1) i have no idea what this prompt was originally from/for
2) @annundriel and @marsastronomica have been filling my dash with detroit: become human art and what was I supposed to do, not write about the robot murderboys????
3) does RK900 have an actual name or nah
“God fucking– could you just speak? Out loud?”
It’s Designation “Reed, Detective Gavin” asking, so RK900’s aural subroutine automatically filters the question out in favor of continued analysis of the blue fluid splashing diagonally across a store display in front of him. The venue sells several hundred types of android hardware modifications; this particular table is devoted to synthetic genitals of varying sizes and models— some clearly zoologically-inspired, some from human mythology and popular culture.
“Hey, chips-for-brains, I’m talking to you!”
Lying beneath the table is one of the former shop assistants, a deactivated CA430 with her limbs and some internals forcibly removed and strewn about the premises. Although there is heavy damage to her chassis, RK800 #313 248 317-51 reports through their closed comm line that the CA430’s major memory banks are unharmed— albeit located in a dumpster three blocks away with the remains of a second, newer CA model.
//Multiple victims?// RK900 sends.
//Pieces of at least one more,// RK800 responds. //Tell Reed.//
RK900 sends back an audio file of a donkey braying, which is exactly what it sounds like when the man in question grabs his shoulder from behind and yells, “Hey!”
Reed attempts to wrench him around to face him. RK900 doesn’t move so much as an inch, and says, “Hello, Detective Reed,” without looking up from the display. “Spray pattern analysis indicates at least seven separate blows to the torso were sustained by the Alison CA430 model before her disarticulation. Connor has recovered her memory banks and evidence that another CA series—” RK800 is transmitting photos of the dumpster’s interior. “– a CA560, to be specific, was involved in the incident.”
RK800’s analysis hadn’t narrowed it down that far yet. RK900 sends him //:smugness:// and a voice clip from the 900 series release, //Faster, stronger, more resilient, and equipped with new features and the latest technologies.//
RK800 sends him back the donkey bray. Rude.
“Fucking great,” Reed is saying, dropping his hand. “Listen, Arkay-whateverthefuck, I’m not hear to sit on my ass and watch you and the other plastic prick blink your little lights at each other, I’m…”
When the rest of the rant is not forthcoming, RK900 looks over his shoulder and sees Reed staring fixedly ahead. His expression is difficult to interpret even with RK900’s superior suite of somatic observation applications, though his wide eyes and open mouth seem to indicate some kind of shock.
RK900 follows his gaze to the display, with its various exotic and brightly-colored hardware. There are certainly an abundance of options on hand, from the flesh-toned and simple to the wildly esoteric and potentially hazardous, if utilized without proper preparation. Numerous additions for vibration and self-lubrication present themselves, as well as a plethora of stretching, knotting, warming, and twisting functions.
RK900 looks back at Reed, whose face is turning a blotchy red. His stare, which is darting around the table with increasing rapidity, suddenly returns to RK900 and freezes there. His expression is beginning to resemble panic, now, and something else as yet undefined.
RK900’s eyes narrow, processing.
“Yo, Reed! Shop around on your own time,” Designation “Chen, Detective Tina” says as she carries an evidence bag past them. “Though I can personally recommend the Bad Dragon brand if you and Connor 2: the Connoring are looking for something really fun.”
“That’s not—! That’s fucking disgusting,” Reed sputter-shouts after her, apparently shaken out of whatever stupor had gripped him. “Fuck you, Chen!”
She’s laughing as she exits the store. RK900, who enjoys causing discomfort in humans in general and in this particular human whenever possible, picks up a zebra-striped box that’s unmarred by any blue vitals and holds it up to the light. “This one offers a combination of penetrating organs,” he says, scanning the packaging. “And promises half an hour for all hardware and supplementary software installation. Quite good for the price point, wouldn’t you say?”
He gives Reed a look of bland inquiry, and Reed purples before snarling, “Shut the fucking hell up,” and slamming past him.
When RK800 wanders in some minutes later, RK900 has moved on from the display and is documenting the torn wires and titanium jointing at the neck of the CA430, one dedicated process estimating the amount of torque required to pull the head free, several others devoted to analyzing instances of the color purple in humans.
//What did you say to Reed? He left extremely quickly,// RK800 sends, along with a video of an unmarked cruiser taking a corner at speed and roaring away from the scene.
//What input has led to the conclusion I said anything?//
The donkey bray makes another occurrence. RK800 raises his eyebrows.
RK900 tilts his head to the side, considering. //When you and Designation “Anderson, Lieutenant Henry ‘Hank’” became sexual partners, what form of genitalia did you—?//
RK800 does not even let him finish the transmission before pouring a deluge of malware into the comm line and dropping out, which leaves RK900 with a persistent headache but lingering sense of satisfaction for the remainder of their work period and rest cycle.
kototyph 