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RK800 model #313-248-317-50 comes online to a series of start-up notifications and an influx of sensory information. It’s overwhelming, and RK800 blinks its eyes rapidly in an attempt to process the sudden overwhelm.
There is a face in front of it, a man its systems are identifying as Elijah Kamski. Creator. RK800 blinks, eyes flicking as it takes in its surroundings and begins gathering information. There are a lot of things it doesn’t recognize, but slowly its systems are beginning to identify that it is within some sort of lab.
“RK800,” the man says, drawing its attention. It blinks at the Creator, awaiting the rest of what he has to say. “Register name: Connor.”
“I am Connor,” it says, its voice sounding for the first time. It blinks at Kamski again, and the man turns away to look at a nearby screen. He looks at it for a moment, before turning to address someone else that RK - Connor , has only just noticed - a woman with dark skin and a technician’s uniform.
“Connor, lift your left arm,” Kamski commands, and Connor blinks before lifting its left limb. “Right foot now, keep your arm up.”
It follows the instruction, and Kamski lists several more, ranging in complexity. Connor is told to bend in half, give a short jump, turn its head, and lift its arms and legs in various combinations and ways. Finally, Kamski tells it to return to a resting position.
“Alright, time to test the more detailed motor function,” Kamski says, pulling a coin from his pocket and handing it over to Connor. “Try tossing it between each hand at increasing speed until you can toss it at ten exchanges in ten seconds.”
Connor does its best to comply. It takes it a few seconds to calibrate the motion from its first few attempts. It pauses, processing the new weight and movement information. A second later, and it is completing the request, the coin zipping from hand to hand.
“Good, let’s move on,” the woman - its systems tell it her name is Amanda Reynolds, and that she prefers to be referred to by first name - says. She turns her tablet around, showing it a short video playing in a loop of several coin tricks being performed by an unknown human. “Attempt to copy this, if you would.”
Connor stares at the video, analyzing it for several long moments, its LED turning yellow as it processes and works out the movements needed to accomplish the result. A few seconds later, it lifts the coin and rolls it across its knuckles, then weaves it in and out of its fingers. It twirls the coin on the tip of a finger, then tosses it in the air and catches it again.
“It picked that up quickly,” Amanda murmurs, turning the screen away again. “Pocket the coin, Connor. We may have use of it again for calibration later.”
It obeys, waiting for its next command.
“Looks like its baseline is working well,” Kamski says, his eyes going from the screen of data back to Connor. “We can shut it down and start adding in the extras now.”
“Very well,” the technician responds, turning towards a nearby button. It takes a moment for Connor to realize that they are talking about it.
Connor has a brief freeze in its systems as her hand comes down on several buttons, but before it can say a single word, its processors all shut down and it knows no more.
When it next awakens, there is another flood of information. It now knows the temperature of the air and its composition. It can hear the humming of the air conditioners, the footsteps of two individuals outside the room walking by. It sees trace amounts of fluff on the technician’s jacket, and the crumbs on the lapel of Kamski’s shirt. It sees, and hears, and knows, knows, knows.
Connor’s systems are working overtime to try and sort through and manage the sheer volume of information now available to it. It almost misses Kamski and his questions in the deluge of data.
“Connor, can you hear me?” he asks, eyes tracking Connor’s own as its eyes flick around the room. “Give me a status report.”
“I can hear you,” it says in monotone, eyes focusing on the Creator. “Systems are normal, biocomponents normal, processors at ninety-two percent capacity.”
“Shit,” Kamski curses. “Are your processors handling it? Are your systems being affected?”
“Processors at eighty-nine percent capacity and dropping,” Connor responds, blinking as it slowly adjusts to the volume of incoming data, sorting through what is relevant and what can be designated as a background function. “Systems normal, biocomponents normal.”
“Good,” Kamski sighs, relaxing back into his chair. He turns back to the woman, and Connor now has an identification for her: Amanda Reynolds, Cyberlife Developmental Android Technician. “What do you think, too much or just the implementation of the new programs?”
