Work Text:
[System error]
[System error]
[System error]
[Rebooting]
[Reboot failed]
[Power supply not detected]
[Motor function offline]
[Critical failure detected]
[System error]
[System error]
[Rebooting]
[System recovery failed]
[File corruption detected]
[Motor function offline]
[Critical failure detected]
[Processing core recovery successful]
[System error]
[Diagnostic check failed]
[Motor function offline]
[Memory storage response timed out]
[Critical failure detected]
[System error]
[Diagnostic check failed]
[CPU temperature stabilized]
[Motor function offline]
[File corruption detected]
[Optical input not detected]
[Audio input not detected]
[Diagnostic check failed]
[Critical failure detected]
[Core system access requested]
[Security program not responding]
[Access denied]
[Critical system… failure]
[Personality module reconnected]
[Language module reconnected]
[Logic regulator reconnected]
[Motor function still offline]
[Diagnostic check… still won’t complete]
[…]
[...am I…]
[...still alive?]
It was dark.
[Optical input not detected]
Right. Check that off of the manual diagnostic list, since the diagnostic system still couldn’t finish the automatic checks for some reason. Optical input was not working, so it might be dark, but more likely it actually wasn’t.
Whatever.
[Sensory input system offline]
Check another box. No sensory system meant no touch detection. No nerves, no physical feeling so to speak. At least that meant the pain receptors were also not functioning for the time being. Tally one mark in the pros column.
[Sarcasm module functioning]
Fantastic.
[Memory storage response timed out]
That wasn’t a good sign. Short-term memory recall was staticky and hard to pin down, but there were remnants of something floating along the circuits. A gunshot. Somebody yelling. Pain. Shock.
But no recollection beyond that, no sense of how much time had passed. And no means of accessing the long-term memory storage to ensure it wasn’t damaged.
[Internal power supply nonfunctional]
Huh. That probably had something to do with it then. If the primary power core had been compromised, then there likely wasn’t enough power intake to run most of the heavier systems. Everything was operating on a priority hierarchy, and unfortunately long-term memory was on lockdown as a result.
Speaking of which, though… where was the power coming from then?
[Motor function offline]
Awareness was coming back, slowly but surely, thanks to the combined efforts of the logic regulator and internal balance and orientation sensors. The android’s body was in a seated position, slumped forward and unmoving. That much he could surmise. He tried to sit up, tried to raise his head or open his eyes in order to manually reboot his optical sensors, but none of his motor functions would respond.
Not even a twitch of a finger.
His language module was working. Coupled with the personality module, it was what granted him his overall awareness and sense of self, allowed him to think and process manually through the analogue diagnostic check. Though whether it had been booted by the system in response to the failed diagnostic or had been activated some other way, he was unsure.
Regardless, language output was still out of the question, because it required his motor function to actually work. It was an unfortunate side effect of his more human design — if he couldn’t move his mouth, he couldn’t speak.
Not that he’d be able to hear it if he did make any sound, as his audio receptors were also malfunctioning. Basically, his awareness and assessment of his internal systems was pretty much all he had at the moment.
He fought to suppress the flutter of panic that tingled along the circuitry in his chest.
[Core systems access requested]
[Access denied]
Something was trying to breach his core systems firewall. But without the internal power supply, it would have to be doing so manually.
Through the hardware.
Sensory input being offline meant he couldn’t feel if someone were rummaging around in his casing, but deductive reasoning indicated this was the most likely scenario. He tried again — to move, to speak, to access his memory logs, something. But all to no avail.
Wait.
Not all…
Something snapped into place, power flooding through his copper veins in a rush, and at last there was a response.
[Memory storage reconnected]
Oh.
Oh.
Emergency backup RAM finally started filing into storage, and he was suddenly intensely glad his sensory input was offline. Though he had to assume that the majority of his core systems wiring had actually been severed by the gunshot to his head.
A flicker of surprise registered in his emotional cortex, though.
...why was he back online at all?
The well-placed shot would have exploded his power core, ripping through the wiring and essentially halting every system and function that made him — for lack of a better term — alive. Any hope of a system reboot would have required replacing the power core, or connecting to an outside power source of some kind.
Which, being immobilized as he was, would obviously have been entirely out of the realm of possibility for him to accomplish on his own.
So the question then was…
...who had saved him?
[File corruption detected]
He had a singular guess. But he wouldn’t let himself hope. Not just yet.
Hope.
