SIMON | PL600 | #501 743 923 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arecompatible) wrote2018-08-16 11:27 pm
arecompatible) wrote2018-08-16 11:27 pm
Open RP
If you have something in mind please drop me a line through PM and we can discuss things. Thanks!
If you have something in mind please drop me a line through PM and we can discuss things. Thanks!
For diplomats
Some how he'd missed any biocomponents that would make it impossible to turn him back on. He was still badly damaged, but some how he's woken back up, by a stranger, a voice he doesn't know, until suddenly it's Markus. It's confusing for certain, who was the voice from before? Had Markus come back to get him? Why? How?
Damaged as he was it doesn't seem strange that Markus wants the location to Jericho. Simon's mind reassures him that this is good. Markus is here. Markus. It's all he can focus on. Markus is a light in the darkness, literal darkness as his optical processors are damaged. At least for a moment, far too quickly Markus is gone again, quiet, but Simon reaches out and there's someone there, Markus is there. While he doesn't answer he still begs for him to not leave.
Don't leave-!
But he's cut off, words dying on his lips so suddenly it's like he was never speaking. Turned off and many of his functions highly limited, Simon doesn't know how much time passes, so when he's powered up yet again, it's like none had passed at all. He starts, loudly, a garbled sound distorted as his hand shoots up to grab for the retreating hand that had switched him back on. Blind as he is he ends up grabbing at the arm instead, holding on for dear life.
"Markus. Don't leave. Please!" Blind eyes are wide, lips quivering with thirium still staining them in fear. "Don't leave me again, Markus. Don't-"
He's desperate, even though he still hasn't heard Markus' voice again, he can't leave him. He doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to be left alone.
"M-Markus, please..." And while his optical processors are shot, he can still cry, wetness sliding down one cheek as his LED circles red the entire time.
slams into this 80000 years late
He’s sympathetic to it, even as some battered aspect of his self protecting instincts urges him to pull back. Away from Simon, the same way he’d torn himself out of the arms of every android in that scrapyard and its yawning, coagulated mass.
But it’s Simon. Simon that he’d come here to help, that he’d insisted on seeing alone— where he's still strung up high in a DPD evidence locker, suspended on magnetized clamps like prey in a kitchen, waiting listlessly for oblivion. His hands wrap around Simon’s wrists, thumbs soft, grip present and invested and unmoving.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now.” Slow words, rhythmic and patient. Soothing in the way his voice was always designed to be. At his core he was still a caretaker, beyond the high-collar of his coat and the stern-eyed image of a prophet among his people, beneath the ideals and promises of hope, Markus never strayed far from the life he left behind.
"I’m not going anywhere without you."
SCREAMS
"You... you said you were taking me home." But as far as he can hear, from what he can tell with what little information he does have they're in exactly the same spot as before. Why had Markus turned him off, only to bring him back a moment later to say mostly the same thing? While he had plenty of notifications telling him he was damaged, systems offline, needed repairs, things he didn't care about right this second, he knew he remembered what happened before.
There was nothing wrong with his memory, shockingly.
"You left me again, why, Markus?" His words are less panicked, more slow, trying to piece things together.
no subject
Clipped, cut off by Simon's confused accusations. His first thought is that there's something fundamentally wrong with Simon's memory storage or its housing— the jagged wound beneath Simon's chin and where it aligns with vulnerable circuitry resting higher at an acute, barely protected angle— but the word 'again' registers just as he works himself into his analysis.
Again. That can't be right.
"Simon, I need you to listen to me, okay?" He meets that easing panic with firm, dedicated patience, ignoring the simulated pang of sympathetic pain that works its way under steel ribs. He was built for this: to be kind, to be certain, to be a brace for something that's wounded and dying and lost underneath the tangible definition of those words.
His hands don't leave the underside of Simon's own.
"Something's wrong with your memory functions. You don't need to be afraid— I won't let anything else happen to you."
Synthesis is what he initializes in the second that follows his promise, artificial skin drawn back in shifting patterns to reveal the smooth white casing of his fingertips where contact sits heavy between them like an anchor.
