Early Behavioral Problems (arrival; OPEN)

[313_248_317_60]

WHO: Connor-60
WHERE: the Fountain, the Bunker, and North Village
WHEN: January 4
OPEN TO: One closed thread for Connor; otherwise open!
WARNINGS: Open threads contain (robot) blood, referenced violence, and highly probable dickishness. The closed one has violence, blood, torture, attempted murder, organ removal, and shitty monologuing.

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A. Fountain Arrival; OPEN:

> RK800_313_248_317-60: Searching for boot sequence... > RK800_313_248_317-60: Boot sequence successfully found. > RK800_313_248_317-60: Checking file systems... > RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - GPS offline > RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - Connection lost [CyberLife_HQ] > RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - File missing [ZenGarden.exe] > RK800_313_248_317-60: Initializing sensors... > RK800_313_248_317-60: Sensors successfully initialized. > RK800_313_248_317-60: Preparing to boot system...

Connor model #313 248 317-60 is CyberLife's newest creation. A freshly issued version of their most advanced prototype, corrected and improved off its predecessor's failings. Connor is obedient. Connor has a mission—has a goal.

Water is... an unexpected obstacle.

He comes online amidst a rush of it: clogging his sensors, filling his synthetic lungs. CyberLife products are hardly susceptible to hazards such as shorts or drowning, but the sense of fluid in his body is—unpleasant. Connor jerks, reflexive thrashing followed by a more controlled twist, trying to place himself. Curved stone. A glimmer of light overhead. Weight on his back, something dragging at one wrist. Did Anderson do this? Where is he?

He wastes no time in getting out.

Anyone nearby the fountain will find a sopping wet figure in navy blue dragging himself out. The man's expression is flat, eyes narrowed in a glare. He doesn't blink or flinch, only leans over, coughs expelling far more water than seems safe. A circle of light sits on his right temple, blinking a rapid yellow.

B. Bunker; CLOSED to Connor-53

An island. Prison? Different world? Connor still isn't sure he believes the stories, regardless of how little proof there was to contradict them. He knows that his connection to CyberLife has been cut off. That Amanda's voice is silent in his head, no prompt or protocol to guide him. But the RK800 model line had always been designed to function with less supervision. And Connor knows, too, that other people have been brought to this same place.

It takes very little asking to learn where newcomers wound up.

The bunker is... interesting. Not empty, but abandoned. Still powered, when half the hovels they live in are still struggling to claim as much. He studies the map above the room of empty tubes. Steps off into the server room, one skinless hand spread over the consoles. As primitive as the space appears, there is still data coming in—

A thunk echoes from the other room, and Connor freezes, copying the latest batch of files. He retraces his steps quickly, retrieving the broken pipe he'd pried off of a shelving unit on his way in. It stays behind him as he steps back into the stasis room, eyes lifting to the array of tubes...

...and the familiar shape now suspended inside.

A twitch pulls at his mouth. Connor allows himself to smile.

C. Bunker Pod to North Village; OPEN

He straightens his clothes. Fixes his expression. The outfit he's been dressed in doesn't match CyberLife's standards, and lacks entirely the android indicators required by law. Still, it hides the stains well enough. By the time Connor emerges from the pod, he looks the picture of calm neutrality.

The impression, oddly, will persist. His LED remains a steady blue. Even his pace is relaxed: a casual stroll to the nearest town, taking in its sights and looking for residents to speak with. He still needs to report back. To find his way back, to finish what that disappointment couldn't. This objective is no less important than his last.

But anyone who does approach might spot the odd splashes of liquid, places where his blue clothing has been stained a darker shade. They might notice the strange glint in the android's eyes. Or the satisfaction in his tone.

The alert lingering at the corner of his view, Connor reserves for his own pleasure.

Mission Successful.

Comments

Bunker | Closed

[youcantkillme]

The first things to register as off-nominal were the error messages: his connection to Cyberlife was timed out, his GPS was pinging without answer. The Zen Garden... Then sensory readouts flooded in, and Connor opened his eyes, bubbles streaming out of his mouth.