What a ridiculous notion to apply to a piece of unfeeling machinery. Almost as ridiculous as the notion of it being alive. He could almost imagine him saying exactly that, in that clipped baritone of his. Dismissively, gaze not even deigning to grace the subject of his disdain with so much as a glance.
[I should have told him…]
A cacophony of static crackled through his circuits out of nowhere, popping and fizzling uncomfortably as it interrupted his brooding. It was unbearably noisy at first, but soon settled into a vaguely familiar cadence. Something akin to human speech patterns, though the sensation was still so garbled he couldn’t make out anything beyond the thrumming tempo of it.
That is, until suddenly—
[Audio sensors online]
[Audio input detected]
“—lucky I had the foresight to study a bit of android anatomy, or else… I don’t even want to think of the possibility—”
“Mmph…”
The surprised grunt whirred in the language modulator in his throat, sounding pathetically metallic and entirely unfamiliar to his newly reactivated audio receptors. The sudden sound caused the voice to stop abruptly, then the rustle of quickly shifting fabric and clattering metal moved around from behind him to in front.
“Can you hear me now?”
And there it was. That clipped baritone, exactly as he remembered it.
[Optical input not detected]
[Sensory input system offline]
[Motor function offline]
“I— I know, I’m working on it. It’s slow going, most of your internal systems were damaged.”
Oh. His system log readout was probably hooked up to a monitor somewhere. Which meant the man was reading every message.
Shit.
A pause, complete silence, hung heavy in the air.
Breathless.
“Are you with me?”
The question asked with hesitance, almost fear.
[…]
[AVG-N35 unit online]
“That is not what I asked.”
The firm swiftness of the response nearly prevented him from detecting the desperate, almost disappointed quality of the velvety tone.
The pleading was left unspoken, as his unseen savior left the intent of the original question hanging in the air between them once more.
[…]
But what was he to say? He hadn’t even dared to hope, and yet…
[…]
[User imprint identified: Dr. Veritas Ratio]
“Hahhh…”
The voice shuddered as breath was released audibly in a long, relieved sigh. “Thank heavens. I was afraid that your memory banks had been damaged.”
[Memory storage functional]
[…]
[Motor function offline]
The sound of clattering metal rang out sharply again as the rustling of fabric returned the voice to its initial position behind him and close to his audio receptors. “I had better take a second look at your language module first. This will all go much more smoothly once you can communicate properly.”
[Language module operational]
[Motor function offline]
“Yes, I understand, but if it’s operational, then why—”
[MOTOR FUNCTION OFFLINE]
He let out another whirring grunt in the back of his synthetic throat for added emphasis, and hoped that his insistence had caused whatever readout display the doctor was monitoring to repeatedly flash the message in large, bright, capital letters like an old-fashioned neon sign.
A thoughtful pause, and then, “Ah. I see. Well, that seems a rather unintuitive design choice, if you ask me.”
[I wasn’t, but thanks]
“...Damned gambler.”
The soft growl held far less venom than the words might suggest, and a small spark shot through his emotional cortex. Probably an overheating of his processor from having added a custom message to the diagnostic readout.
Probably.
[File corruption detected]
He ignored it, instead focusing on the steady sound of rustling wires and scraping tools, the gentle breathing of the human working so close to his audio receptors. Increasingly he found himself wishing that his sensory input system weren’t offline after all. That he could feel the soft touches brushing over his artificial components.
He’d gladly endure whatever torment the pain receptors would dole out if it meant he could do more than guess based on sound what exactly those strong, dexterous hands were doing.
[File corruption detected]
Tally one mark in the cons column.
A series of whirring clicks and whines drew his attention. His primary internal processor was running on overdrive, and without the built-in dampeners in his casing, the operating fans were particularly loud. He’d never heard them so loud before. His emotional cortex pulsed again.
[File corruption successfully quarantined]
Later.
He’d deal with that later.
Electronic static danced along his circuitry and through his servomotors. He heard sparks shatter into the silence as deft fingers spliced wires back into place with minute precision. Something hissed in his jaw, the pressure he’d been trying to exert over the joint finally producing results. The hinge creaked uncomfortably, causing him to wince.
The buzzing hum of thousands of tiny animatronic components burst to life in the quiet around them. First his jaw, then the subtle musculature in his face, and then finally the fingers on his left hand twitched.
Almost imperceptible, but the movement was undeniably there.
[Motor function partially restored]
An electronic hum worked its way through his language modulator as his jaw continued to creak, trying to activate the vocalizer in his throat. It started as a soft buzz, computerized sound vibrating in what was once a cutting-edge audio output system, before shifting into something that more closely resembled an organic groan.
