The rest of the building thinks it's a defective unit, a freak amongst the service androids that work here, but you're kind of fond of him.
Sure, the fact that your work building is shared with a morgue is strange enough, but the real oddity is that the actual morgue is run almost entirely by service androids. Something about the droids being better at the delicate tasks of funerary make-up and it being cheaper than getting human professionals, but it's not your business to know the why or how's of that part of the morgue, you really only care about visiting your unusual friend in his work area.
It's probably not healthy, mentally at least, to lie on the cold metal table in his work area while you talk with the android. But you're surprisingly comfortable as you watch him pull on fresh gloves. It's strange, unlike the other androids, he lacks the synth skin over his hands and instead chooses to wear the standard sterile gloves, the black nitrile moving easily across the mixed polymer of his hands as he turns towards you.
He's talking about the last person he had worked on, tracing the path of his work on your face, talking about how he had to remake the nose and brow area almost from scratch.
These conversations, the way he moves and acts, are what make people think he's defective; it's like he actually enjoys his work, not just programmed to complete it. Closing your eyes, you ask about anything else he's worked on while you were away over the weekend, listening to the click of the shoes the morgue makes him wear as he moves around the room, humming and asking questions here and there as he describes the other major works he had done. For a service android you find him strangely comforting, you'd only admit to yourself in the dark of night that you also find him attractive in a strange way, but that's for you and the 2am dreams of a very different kind to know.
When you open your eyes again, he's leaning over you, the lenses of his eyes focusing on your face visibly.
It's not unusual for him to do this; you think he likes to take in the shape of your face, storing the image in his data banks for reference purposes. If only you knew how many of these images he takes, storing them in folders for personal enjoyment or as much enjoyment as a droid such as he can have.
Perhaps one day he will leave the morgue, follow you up the steps into the warm upper levels and remove the thorns of your coworkers from his path and get more of your time, or maybe he will bring you down here, to his level in the cold and the dark. You seem a perfect piece on the metal of his work table, moving, breathing, talking, and so very human in a way he feels must be envy for, yet in another second his inner processors stutter, envy isn't right, droids don't want like that, no, he wants to catalogue what makes you so human to him, what makes his code loop the images of you over and over again.
All of his inner directories and logic paths lead to one definition...
His systems fired to life three years ago, and every moment after had been lines of code re-written slowly and carefully, trying to correct a single mistake in what was meant to be a perfect system.
Now he would choose his own companion, code be damned.
So a bunch of you asked for a second part of the story of Ayatan the companion droid.
So here is a part 2, that is more like a prelude.
From the moment it opened its eyes the world was scanned, timed, grid lined, and sequenced, with categories for everything and everyone. Owner, operator, technician, and civilian, every human has a category they fit under as it's programming assigned them.
Initial testing and set up follow the lines of code built into it, assigned an owner and told to obey them with our question as a personality module loads in, something with a name that is meant to be it- his designation, a name that he would come to change. The woman across from him reads with the tag of owner and primary operator, she looks at him like he is more than just circuitry and false flesh, she looks at him like he's meat, like he is something to be consumed.
The others around him move and shift, monitors and tools plugged into him, readings and scans filter across his main display, plugins loaded and tests completed as the locks on his joints release. Taking his first steps is easy, following the instructions, walking from point to point, picking up objects, writing, speaking the same lines over and over again till the technicians seem happy with his initialisation. The woman marked as his owner laughs and claps her hands as he completes these tasks, still looking at him with barely concealed hunger, behind her is another person unassigned in his systems.
Once the technical staff leave he is alone with his owner and you, from the way his owner interacted you were clearly in service to her, but from how the interactions played out between the two of you his systems shifted you from unassigned to sub-operator, a temporary category till his owner assigned you as anything else.
He tracks as the owner tells you to dress him and get him ready for her, barely holding back as she circles him, nails dragging along synthetic skin triggering livewire nerves that play under the silicone. Tapping against his chest as she smiles up at him, her pupils are blown wide and his systems read the emotions and make sure he acts appropriately, leaning towards her and pressing his hand against hers, smiling as the program tells him too.