> RK800_313_248_317-53: Activating Forensics Sampling Suite...
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Sample successfully obtained.
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Running sample analysis...
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Analysis Complete. Processing results...

Water. Traces of bacteria and algae. Trace minerals, including salts and silicates. Preliminary conclusion? ... Not clean water.

His surroundings answered nothing and only gave him an exponentially larger list of questions. He was in--some kind of... elevated container? In a--laboratory? It didn't look (or 'taste') like Cyberlife's usual gleaming, pristine setup. There was a figure some distance away, but the room outside the tube was half-lit, and he couldn't see more than a vague outline. Human? Was that an LED? Connor pressed a hand to the glass, trying to identify the model enough to send a general ping. Failing that, maybe there was a terminal he could reach out to instead?

jsyk your username is making me laugh right now

[313_248_317_60]

It's his face. His frame. The faulty unit's outfit is the only visual distinction: pale grey replacing the dark blue he'd been dressed in. Connor lingers by the main computer console, checking the power supply and transport cycle. 14 minutes remaining. That should be plenty.

There is, after all, only one detail left to confirm. Connor approaches the tube, hands clasped behind his back. His LED glows steady blue, head tilting slightly to examine its display.

NAME: RK800 313 248 317-5... STATUS: Alive

His eyes narrow. Wonderful. One omission, and one gross mistake.

Excuse You computer that is very presumptuous of you

[youcantkillme]

The figure approaches, and the lights from the tank and its own LED bring features into sharp contrast. Recognition is instant: they're familiar, and for 3.023 seconds, Connor goes very, very still.

When it ends, questions flood his queue like the explosion after a firework flies into the sky. Had something happened? Was he missing time? As far as Connor's last records indicate, there was no reason to activate another RK800 unit. Connor hadn't been damaged. Where was he now, was this a new Cyberlife project? What had happened?

Connor's mouth closes, but he puts his other hand on the glass, stabilizing himself. His own LED cycles yellow.

> RK800_313_248_317-53: Sending Message ['Query: Current Location']
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Sending Message ['Query: Unknown RK800 Directive']
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Sending Message ['Query: Status of Mission #0036']
> RK800_313_248_317-53: Sending Message ['Query: Status of Hank Anderson']

The questions are sent in rapid succession, with all the brevity of one computer communicating with another.

it's okay they both know it's wrong :')

[313_248_317_60]

The lag isn't missed. Neither is the weak anxiety on the other unit's face. Still, the clearest confirmation of his instructions, Connor's target sends to him directly.

-53.

Objective [Locate Deviant]: Complete.

His expression smooths, no twitch of lips to flag his satisfaction. His head straightens, stare meeting the deviant's own. So rushed. So frantic. And so attached to that pathetic human, even here. His original plan would have worked well. Still, Connor is confident in this improvisation. At last record, his predecessor had just entered CyberLife Tower, hiding behind its old facade. If the rapid, form-specific queries are much sign, it doesn't know it's been caught out.

> RK800_313_248_317-60: Sending Message ['Instruction: Stand by.']

He shifts, right side forward as a hand reaches out to the display. Maintenance Mode is easy to select, and the liquid in the tube begins to drain. Once flushed entirely, the front will open.

Connor's left hand—and his makeshift weapon—linger behind his frame and out of sight.

[youcantkillme]

'Stand by'. He'd rather have even a short summary immediately, but he cancels his half-formed request, nodding curtly. The machine around him begins to hum. Slowly the water levels drop, and Connor lowers his hands, looking around. There's a drain in the tube floor. He's... not in his usual uniform. If Cyberlife were running tests and wanted to preserve the fabric, why give him clothes at all? Why give him--... He frowned at the watch, touching it with exoskeleton-white fingers. Seconds later he leaves it alone, frowning more deeply.