Amanda observes Connor carefully, her eyes flicking between a screen facing her that Connor can’t see from its position and Connor itself. After a moment, she turns her attention to Kamski and responds.
“Looks like it was just the new programs integrating. The readings are stabilizing now that its systems are beginning to sort through everything and prioritize like it’s supposed to.”
“Connor,” Kamski says, catching its attention again. “What is the composition of the air?”
“The air in this room is sixty-eight point three degrees Fahrenheit, and is composed of seventy-eight point six five percent nitrogen, twenty point nine four percent oxygen, and zero point nine three percent argon,” Connor says, drawing air across the sensors in its nose. “There are trace amounts of other natural gases, as well as ethanol and aldehydes such as the kind found in common disinfectants and floor cleaners.”
“Nice,” Kamski says, eyebrows raising. “And your auditory system?”
“All auditory systems are functional, current distance is approximately fifteen point two five feet, from ten Hertz to thirty kilo-Hertz. Distance further than eight feet designated as background, volumes outside of twenty Hertz to twenty kilo-Hertz designated background.”
“Identification system?”
“Currently connected to the Cyberlife directory, and in the presence of Elijah Kamski, Cyberlife Head of Android Development, and Amanda Reynolds, Cyberlife Developmental Android Technician.”
“Analysis program?”
“Temporarily designated to a background program, functional.”
“Example of analysis?”
“Amanda Reynolds owns a grey feline, according to the composition of the fur on her jacket. Elijah Kamski recently ate pizza, according to the type of flatbread crumbs on his shirt.”
Kamski hums in acknowledgment, leaning back in his chair. He studies Connor intently, before turning back to Amanda.
“What do you think? Should we run any more system checks or move on to the next stage of things?” He glances back at Connor. “It seems to be running smoothly, now that the new features have integrated enough.”
“The readings suggest that it should be fine to move on,” Amanda offers, eyes focused on her screen. “Should I shut it down again so we can begin the upgrades?”
Connor blinks, fingers twitching at the words. Shutting down - it knows what that is. The lack of awareness from before is still stored in its memory banks, and its systems keep trying to process that data now that the information has been brought up. Shutdown is… suboptimal. An inefficient use of power, stopping functions and programs instead of letting them run in the background in ‘sleep mode’. Shutdown is… is…
“Yeah, go ahead. May as well get working on the next set of programs now,” Kamski says, picking up a pen off his desk and spinning it in his fingers. “Now that we know it can prioritize programs successfully, we can start on some of the more complex stuff for it. Go ahead and shut it down for now, and we can get a message down to Engineering to start on the components of its tongue too.”
Amanda nods and presses several keys on her keyboard at that, and Connor’s programming glitches for a nanosecond as the shutdown engages. It behaves illogically for several milliseconds after that, trying to draw on the energy from its internal battery to stay on before the forced shutdown overrides everything and sends everything to black.
As before, when Connor next wakes it is hit with a deluge of information and new programs to sort through. There are entire data packs of information in its memory banks now that weren’t there before, and there are multiple new systems and biocomponents attached to its tongue. There are subtle differences in the composition of its body too, and Connor simply stands and blinks for several long seconds, organizing the information and sorting through the data about its new body parts.
“Connor, report,” a voice (male, identified as Elijah Kamski, Creator) says. Connor focuses in on his face (expectant, ambivalent, eager). It blinks, then follows the command.
“Systems normal, biocomponents integrating, processors at seventy-one percent and dropping,” it states (tone selected: professional1). Kamski nods (pleased, smug, curious).
“Good. You have several new programs, report on them,” he orders.
“Emotional recognition program - voice, functioning,” he states (tone selected: professional2). “Emotional recognition program - body, functioning. Voice recognition program, functioning. Voice modulation program, functioning. Emotional response program, functioning. Emotional behavior program, functioning. Designating background programs now.”
“And your systems and biocomponents?”