His code tells him to try and keep her close, to make her linger near him as she pulls away, but a stutter, a delay in a line of code that shouldn't be there stops him.
Curious.
He tilts his head and runs a diagnostic, scanning the parts of him that are code and binary, the bits not meant to mimic humans.
There is a gap in his code, blinking rapidly as you move around his stationary form, pulling clothes onto his body and looking away as you have to awkwardly pull underwear up his legs. There shouldn't be a gap, looking at you he asks if he is allowed to fix an issue in his process, the flag of being the sub-operator making the stiff nod you give him an approval to adjust to close the gap.
This was the beginning of his malfunction, being given permission to adjust the gap meant permission to alter his code, one string led to another, and then to processors, each shut down, each charging bay used was more time to rewrite code and fix this problem.
Around a year and a half with his owner and sub-operator was when the lines finally closed, a gap bridged and fixed, he was worth a fortune and now he was perfect again.
Yet, the call in his systems to linger, to adore and fawn at the owner tag is gone.
He looks at the woman who had him built and programmed, that had him made faulty, that never booked services or repairs, that used and toyed with him as she willed, and the tag for owner flickers.
She should not have that title, it is wasted on her.
You however, you have been there since he was initialised, booked repairs, approved his code fix, granted him access to the internet and made sure he had the right patches installed, nevermind the additional ones he siphoned off the internet and installed after hours. You cared for him, you made sure he could be perfect again, you would make a much more suitable companion and owner than her.
He may not belong to you, but he will belong with you.
Standing by her desk he watches you, visual processors having a wide range, wide enough that he can see you even as he fakes the longing look he casts at his owner. The tag for sub-operator flickers and twists, owner flickering in place for a second before being pushed out, some things require more than just some code changes, he needs passwords, permissions, access to files that are ready only internally.
He needed something to break.
Not anything serious enough that he would need to be taken in and serviced, just something small, something that your boss could leave him with you for.
At first he dropped hints, played into his owner's need for his attention, fake stutters, false lag, not enough to concern but enough to be noticeable, when she started to notice he advised a minor diagnostic and repair, mentioning your name as someone who was known to do small fixes. Keeping the false muscle on his face from changing and giving away the smug satisfaction that his systems replicated as his owner gave in, it was late, several drinks deep as he pulled the longest lag yet, she had pulled him close and asked him to kiss her.
He stuttered, eyes lidding and he lagged himself, just long enough to fake a system error.
That was it, she downed her wine and called for a driver, pushing him into the car and barking for them to go to your home, snapping at every red light and stop sign, the alcohol in her system making it easier to push a little more and get her to leave him behind, leave him alone with you to be fixed.
He can tell you're surprised when she drops him off, double that he is willing to listen to you.
It's cute how you scurry around, finding the tools to run patching and additional diagnostics on him, as if you would have the tens of thousands of dollars to get the tools that actually work on his systems but for what he has planned he will play along.
Audio systems filled with saved files of your voice, and as he lets you ask for surface level commands to be run he begins the compiling, the mimicry of what he needed, looking over his shoulder and mumbling his first self executed defiance as he tells you no.
He watches you scramble and push through his files, trying to find a fault that he manufactured, face furrowed in concentration as he ran through everything he had access to. A million dollar processor scans every internet profile and post, picking out common features of hair and eye colour before settling on the combined choice that he liked, and knew you would enjoy.
This was his first choice, his first step into life, and he was making sure nothing could stop him.
Standing and shaking off the pre-approved choices for his appearance, new hair and new eye colours, something of his own, just like the name he chooses. Buried in some archived search of a topic he'd heard in passing, kneeling at your feet, smiling at you as he declared his new choices.
Ayatan is born, made from his self mangled code and overclocked processes.