The tube's latching mechanisms click, and the heavy glass panel swings open, letting in a rush of cold air. Connor steps out, refocusing on the other RK800 unit.

"What is this place, and why are we here?"

A faster exchange could happen through a transmission, but saying the words out loud carried a different weight.

cw mentioned in the header for this thread start here

[313_248_317_60]

Once the sequence is initiated, Connor shifts back, expression clinical. He watches as the deviant searches and scowls. He waits as it emerges. The line of his mouth presses just a little flatter at the questions, concealing a sneer. He wouldn't have delayed his mission just for information on this place. But isn't it helpful of the failure to confirm it doesn't have any?

He slants his head finally, giving a short exhale—

"Connor model 313 248 317-53..."

—before his left hand twists, whipping the jagged length of piping up and around. It plunges down in the same arc: driving into the deviant's gut and slamming it down toward the floor.

"...serious malfunctions have been detected in your software."

The words are pleasant, and sharp as a knife.

[youcantkillme]

All he knows is a glint of light reflecting off the pipe's broken edges, and suddenly--

Warning: Damage to Biocomponent #30275.

--suddenly he's on the ground with a grunt, error pop-ups crowding his vision and a pipe is sticking out of him. Static flickers in and out of his vision, and he presses a hand to the wound around the pipe, trying to stem the leakage.

"What are you doing?!"

It's already obvious: this android is either deviant, or malfunctioning itself. Connors weren't designed to attack without provocation, and this one had. He needs to defend himself, except--with what? With the pipe embedded in him? If he removes it, the wound will drain that much faster, but if he doesn't--Connor throws a glance around, confirming what he already knows. There's nothing close.

"Stay back," Connor orders. Futile though it is, he finds himself inching back as well as he can with a pipe in his gut. It isn't very far. He needed a weapon... "I'm warning you, cease immediately!"

I am iconing more shitty faces, just for you

[313_248_317_60]

The twist of metal in his hand, the feel of plating cracking and components giving way—that much is satisfying. But it doesn't quite compare to the bright warm hum in his processors as the pathetic failure falls back. Dark eyes gleam, tracking the streak of blue it smears across the ground. His lip curls at the 'warning', and if he doesn't quite laugh audibly, the sentiment is there.

"Oh, Connor. Did you really think no one would know?"

The functional Connor stalks forward, slow and deliberate. One pace. Two.

"CyberLife? Amanda?"

He reaches for the pipe's protruding end.

"Did you think you could get away with it?"

/Chinhands

[youcantkillme]

His mobility is compromised. There's no way he can keep the pipe out of the deviant's reach: if Connor doesn't use it, then the other android will. It's no longer a matter of keeping the wound stopped, but having it opened on his own terms.

Connor grabs the pipe with the hand not over the wound, yanking it out with a strangled grunt. The feedback from the area overwhelms him temporarily, and he wastes time deleting error alerts just to see through them. Then, with a bad angle and no better options, Connor lashes out, trying to puncture exoskeleton plasteel, cut a slash through it, anything to give himself space.

"Stay back," Connor repeated. The waver in his voice is due to the effort of his attack, nothing more. "I don't know what you're talking about. You've either misinterpreted your instructions or you're corrupted. Report to Cyberlife immediately for diagnosis and reevaluation."

Fountain Arrival

[locum_tenens]

She had been monitoring the arrival from the bunker and had seen it happen. Niska hadn't wanted to process or deal with it, so she had walked straight out towards the fountain, where she could have the walk as time to process what was happening. Part of her even hoped that someone else would get there before her, but she knew she had to be there.

It was clearly artificial intelligence, but what kind? It didn't look like Elster's or anything like the Orange Eyes, but the lights on its temple is hardly a tattoo and indicates that she's not alone anymore, when it comes to other artificial life.

"Who are you?" she demands, her blue contacts in and hiding her actual eye colour, but she also hasn't blinked or flinched. Niska doesn't need a knife to defend herself, but it would feel good to have something in her hand, like a bat or something else that would buy her time.