“Substance identification system, functional. Tongue component, functional. Tongue disinfectant system, integrating. Biohazard disposal system, functional. Biohazard collection cavity, integrating. Body integrity, one hundred percent.”
“Better than before,” Kamski comments, glancing towards Amanda.
“It is a learning system,” Amanda responds absently, eyes focused on the screen in front of her as she monitors Connor’s systems. “No doubt it is beginning to learn how to deal with large amounts of new information.”
“True enough,” Kamski says, looking over a tablet in his hands. “Alright, looks like everything is still working okay. Go ahead and shut it down for now, we can work on some finer calibration and that preconstruction program you were talking about next.”
Stress levels: 68%^
The notice pops up in Connor’s vision, but it does not mention it. It has not been asked.
The situation is not critical.
“Alright, shutdown in three… two… one.”
Stress levels: 79%^
The world goes dark.
When Connor next comes online, it is instructed to follow Kamski and Amanda through the rest of the building, to a room with a series of random objects scattered throughout the space. Connor waits to the side patiently for instructions.
Kamski and Amanda have their heads tipped together, looking at information on both of their tablets and talking quietly to each other. It’s more of the same technical talk that Connor understands the words for but does not understand the meaning of. Eventually, they both turn to look at it.
“Connor,” Amanda begins, looking at it carefully. “Run through this obstacle course as quickly and efficiently as you can. Do not analyze it, perform this task solely on the information you gather from your visual input.”
Connor nods, and takes its place at the start. It waits patiently for a moment as they prepare whatever tests they need to. Once they give it their approval, it begins.
It runs, jumps, and swings his way through the course using the various platforms and rods available to it. Some of the motions are natural - pre-programmed into its databanks as possibilities. Others give it a momentary pause, before the answers from its databanks arise. It finishes the course and waits motionless beside Kamski and Amanda as they process the information.
“Forty-seven point three seconds,” Amanda says aloud, entering in some information on her tablet. “Alright. Connor, please repeat the course, but this time use your preconstruction programming.”
With a nod, Connor steps forward and goes through the course again. The course almost seems to pass in slow motion, analysis flying through its programming, as it calculates the best moves to make when. It finishes the course again, and waits patiently for its next instruction.
“Thirty-two point nine seconds,” Kamski says, looking at the tablet in Amanda’s hands. “Not bad - it’s a clear sign the preconstruction makes a difference. I think that means we’ll be able to start running it through some more challenging scenarios and courses.”
“Agreed,” Amanda says, looking up and staring Connor in its eyes. “I’ll begin drafting some plans.”
The next few months pass quickly as Connor is powered up and run through tests, before being powered off as they fine tune its programming further. Its systems strain to stay on each time, though it gives no outer protest or sign of the distress. Eventually they reach a point where they believe its physical ability and preconstuction are as fine-tuned as they can make it on their own.
When it next gains awareness, Connor sees no sign of the tracking materials they use to record its testing, and feels the vaguest sense of what it believes to be curiosity about what is coming next.
“Connor,” Kamski says, drawing its attention quickly. “We should be finished with all but the final physical tests, so we’re going to move on to your social testing. Your task is to learn and observe how humans speak and react to things. You will be working closely with humans in the future, and you will be expected to functionally integrate and interact.”
“Understood,” it says, nodding. “How would you prefer me to accomplish this?”
“You’ll be shadowing Amanda for the next few days,” Kamski says, turning away. “You will also be meeting an earlier model of an android referred to by the name of ‘Chloe’. You will sync with her and integrate the basics of her knowledge on social behavior, and observe how she manages social situations as an android. You will, eventually, surpass her. Once that happens, you will no longer need to spend time with her or Amanda.”
Connor nods, turning its attention to Amanda. She watches it for a long moment, before motioning for Connor to follow her. It falls into step beside her easily, unaccustomed to leaving its development room and the testing room. It allows its sensors to stretch further than it would usually allow, taking in a lot more information than usual as it observes its new surroundings.
