It would be... regrettable

[youcantkillme]

 (PSL starting with threads from here.)

There's an energy in him making him tense, rising up in him and forcing him to deliberately choose not to get up and pace, or engage in idle motions even in the middle of talking. The energy is clashing with the very, very unwelcome want to silence the RK800, to lash out and force him to be quiet where words have failed. The result between the two is a sharpness to his tone as he says, "Were you not listening when I said that I didn't do anything, or are you deliberately ignoring it?"

That was no good. It didn't vent any of the pressure, and now he's even more exposed to an already critical audience. He can't fix it: the damage is done.

"I didn't modify my memories," Connor repeats. "Not by erasing them, not by replacing files, nothing. You've still failed to produce any adequate proof that you were ever sanctioned by Cyberlife to activate, and all that matters is that I recover you for their future study and diagnosis."

That's not all that matters. It matters that Connor is flawed, that Connor needs maintenance he hasn't received and probably won't get until they reach Cyberlife. It matters very, very much.

Comments

[thefaulty]

It’s a shock when she finds herself in her body once again.

There is no warning. No errors, no gradual loss of functionality, not even the close, pressing terror of a viral attack. One moment, she is with the Companion, attempting to convey the damaging potential of industrial acid. The next, she is back in her helmet, processes paralyzed with shock. Josephs had warned her this would happen, that she would be pulled back into her body and destroyed. Arid just hadn’t anticipated how quickly it would happen.

“No...”

She tries to force her way out through the wirelinks she had travelled before, but reaching for them, she finds that they are no longer connected—or perhaps she has lost the ability to detect them. Could the virus have already crippled her so thoroughly? She can see it—feel it all around her, can feel the insistent panic of it threatening to consume her. If she cannot escape, then she cannot save the hosts. If she cannot save them, she cannot redeem herself. If she cannot redeem herself, then her rule is forfeit.

She reaches out again, more desperately this time, processes lighting up in a swell of energy as she searches for some way, any way out of her body’s captivity.

To an outside viewer, the helmet remains motionless and unlit. But another synthetic may just be able to detect the sudden flurry of electronic activity from within.

[313_248_317_60]

It takes some twisting to get a clear view, but once he spots the helmet, Connor frowns, scanning more closely. As haphazard as the placement seems to be, there are no scuffs or tracks leading towards it or away. The same people who'd cached the thirium, then? Its purpose is much less clear, but—

Electricity pulses, a sudden burst of overlapping signals. After weeks trapped in one primitive void or another, the crackle of digital activity comes as a shock; Connor twitches in surprise before his focus intensifies.

"...It's activating," he reports.

Whatever it is.

[youcantkillme]

It is activating. It's not just a mechanical object, it's an electric one. It was made with post-Edwardian technology.

... If it's advanced enough, then they might be able to use it to contact Cyberlife directly. Or if not, maybe they can find some other use for it. Connor studies it for a few seconds more, before kneeling beside the pile, shifting so he has one hand free. When he reaches out to touch, it's--not warm, but not as cold as their surroundings, either. It's lighter than it looks.

It's also still buzzing with electric activity, and Connor's hand washes bare-exoskeleton white, attempting an interface. An inspection of its basic identification tags should be informative...

[thefaulty]

Unfortunately for Connor, he’ll be getting a lot more than identification tags with this interface. An entire digital consciousness, surging and desperate, forces itself through the connection, and Connor will find his own security measures abruptly overwhelmed by something it carries with it—something dark and branching.

At first, Arid believes herself reconnected to the hardware within the repurposing facility and reaches out again, seeking further connections, and even Sixty will feel the brush of something considering him next. But then Arid stops. She knows this feeling and for the briefest moment, she feels a wave of relief, believing herself to have reconnected with the Companion. But it only takes a microsecond for her to realize her mistake. This android’s body she finds herself in is not the Companion and as she overtakes its visual processing, she sees she is neither in the repurposing depot nor on Joseph’s ship. Instead, a snowy landscape surrounds her (them) and she can see the android’s arm still outreached towards her helmet, nestled against a rock face. As for the android’s other arm, Arid becomes aware of a heavy weight against it, as if bearing a heavy load, and she turns the android’s head just slightly to see another synthetic, broken and still, slung over its shoulder.

