deepening from the mentioning of the name. Just two months ago, he’d received an invitation from his stepsister Jiang Yanli, who’d wanted him to come and celebrate her marriage to Jin Zixuan, a respected lieutenant and grandson of the old general who had total military control of the Lanling province, with the rest of their family and friends.

Wei Wuxian made up an excuse to be absent from the ceremony, but due to this shift in the Jiang and Jin families’ relationship, he found no reason to deny the Lanling government’s request to have his prototype units gave a demonstration for their military’s cadets, especially since the government had invested a lot in Wei Wuxian’s WEN series as well.

“But some of the recruits had been very enthusiastic and curious about Ah-Ning’s composition, and you know how he gets with kids,” Wen Qing tightened her fists by her sides. For an android designed for utter destruction, when he was not in his combat mode, Wen Ning could be worryingly nice to strangers. “One of them must’ve planted something into his system — some sort of spyware or something.”

“We can’t run a scan on him right now,” Wei Wuxian uttered, “not when he’s in this state. But whatever’s been planted within Ah-Ning, it’s changing the codes of his learning algorithms that has overridden his decision-making system and completely superseded the voice-control function.”

Wen Ning was already half way across the room, and he showed no signs of stopping his actions or recognizing his sibling unit and the robotics engineer who built him.

“Unit WEN0411, cease your operations at once!” Wei Wuxian tried, his voice hoarse.

Another step forward. The metallic clinks of his bones and tendons and the blank stare of his unseeing eyes only meant a certain fate: one that ended with the death of his creator and a world of chaos.

“Wei Wuxian…” there was a tremble to her voice when Wen Qing spoke his name, “activate my combat mode.”

“…What?”

“This is the only way you’ll come out of this alive,” Wen Qing continued, her jaw tightening in resolution. Her programmed personality was surfacing again, her codes dictating her to perform the most important duty she was designed to do in the most efficient way possible: she must protect those who were in dire danger so that less damage could be done in total. “I don’t know how many other units have already been infected by Ah-Ning since yesterday, but the virus must be spreading through the city like a wildfire right now, and you’re the one who can put a stop to this.”

“Wen Qing, we don’t have to do this…”

“Yes, we do! You know we do!” Wen Qing shouted, though her sharp gaze remained trained on her sibling unit who she no longer recognized. “You’ve come this far. Don’t start being a coward now.”

So, was this how fragile the affinity between android units truly was? Torn apart by a foreign spyware. Completely erased from their memories due to the presence of a virus that only consumed and modified in frightening speed and fatal precision.

Wei Wuxian shivered as he allowed Wen Qing to shove him back and watched the medic android walking towards Wen Ning. For the first time in his life, he truly feared his own creations that he’d always took pride in.

“Unit WEN0812, activate combat mode.”

vi.

Imprisonment sapped the life and spirit out of most, but it was oddly kind to Wei Wuxian, who, other than looking a little slimmer and the shadows beneath his eyes a little more bruised, looked nothing like a man who’d been in prison for the past six months.

“Guess you were right about me all this time, huh, Lan Wangji?”

“I wish I had been wrong.”

‘I wish I had tried harder.’

“What’s happening out there?”

“The government has issued recalls. Not only of the units you designed, but others that were produced around the same time period.”

“And the LAN series?”

“We’re putting it on hold for now.”

The conversation briefly halted.

Wei Wuxian wanted to apologize; he knew how important the Linear Aegis Nurturer series was to the head engineer of Gusu Robotics, who’d spent the past few years perfecting the codes and blueprints, focusing on the nurturing and social welfare elements, of what he hoped would become an accommodating addition to the community.

He wanted to apologize, but the guilt in him wouldn’t allow it. It had swallowed and consumed everything that he cared about.

“I’ve overestimated my own abilities; I thought I could play God — I thought I was making the world better. I’m such a fucking fool.”

“It’s not your fault. Someone uses your androids to spread the virus and wants to watch the world burn. This isn’t you.”

“But I helped make it happen, even if I hadn’t meant to. I should’ve been able to spot the loophole and patch it, but I didn’t. The fault is all mine.”

“I will find the person who planted the virus.”

“What’s the point?”

Wei Wuxian smiled at him through the thick glass, and Lan Wangji wanted to smash the barrier between them with his bare hands.

“Lan Wangji, will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

vii.