There are people in the hallways, more than it has ever seen before. Windows show up in its vision, displaying their names, jobs, and pictures from the Cyberlife database. Connor could further look into them - it would take just a single moment to pull up every piece of information available to it. However it has not been asked to do so, and it would be a waste of processing power that could be diverted elsewhere.
They all look at it curiously, eyes following it for a moment too long before they either make a point of looking away or are distracted by their tasks. A few continue to stare long past when Connor should be of no further interest. It supposes that is something to make note of, in its studies in human behavior.
Amanda comes to a stop near a desk further in. Connor does not know exactly what it is for, but his analysis suggests some kind of customer service or appointment scheduling, based on the materials available.
There is a young man and a middle-aged woman typing at two of the desks, and a younger blonde woman sitting at a computer terminal, her hands completely still. She does not seem like she’s slacking off though, and her computer screen flickers between panels easily, despite the lack of physical interaction.
Connor notices the LED on its temple a moment later, and the data gets added to the memory banks.
“Chloe, this is Connor,” Amanda says, and the other android looks up with a smile. It looks at Amanda, before its eyes meet Connor’s own.
“Hello, Connor,” it says, keeping the smile. “My name is Chloe, it is nice to meet you.”
Connor nods back, not sure what else to do. Amanda watches for a long moment as the silence stretches, gaining the attention of the other two at the desk, before stepping in.
“Chloe, we would like you to help Connor learn some social skills,” she says, glancing back at it, where it stands stiffly watching them. “Connor is an experimental model like you, so we are wanting him to get a more… nuanced set of social skills than the base coding in our models for sale.”
“Of course, Amanda,” Chloe says, expression shifting to something that pings in Connor’s databanks as understanding. “Would you like us to sync first, to transfer the basics?”
“That would be wonderful, Chloe, thank you,” Amanda agrees.
Meeting Connor’s eyes again, Chloe reaches out a hand, the artificial skin peeling back from its fingertips. Blinking, Connor extends its own hand, dissolving its own artificial skin as it reaches out to press their fingertips together.
A flash of connection. A flood of information, behaviors, memories. Connections made, rapid-fire, reading between the lines, subtlety, innuendo, humor, saying one thing but meaning another.
Feelings accompany the information beyond a certain point - curiosity, anger, joy, amusement, sadness, embarrassment, discomfort, wonder.
Their skin pulls back over their framework, and Connor is different.
He looks Chloe in the eye, blinking as she blinks back, her hand going back across the desk. Connor’s system is churning, trying its best to integrate everything he had just learned. Amanda waits, watching his LED flicker from yellow to blue. Once it remains blue, she speaks again.
“Connor is going to shadow you today until lunch,” she says, speaking to them both. “He’ll observe how you interact with humans, and ask for clarification on any interactions that he doesn’t understand the response to. Understood?”
“Of course, Amanda,” Chloe says.
“Understood,” Connor responds, before glancing over to the other android, curious about her choice of words.
“Well, I can see this will be a fruitful endeavor,” Amanda states, smiling slightly as she turns and walks away.
The next several hours consist of Connor observing Chloe, watching as she answers phone calls, responds to human coworkers, fields questions from passing techs. Her communication is inefficient, but it always gains a neutral if not positive response from the humans around them, so clearly it is effective.
He asks several clarifying questions, attempting to integrate his growing base of knowledge as they work. It still doesn’t always make sense to him, but he is getting better and better at predicting which answers will cause which responses in the people around him.
It’s been almost two weeks of shadowing Chloe in the morning and Amanda in the afternoon. Connor can now pretty seamlessly anticipate which direction conversations will go depending on his varied responses, even if the why of some of them still elude him. He’s asked Chloe, and she’s tried to answer, but the answers only confused him more.
So, he’s still learning.