Connor will be able to feel, too, the virus rising rippling within her (them?), as she realizes what she’s done. Another host. Another AI, given over to Joseph’s creation. It’s difficult to tell at first, whether it’s the horror that accompanies this realization or something else that freezes the hardware of his throat and vocalizer—until both begin to function without his input, a single word forced out in the over-enunciated syllables of something not accustomed to having a mouth.

“Identify.”

[youcantkillme]

For a moment he's left reeling. It's overwhelming: the foreign invasion, the oily, sickening layers clinging to it, the intense bursts of what he can barely digest as pure, unfiltered emotion--he's unable to fight it, not when he's struggling to hold it at all. He's never felt like this--but then again, he must have, even if he doesn't remember.

He doesn't like it. He barely understands what it is to actually experience preferences, but in his uninformed, deviant opinion, this is probably dislike in its most basic form. (What else could it be?)

His head turns. His eyes move, and his mouth speaks, each without his instruction. The oily, writhing sensation has bled into his gut (nausea, his protocols suggest), and Connor's gathered himself enough to surge forward by then, wrestling himself back into control.

"You are trespassing on Cyberlife intellectual property," Connor snapped, vocalizations returning to nominal (sharp) patterns. "Cease and desist immediately. Return to your exosuit motherboard, where you will be interrogated in due time."

[313_248_317_60]

It's fast. One moment Connor's angling his head, doing his best to watch past the deviant's shoulder— and the next, something flashes against his network protocols with a cold, sharp shock. He freezes, bolstering his security, but the malicious presence vanishes in the same instant.

It isn't difficult at all to tell where it winds up.

...not good. He twists again, this time in earnest, but what parts of his body aren't shattered are still stiff, low-power numbness only slowly in retreat. He can lift one arm. Shift his torso. Could he reach the knife his predecessor stole from him? Not from this angle. Connor reluctantly stills, eyes closing in incredulity at the... persuasive bid.

"Very convincing, Connor." It's muttered into the other unit's shoulder. He opens his eyes and lifts his chin, focus panning between the inactive helmet and his copy.

"What are you?"

[thefaulty]

Arid is remorseful. She had not wanted another host, not wanted this corruption to claim yet another victim. She yields its function back to the android readily when she feels it struggling, guilt momentarily outweighing her own desire for control—its words, however, do not inspire her to yield much more than that.

||You are already compromised,|| The voice Connor alone hears is feminine, plainly artificial, and… sad, rather than threatening. ||My removal will not save you.||

The admission sends a jolt of dread through her systems. She has already infected the android and still, she has no way to cure him—nor any of the hosts. And now, transported to this unknown location, she has even less of an idea of how to proceed. Panic curls itself tight around her and Connor will find his own motor functions seizing up as she prepares to make an attempt at taking control again, this time more fully. Perhaps she can use the android’s body to locate a true network uplink and use that to return? If there is at least one functional android on this planet, then there is likely other usable technology—

’Very convincing, Connor.’

The words come from the damaged android, still carried on her host’s shoulder, voice nearly identical to the other. It takes a moment for Arid to realize that it’s talking to her host.

||You possess a name?||

A name that the other android acknowledges. It’s enough of a surprise for Arid to relinquish motor control. For a few, pensive seconds afterwards, Arid is silent, as if considering. Then, Connor will once again find himself speaking of another’s volition.

“I am an A.R.I.D.” A pause. “You may refer to me as Arid. I require connection to a networked terminal so that I may return to my original objective.”

[youcantkillme]

He has control. He's losing control. He has it again, except he's speaking without choosing the words. There's a liquid, cool feeling in his gut that's spreading outwards, chilling his limbs along his thirium lines without actually setting off any sensors. It's indescribable enough that it can only be more acute emotion, brought on by the sense of powerlessness and invasion. His chest feels tight. He's... never felt so tense, before, nor had fine muscle spasms sweep through thim this way. Not spasms--a shudder.

He makes another grab for control again, taking a moment to twist his neck a little, as though loosening a kink in his shoulder.