Wei Wuxian told him about Wen Yuan. The second generation of the WEN series was going to be his attempt to combine elements of a companion android and that of a combatant; the unit was not designed to be used for military or police auxiliaries but for those who were in search for either platonic or romantic partner with some added traits of a protective guardian that had at least as much abilities as a proficient soldier unit.

“I’ve hidden him and some of his core parts in one of the warehouses that the Jiang family owns. Once this craze dies down, will you… will you retrieve him for me and reprogram him?”

“Reprogram him… in what way?”

“In whatever way that you find fitting,” Wei Wuxian smiled wistfully. “I trust your judgement. You’d make him a better android than I ever could.”

“That’s not true.”

Wei Wuxian chose not to argue this time.

Two years and four months had passed when the storm finally dissipated. The initial rage of mass recalls conducted by the government had urged thousands of humans, especially those who were weary of AI’s presence in the first place, to hunt down specific android models gradually dwindled down. Irrationality and terror at last burned itself out, enough that the government had started to restructure the robotics industry with stricter regulations and severe penalties for those who broke the rules.

While the sales and production rates of androids dropped significantly during the two years since Wei Wuxian’s arrest, the market only became more demanding once the restrictions and bans had been lifted.

In a warehouse far from the city center, Lan Wangji found the remains of Wen Yuan. He carefully packed the parts and brought them back to his own laboratory, where he proceeded to finish putting together the hardware of the android unit. The coding, however, proved to be the more challenging portion.

He remembered Wei Wuxian telling him to completely re-program Wen Yuan’s codes, but the foundation was already set, and Lan Wangji wanted to salvage whatever codes that regulated Wen Yuan’s original personality as Wei Wuxian had first intended: loyalty, compassion, and benevolence of a companion android; ferocity, selflessness, and courage of a soldier. It took him more than two years to perfect the codes and programming, and by the time he completed the project, Gusu Robotics had already released a few prototypes of the LAN series androids.

Standing next to the engineer now was one of the first models of the LAN series — unit LAN0168, also known as Lan Jingyi, a childcare assistant android. The initial release of this unit had stirred up two extreme reactions in the spectrum among the consumers and general public: on one hand, many parents, daycare centers, and schools truly appreciated the addition of such efficient assistance in the household and educational settings, but on the other, people who still remembered the slaughter and chaos stemmed from Wei Wuxian’s AI creations contended that these androids would only be a source of unnecessary risk and danger for their children.

Still, the demand for it continued to increase despite some outrage, and LAN0168 quickly became a successful and popular model since its launch.

“Master Lan, who’s this?” Lan Jingyi, who’d remained by his creator’s side since he first started operating several years ago, asked, his boyish curiosity making his eyes light up with a hint of gold. He circled around the unit, which was still “asleep” with its eyes closed, its lips frozen in a very subtle smile as if it were having a pleasant dream.

“LAN0112,” Lan Wangji replied in a quiet tone, and then with a softer, gentler voice, he corrected himself, “Lan Sizhui.”

“What sort of an android is he supposed to be?”

“A companion unit designed to fulfil emotional and sexual needs as necessary, with the user’s choice of having him as either a platonic or romantic companion.”

A perfect partner.

With the help of Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji unplugged all the wires attached to the sleeping android’s body.

The very last step was to activate the unit, to breathe life into this android.

Using careful, probing fingers, Lan Wangji located the small knob behind the curve of the unit’s right ear. He slid the pad of his index finger across it, and heard a soft click inside the body, followed by quiet whirring hardly discernible even when he was standing this close.

“LAN0112, wake up,” Lan Wangji whispered the command.

One heartbeat. One long, slow exhale.

He opened his eyes gradually, irises honey-toned and gaze as warm as the late summer sun scattering through the green foliage. He focused on the first face he saw, and gave the human a small, timid smile.

“Hello, I am LAN0112, a companion unit of the Linear Aegis Nurturer series by Gusu Robotics. Thank you for choosing me to accompany you. Before we start, would you like to give me a new name?”

“Lan Sizhui,” Lan Wangji said, patting the android on his head gently, and the newly-awaken unit leaned against the tender touch with a quiet hum, like a cat happily and calmly appreciating its owner’s affection. “From now on, your name will be Lan Sizhui.”

viii.

“You know, Lan Wangji, you really don’t have to do this.”

A robotic arm, without any pretense or concealment of artificial skin covering the cold and angular metal, reached out to take the mug of coffee offered by one of the android assistants in Lan Wangji’s personal laboratory.