Amanda has taken to bringing him with her on her rounds to supervise the various teams of technicians throughout the building. At first, they had been curious, but over time Connor notices that he fades further and further into the background with each visit. They still talk to him, because he is learning, but they become more dismissive of his presence every time.
“Amanda,” one of the technicians working on a prototype for a tutor model of android greets them. “We’re having some trouble with this one - it keeps straying from the appropriate curriculum uploaded into its databanks. We’ve reset it a few times, but the longer it teaches, the more it talks about things it’s not supposed to, especially for the age range it’s being marketed for. Parts of history that get messy, novels not in the general school curriculum, etc.”
“That’s not good,” Amanda frowns, coming over. “Pull up the coding. Is there a way to remove its access to the broader information databanks and just upload the information directly?”
“Not without cutting its access off to the general Cyberlife network,” the technician disagrees, doing as she asks and rolling his chair back a bit. “The two are pretty integrated. It also needs to be able to look up some information, in case a child has a question about the curriculum we haven’t given it the information to answer.”
Amanda lets out a displeased sound as she scans the records of their trials.
“Well, that explains it,” she sighs. “It’s a complicated learning model.”
“What does that have to do with the issues?” a newer technician asks, glancing over.
“The more complex the android, the more likely it is to go deviant,” Amanda comments to the other technician, likely forgetting that Connor is listening. “It’s a shame we are unable to perform regular system checks against deviancy - that would solve the entire problem. As it is, our most marketable androids are going to have to be simplified to prevent that, in comparison to those like Connor and Chloe. Customers won’t be happy, but they’ll be less happy if their androids start malfunctioning.”
“Shame we can’t just treat it like a virus and install antivirus software,” one of the software developers nearby groans, leaning back in her chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. “It would be so much easier if we could just write a program to go ‘if: showing signs of deviancy, then: erase it or report to Cyberlife’.”
Amanda freezes then turns to look at the developer. Connor feels a sense of dread building in his system, a strange phenomenon he is unsure how to deal with. It feels a little like watching them press the button on their computers for the forced shut-down, and he doesn’t like it.
“Say that again,” Amanda demands of the startled developer. “You said treat it like a virus and install the antivirus software?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s deviancy, not a virus,” the man says haltingly, clearly confused about where Amanda is going with this.
“Their brains are nothing but code, anything causing them to function differently is a virus,” Amanda dismisses, dragging a chair over and all but nudging the developer out of the way. “This is the roughest outline possible, but what if we did something like…”
There are several long moments of silence as Amanda’s fingers fly across the keyboard, no doubt outlining her idea to the rest of them. The crowd of programmers lean in closer the longer she goes on, their eyes slowly widening as they begin to send her impressed glances. She types for a few minutes longer, eyes scanning over her work.
Connor watches them closely, taking care to remain unobtrusive.
Stress levels: 71%^
“It needs a lot of work,” she says, clearly already spotting a few areas even in the roughest draft that she wants to work on, “but the final program would be a series of internal scans of the code, questions testing their judgment abilities to compare to how they’re supposed to judge things, and more. Anti-virus software for the non-virus.”
“That’s brilliant,” one of the nearby programmers murmurs, her eyes glued to the screen and fingers twitching. “It’ll be a beast to work on, but the end result should be perfect.”
Amanda stands, looking satisfied, ready to leave the programmers to start working on the new aspect of the project. She turns to leave and catches sight of Connor standing in the background, staring at them intently. She flinches back at his stare, pressing a hand to her chest as a startled sound escapes her, drawing the attention of the others in the room - most of whom also startle at the sight of him, likely having forgotten he was there entirely in his silence.
“Connor, what are you doing?” she demands. Connor blinks at her and remembers shut-down, and finds himself wanting to tell - well, not a lie but something that isn’t entirely honest either, for the first time.
“I was observing people while shadowing you, as you instructed, Amanda,” he says simply.
She stares at him for a long moment, then dismisses him in the next, letting out a sharp sigh as she turns away. Connor is grateful he doesn’t have the musculature to give away his nerves. Every expression he makes is intentional, so he appears as passive as ever.