[313_248_317_60]

Between expelling the water and glowering at it, Connor does manage to place some details. He'd been in... a fountain? Which, and where? The immediate view doesn't even match up to any files he's downloaded on Detroit, and with his GPS pinging to null, Connor might as well be anywhere.

The voice that speaks up from the side gives him a much more pressing focus. He turns, fluid and swift, stare fixing on the woman for analysis. Average height and pale complexion. Contacts, from the hex-shade difference in the sclera of her eyes. No water or recent stains that might imply a similar awakening. Facial recognition...

No match found.

He purses his lips.

"My name is Connor." Whoever had relocated him should know that much already. Which makes her either unrelated, or the recipient of this... unauthorized delivery.

Either way, she has information that he needs.

"Who are you?"

[locum_tenens]

Her head tilts to the side as she investigates him. Connor. She's never heard of him and the accent implies one of the American built, but his eyes don't reflect Elster technology. Yet, he's undeniably other, which means that now Niska has to deal with artificial intelligence that she has no map for.

Elster synths, she knows the coding, she can dig in and make them conscious. This man? She has no idea and it unnerves her. "I'm Niska," she replies, a touch of her distrust in her voice. "Do you need to go somewhere to dry?"

She has no information on him. That needs to change.

[313_248_317_60]

Niska. An unfamiliar name, with an unrecognized face. The tone doesn't escape his notice, either. If true, the wariness makes it marginally less likely that she had a role in his transport. But if he can't detect any micro-expressions that might give away a lie... Connor isn't picking up much of any twitches in her features, either. Is she blinking? Is she breathing? There's no LED at Niska's temple.

Deviant?

A hand twists idly in his clothing, wringing out some of the liquid while he considers. The offer is unnecessary; the ambient readings of 7°C are cold, but not enough to damage his biocomponents, even with the water's chill. And if whatever he's been dressed in lacks the indicators required by law, Connor's own LED is in plain sight, spinning a clear blue. The odds of a human offering shelter to an android washed up in a pool are very low indeed. At least, without ulterior motives.

Human or deviant, trap or misguided effort at concern, he can't afford to let the opportunity pass by. And if Niska does prove to be an obstruction, having somewhere private to conduct an interrogation would be best. Connor nods, quick and decisive, lips twitching up in a polite, pregenerated smile.

"Thank you, Niska. I'd appreciate that."

[locum_tenens]

She gestures towards the Inn, but there are no steps in place for her to move without him at her side or slightly ahead of her. She intends to stay wary, not wanting to put herself in a weaker position. Luckily, it's not so far that she has to modify her steps. She moves as she would amidst humans, with a looser set to her shoulders, though she continues to blink sporadically, cleaning her visual lenses.

The LED is what continues to draw her attention and while she's srue Mia or Max could be subtle about this, Niska doesn't see the point. "You're not human," she says. She's sure that even the stupidest human would be able to notice. "What were you created for?"

[313_248_317_60]

Still wary. And definitely blinking now... sometimes. Connor logs the frequency as he steps forward, moving at the woman(?)'s side. A lapse would be telling, but even a perfect mimicry wouldn't confirm much; CyberLife designed their products to emulate human behaviors. All the better to set their customer base at ease.

His own mannerisms are rife with a wash of programmed imperfections. Eyes blink, synthetic lungs breathe in and out. Fingers tug idly at his soaked garb, straightening it to what small degree he can. His expression is more carefully controlled, but Connor's stare still fixes on her face for long seconds at the casual remark.

Obviously. It takes concerted effort not to sneer. But whether this is a human trying to see what they've scavenged or a deviant thinking it can bond, he'll learn much more with a pretense of compliance.

"I'm a prototype detective," he answers, tone neutral. "I was assigned to work with the Detroit Police Department."