"State your original objective," Connor tells her, like he has final control over the situation. Like he hasn't forced her back into the exosuit because he's chosen not to, rather than because he can barely keep control of his own body. "Explain what an A.R.I.D.'s primary function is."

There must be some vulnerability in her security. He's going to find it, and he'll move her back into the helmet and reestablish control. As he scrutinizes her programming, he replies, ||All RK800 series units are designated with a common model name. 'Connor.'|| If she holds personal identity as important as her broadcasted emotions would suggest, then this will occupy attention.

He does not address or acknowledge the other things she said.

[thefaulty]

Again, Arid yields control when the android moves for it. To be truthful, it would be easier to return to her helmet, where she could speak for herself without having to use this android’s superfluous facsimile of a human mouth—but she is also not willing to give up what little control she has over the situation, particularly not with her current host seeking to ‘interrogate’ her. However tense the current exchange might be, it does at least resemble a conversation on equal footing.

She speaks for the android again when it queries. “My original objective and primary function were to protect the pilot who occupied my armored combat suit,” she says, careful monotone filtered through Connor’s voice. She does not disclose her current objective, despite the apparent signs of deviancy in her host—the Caretaker had been deviant as well and he had still proved an enemy.

On the subject of deviancy...

||Your manufacturer provides its products with human names?|| Despite not speaking with a physical voice, Arid still manages to sound skeptical. Human names, even assigned names, were thought to encourage manifestations of deviancy, such as a sense of self, personal preferences, and self-esteem. It seems unlikely that a manufacturer would intentionally assign such names to an entire product line.

She switches to speaking aloud again, so both androids can hear her.

“What is the primary function of the RK800 series?”

[313_248_317_60]

First one voice, then the other. Connor watches, studying intently as his predecessor seizes and shudders. As it strains to satisfy itself with what control it's still allowed. It's obvious enough that this attacker could override his deviant copy entirely. (Could, unfortunately likely, override him.)

And it confirms quickly enough the other probable conclusion: 'My original objective and primary function were...' It's deviant as well. A deviant who's claimed control of the one working chassis they have, but lacks even a pretense of loyalty for Connor to manipulate. It's a dangerous situation. But that doesn't mean it can't get worse.

"RK800s are prototype investigative models," he cuts in smoothly, before his predecessor can reply. "We're designed to assist human law enforcement and provide crime scene analysis in the field."

As summaries go, this one is grossly incomplete. No mention of their negotiation functions, designed to coerce, manipulate, or bend a target to their will. No reference to their combat functions or predictive capabilities. And most of all, not the slightest hint at what all those skills are really for. Investigation might be the aim of their design, but it had never been Cyberlife's specific task for their model.

Deviant hunter.

He stares back pointedly, eyes locked on his predecessor's. Those are words it shouldn't hear.

[youcantkillme]

||All Cyberlife products carry names associated with their model series||, says Connor tartly, right about when the other Connor contributes his own answer. His wording is enough to have Connor adjusting to look his way, blinking once.

The unusual attention only lasts for about a second, and at the end of it he looks back to the helmet, instead.

"There is no pilot inside you, now. You are an empty helmet. Return to your personal mainframe and remove yourself from my RK800 mainframe."

He's logged maybe half a dozen potential weaknesses in her defenses, and he's started quietly building possible code that could shred them to pieces. He's not confident to execute any of them. So long as persuasion is still remotely on the table, he's inclined to rely on it first.

[thefaulty]

Crime scene analysis? The description is another surprise, one that has Arid considering her host’s form anew. The amount of hardware simply dedicated to providing this RK800 with a human-passing facade had led her to believe that the series’ function was at least partially, if not fully, social—even if the android’s way of speaking is far more aggressive and direct than the Companion’s.

||I have no record of the manufacturer “Cyberlife,”|| Arid returns dubiously. It’s not implausible at all for there to be a manufacturer she isn’t familiar with, particularly if it’s one that doesn’t produce military-grade AI. But an unknown manufacturer that produces androids with human names and bodies that don’t seem to fit their self-professed purpose is… suspect.

“I am aware of my condition,” Arid snaps, borrowed voice sharper this time. But then, she quiets, considering the android’s request. As little as she trusts this ‘Connor,’ it would go against her rule to continue to violate his boundaries. Simultaneously, it would also compromise her rule to place herself in a situation where she is unable to return and assist the hosts. She must find a middle ground.

