sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] One-Man Show

Food

Connor wasn't programmed to hunt small game. He was created to investigate deviants, aiding in their capture and interrogation. The skills were transferrable, but these humans? They were already experts. With the advantage of experience, they swept in, and the hunt was over before it began.

If he couldn't assist during the hunt, maybe he could help the cleaning of the carcass. He was even less suited for this, but he had some fine dexterity, so--

... No, they were experts at this, too.

It was a simple enough process, not very different from the basic instructions he had in his general databases. Allowing his eyes to wander, Connor dipped his fingers in some of the blood trailing down the rock the entrails had been temporarily deposited on, examining them with faint interest. Then, before anyone can stop him, he pops his fingers in his mouth.

Night Watch

Connor did not need sleep the way the humans (and, apparently, elf?) did. He also had excellent hearing. When they made camp, he argued that these qualities made him ideal for taking on the full night watch shift. The rest of them should sleep, recover energy, and heal from the day's ordeals.

... They didn't all sleep. It was past midnight already, according to his internal clock, and Connor eyed the unmoving forms, considering what he could hear of their breathing. Would it help anything to approach them? What would he say?

Unable to preconstruct anything with substantial chances of causing them to relax, Connor settled further back on his tree root, LED shining dimly in the darkness. He was far enough away that he could see everyone, and that any small movements shouldn't disturb the others.

... He took one hand from his pocket, looking at a small, featureless coin. Glancing back at the others, he flipped the coin to his other hand. Then back to the first.

No movements from the group. The sound wasn't loud enough to disturb anyone.

Still keeping some attention out for anything out of the ordinary, Connor passed the coin again, then again, rolling it over his knuckles.

Shiro's about to ask Connor if he's ever built a fire before, but finds the question stopped in his mouth.

Oh, God.

"...Connor," he says, voice only slightly strangled.

".....why-?"

His analysis suite is in the middle of processing the sample when Shiro speaks. Connor looks at him, then at his fingers, where part of the smear still clings. Technically it would be more hygienic to lick it away where his mouth's disinfectant and antibacterial compounds could deal with it. From a social perspective, however...

"In my world I work as an investigative unit on loan to the Detroit Police Department," Connor explains. "I'm able to forensically analyze samples in real-time." A beat. "... According to my saved databases, this rabbit shows no signs of illness or poisoning, and it is safe to consume.

The keywords here are 'according to his saved databases'. If he were in Detroit, this would be a reliable test. Here? He has practically nothing to compare to his results. With any luck this rabbit will be edible, and he'll have filed a good start for his replacement libraries.

"Oh," Shiro says.

"Okay."

He thinks of the dozens of species he's met as he traversed the galaxy, including AI and technorganic lifeforms, civilizations like the Olkari that had blended technology and nature so seamlessly and artfully it felt like magic. But Connor is from Earth.

"That's... a little off putting. Was that... an intentional aspect of your design?"

"It's not offputting." The corners of his mouth tug down very, very slightly. "It's efficient. The mouth is a self-sealing orifice that's already structurally ideal for this sort of task."

'Offputting.' Yes, it's conceivable that humans inexperienced in working with androids might project their personal sensibilities onto him, but that's not a problem with his design. That's Lieutenant Anderson's problem. And Shiro's.

"My analysis unit is top of the line, and one of the most sophisticated miniaturized builds in existence."

~~System Instability^.~~

Edited 2019-01-28 05:34 (UTC)

"Oh," Shiro says again, eyebrows lifting, "that's incredible. I didn't mean any offense, Connor. It makes perfect sense, really, when you explain it like that."

Shiro's natural affability wasn't something he consciously played to, most of the time, but his gut was telling him to keep it up.

"We don't have androids, when I come from. I think there was a period of time where attempts at creating them were in vogue, but the AI back home mostly help ships navigate star systems, or do other specialized tasks in various scientific and medical fields."

Connor was not offended (is not capable of being offended), but before he can tell him as much Shiro continues speaking.

... In the end Connor lets it go, nodding a little.

"The Earth I am from uses AIs for similar applications, but its reception of androids differs drastically from yours." Perhaps the shift in subject is for the better. "There are currently almost seventy million Cyberlife units in operation at this time, with a collective labor output equivalent to 40% of that of the American workforce."

Shiro does not say That sounds like a terrible idea.