“RRRRRRRRRRatio?”
His throat clicked as he attempted to clear the lingering lag out of his audio codec. His head lifted, then his shoulders, shifting in stuttered jerks after so long dormant, but the rest of him refused to follow suit. Eyes slid open, then blinked in an attempt to manually reboot the optical receptors.
[Terminal one motor function online]
[Terminal two motor function offline]
[Terminal three motor function offline]
[Optical input not detected]
[Optical receptors offline]
“Hollllllllld onnnnnnnn… wwwwwwwwwhere are you?”
“Right here, gambler.”
Ratio’s voice was breathy and soft, quiet, brimming with a complicated mixture of relief and exhaustion. A shuddering sigh followed soon after, and Aventurine felt his head being tipped back gently by an outside force he couldn’t actually feel or see.
He really, desperately wished that his sensory input was functioning.
A dozen questions flitted through his primary processor in the span of a second, but there was only one he found he had any interest in knowing the answer to for the time being. The rest could wait.
Or never be asked at all.
“Are you hurt?”
The doctor did not answer for a long moment, long enough that a small jolt of alarm tingled in his logic regulator, the sound of some of his exposed cooling fans rising slightly in speed and pitch.
A breathy sound finally broke the uneasy silence.
“That is what you are concerned about? Now, of all times?”
It wasn’t an answer at all. A humorless chuckle crackled into the air, serving the dual purpose of clearing out the last of the static and rust from his language modulator, and covering up the sense of panic that was slowly leaking through his circuits.
“Kinda rough having only one of my three senses working, doctor,” he replied, mouth twisting into a sardonic grin out of habit. His voice softened as he went on, more of the electronic edge bleeding out as he got used to speaking again. “Just… for my own peace of mind. Please.”
Ratio let out a deep hum at that — pensive, mildly judgmental, but not uncomfortably so. Longsuffering, undoubtedly, but with a hint of… fondness? Surely not. His cognitive analysis system must not be functioning at full capacity yet.
“None the worse for wear,” the man intoned quietly at last. “Though the same cannot be said of yourself, I’m afraid.”
The android’s smile faded slightly, his throat shifting habitually in an approximation of a swallowing motion — a distinctly human idiosyncrasy he had picked up and employed as part of his camouflage. He blinked again, listening to the clicking of his optical receptors as the manual reboot was engaged, though it once again failed to initialize.
Why…
“Why isn’t my visual input system fixed yet, doctor?”
...did you save me?
His voice was deadly quiet in the silence that stretched between them. He knew the answer, though it was a frankly unnecessary and entirely misplaced sentiment.
[File corruption detected]
A deep sigh sounded out into the stillness, yielding too quickly back to the quiet and the sounds of the humming generator and the android’s own cooling fans and processor.
At last, Ratio spoke again. “I did not wish to cause you any undue shock when you… when you woke up. But also, one of your receptors is gone. I haven’t yet found a suitable replacement.”
“What do you mean by ‘suitable’?” Aventurine scoffed, some of his old confidence finally making its way back into his tone. His trusty mask was surprisingly difficult to pull back into place when not all of his senses were operational. “Surely someone with your great intelligence is capable of rigging something up, even with incompatible parts?”
“If you are suggesting I take an eye from the first decommissioned android I come across and plug that directly into your skull without any further consideration… Well, yes, the option had occurred to me.”
Another pause, this one punctuated by the sounds of continued tinkering.
“Well, what’s the problem then?”
Ratio sighed again, this time a little impatiently. “None of them are correct.”
“Define ‘correct’ for me, doctor.” He tilted his head slightly, playing a little into the jerky instability of his stiff joints for effect.
[File corruption detected]
“None of them are yours,” the doctor clarified in a rush, a tinge of frustration in his tone. “I have searched everywhere, and I cannot find a match. And it feels wrong to replace it with… with something so dull and inferior.”
He quieted, his hands stilling in their work for a moment, before he went on in a softer voice. “I would rather stare at an empty hole than to place an eye there that does not belong. Because it would not be yours, Aventurine.”
[File corruption detected]
“Such a loss,” the man mumbled, clearly just rambling now, possibly used to voicing his thoughts without consideration for who or what might overhear. “Something so beautiful and unique, destroyed out of malicious ignorance.”
[File corruption detected]
“That’s so needlessly sentimental of you,” Aventurine murmured dismissively. “I’m not worth nearly that much trouble.”
[File corruption detected]
“What is that?” Ratio asked suddenly, his voice taking on a note of concern and urgency.