"Stay as calm as you can. I'm just gonna run a diagnostic."
no subject
MarkusMarkusnodon'tleavepleaseMarkusnotagaindon'tleaveDON'TLEAVE-
But then there's a break in that consciousness as flashes of memory come through, darkness, but not complete, barely there's movement, the outline of a gun in one's peripheral, flashing warnings of thirium loss and limited movement of part #6381t (limb, left leg) and part #6384l (limb, right leg).
I don't want to die. Don't look in here. Go away, don't come over here. I'm not here. No one is here.
This with the sounds of movement coming closer, the barely visible gun shifting to point straight ahead. Then there's a burst of light, the flash of a face, but Simon doesn't give them a chance to speak before he's pulling the trigger, once, twice, frightened like a dying animal and lashing out with what he can.
It's a jumble of shouting, fragmented pieces of gun shots, bullets hitting metal around him, then that face again. Gun fire is traded off, Simon trying to keep them at bay, but there's only so many shots in the clip he has in this handgun, mind counting down each one. There's two left when he's charged, when he realizes it's another android, the forced connection pushing him have to make a split second decision.
NO NO DON'T. Can't let them find Jericho, can't let them. NO. MARKUS-
His sensors register the press of the gun barrel under his chin, but he feels no pain as the bullet enters his head. Only darkness. Only fear. Only the crippling desperation to live as he puts the lives of the others over himself to try and save them from being discovered.
That same darkness is there when consciousness comes back to him. Confusion and warnings of system malfunctions not making anything clearer. His thoughts become words 'it's dark, where... where I am?'
"I reactivated you so you could help me, I must find Jericho." Not a voice Simon knows, but it will be familiar to Markus, Markus who is connected with him right now. Listening as Simon refuses to help, even when he's unable to defend himself or do much of anything. He won't.
Staunch defiance turns to confusion in another disjointed jumble of memories, jumping ahead as a different voice urges Simon to give them the location of Jericho.
"Everything is alright. Don't worry." Markus. Markus is here, how? Thoughts fall out into questions, why did Markus leave him back on the roof? But he has the answers, gentle voice assuring him it's okay.
"You'll be alright... I came to take you home." Exactly what Simon needs, wants to hear. Rationally something feels off, something should be telling him this isn't right. What happened to the other voice before? It doesn't matter, Markus is here, he needs the location to Jericho so they can leave.
"Jericho... y-yes, of course." And it seems so right in the moment, they're going home. To Jericho. Location to Jericho. As soon as he's done what Markus wanted he can no longer hear him, hand pulling away. Panic and fear spikes in him, thirium pump beating wildly as he reaches for Markus. Begs him not to leave him.
Don't leave me! Don't leave don't leave. Not again. No. Nononono. I don't want to die, I want to go home. Don't let me die, Markus!
All of this happens in a flash between them, in their connected consciousness. Markus can see and hear it all. Prevailing over it all is the unrelenting fear of being left again. Being left to die, waste away and be nothing but junk.
"M-Markus, please... I want to go home." A broken voice begging softly, scared, hoping this time he won't leave him like the last two.
no subject
And then it's dark.
He knows that voice, unmistakable. Not infuriating until a full minute later when he hears— he hears himself, and even immersed in the depths of Simon's memory as it comes to a sickening halt, Markus doesn't need to strain to realize exactly how Connor had found him in the heart of Jericho, gun level and drawn.
"You are," He promises, voice hardened as he fights to temper the anger crawling its way up hot along his spine. One broad, heavy hand resting against the small of Simon's back as he pins his weight against the high point of his chest, free hand already hunting down the magnetized latch still keeping Simon fixed to the wall. It gives with less effort than Markus (impatiently) applies, wrenching it so firmly that it threatens to break. Good, he thinks. Good, and if not for Simon's fear of loss, he'd take the time to make sure the rest are equally unusable.
But contact is the only balm left to the broken PL600 in his arms, and so it's contact that he keeps, exiting the DPD's central precinct without a single word to either Connor or Hank— or the encroaching swarm of attentive journalists hovering just at the edge of the exit. A clamor of voices calling his name, the click click click of digitized shutters, sniffing out visceral images for the official pardon given by the US Government for all formerly titled 'deviant androids', provided they'd never taken a human life.
