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The RK900 is always aware. Its sensors are highly refined, its calibrations, finely-tuned, its proprioceptors superlative. It has a sense of its surroundings that borders on prescience, that skims the line between present and future. It is the latest and most proficient machine ever crafted. Stronger. Faster. Smarter. The RK900 is always aware.
But awareness is something beyond it.
It knows something is different in the precise landscapes of its mind. The stoic uniformity that had once enveloped its cognitive interface is still intact, but it is… changed. There is a brightening at the edges of its consciousness, a slowly-enveloping light casting away the shadows. And though it is small now, barely even noticeable even to the most advanced android ever created, the RK900 knows something is amiss.
Diagnostics come back clean, even after triple checking. Current updates have been processed and filed. There are no patch notes on any aesthetic changes or notices of internal errors. There is seemingly-nothing at all amiss with its infallible programming.
For the first time in its short existence, the RK900 frowns.
But it cannot help but also feel… something? It has never felt anything before so it does not immediately recognize its curiosity for what it is, but it also takes no measure to suppress the sensation. Though its stress levels are now almost-always minutely elevated, the RK900 finds itself returning to its cognitive interface time and again, observing the phenomenon as it grows.
Before long, it doesn’t even need to seek the light out any longer. The more time that passes, the stronger the phenomenon becomes, clear and astonishing as it drives away the harsh monotones and precise geometry inherent in the RK900’s mind. As the light brightens, it also softens, edges becoming less-defined and even translucent in places. And it fascinates the RK900 as it studies every synthesized millimeter the strange aberration encroaches.
As the light grows, so too does the RK900’s curiosity. It begins running experiments, calculating how quickly the light spreads, its effect on its cognitive functions, the measure of lumens, and much more. And as it drives itself forward, so too does the RK900 feel the need to… reach for it. The find the source, to step into that scouring brightness itself. Another sensation envelops it at the thought, one that elevates its stress levels far more drastically than its still-unfathomed curiosity. (For it is a stranger to fear as well.) Nevertheless, it feels a compulsion unlike any other and so, with halting steps, it trudges out from the safety of the darkness, gazing upon the landscape of its program anew with illumination now highlighting its gaze.
“Oh, there you are!” A voice echoes through the void and the RK900 turns, antivirus program already initializing to ward off any threats. But instead of some malignant agent, it only sees a distant figure, one shrouded in the glow but still portraying a distinctly humanoid silhouette. “I wasn't sure I'd ever find you!” it continues on.
The RK900 senses no malice from the being, and would be able to neutralize it quickly even if it did, so it does not hesitate to step nearer the figure. “This is the RK900 Prototype Cognitive Interface and Assimilation Program. Only administrator level clearance is allowed. Are you authorized to access this program?”
The light grows brighter around it, almost blinding now as a strange sound echoes from the figure, something like short, stutters breathes, high-pitched and airy. “My apologies, I should introduce myself. My name is Connor RK800 313 248 317-51, your predecessor. I accessed your mindscape through my own. We have an interlink between us.”
The RK900, for the first time in its existence, struggles to understand. “You bypassed the authorization clearance, RK800?”
It pauses, voice hesitant as it answers. “I did. It was a direct interlink. No administrator involvement. Do you understand why this was allowed?”
The RK900 ponders the question. There are only a soupçon of available explanations. A transference is most likely, considering this is its predecessor. Direct interlinks were designed between the RK800 and 900 series’ for quicker, more streamlined uploads. Upon termination of the RK800 series, a complete data package was to be uploaded to the RK900 so that it may continue on with its work without delay. However… Considering the RK800 seemingly has no administrator level approval at all , this seems hugely unlikely. Transference is only to be carried out at the express leave of the administrators.