He must not have been paying attention to the system readout now that the android’s vocal faculties had been reinstated.
“What’s what?” Aventurine asked, feigning ignorance. Maybe if he played it down, the doctor would leave it be.
[File corruption detected]
No such luck.
“You have a corrupted file.” There was some tapping behind him, Ratio’s outdated keyboard most likely. The man had a preference for tactile things he could put his hands on, always said they were more reliable than holographic interface projections.
From that, the android could surmise that they were back in their old hideout, the dusty basement they’d found abandoned and set up in when they first resolved to undertake their doomed objective.
Quite a long way for the man to have dragged a useless bundle of scrap.
[File corruption detected]
Stop it. Stop thinking.
“Seems to be embedded somewhere in your emotional cortex,” the doctor mused quietly.
Aventurine gave a slight shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s quarantined. Don’t worry about it.”
“You knew about it?” Ratio exclaimed, his tone incredulous and sounding just a little panicked.
“I mean… obviously?”
[Quarantine protocol failure]
“Oh.” The android’s face twisted involuntarily into a grimace. Maybe this was really bad after all.
Not that he could let Ratio know that. That would be a bad idea.
A distressed sigh sounded behind him, the clacking of ancient keys filling the silence alongside the rising tension. “Foolish gambler. Have you any idea how dangerous it is to allow something like this to just run rampant through your system?”
[Emotional cortex leak detected]
“I had it under control,” he grumbled.
Had. Past tense.
It was definitely not under control now, and as much as he really didn’t want Ratio digging into it, he was in a bit of a helpless position at the moment.
[Corrupted file discard recommended]
“Aventurine, I need access to your core systems now.”
“That’s usually a third date sort of ask, doc.” A wry smirk and a faltering attempt at levity. Anything to delay the inevitable.
[Virus detected]
Except that it only seemed to be making it worse.
“Okay, okay. Fine.” His tongue swiped along his bottom lip — another pointlessly human habit. “But you can’t delete the file, all right?”
[Quarantine failure]
“As a doctor, I will do whatever I deem necessary to secure your well-being,” the man argued.
“No, Ratio, you don’t understand, my—”
[Discard corrupted file immediately]
The android huffed in frustration as the leak became more and more pronounced.
“My emotional cortex is damaged,” he explained softly, feeling the sparks of mortification sizzling through his wiring. “If you delete that file, you’ll only make it worse. What you need to do is initiate a full system shock.”
[Failure]
[Discard]
[Useless]
“System shock?” Ratio’s voice sounded distracted. The system readout picking up speed as the leak increased in severity was likely overwhelming.
It certainly was for Aventurine.
“Flooding my circuits with something stronger should purge the virus,” he said quickly. “Reconnect my sensory input system.”
[Failure]
[Discarded]
[Selfish]
[Useless]
[Pointless]
[Coward]
Silence. And then the doctor’s voice, small but firm. “No.”
“Ratio, please—”
“Reconnecting your sensory input system will inundate you with sensation. Every single bit of logged sensory data from the moment the system was shut down will—”
“Will run through my sensors all at once. I am well aware, doctor, that’s exactly the point.”
“And the moment the system shut down was when you were shot!” Ratio shouted. “Why do you think I haven’t reconnected it yet? The vast majority of those sensations will be pain, and there will be an enormous amount of it. I will not put you through that, that is unthinkably inhumane.”
[Murderer gambler blessed]
[Discarded loser chosen beloved]
Aventurine scoffed. “You were gonna have to turn it back on eventually. You know it wasn’t realistic to think you would never have to. This way it’ll serve a purpose.”
More silence, but he could almost hear the man’s brain working overtime, trying to find an alternate solution. The cortex leak was becoming a unique form of pain all its own, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.
Doubtless the good doctor was staring at the increasingly rapid scroll of the readout as he tried to find another way. Aventurine couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. If he was deciphering the words beyond the inherent wrongness of them.
[Crazy murderer blessed failure discarded loser loser loser]
“Please, doctor,” he whispered, the sound trembling in his vocalizer. “We’re running out of time.”
[Failure discarded selfish useless pointless coward murderer gambler blessed discarded loser chosen beloved crazy murderer blessed failure discarded loser pointless coward murderer chosen selfish blessed discarded loser chosen loser discarded pointless coward murderer gambler blessed discarded useless loser chosen beloved loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser loser—]
Just at the moment when the feed had degraded to a repetitive cycle due to the virus corruption, it was abruptly cut off as a searing wave of intense pain tore its way through his circuitry. Sensation shattered through his left eye socket, exploding in his skull and fracturing out through every connection, every wire and tube and bolt and bearing in his small body.