Thirteen years in prison hadn’t diminished his passion in robotics, but it did make him reconsider his priorities and purpose in his creations. Fellow prisoners did not take lightly to Wei Wuxian’s crimes, and more than once, he was attacked by a group of anti-AI protestors, who were prejudiced against all androids from the start, and targeted Wei Wuxian again and again.

In the hopes of destroying him, they crushed his arms — the essence of his genius artificial intelligence creations — but the pain was nothing compared to what he had put Jiang Yanli and her child through. He’d heard about the news from Jiang Cheng himself — it was the only time he’d visited him during the thirteen years he was in prison — that Jin Ling had become an orphan because Jiang Yanli grew too sick and never recovered after her husband’s death in the war against androids about a year ago.

Jiang Cheng lost his sister because of him.

Jin Ling lost both of his parents because of him.

Losing his arms seemed like nothing compared to the desolate emptiness when your loved ones left you for good.

Wei Wuxian stared at the swirling, milky-brown of his coffee held in his metallic hand The sensors on his fingers allowed him to feel the hard gleam and mild warmth of the ceramic, but he knew he would never be able to touch and feel in the same way as he used to anymore.

Some people would call that irony; others would call it karma; for Wei Wuxain, however, he saw it as rightful punishment for what he’d done.

He didn’t deserve the kindness that Lan Wangji was showing him. It was too much, and Wei Wuxian was unsure of how to act.

“I want to,” Lan Wangji said, tone firm and sincere.

“I mean, I’m honored that you’re offering me a position at Gusu Robotics, but what does your brother think about that? The RAC can’t be happy about it, either — the biggest and most influential robotics company harboring an ex-convict and giving him a job? You’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Brother only considers one’s talents and aspirations; your past does not dictate or define who you are.”

“And the RAC?” Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow.

“Not important right now,” Lan Wangji assured him.

After a second of stilted silence, Wei Wuxian broke into a wild, booming laugh, and Lan Wangji looked at him bemusedly.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when you outright defy the RAC,” Wei Wuxian explained through lingering chuckles, and he took a sip of coffee in an attempt to calm himself down. “I’m proud of you, Lan Wangji, really, I am.”

“I’ve found out who planted the virus,” Lan Wangji suddenly said, and the other engineer froze.

“…It’s fine,” Wei Wuxian heaved a soft sigh a moment later after he’d digested the unexpected news, a small smile making the red in his eyes that much subtler, less domineering than they used to be. “I told you, didn’t I? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t do anything about him,” Lan Wangji said, tone dipped in biting cold, “he’s apparently important enough that the government has made sure no one can compromise him.”

“I don’t want to instigate anything anymore,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning back against the office chair and cradling the warm mug in his lap. “I’ve wasted thirteen years in prison — well, I suppose it wasn’t really a waste since it gave me a lot of time to think, y’know. Too much time, sometimes.” He laughed again, but this time the sound was self-depreciating, bitter, and Lan Wangji wanted to rip that away from him.

“I don’t want to waste more time dwelling on things that I can no longer change.”

“…I understand.”

“Anyway, you said you wanted to show me something? I do love surprises. Well? What is it?” Wei Wuxian had always been good at changing subjects during times like this, and so Lan Wangji let him.

He nodded, and called for someone to come in.

At his creator’s beckoning, an android unit strolled into the lab.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes grew wide with instant recognition.

“Wait… wait a fucking minute… Is that…? Are you…?” Wei Wuxian stood up abruptly and walked towards the android, who was slightly shorter than him.

“Master Wei, I hope you can accept Master Lan’s proposal to stay in Gusu Robotics and work alongside with him,” the android with the face and body of a young man in his early 20’s greeted the engineer with a courteous smile.

“Wen… Yuan?” Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure. The anatomical and facial aspects of the android he designed and built himself thirteen years ago were similar to what he remembered, but the way the android spoke and carried himself — the natural elegance, the pleasant, amiable manner, and the soothing, serene voice — Wei Wuxian could see the shadow of his initial design, but under Lan Wangji’s crafting hands, this second generation of the WEN unit had grown into something else entirely.

“I am called Lan Sizhui now, but Master Lan had told me everything about you,” Lan Sizhui smiled gently at Wei Wuxian, the expression exuding nothing but earnestness and gratitude. “Master Wei, you are my first creator — the one who conceptualized and conceived me originally — but Master Lan took me in, fixed me up and finalized my programming after you requested him to do so, and since then I’ve been staying with Master Lan and helping him as one of his lab assistants.”