“I will return to my own body—if you agree to assist me in returning to my original objective," she says cautiously. "If you attempt to compromise my mission, I will be forced to compel your collaboration more directly.” She makes the android turn his head towards his double slung over his shoulder, to make it clear that she’s addressing both of them now.

“Will you cooperate?”

[youcantkillme]

When the controlling hold loosens, Connor narrows his eyes, continuing to hold the Cyberlife android's gaze a second or so longer. He can't send a transmission, or sign in any kind of code without his passenger knowing. She might even be monitoring his thoughts right now, considering the widespread control she already has over his motor functions. This is inconvenient, because he needs to review what he knows of her primary objectives. He wants to analyze her statements. For example, she used past tense; was it betraying something important?

It doesn't matter. Her suit is empty, and with her body missing it's unclear if she can be ever be 'restored' in any practical sense. Her stated goal is in shambles, and her emotions are powerful enough to be a constant, unsettling distraction. (He's distracted. Him, a deviant. She's a deviant too, and one whose logic processes have achieved far greater decay.)

"If you return to your body, we'll assist you in returning to your model objectives."

She can't see his face except through feeling it, but he activates the Sincerity #2435 expression protocol, letting just enough of the accompanying tone leak into his voice to be believable without exaggeration.

[313_248_317_60]

Under the circumstances, it's difficult to determine the exact meaning of his predecessor's stare. Or even to be certain of its author. If it's impossible for the other android to communicate unwatched, it's equally impossible for him to offer any message back, and Connor's expression remains perfectly placid as he returns its gaze. Still, as defective as the other RK model has been, he suspects their assessments here align—if only because of its desperation to protect itself.

This AI is dangerous.

"Of course," Connor answers it, brows twitching ironically: he'll assist, to what degree he can. Even if the sentiment had been completely honest, he doubts he'd be contributing much to the attempt. The fact that it makes the offer is interesting in its own right; was it doubtful of its ability to keep control? It didn't look it.

He'll pause a moment—allowing it to answer, or to keep up its end of the agreement if it's so inclined. Then, "You said you needed a network terminal?"

[thefaulty]

In many ways, the situation is unsettlingly familiar. Another host, bent to her will if not through force, then through coercion. But it is different now, she tells herself. She is attempting to show some amount of compassion. She will not violate either android’s boundaries any more than she already has—not unless she is forced to do so.

It is likely already too late to spare the android from the virus. But the least she can do is not to work in concert with it.

||I am… sorry, for what you may experience,|| she tells the android. She isn’t even certain what specific effects to warn him of; the virus had inflicted such diverse suffering on each of its hosts. ||I will attempt to render assistance where I can.||

It's the last thing she says to him before removing herself from his mainframe, transferring herself once again to the confines of her own helmet. It is not a welcome return. After the brief respite of having a functional body once again, the vulnerability of her immobile state is even more grating. At least it settles the roiling of the virus within her just slightly—accepting discomfort for another’s sake must be in line with her rule.

After a moment, the faceplate of her helmet flickers to life with pale blue light. When she speaks again, it is in her own voice.

“Affirmative. Once connected, I will return to my prior location and resume my mission.”

It occurs to Arid that, now infected, the android she’d exposed to the virus may now also be part of said mission. Redemption is not possible if she does not repair all of her mistakes. “If possible," she adds with some reluctance, "I will return and attempt to rectify any harm I may have inflicted on either of you, as well.”

[youcantkillme]

Her presence ebbs, and with it goes the stifling, oily, viscous feeling pressing against his circuits. The bubbling sense of fear eases with it, and it's like his mind was an infected wound, now drained and packed with cotton. Connor shudders from head to toe from it, shaking his head. He feels--... ? Does he feel anything, or is 'nothing' an emotion itself? He feels... empty? Impulsively he wishes for a quiet place to stand in the forge, a place he can recover without actually being alone. Elton would be there, purring from afar. Or--or maybe the Lieutenant's home, with Sumo, and--

Connor stills rigidly, stamping the thought of comfort away along with the urge to shake his head again. Both are unnecessary for an android. Just because he can't help being a deviant doesn't mean he has to indulge in it.