Shiro says, "I don't know what the population is when you're from, but that must be an astounding amount of work being done by androids. Do all Cyberlife units have the same degree of verisimilitude to humans you do?"

"Most do." Connor glances down at the remaining red smear on his hand, before wiping it discretely on the rock beside him. "Early models of androids were less so, and it triggered the uncanny valley effect in product reviews."

Shiro went from disgusted to earnestly interested over the span of a few seconds. It is highly probable that this is spurred by his own desire to make up for any offence he thinks he may have caused. Misguided as Shiro's sentiments are, Connor plans to take every advantage of them and have as pleasant an interaction as possible.

This said... Part of him is also alert. Is there something wrong with the conversation? Or is Connor still just experiencing a clash between how he expects to be treated and how humans here actually respond? Inconclusive, for now.

"I bet," Shiro replies. "So, an investigative unit - that means you're a detective? The man who was with you, in the vision, he's your partner?"

"Not exactly. I operate as an accessory to the investigation, not as a primary investigator."

It's true in all the ways that matter.

>Androids
>Police work
>Humans
>Hank

... Perhaps... selecting the option that would promote a stronger sense of personal connection would be best. Shiro reads as friendly right now. Connor's social protocols are urging him to respond in kind.

Connor's shoulders ease very subtly, and his lips curve up. Someone sensitive might notice that Connor's attention is still locked on Shiro, but it's not in a threatening sense. If Connor was stiff before, then he's cautiously warming back up.

"... You could say that we work together a lot like partners, though."

Edited 2019-01-30 03:59 (UTC)

Shiro returns the smile, though he can't help wondering how much of what Connor does is programmed and how much of it is an outgrowth of that programming. Does Connor even know?

"How long have you been working together?"

November 5th to November 9th. Connor knows down to the minute when Connor approached him, and he still has the time stamp of the last memory they spent together. The LED at his temple blinks a few times.

"... I was assigned to the case four days before I arrived here."

He wants to be back there. He needs to solve the cases. He wants to look for clues, wants to check in on the Lieutenant, wants to ask after his dog. All for the sake of the case, of course. Maintaining a positive working relationship was important, especially for someone like Hank.

...

... Realistically... Connor has been out of contact for a very long time. The case wouldn't have waited, Cyberlife would have deployed--

--Connor's LED blinks faster. His eyebrows twitch upward very slightly, and he focuses on Shiro.

"I look forward to resuming work when I return. Have you ever worked in a partnership before, Shiro?"

It's interesting, watching Connor think, but Shiro doesn't stare. He just smiles and drops his head a little, nodding.

"Yeah. Sometimes, back on Earth, but mostly after leaving it. After... what you saw. I worked with a small team, very closely."

After the torture, mutilation, and captivity, Shiro means.

"What were they like?"

He hasn't spoken of them, any of them, since waking up. His demeanor changes but it's subtle. There's pride and affection in the set of his eyes and the tilt of his mouth but it's weighed down, a complicated expression.

"They were all very different people. Young people. But they were all dedicated, even though our mission was dangerous. Pidge would be losing her mind, meeting you. Technology was her primary interest, and she was a genius. You could have a much more nuanced conversation about the history and development of AI with her than me."

Edited 2019-01-30 16:07 (UTC)

Shiro has shifted. He is proud, but he also... misses his friends very much. Connor's voice has grown the slightest bit softer, and he inclines his head 1.4 degrees.

"She sounds like someone I would have enjoyed talking with." Is Shiro using the past tense because his friends are dead? Whether they are or not, they're definitely out of Shiro's reach. "I'm glad you had a good team."

The display of empathy is fascinating, but Shiro only shrugs, smiling more, staying on topic.

"Me, too. It means I don't have to worry about them, even though I can't be there. I know they're taking care of each other."

"I'm sure that they are." Connor smiles back. "How long had you all been a team, if you don't mind my asking?

The rabbit's carcass is gone, swept off for washing and cooking. The fire they were about to build is still absent, and the kindling is in an unorganized mess to one side. Connor doesn't look at it, listening to Shiro with his full attention. He's a good listener. The fidgeting, constantly moving android that comes out when left to his own devices is nowhere in sight.

Shiro's noticed, but doesn't yet move to collect the kindling, or do any of the other tasks better suited to someone with two arms.

He has to stop letting it bother him.