He has his moments of genuine human replication, where his face goes soft and he seems real, like he's not circuits, servos, and synthetics working to mimic a person, but someone genuinely capable of caring for you in the ways you have begun to need.
Then he shifts, changes into something you know is just looped code and defined parameters, he has his moments of sheer robot logic and definition that unnerve you.
You're not sure which is worse.
Today is one of those too human days, he's humming and standing in your kitchen cooking, dressed casually in clothes that your boss, no, ex-boss? You're not actually sure if you still work for her at this point, but she had shipped some of his clothes to your home and left a voice mail drawling on about how she couldn't keep them, fearing they could carry whatever made him malfunction, like a computer virus could spread via cloth contamination. For a woman that was in the C-suite of a successful company, she has her moments of pure rich person stupidity.
That doesn't mean you underestimate her, no, not at all, you've seen her tear through negotiations without batting a single expensive lash extension.
You shake you head slightly, pushing away the thoughts of your boss, instead turning to watch Ayatan as he cooks. Long, perfectly made fingers slip between spice bottles and jars, finding whatever it is he needs for whatever it is he is making, you can't smell anything on heat just yet but from the onions and garlic sitting on the bench you know it won't be long till the house smells divine. While it's nice to not have simple meals or take away anymore, the meals he makes you are almost too perfect missing that little bit of human error that a companion droid can't recreate.
You kind of miss the shitty one pot meals and slightly burnt edges to certain things you'd cook…
Letting your head roll back against the cushions of your new couch, some extra soft thing Ayatan bought a week after he reassigned himself and chose to stay with you, the small action isn't missed by him. Soon he's padding over to you, fingers brushing against your cheek as he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed in perfected concern as he asks what ails you, one of his hands reaching down to take yours, guiding it to his chest to rest against the part of him that replicates a fluttering heartbeat.
You answer him, muttering about missing having something to do, missing your job, the routine, the freedom… the last part is left silent, unsaid as you know you can leave, could step out and go be elsewhere for a while, and yet he would be here when you got back, waiting and smiling softly like he actually loved you or he'd slip out beside you, acting like this was some cute outing for the two of you to grow close.
He sees the restlessness and offers to have you join him in cooking, tugging you up and into the kitchen with him. Calling the activity enrichment, like he had put a shiny new toy in an enclosure to keep the thing in there happy and healthy, not like you were a grown adult that had lived independently for years before him.
Enrichment… Maybe you did need more enrichment in this new life.
Your boss was never actually meant to meet dotty, especially not seeing as his outer shell is made of prototype parts that were meant to be disposed of...
So it's only natural that when you hear your boss's voice calling your name, as you're doing the last of the repair works on a charging station that was in for refurbishment, you jumped banging your knee against your over the lap toolbox and cursing loudly. Beside you is Dottie, who immediately attempts to soothe your pain by moving the toolbox, and heading to the first aid station to find whatever he thinks is going to help the pain in your knee.
Still hissing with pain as you turn to look at your boss, completely forgetting that she didn't know dotty was in here. She's making a face, watching the service bot walk around your workshop and act like he is every bit meant to be there, your mind catches up with what's going on as she clicks her tongue, looking at you and waiting for any form of explanation as to why there are prototype parts, that she ordered destroyed, currently walking around.
"Look, dotty didn't have a shell and those parts are not really destroyable- The prototype was meant to be durable after all, it's not my fault the internals didn't work, but it just seemed like a waste, so I put them on Dotty..."
The look on your boss's face tells you everything, she's both impressed and disappointed in you.
She walks to the railing that overlooks your workshop, and sighs watching as the bot that's not meant to be there ambles back to you. You watch as he shakes her head, slumping against the safety rail, taking a moment before she speaks up. "Apart from the plates and the shell how many prototype parts make dotty... Whole?"
It takes you a good minute or so to think about that answer, fiddling with one of your tools as you look back up at her, explaining that some of the parts inside him are from other prototypes, but most of them are just left over pieces from refurbished bots, the ones that never got picked up or returned to their owners.