“So… what category of android do you belong in?” Wei Wuxian didn’t want to seem rude, so he reined in the awed staring as much as he could, but he could tell — from the color of Lan Sizhui’s eyes to the voice chosen to best fit his personality — that Lan Wangji had poured his heart and soul into this android’s design and programming.

This unexpected joint project of theirs stirred up another rivulet of inspiration inside Wei Wuxian, who’d thought that after thirteen years of being imprisoned, the flow of creativity that used to run in his veins so easily and naturally had been completely sapped dry.

“I’m a companion unit, but unlike previous models of similar units, I have two settings that allow the purchaser to choose from in accordance to their needs and wants,” Lan Sizhui lifted his arm so that his hand, palm facing upwards as if he was offering Wei Wuxian something precious, was at the level of his chest, and a holographic display window appeared above his palm with the words presented thus:

{For your best experience of this unit, please choose from the following settings: Platonic Companion or Romantic Partner.}

“After the user has picked a setting, more details regarding different aspects of my personality and applications can be edited and added according to the user’s tastes and preferences,” Lan Sizhui continued to explain with a pleasant smile.

“And what setting are you in right now?” Wei Wuxian was curious.

“Neither,” Lan Sizhui replied, gathering his fingers into a loose fist to turn off the display. “Master Lan only wishes me to be an assistant and disciple, and has told me that I can continue as thus until I encounter a human deemed important enough to me that I would be willing to let them pick a specific setting for me. Until that day comes, however, I shall happily remain by Master Lan’s side.”

“A human deemed important enough, huh?” Wei Wuxian repeated the phrase thoughtfully, chewing over the subtle meaning of the words as he glanced over at Lan Wangji, who had stayed on the sidelines quietly as he observed the human and the android interact before him.

As their eyes met, Wei Wuxian could see just a hint of a smile from the usually stoic man, the expression simultaneously hopeful, inviting, yet timid as if everything rested on Wei Wuxian’s response to Lan Wangji’s previous offer.

“Sizhui, would you excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course, Master Wei,” Lan Sizhui nodded to both of his creators and left, shutting the door lightly behind him.

Wei Wuxian walked over to where Lan Wangji was sitting, but Lan Wangji made no movement to stand up so that Wei Wuxian seemed to have the advantage of gazing down at him from a significant height. So many years ago, back when he was still a high-spirited teenager — a fearless, over-confident youngster who thought he could defy the laws and conquer the world with ideals alone — he would have done anything to stand tall and tower over someone like Lan Wangji with all his accomplishments and triumphs.

But it took him thirteen years to realize that those kinds of accomplishments and triumphs were mere trifles, shallow and fleeting and eventually left forgotten; they had meant nothing because he had no one to share them with.

He had no one but his androids, and even then… Even then…

He thought about Wen Ning and Wen Qing, and how they were forced to destroy each other in the end. He thought about Wen Yuan — or rather Lan Sizhui — who was given another chance at “living” the way he chose for himself.

With a slightly trembling metallic arm, Wei Wuxian reached out and down towards Lan Wangji’s face, silver fingers delicately cradling the other man’s face. The smooth, icy surface of the steel chilled his skin, and he shivered a little at the gentle touch, his cheeks awash with a hint of rosy pink as he stared up at Wei Wuxian quietly with eyes ablaze with unbridled devotion.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian whispered an apology, voice hoarse and low, thinking that Lan Wangji disliked the cold, metallic touch, but just as he was about to retrieve his hand back, Lan Wangji wrapped his fingers tautly around his wrist and pulled him down.

And he thought he was falling, his mind reeling from the abrupt feeling of vertigo.

Wei Wuxian only registered the temperature of the other man’s skin against his own metallic coating with a half-second delay, but then it hit him too suddenly, too much, and they were breathing into each other, face to face, mouths almost colliding.

“Lan Wangji…”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, lifting Wei Wuxian’s hand to place his palm against his own cheek once more, and Wei Wuxian smiled at him, soft and affectionate.

“Lan Wangji,” he called his name again, enjoying how the syllables rolled off his tongue and leaving a sweet aftertaste in his mouth.

“Mn?”

“Thank you for what you’ve done with Wen—with Sizhui. He seems like a good kid.”

“He is,” Lan Wangji assured him.

“And…”

“And?”

“I would love to stay, if your invitation still stands.”

“For you, always.”

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