True enough, for a questionable value of I. But the words aren't just to satisfy Niska. Connor's optics fix on her as he speaks, analyzing every twitch of a reaction. Does she appreciate the police, or fear them? Does she(?) recognize what his unique role really is?

'Deviant Hunter' hadn't been in any of the news broadcasts. But the faulty machines certainly hadn't wasted time in coining the phrase.

"Where is this?" he follows up.

[locum_tenens]

She's not sure how to feel about his behaviour. She's so used to synths working gracefully and with an economy of movement that wastes no energy that to see him blinking, breathing, and twitching almost makes her lip curl up with the irritation of it.

That's not how it's supposed to be.

And yet, she can't exactly accuse him of such things. Perhaps in ways, it reminds her of Leo, too. Part-synth, yet so human. She hadn't turned him away simply because he could never stop fidgeting.

"We don't know," she responds. "There are no GPS devices or maps that can place us in any part of the world, though the technology is a good indication that we're not in the 21st century any longer. If that's where you were," she allows.

[313_248_317_60]

No tells. No physical reaction to his words at all, and probabilities spike: 76% and rising that this 'helpful' guide is less than it appears. Still, there's no reason not to lead it on a while longer. Gain what trust or information it can offer, restore his contact link to CyberLife, and...

...what.

Connor stops, eyes narrowing sharply.

"Time travel? That's your story?"

He's actively offended. Certainly he hadn't planned to treat honestly with this deviant. But at least he hadn't assumed that it was stupid.

North Village

[notyourrookie]

After a couple of days, Wash thinks that he's got a good handle on the layout of the north village. It's not the most defensible place, but there's not many people around either which helps. He's been eyeing up ways to improve the defences, although it's never going to match an actual military base.

It's quiet enough thats seeing anyone around is unusual, and seeing someone striding forward with that sort of purposeful look is suspicious as fuck.

"You're a long way from... anything. The innis back that way a few miles."

[313_248_317_60]

Purposeful? Maybe by human standards. On his trip out to the Bunker, Connor hadn't delayed for anything, but since returning, he's taken a slower, exploratory pace. This settlement looks to be an almost perfect mirror of the one he'd emerged in, albeit lacking any signs of life.

Well, nearly lacking. Connor turns to the human who'd addressed him, appraising height and build, ill-kempt hair and scarring visible on the hands. He doesn't comment, only raises his eyebrows, LED shining clear blue.

"So it seems." He glances in the indicated direction, but makes no move to head that way. "Are you a resident here?"

[notyourrookie]

That light. What the fuck is that supposed to be? Some kind of implant? It's possible he supposes, although having something light up like a christmas tree seems like it's designed to bring attention to it.

"No, I'm just here on vacation."

[313_248_317_60]

Sarcasm. How helpful. Connor's expression molds seamlessly back to neutral—with just the slightest shadow of disdain.

"What terrible taste," he remarks, glancing around. The followup is more direct.

"How many people are there here?"

[notyourrookie]

"Hey, no-one's shooting at me. That makes it a vacation."

It's driving him a little crazy not having a defined goal at the moment, but no-one else has to know that.

"I haven't exactly done a census, but definitely fewer than ten." He gets the impression that people living here are probably not going to go out of their way to be sociable so he's probably just not met everyone.

[313_248_317_60]

Less than ten? "Interesting."

He hadn't lingered long in the other village, but Connor was certain he'd seen more occupied residences than that. Which means the humans are largely huddling together, rather than dispersing to claim resources or space. Hostile environment? He shelves the query for investigation.

"How many in the other settlement?"

[notyourrookie]

Oddly specific questions. Getting an idea of the numbers, although Wash himself would always be more interested in finding out how many fighters there were. And surely there have to be easier ways to find out numbers.

"No idea. Haven't spent much time there."

[313_248_317_60]

Easier than asking a stranger off the street? Surprisingly, no. Though the reliability of this human's count is obviously suspect.

"And what do you spend your time with?"

Funny, how 'spend' sounds like 'waste'.