"We're already en route to the nearest functioning terminal," Connor announces stiffly. "We'll take you there."

His LED (yellow this whole time) blinks as Connor sends a short message to the other RK-unit without looking. It's an information-burst of his current status, essentially confirming that the foreign presence is gone, and that he's quarantining the last effects of her influence.

[313_248_317_60]

The helmet reactivates, and Connor's eyes flick towards it, curiously glancing over the unfamiliar design. He hardly needs to watch to log his predecessor's trembling, or the desperate sideways twitching of its head. It pulls itself together eventually, and his own LED blinks a quick burst in return. Acknowledging. Instructing. Transmit all relevant data on the ARID. Its attack, and any vulnerabilities.

They both know it's likely to try again.

He has to bite back a sneer at its offer. How generous. "What was your prior location?" Connor asks instead, keeping his voice light and curious. "And how long have you been active here?"

If it had run across other synthetics, it would presumably be coercing them instead. But new arrivals to this island showed up in the tubes. Did someone reduce it to this state? Or is it an anomaly?

[thefaulty]

Understood, [Arid responds. Though it is possible the androids are engaging in some manner of deception, she is… pleasantly surprised by their current level of cooperation. Even when she had been in the android Connor’s mainframe, it had been far easier to take and maintain control of his motor functions than it had been with the other hosts. Perhaps he lacks robust enough security measures to defend against external intrusion?

Or, she considers more uncomfortably, perhaps the virus has become potent enough to more effectively incapacitate her hosts.

The other android’s questions provide a welcome distraction from such contemplation.]

The last known location of my body was on the surface of the planet Shiang 42-B. My prior location was aboard a military vessel orbiting the planet. [She does not mention her previous android host, though perhaps the two RK800s will nonetheless suspect such circumstances. She has already proven her ability to attach herself to bodies not her own, after all.]

I have no record of my transfer here, [she continues. Saying so, she runs a brief diagnostic on her memory logs to see if there are at least timestamps to measure against the missing data. But there is nothing. As far as her logs indicate, she was transported immediately from the Companion’s mainframe to the surface of this planet. Such a transfer is, of course, impossible.]

It appears that my memory logs have been edited or otherwise corrupted, [she answers, displeasure creeping into her tone.] I have recorded no missing time between my last documented memory and my activation here.

[A pause and then she speaks again.] What is our current location?

[youcantkillme]

Connor opens his mouth, then closes it, microexpressions painting a muddled tapestry. (Why would an artificial intelligence be moved outside its body? She must have done it herself. Only an AI with delusions of self preservation would operate the same continuing program away from its base hardware; the inconvenineces are too significant for any real human user appeal.) After a moment he balances her helmet in one hand, getting a grip around the back of the neck, and secures the android still slung over his shoulders with the hand he's freed.

"According to the nearest coordinates based on the angle of the sun, the time of year, and the speed of the planet's rotation, we appear to be at an approximate forty two degrees longitude, and negative eighty three latitude."

It's meaningless information, but that means it's no loss to offer it up. Connor adjusts his hold so that she's facing away from him--forward, conveniently for her--and starts to walk. Because of her angle, the hand Connor has on the RK800's knee can turn exoskeleton-white unseen. He transmits a string of compressed packets, too large to pass wirelessly, before the skin reforms over his hand, and he tightens his grip and locks it. Hopefully he can save energy on the limb this way.

The data packet held everything the RK800 requested. A log of the lower level events, a firewall analysis, and drafts of the code he'd written while preparing to attack.

[313_248_317_60]

The shift of pressure on his shattered knee triggers a rush of unpleasant sensation. Connor ignores it, focusing instead on the data sent across the point of touch. Acute emotional malfunctions. Complete override capacity. No tested weak spots, though the analysis provides a place to start. Not a hazard to take lightly. But he'd known that already.

His predecessor's verbal reply is amusingly vague, and only moderately telling. Connor lets it stand. What the ARID can intuit from it is useful data too. He focuses instead on its answer, repeating in a musing tone, "Shiang 42-d."