"About a year, I guess. It was a little hard to keep track of time with the amount of, uh, intragalactic travel we were doing via wormhole."

It's probably the easiest way to boil it down.

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youcantkillme - 2019-02-02 05:52 (UTC) - Expand

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rebornpaladin - 2019-02-04 07:40 (UTC) - Expand

He trusts the android to watch over them as they sleep - but night has always been the Assassins' domain. Darkness lends cover and inattention as most of the world is tired and drifting toward sleep or distracted by drink and food.

It is easy, how Altaïr leaves his robe for the others who sleep, how he runs to a tree and, with a few steps and a jump, pulls himself up to a lower branch. A better vantage point, though he's sure he needs to go higher to see what he wants to see. If it can be seen at all. And that is why he climbs.

And he climbs like one born to it, hands finding niches that others likely couldn't see, feet gaining traction on bark that likely shouldn't really hold his weight - but he climbs, and before long, he is on a level with the canopy, trying to judge distance by sight.

When Altair stands, Connor expects him to wander into the darkness to relieve himself. Altair does go to the trees, but--he doesn't go far, and when he gets there he goes up, not around. Connor cranes his neck as the pale robes disappear through the branches, losing themselves in the murk of night.

Connor flips his coin back to the other hand, then flicks, balancing it on a fingertip. Then he passes it back. Then again.

...

A few minutes pass, and the man doesn't sound like he's coming down soon. The moon is out, but there's not a lot to see even from above the canopy at night, and Connor eventually rises to his feet, going to the foot of the tree.

He can't hear anything. Sound all around is muffled by the presence of snow drifts and foliage, but that shouldn't be enough to cover anything important from him. A faint line appears between his eyebrows and he rolls the coin over his knuckles. Should he climb...?

It's the highest he's climbed in months now. The buildings at the village are frustratingly short, their viewpoints nonexistent. The watchtowers are slightly better, but only slightly. When he compares them to the towers of Masyaf or the domes of Damascus and Jerusalem, they fall woefully short. Even this tree doesn't quite measure up - but for a few moments, he feels something unwind in him that has been taut for quite a long while.

Were they all truly drawn to high places, his Brothers and Sisters? Did they all take comfort in the constant wind at such altitudes? Did it ease their mind to be able to see so far, as it did his?

He thought he could see the village. He doubted it, but for a moment, he took hold of that notion and held it dear, estimating what time they would spend walking before they reached it. Before he saw Malik and Jacob with his own eyes and knew them to be safe. And then, knowing he could delay it no longer, he looked down the length of the tree, spotting the patch of fallen branches and snow he had identified mid-climb.

And then, Altaïr jumped. A little push with one foot and he was sailing downward, arms spread wide to give the air more to push against. At a height that felt right, he turned, splayed, put his back toward that pile of branches. And he fell into it with a surprisingly soft puff, snow exploding into the air and then falling back down onto him where he laid in the branches' softness.

Yes, he thought. He did feel better now.

The fall is a silent one, almost unreal in the darkness. Connor's thirium pump jackknifes in his chest, and his thirium lines turn to ice: Connor knows what it's like to fall, wind rushing around him and no way to stop except a hard, crushing impact on the street seventy stories below. He can almost feel the wind now, feel the world pitch and tilt as he staggers forward without thinking, reaching out senselessly to stop a landing he couldn't reach, let alone cushion--

"Altair!"

The man lands, powdery snow sent flying. Connor stumbles to the snowdrift and lands on his knees, immediately setting to work digging him out.

"Don't move," he calls, words tight and crisp with control. "If your spine has been injured, then further movement could complicate the issue. Can you hear me?" They may have to fashion a stretcher. He'll wake the others, and potentially travel ahead with him in hopes of saving his life. Will it be enough?

Altaïr propped himself onto his elbows, hood still in place as he looked at Connor with confusion. Confusion that slowly became realisation.

He bit his lips. And then he reached out to place a hand on the android's shoulder. "My apologies, Connor - I am fine. I have been highly trained in how to take such leaps without harm. I forgot that it may distress anyone seeing it for the first time."

It had been some time since he'd taken one, though, it was true. Years, in fact, and he had been much physically older at the time. But now, he felt fine - perfectly fine. The snowbank and fallen pine-like branches had been more than enough to cushion his fall. Which is why he squeezed Connor's shoulder. "I should not have surprised you in such a way."

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Food

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Night Watch

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