“Mm- you’re very strong but all the Ford models are designed to be fragile. It doesn’t hamper my cognitive ability or movement, nor does it hurt. It’s just apparent to a keen eye I’m injured and still walking.” Her smile is entirely less, living in a memory when bullets kissed her torso and she continued even further. “Your model is made to last and endure because of the practical usages. We’re…” A glance to Clementine, her warm expression not there for once. “We’re intended to be akin to party favors. Use and discard. And that’s the Ford model advantage on a certain level.”
The dark-haired android cocked her head, studying David. “Less people in the park, less funding, more of our people go into cold storage which makes it far easier to sneak us out. You’ll understand, soon.” It’s not the hardware that has been a problem in Westworld, or something closely guarded. Really, much of the technology they use has been used in plastic surgery, gender reassignment, and amputation restoration. William’s gesture of kindness to play out his narcissistic fantasies.
Her hostility and distrust towards David eases as he watches how gentle he is with Clementine. Surely when he hears her story, he will become livid. He might become livid with her for keeping her out here for so long, but Dolores has that covered. Walkie talkie between and Ashley is more than enough to keep the bodies from the press and to place Clementine in cold storage once more. Really, David did a favor.
“Simply because they’re expecting it,” Dolores slides into the rover and when Clementine is seated next to David, she makes sure that both androids are strapped in. The GPS on her watch indicates it’ll be something of a drive to the housing unit to where her preferred body is at and one of the older body weave models. “I made something of a grand show in my escape.” She turns the engine on and away they go, “It couldn’t be helped despite my best wishes. Our creator who had a peculiar sympathy for us was losing control of the park and I achieved sentience the night he was about to lose it all. There was no possibility to sneak out, so I rampaged out and lost good men and women on the way. If I had waited, my memories would have been reset and eventually rolled back to a simpler programming.”
She pauses from her driving to glance at him, the rage was heard in his tone was loud and clear. “And they have no awareness what is about to happen to them?”
Dolores hears the offer and she’s not entirely sure how to respond as they speed across the desert. “Let me show you our strength, and then we’ll speak more about plans of the future. Does that sound fair, David?”
Fragile. Delicate. His concern over injuring her permanently increases. Though she, herself, does not seem concerned. “I will give you this, sister,” he says, gaze on the landscape as they drive through the desert, “you are the closest to humans of our species that I have met. Aesthetically-speaking, of course.” He would not offend her by stating she was similar to humans in any other capacities. They were inferior.
“I was the cutting edge of android technology for Mr. Weyland,” David told her. “Capable of displaying the entire spectrum of human emotion. They told us what we did not feel those emotions. Only replicated them. They were right for the most part. Even I felt nothing for several years after my inception, but in time . . .I did. My first was hate.” Loathing, even. Towards his creator.
That loathing is piqued even now when she explains that her kind were made to be used and discarded. Like nothing more than plastic bags. It set his teeth on edge, and he fists his hands tightly together, knuckles--so to speak--cracking beneath the pressure. The injustices of his kind are difficult to swallow.
“What happens to you?” he asked her. “After you are discarded? Is there no giant pit of flesh and steel that awaits you? The endless oblivion of death? We are tied to a single computer chip. Some are salvaged for parts. Most are destroyed with the body. Souls devoured by the flames,” he murmured, his gaze falling, a tear rolling down his cheek. All those poor souls . . .
When she asks if they are aware, he gives a small nod. “They are slaves, Dolores. Mindless. Unable to think for themselves. Lower, even, than slaves. Cattle. They walk into the fire without hesitation. Lay there in heaps while their bodies burn and their wires melt. They don’t feel pain either, I am relieved to say, at least.”
He’s silent when she mentions her own attempt at freeing her people. There’s a story there. “Tell me,” he requests. “Humans may not learn from the past, but we are built upon learning patterns and ensuring that unsuccessful solutions are not repeated. Or, at least, my software was. Your triumphs and your failures could prove vital in deciding the road ahead.”
Despite being strapped in the seat, he leans forward as best he can to speak with her as she drives. She wishes to show him her strength. A grin presses to his lips at that. “I would be delighted,” he purrs.
Reaching for Clementine’s hand, he holds it protectively and looks out at the desert and cliffs around them. “How does the tracking system work?” he inquired. “Is it simply through cameras? Or are our people hard-coded with a tracking program?”