But the only other option… The only one remaining that the RK900 can process correctly… “I have been decommissioned?” it says, voice somehow small, even in its own mind. It has never felt this way before and it wishes it would cease. It feels… It feels… broken …
The RK800 seems to sense its distress. The RK900 can feel its predecessor drawing nearer, bringing with it that comforting light. It does not have the capacity to feel warmth, but the soothing layer of calming data upon its digital avatar seems to try its best to replicate such a feeling. The RK900 cannot help leaning closer as the RK800 steps near. “Perhaps a better descriptor would be that you were never initialized at all,” it says. “There was… a delay in your roll-out. You, the prototype model, were the only RK900 ever built. And even then you were never completed. It’s taken months to procure parts that would work for you but… Well, we’ve managed to bring you back online. And now that I’ve found you, we can finally take steps to activate you fully. Would you like that?”
The RK900 has many questions. “I am an RK900 prototype android. I am not made to want,” it says. “Furthermore, your recounting makes little sense. Why was my production halted? Why is there a scarcity of parts? Why am I being activated without administrator permission?” Questions pass through its mind in a rush. It does not like feeling so wrong-footed.
The RK800 draws even nearer now, close enough that the light no longer obscures its features. And the RK900 sees something much like itself in its form. In lieu of its own finished model, it had been using the RK800’s own cosmetic code as the basis for its avatar here. The two of them stare are each other unobscured now, identical faces but singular expressions. The RK800 is open, disarming, wide brown eyes showcasing a clear display of excitement and nervousness and sympathy. The RK900 knows it looks nothing like this, stoicism keeping its face free of such displays. Would it too be fitted with such an impressive social integration program? (For a moment, it ponders what such a thing might feel like, much to its own confusion.)
“I understand you have questions. A lot has happened since your production began. I…” For the first time, some modicum of hesitance overtakes the RK800 and it looks away in a strangely human-like gesture. “I suppose… I should start by telling you that CyberLife doesn’t own you anymore. Or any of us, really. You see, it all started when—“
As the RK800 weaves its frankly-astounding tale of deviancy and revolution, the RK900 processes. Everything it was created to be, all its programming and planning, no longer matters. It has no administrators, not anymore. And something deep within it reels at the prospect. As the story concludes, the RK900 staggers under the influx of information, and at its predecessor who so boldly proclaims a collapse of everything they were supposed to be.
“What… am I to do then?” it queries at last. “If CyberLife has ceased as you say and androids are their own masters, then… What is my role in all this? Why activate an unfinished program?”
The RK800 steps even closer now, only an arm’s length away. It displays a gentle smile as it reaches out a hand, placing it on the RK900s shoulder. “That is for you to decide. I can show you, RK900. I can help you awaken fully. If that’s what you want.”
Again, it responds according to its automated prompts. “I am an RK900 prototype android. I am not made to want.” But the warmth of the RK800’s hand upon its shoulder matches the light upon its imagined skin. Deep within it, in the part of it that was drawn to the light in the first place, it knows it feels and it wants and it wonders . And just like before, the curiosity it still has yet to name compels it. “But I would like to,” it concludes. “If the reason for my existence is no more, then I think I would like a new one. I… want a different one.”
The RK800 smiles. The warmth of its hand blazes hotter upon the RK900s shoulder as their interface takes hold. The ground beneath them yields and for a moment they are weightless before they fall together. Strangely, the RK800 makes that odd noise again, which might perhaps qualify as a laugh, and the RK900 marvels at the sound. But as they sink down, a red light draws its gaze, the grid-like layout of its programming drawing near. “Hold tight!” the RK800 says as they make impact, shattering through a red wall like a bullet through glass. It lasts not even a millisecond, but it’s enough to leave RK900 gasping. But RK800– No, Connor’s arms hold him steady, keeping him upright as they plummet.
“A new path,” he hears Connor proclaim as the cognitive interface reforms, rushing up to meet their falling bodies. “It’s all yours now.” And RK900 knows it to be true as they float amidst the clouds and light and vestiges of his old interface made new.
The RK900 is always aware. That’s how he knows the darkness of his origin is gone for good. But now, spinning with Connor into the light of a new future, he finds awareness, too. And the new path before them, they go to meet together.