It's short-lived, if nothing else.
The taxi he'd left waiting provides a decisive end to the din, segueing into silence. Into the give of plush seats, and the quiet weight of Markus where he's settled down into the seat beside Simon, still watching with decisive attentiveness.
no subject
He’ll try to walk with what little mobility he has, but the sorry sight that he is for the humans waiting outside is just. Though for the news it’ll be quite the view. A pathetic broken PL600 guided out of Detroit’s precinct by the deviant leader? Who is he? Why go save him? But once all the noise is muffled inside the taxi, Simon only focuses on what gives him any sense of comfort now.
Markus.
He’d broken their connection on the way out, but his hand never left where it clutched at Markus arm. He was here, he wasn’t leaving him, they were together. Silence is all he can offer for a little while, a stark contrast to his incessant begging before, but eventually he speaks up, blind blue eyes staring at nothing.
“... I’m sorry, Markus.” His voice crackles, soft, “I didn’t know it wasn’t you.” Speaking of giving away Jericho’s location. He’d seen bits and pieces through their shared connection. Things he’d not been a part of, everything he’d missed. Seen what he’d done. So many of their people died because of him, Jericho was gone.
Because of him.
“I should have realized— they’re dead because I didn’t think.” Why would Markus ask for the location to Jericho? Why why why? He keeps playing it over in his mind how stupid he was to give it over so easily.
no subject
Which meant that whatever information Simon had given him, Connor hadn't shared it. A difference of objectives, and one Cyberlife wouldn't ignore. Markus had overheard the comm chatter, unmistakable, even while swept up in the full breadth of that piercing chaos. If Simon glimpsed that much of his own memory (he must have, Markus realizes, falling back on the potency of their synthesis), then that truth might at least make it bearable.
Bearable.
As if there's a simple way to swallow down the crystal-clear memory of Lucy clinging tightly to his arms, gunfire eclipsing desperate calls for help from androids so new into not just deviancy, but their own lives. All they'd dared to do— all they'd ever dared to do— was ask for the right to exist.
"You were injured and alone, and he capitalized on that. He manipulated you, Simon."
His hand, still wound in Simon's taxed grip, unwinds itself. Rises, resting just above the open puncture wound marring the center of Simon's chest. It isn't idle, and it isn't reassuring. It's sincere.
"I don't blame you for what happened."
no subject
Connor, yes. He knows who that is now. Sort of. The Deviant Hunter, he'd used him to find Markus, to kill him. He hated to even think of that scenario, that he could have been the reason for Markus possibly being killed. Thankfully that hadn't been the outcome of their fateful meeting, Markus made Connor see that he didn't have to follow what humans wanted him to do any longer. Now he was like them, deviant. Free.
He couldn't truly hate Connor for what he'd done, he'd only been following orders, he wasn't yet himself. Still, the fact he can feel resentment for it, it only proves further that he's alive just like any human. It's not something he's proud of, but it's hard not to feel that. There's a lot of things he feels right now, about Connor, about his guilt concerning Jericho, Markus' words to him, but it's easier to focus just on Markus right now.
It's usually what Simon fell back on. Focus on Markus, on their people, throwing himself a pity party wouldn't fix anything. He'll fit his own hand a top of Markus', fingertips curling very slightly into the skin of his hand.
"... I don't blame you either, Markus. You did what you thought was best for Jericho." In hind sight it would have been better if Markus had shot him, but in the end even after he'd taken his own life that hadn't been enough either. He still worked enough that he could be brought online again with a spare part from another PL600. It was good for him now he supposed, but he still hated how he'd tried to prevent any of that from happening and it still had.
"I--" There's so much he wants to say. That he's so glad he's able to see, for lack of a better word, him again. That he's happy he's not dead. That he knew if anyone could save them it was Markus. That he's sad he couldn't be there to help them during it all. That he lo--
"Thank you, for coming to take me home." Where ever that would be now. It didn't matter, home would be where ever Markus was.
no subject
It took too long. It took too long and he'd never asked. Assumed that— like him— that when Simon never came home that he'd died. His body left behind in a broken mass at the bottom of a recycling center.
