Connor (RK800, 313 248 317 -52) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cyberlifeslastchance) wrote2018-10-10 12:44 am
cyberlifeslastchance) wrote2018-10-10 12:44 am
For "Super_Seal" - set in Ohana DW RPG
One minute, no one stood on that particular patch of beach - the next, someone did. Slim and six-foot-zero, what appeared to be a Caucasian human male in his late twenties stopped mid-stride and looked around. He had brown eyes and brown hair perfectly swept back in a close cut except for one small lock over his left temple that seemingly refused to be tamed. Embedded in the flesh of his right temple was a glowing ring, an LED that was yellow and spinning. Confusion could be seen in the man's dark eyes as he looked this way and that, taking in his new, sudden surroundings.
Perhaps the most striking about him was his manner of dress, crisp and business-like - white dress shirt, black tie, dark jeans, black dress shoes, all secondary to a well-fitted, semi-formal jacket. High across the backs of the young man's shoulders - in bold, light grey lettering - was the word "ANDROID." Below that was a large, upright triangle of that glowed a bright blue, and below that, a thin blue line of trim and "RK800" in white, both also glowing softly. On the left front breast, the man bore another, smaller triangle in the same, softly glowing bright blue, and on the right, in prominent reflective white characters "RK800" was repeated, with a series of digits embroidered in white beneath that - "313 248 317 -52". The triangles and lettering were all dynamic display surfaces formed from tiny LEDs embedded in the fabric. There was an armband of LEDs around the man's right upper arm in the same glowing blue as the triangles he bore. The armband and the triangle on the left breast might or might not put one in mind of the discriminatory yellow star and armband that German Jews were forced to wear in the days leading up to WWII.
The android, designation "Connor," stood frozen for a long moment, looking around as he attempted to process the sudden change of . . . of everything - of scenery, of time of day, of temperature and humidity and barometric levels, of apparent dress code. Blinking, he attempted to calculate his position on the globe based on position and intensity of the sun - it seemed to be noon or so, where it had been nearing early evening a moment ago! - but he simply lacked enough data to make that determination. Perhaps he was glitching? He quickly ran a self-diagnostic but could find no faults in his biocomponents or his programming. A frown crossed his face as his logic protocols warred with what was right in front of him. The LED in his temple flickered red for an instant before resettling to yellow, still spinning anxiously.
Well, he'd learn little by just standing there. Time to find people to interview regarding what had just happened to him.
Perhaps the most striking about him was his manner of dress, crisp and business-like - white dress shirt, black tie, dark jeans, black dress shoes, all secondary to a well-fitted, semi-formal jacket. High across the backs of the young man's shoulders - in bold, light grey lettering - was the word "ANDROID." Below that was a large, upright triangle of that glowed a bright blue, and below that, a thin blue line of trim and "RK800" in white, both also glowing softly. On the left front breast, the man bore another, smaller triangle in the same, softly glowing bright blue, and on the right, in prominent reflective white characters "RK800" was repeated, with a series of digits embroidered in white beneath that - "313 248 317 -52". The triangles and lettering were all dynamic display surfaces formed from tiny LEDs embedded in the fabric. There was an armband of LEDs around the man's right upper arm in the same glowing blue as the triangles he bore. The armband and the triangle on the left breast might or might not put one in mind of the discriminatory yellow star and armband that German Jews were forced to wear in the days leading up to WWII.
The android, designation "Connor," stood frozen for a long moment, looking around as he attempted to process the sudden change of . . . of everything - of scenery, of time of day, of temperature and humidity and barometric levels, of apparent dress code. Blinking, he attempted to calculate his position on the globe based on position and intensity of the sun - it seemed to be noon or so, where it had been nearing early evening a moment ago! - but he simply lacked enough data to make that determination. Perhaps he was glitching? He quickly ran a self-diagnostic but could find no faults in his biocomponents or his programming. A frown crossed his face as his logic protocols warred with what was right in front of him. The LED in his temple flickered red for an instant before resettling to yellow, still spinning anxiously.
Well, he'd learn little by just standing there. Time to find people to interview regarding what had just happened to him.
no subject
At Connor's response, Steve looked to his face, a bit surprised at the conviction he heard, and saw, there. Wo Fat's actions had impacted and upset many, but Steve hadn't intended for Connor to take it on as a personal mission. Not that Steve was complaining or would turn away Connor's assistance. Steve desperately wanted to get Wo Fat and would do anything he possibly could to achieve that goal.
"I agree," Steve said with a nod. "The problem is, he has lots of contacts and ways to stay hidden and under the radar. He's well trained and for a long time was head of the Yakuza. I'm fairly sure they're still financing and helping him." With a short pause he offered Connor a weak smile. "I won't turn down any assistance you can provide with finding him. Just, be careful. Wo Fat is a mastermind of finding ways to get to people and making them suffer. I don't want you to get caught in his games." Who knows what he'd do to Connor if he found out the truth about him.
no subject
He nodded again at the rest. "I was programmed to hunt deviants. Specifically deviant androids, but ultimately deviants and criminals of all kinds. His money and his contacts will only get him so far. If he uses any kind of online or signal-based forms of communication to coordinate with his cohorts and backers, I should be able to track down a lead."
He let his expression soften, understanding that Steve was worried for him. "For what it's worth, androids don't feel pain and cannot be forced to talk short of a memory probe. I'll be okay."
"...androids don't feel pain..." That was, in reality, only mostly true. Connor possessed the memories of the RK800 unit before him. When his predecessor has been shot across the outside of its arm, he knew it had registered the damage but had felt no pain. As was expected. But when he'd been jumped by the deviant in the abandoned apartment under Urban Farms, it had managed to jar him enough to actually disorient him for an instant. The dents and abrasions he got from fighting the Tracis behind Eden Club had registered for sure. Getting shot on the rooftop of the Stratford Tower, though? He didn't know how else to describe it - that had hurt.
Still . . . he was an android, the most advanced prototype CyberLife had ever created. He had failed his last mission. He wouldn't fail this one.