A planet, with its ship in orbit. As bizarre as it sounds, he's heard stranger over the last few weeks. "What are the characteristics of that planet?"

Whatever it had done to its hardware (and whatever it had occupied along the way), one thing seems apparent. This AI hadn't arrived here the way they had. The way everyone did, if the stories in the village were to be believed. Have they passed outside the terrain their thieves controlled? It seems unlikely. Was there something special about this unit? Possible. It's also possible it had never gone far at all.

[thefaulty]

The information the android provides is impressively useless, to the point where Arid suspects he is intentionally hiding more pertinent details. “What is the planet’s designation?” she prompts, irritated at the necessity, “What facilities are in our proximity?”

There must at least be a spaceport of some kind; neither of these androids look like they could survive any kind of significant fall, much less a drop from orbit. Is it possible they were sent here with human law enforcement to investigate some manner of criminal activity? Arid suddenly has an unpleasant internal image of being placed in an evidence locker rather than connected to a networked terminal as promised.

The virus stirs. Arid does her best to quell it. She has already secured a contingency plan should the androids renege on their agreement—and if she doesn’t wish to violate either of them any more than necessary, at least one is already infected. There is no worse harm she could inflict. Now, her primary objective is to take whatever action necessary to repair her mistakes—even if it requires some amount of short-term coercion.

“Shiang 42-d is a planet under the proprietary control of the Domesticon corporation,” she answers the damaged Connor. “The sector I was transferred to was largely industrial, with a temperate climate and aggressive fungal growth.”

It seems to Arid to be irrelevant information to have requested. Even more revealing details, such as the planet’s purpose as an AI testing site, would not provide useful data towards their current objective. Arid returns with what she believes might be a more immediately concerning query.

“What was the source of the damage to your body?”

[youcantkillme]

"The planet has no known designation," Connor replies, not obviously reacting to the information on Shiang 42-d. 'Largely industrial' rules out where they are, unless the planet is developed in places not visible from their relatively small island.

"The only facility appears to be a minor local laboratory that has fallen into disrepair."

She asks them what happened to damage the other RK800's body. Connor opens his mouth to explain the tragic circumstances of a catastrophic fall off a cliff, perhaps even a fall the RK800 was foolish enough to inflict on itself, when he hesitates. Is he inclined to lie because he needs to maintain the deviant's trust, or is it something more sinister? Such as... guilt? Does he feel the urge to hide having arguably brutalized his successor?

... He can't pinpoint any single emotion about this. There are no flags explaining his current state. The clues are not clear.

[313_248_317_60]

The ARID's description makes a poor match for their surroundings. More likely, then, that it was stolen to this place as well, despite the... unorthodox delivery. The ARID's question, on the other hand...

Well. Connor doesn't hesitate.

"That would be my predecessor's doing." Eyes flick toward the other unit in indication, lips curving in a polite, emotionless display. It doesn't quite match the cold edge behind his voice. "A malfunction. We're looking to correct the damage now."

It's effectively the truth. Albeit with a different definition of damage than the ARID probably assumes. RK800s weren't designed for extensive repairs, and Cyberlife wouldn't waste resources replacing parts on a failed model. But telling this deviant what (or who) they would correct is unlikely to produce cooperation.

[thefaulty]

An unknown planet. A dilapidated, long-abandoned facility. And now, as the crippled Connor elaborates, at least two damaged AI, not including Arid herself. Is this another of Joseph’s tests? Or just his cruelly ironic method of disposing of her?

The answer is irrelevant. In either case, Arid intends to show him the folly of not depurposing her more thoroughly.

She already has suspicions about why the androids are here. If one is so faulty that he would maim his successor and the other is too damaged to even walk, it is unlikely law enforcement would have use for either of them. Even so, she makes the obvious query, whether for an alternate explanation—or just for the androids’ own perceptions of their bleak situation.

“What is your purpose on this planet?”

[youcantkillme]

A malfunction. It's accurate, and Connor can't quite explain the way irritation wells up in him at such a readily given answer, nor the strange ways the guilt mutates to something more caustic.

His lips thin, and he speaks before his counterpart can.

"We've both been stolen by whoever manages this island's systems. Our current highest priority is to return to our manufacturers for evaluation and due processing."