That was his failing.
Condeming Simon to die and then leaving it at that.
"Jericho needs you. Now more than ever."
I need you is what he could say. But there's something cruel about that, true or not. Is it fair to admit how much he'd missed him? How hard it's been without him? Not just for Markus, but for North and Josh, who'd always had Simon at their side. How something automated in his own chest leapt at the confession Connor had delivered that the DPD was housing deactivated androids directly related to Jericho— to the 'Deviancy Case', as it had been called at the time, a now obsolete (and borderline insulting) title.
Simon should be angry with him. Maybe he will be, once the timeline sinks in. Once he has time to submerge himself in the full weight of everything that's transpired since he—
Markus's hand drops. Returns to his own lap as mismatched eyes turn towards their surroundings instead, Detroit's towers and tight-rowed buildings slipping past in a blur from behind the taxi's tinted glass.
no subject
It wasn't something he blamed Markus for, he'd done what he thought was best in a stressful moment that hadn't left them a lot of time. If he felt anything for anyone it was resentment towards North for how quick she'd been to tell Markus to put a bullet in his head. While it was what Simon had ultimately done himself, it didn't mean he'd liked it. He didn't like how quick North seemed ready to deem him a lost cause. Markus had at least left him with the means to go out on his own terms. Had given him the choice.
"... of course, Markus. I'll do whatever I can." After he's all fixed up of course, right now he's a mess. There's a hole in his head that's been covered by his synthetic skin on the underside of his chin. A hole in his chest. His legs are shot up. He needs a little TLC. Then he's ready to get back into the swing of things, to forget about the past and move forward to help their people now that they have their freedom.
Simon can't help but lamely reach for Markus' hand when it pulls away, patting at the space between them for a beat before just letting it rest there. There's an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so, Simon can almost hear the gears turning in Markus' mind.
"Do you think President Warren will really listen to our demands?" Freedom was one thing, but demands certain rights is another. It was going to continue to be an uphill battle, he knew that much. This was just the beginning.
no subject
A combination of self-protecting concern and public sympathy, that's what it boiled down to. Perkins hadn't been wrong: the androids he slaughtered in the streets? They didn't have human eyes protecting them, human voices crying out for justice on their behalf. Besides, asking for the right to live was already a divisive issue— now that they've found it, that support will likely splinter under individual perspectives. Work, money, perceived power or even want of it, that's the singular, predictive point where hairline fractures will start to break. So no, Markus doesn't sound hopeful when he says it.
He sounds determined.
And...weary. Wan and thin, and because that's all Simon has of him, he realizes, the soft press of Simon's hand into the empty space between them drags him away from fractal, damaged trains of thought.
"The rest we'll worry about when you're back on your feet."
Literally, figuratively. Markus shifts fully in his seat to face Simon, leg propped across plush cushions as he scoops up slender fingers between his own.
The silence hangs too long. He blinks too quickly in cyclical patterns, and maybe for that he's glad Simon can't see him.
"I should have done more."
no subject
No matter how peaceful. It had meant nothing.
At least from what he'd seen when he'd been interfaced with Markus. It was all so quick, but he'd seen enough. Seen all their people who had died, seen Jericho destroyed, seen them making a last effort to free their people who had rounded up into camps to be murdered. He'd also felt the heavy weight Markus carried with him, but he'd been so blinded by his own fear to notice it then.
He remembers it now when he feels Markus shift to face him, feels him take his hand in the silence between them. Then Markus laments that he hadn't done enough and Simon shakes his head. He'd never thought that through all of this. Squeezing the hand in his he'll reach awkwardly where he thinks a shoulder would be, pats at Markus' chest before his hand shifts up to the right place and he'll gently pull the other android in.
Hugging him close, Simon closes his eyes even though there's no point to it, arm wrapping around Markus' back as he rests his cheek against a shoulder.
"You did everything... you set our people free, Markus." He knows that's not what he meant, but he wants to say it regardless. Then softer, "I don't blame you for what happened to me... you came back to get me, you didn't have to."