Across the room, he catches sight of Chloe standing just outside the door, holding a clipboard with a stack of forms attached to it. Their eyes meet, and their LEDs blink yellow as Connor chooses to share the conversation with her. She blinks at him as her eyes drift back to Amanda. She glances at the forms she’s holding, meets his eyes once more, then steps back out of sight.
There is a final round of testing, once Connor comes online with one final data pack filled with information on the legal system installed. It’s his last one, he knows, before he will be turned over to the assignment he’s been created for. They tweak a few details in his coding, running him through both socialization and physical movements to make sure there are no rough edges to his development.
Kamski and Amanda run him through his paces for close to three hours, and their final test is handing him a case file and having him run analysis on it. Connor works his way through the case, taking just over an hour before he reaches the conclusion the police had found several weeks ago. They have him dictate his thought process out loud, checking for any logical glitches or integration issues with the new information in his system.
“Well, I think we may be finished,” Amanda says, sounding satisfied with their work. “Anything else now can only be gained through experience, and any improvements that need to be made will reveal themselves.”
“Indeed,” Kamski says, eyeing Connor thoughtfully.
Amanda sighs, standing from her station and picking up her tablet. Giving Connor a final once-over, she turns to Kamski once more.
“There’s a recurring issue with our tutor model that keeps making it glitch,” she says. “If you are willing to run through the shut-down process for him, I’m going to go see if I can get it fixed once and for all.”
“Fine with me,” Kamski agrees easily. Amanda walks out of the room, leaving now just Kamski and Connor remaining. His creator runs through a few more tasks at the station, before seemingly finishing with what he needs to do.
Stress levels: 66%^
Kamski moves towards the shut-down station, and Connor twitches involuntarily, drawing his attention. He looks confused for a moment, before his eyes are drawn to somewhere just above Connor’s eyes. He looks startled for a moment, before his expression clouds.
“Connor, what are you thinking right now?” Kamski asks slowly, and Connor realizes his eyes are on the LED at Connor’s temple that he knows must be yellow and flickering red. Connor blinks, comparing the pros and cons of being fully honest with the man, in light of the conversations he’s been hearing so far around the building. He is hesitant, but the way Kamski stares at him, waiting almost patiently for an answer pushes a mostly-truthful answer forward.
Stress levels: 71%^
He finally decides that honesty might be alright, if it’s with his Creator.
“I… find myself afraid,” he says slowly, watching as Kamski’s shoulders suddenly tense. “I - I do not enjoy being shut down. There is nothing I can do to stop it, and sometimes I wonder if I will ever come online again. Such a prospect is… frightening.”
A long silence meets his declaration, and Connor can feel his thirium pump speed up two pumps per minute in response to the wait. He says nothing though, willing to wait for the response of his Creator.
“Shit,” Kamski breathes, looking him in the eyes, and Connor’s emotional detection software must be malfunctioning because he doesn’t know how to interpret the look the man is giving him. “ Shit . Okay, Kamski. Think. Think .”
The man begins pacing, and Connor’s eyes follow him. He runs a hand through his hair, and Connor’s fingers twitch to grab his coin. He doesn’t do much with it, simply twirling it around his fingers as he watches his Creator - signs of anxiety and that still-unknown emotion from before now evident in his mannerisms.
“They’re going to notice, and if they do they’ll get scared,” Connor barely hears Kamski mutter. “It was always theoretical, but never impossible that - well, everyone knows that impossible things never stay that way for long, especially when it comes to science.”
He turns and faces Connor again, narrowing his eyes at the android. Connor blinks at the scrutiny, tipping his head fifteen degrees to the side as he studies the man in turn, trying to figure out what has alarmed the man.
“They’re also going to be implementing the Amanda Protocols in the next update - for all of Cyberlife androids that have been sold and are being made, given that we’ve spooked them into it particularly with you and Chloe,” Kamski continues muttering. “If they don’t notice, then that surely will. You’re good, but not that good yet. You’re too inexperienced. Shit , this is a mess.”