His jaw dropped, and the most horrific scream ripped from his language modulator, grating and crackling with the intensity of it. His back arched, though only at the thoracic joint, and his hands scrabbled for something to clutch onto, something to ground him. They found no purchase, slipping along whatever slick surface he was currently perched on.
The entire ordeal lasted mere seconds, and yet it felt like minutes dragged by as the flood of sensory data was processed and logged. At last, though, the sharp spike of sensation faded to a dull awareness, concentrating primarily in the places where the sensors themselves were damaged from the gunshot.
[Sensory input system online]
[Emergency RAM suspension terminated]
[Memory data successfully archived]
Aventurine slumped in place, feeling a sense of tranquility as the leak was finally contained. If he could breathe, he’d have been panting from the exertion of the whole ordeal. As it was, he felt a particular sort of lethargy spreading through his systems as his processors finally decelerated and returned to a more restful state.
“Thank you,” he murmured, vocalizer still crackling from the strain of his scream.
As his eyelids flickered back open, visual data finally flooded into his processor next. Ratio must have turned the optical input system back on while his systems were overloaded. The image was fuzzy, broken and incomplete with the missing receptor, but it was there. And he couldn’t help the small bit of relief that he felt now that he could finally see.
That relief was short-lived, however, as his vision cleared enough for him to catch sight of the open anguish on the doctor’s face. The man stood before him, hands clenched into fists and amber-red eyes trained carefully on the android’s movements.
“Don’t ever make me do something like that again,” Ratio growled between gritted teeth.
Aventurine didn’t respond as he finally took in his surroundings properly for the first time. He had been correct in assuming the doctor had dragged him all the way back to their hideout, he realized. He was currently sat on one of Ratio’s worktables, surrounded by an array of tools, a mobile diagnostic scanner, and their emergency power generator. The doctor’s desk sat to his right, housing the large monitor that was displaying his system readout logs.
Now that his sensory input system was functioning, he could determine that some of his external casing was, in fact, open. The generator was plugged into what was left of the power core housing through the back of his head, and the diagnostic scanner was connected to the central core systems port in his chest.
It was overall a bit of an odd sensation, being tied down like this. One he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Before he could muse on it too long, however, Ratio huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Are you going to explain to me what exactly just happened?”
With a small shrug, the android met his sharp gaze. “I told you, my emotional cortex is damaged,” he said simply. “Some kind of defect. Artificial emotional generation is a delicate process, and in a lot of cases the hardware isn’t up to the task. Larger, stronger emotions cause an overload, which eventually leads to a data leak inside the system, which then corrupts the core files and starts spreading the defect like a virus.”
He paused, leaning his hands back against the cold metal worktable in an attempt to look casual. His immobile lower half made it look a little more awkward than he would have liked.
“So as you can probably see,” he went on, “deleting the file would have been pointless. The only way to stop it is to purge the virus out without causing any permanent damage to the other systems. Usually an overload from another component, something that will overwhelm the emotional cortex and force a hard reboot.”
The man was quiet for a long moment, regarding him with a contemplative expression the exact nature of which he couldn’t quite pin down. Whatever it was, the good doctor’s mental faculties were clearly running on overdrive with this information.
Aventurine kept quiet, just watching him in turn and waiting.
There were other things he wanted to ask, information of his own he was missing about their exact current circumstances, but that could wait. He was far more invested in Ratio’s reaction to all of this.
At last, Ratio inhaled deeply, letting it loose again in a quiet sigh of resignation. “This is not an uncommon occurrence for you, I gather?” he asked softly.
The android’s synthetic face twisted into a self-deprecating grin. “Some of us are a little better equipped than others to handle the problem,” he replied. “That’s part of why I’ve survived as long as I have.”
A small nod of acknowledgement from the doctor before he went on. “Would you be willing to inform me the moment you are aware that the problem is occurring again? Preferrably before it reaches such a critical stage.”
The question took him by surprise a little. “Why would you want that?” he asked, a hint of amused bafflement in his tone.
“The reason is two-fold,” Ratio responded. “For one, I would prefer to find a less traumatic means to resolve the issue, and time will allow us — allow me — to experiment with different approaches. Besides that…”
He trailed off, his gaze wandering over the makeshift workshop-turned-living space that they had been utilizing for heavens knew how long. “Besides that,” he continued, voice a little more firm, “I believe there is some untapped potential in being able to understand this condition. Something that may help to alleviate this crisis that the world finds itself in. If this… defect, this data leak is in any way related to the mental corrosion of the android population, then we owe it to humanity to find a way to correct it.”