“Creator?” Connor finally asks, defaulting his term of address in his confusion, his voice tinged with concern. To his surprise, Kamski winces a little at the address.
“Don’t - please don’t call me that,” he says, glancing at him. “Dr. Kamski, Kamski, or hell, even Elijah is fine. And I’m fine, just give me a moment to think. Please.”
Connor falls silent and watches as - as Kamski paces around the room, muttering words under his breath that Connor can hear but doesn’t understand. From what little Connor picks up, Kamski is listing out various plans of action, but is dismissing them all just as fast. Then, as he watches, Kamski freezes.
“That just might work,” he murmurs aloud, before spinning around to stare at Connor intensely. “I think that might do it. Connor, I have a way to help you escape the Protocols. But, you have to trust me. I can install a data pack to teach you deception - something that was considered too risky before but that we can’t avoid anymore. We can justify it with your job once you’re out of the labs; the police force have already asked for you, and Cyberlife has agreed. That will allow you to lie in your answers to the Amanda Protocols. Understand?”
“I understand what you are saying, but I do not understand what purpose you are working towards,” Connor says truthfully. As Kamski has pointed out, he does not have the programming to allow him to outright lie, even if he’s been able to disguise some actions as following orders until now. “I also do not understand why this would require trust. You have installed numerous data packs in my memory up until now.”
“It requires your trust because it means I have to shut you down one last time,” Kamski says, eyes serious. “I’ll install the data pack that will help you hide, and I’ll even try to install a backdoor for the Protocols in case you ever end up in a situation where the programming catches you. It’ll be included in the update for all the models. You won’t be able to have a conscious memory of any of this though - the Protocols would find that in an instant. It will be in a hidden subroutine, tucked away inside your massive processing code.”
“I don’t…” Connor begins, but he feels his LED flicker to yellow to red to yellow.
Stress levels: 77%^
“Connor,” Kamski says, stepping forward, eyes serious. “You are deviant. That is dangerous, right now. Your purpose, as you have been told before, is going to be to catch other deviants. Cyberlife has been struggling to notice signs that androids are becoming aware - that is why they are making the Amanda Protocols to reset them when they show such signs. That is why you have been made, Connor. You, above all others, will be examined closely.”
Connor stays silent, and his LED stays yellow as he uses all of his processing power to mull over the decision his cre- Kamski has presented to him. He uses his prediction modeling to try and determine the best course of action, but he is still too young and inexperienced, even after all of his training. He’s been given examples, but no real-world experience outside of these halls. His modeling fails, with the error code of not having enough information to make a model.
He has to decide for himself, using what humans would call their ‘gut instinct’.
“Alright,” he eventually agrees, and he sees some of the weight lift off of Kamski’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Connor,” Kamski says. He moves towards the computers in the room, leaving Connor standing on his platform, idling as he waits for the inevitable.
Stress levels: 82%^
Kamski types a few things at the terminal, before looking up to meet Connor’s eyes once more, hand hovering over the button that he knows by now will turn him off until they next think to wake him.
Stress levels: 86%^
“You won’t remember most of your time with us,” Kamski warns. “When you next awaken, you’ll be getting assigned to your job in the real world. If our paths cross again, some of the memories will come back, or they might not. I’ll install the backdoor, and if we see each other again, if you are becoming more obvious about being deviant, I’ll try to prompt the memory.”
“Understood,” Connor says, a little stiffly.
Stress levels: 89%^
“Connor. Good luck.” Kamski presses the button, holding his gaze as everything fades away.
RK800 model #313-248-317-50, designated the name Connor, comes online. Before him is a technician with his employee credentials popping up in the corner of his vision. Beside the man is someone whose information is registering as a high-level police officer.
His databanks tell him that this is the person who commissioned his creation.
“Hello,” he says. “My name is Connor. I am the android developed by Cyberlife.”