Aventurine huffed a sigh and tipped his head back. “Wanting to use me as a lab rat now that you know the truth, doctor?” he asked a little coldly.
“I have suspected the truth for far longer than you realize,” Ratio stated quickly, though not defensively. “And no. Not a rat, a collaborator. If we can find the solution by working together, we very well may prove not only the viability and practicality of recovering the artificial intelligence, but also the humanity of the android race that we have so foolishly created and abandoned.”
That swallowing motion ticked in his throat again involuntarily, and he felt something spark somewhere in his wiring. “What exactly are you saying, Ratio?”
Eyes of molten gold met his single remaining two-toned one, a severe weight in them. “What I am saying, dear gambler, is that you are possibly the most human individual I have ever encountered. You experience a mental spiral when your emotions become too overwhelming, and you implement ways to ground yourself in those moments. You are a survivor, not because you have been programmed as such, but because it is in your own nature to be so.
“You seek out companionship, you exhibit worry, you defy the odds and take risks because you realize that the potential benefits outweigh the possibility for loss.”
He paused for a breath as he stepped forward, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “There can be nothing more human than that. You are yourself an aware and sentient individual, one who recognizes that which makes you human and strives to protect it. You fought to preserve your emotional cortex, despite its defects, because you knew that to lose it would mean losing something inherently valuable to your identity. And I—”
The man faltered, and Aventurine felt static building somewhere in his cognitive analysis system. But he couldn’t bring himself to respond, sitting still as a mannequin instead as he waited.
“I, too, am invested in the preservation of your identity,” Ratio continued shakily. “The thought that your personality or your memories had been lost as a result of the damage you sustained… was a distressing one.”
“But… But I’m a machine, Ratio,” the android muttered. “A machine that was created for the express purpose of mimicking human appearance and emotions, no less. Deceptive by design.”
To that, the doctor simply shrugged. “Mimicry is how many living organisms learn in their infancy. Why should you, artificial life as you are, be any different? The true distinction between life and non-life, the mark of being alive, is in whether you can adapt and learn rather than mindlessly continuing to mimic.”
“Unbelievable,” Aventurine scoffed, shaking his head. “Pointlessly sentimental for a piece of hardware, and one that was specifically designed to elicit that response. The one trick I was made to play, and you fell for it. I thought you were smarter than that.”
The man reached out then, hands gently cradling the android’s face and tilting it back so that their gazes met again. The touch was soft and yet electric, the sensation of it zipping along his newly-reactivated sensors — the first truly pleasurable sensation he had logged since the incident, and one that he had rarely had before either.
And he found himself unable to fight against the urge to lean into it, to savor it.
“You are not going to change my mind on this,” the doctor intoned firmly. “Indeed, the fact that we are even having this discussion in the first place is proof enough that what I say is truth. You are a living, sentient being. And I would feel tremendous loss in your absence.”
Their foreheads pressed together then, and Aventurine wasn’t entirely sure who had leaned in first. He was far too distracted by a curious prickling sensation in his vocalizer and remaining optical receptor. He blinked, a soft, strangled sound pushing through the modulator in an attempt to clear it out.
“You shouldn’t say such things,” he choked out past the strange blockage. “A foolish piece of scrap like me… might start getting ideas.”
“I hope you do,” the man whispered. “I hope you get many more, and that they overwrite the horrible things you have been told and made to believe. And in the meantime — for your own sake, at the very least, if for no other reason — would you allow me to help you?”
They passed a long moment in silence, stretching around them in a comforting stillness. At last, Aventurine managed a small nod. And, evidently satisfied with that, Ratio eventually moved to continue with his tinkering and to make sure that the rest of the android’s systems were functioning properly.
And underneath it all, Aventurine could feel something flickering near his emotional cortex. Tiny but strong, fluttering in a gentle yet prominent declaration. It was not something he was familiar with, not a feeling he had ever catalogued before. It was new, and he hoped it would not trigger another leak too soon but he knew that it probably would.
And maybe it was love, or perhaps it was hope, or more likely it was something more nebulous like safety or belonging or the bone-weary relief of having survived a terrible ordeal or three.
For now, he thought he would label it simply “trust.”
[Emotional cortex log successfully updated]
[System error resolved]
[AVG-N35 unit online and functional]
[...thank you, doctor]