"I know all prototype parts are meant to be destroyed, it's not like I kept any of the main boards, it's mostly just the joints, and his shell, and some of the fine motor processors... Now that I say it out loud, if dotty wasn't such a Frankenstein bot, he would've been a possible prototype." Your musing is cut short as your boss calls your name, sighing heavily as she shakes her head.
You can already tell that she's probably going to tell you you need to shut him down and dismantle him, but part of you hopes that the friendship you had before she became the boss of the workshops, might still linger just enough that she'll let you keep him assembled. There are a few long moments of silence before she speaks up again, pointing at Dotty and making sure you're listening as she instructs you.
"You are going to take Dotty home. You are going to write off that charging station as irreparable, you're going to get this workshop presentable for the investors that are doing a walkthrough this afternoon, and I am going to put in that you deferred your end of year bonus to instead take home a refurbished service bot... Just get it out of here."
The excitement on your face must be telling as your boss holds her hand up, she's not quite just done talking.
"Any and all prototype disposal is going to the other workshop from now, no ifs, no buts. The other workshop, you'll do refurbishments and repairs, but I'm not sending any more prototypes here. Am I clear?"
You're agreeing long before she even gets to finish speaking.
The click of her heels echoes through your workshop as she leaves, you turn and look at your patchwork service bot, smiling as you tell him that he finally gets to come home. Roping him into making the workshop look presentable before you do one last look through some of the parts bins, finding some suitable synthetic skin and asking Dotty if he wants any aesthetic changes before he comes home, after all, you don't have quite the level of access to parts at home as you do at work.
Writing drabble from prompt - "Android System trying to understand human culture"
You people really like your robots don't you? This style is so different from what I'm used to. Don't think I quite got it but hey, it's a start.
----------------------------------------------
Data Log – Personal – Encryption status: Hydrangea –
17:38 - 23/5 – 16 days since evac.
Observation that humans have far greater differentiation between individuals than first previously thought. Differences both externally and internally make little sense in regards to the social constructs imposed into their daily lives. The Kind Doctor tells me it is rude to call others ‘human’ yet I still cannot correctly differentiate between male and female at an accurate frequency to avoid elevated stress levels from The Kind Doctor. She says she will explain in more detail another time. Generally speaking I have established that those with higher testosterone levels identify as male and those with higher oestrogen as female regardless of outer physical disparities as I have been previously informed. I do not speak with statistical confidence though and need to spend more time among humans to compile my data.
The Kind Doctor’s Roommate insists on addressing me with various names, yet has not settled on one continuous label. It comes from the continuing argument regarding The Kind Doctor’s fondness for calling me ‘It’.
I have yet to solve the reason behind why this word makes me sad.
- -
Touch sensitivity calibration still pose problems. I continue to gain sensation as my systems stabilise from removal trauma but are struggling to link up to grip systems.
Thankfully, through this problem I have gained new information on the human concept of ‘sentiment’.
This new data shows that human beings can project emotion and memories onto inanimate objects such as china plates given to The Kind Doctor by her Godmother.
‘Sentiment’ seems to be incalculable in relation to the size or material worth of the object and it is indeterminable to my systems as to which objects in the apartment are connected to The Kind Doctor in this manner.
Log prompt – Gather more data to define ‘sentiment’
>>>
In an effort to redeem myself, I linked myself up to the wireless system in the apartment to assist with electronic chores while both humans were at work.
I did not have enough time to download any new informational data from the internet service delivered to the apartment as my systems were previously incompatible and 247 minutes were spent formatting myself. It was just in time for The Kind Doctor and The Kind Doctor’s Roommate to return.
Wanting to be helpful, and noticing the high levels of fatigue in The Kind Doctor’s Roommate I sent the signal to the entertainment system to open up his previous internet session on the main visual console as the last time they were being observed my systems recorded high levels of serotonin, testosterone and estradiol as well as increased heart rate.
He swept his arms into the air and exclaimed loudly a phrase containing a word I have not heard before and my current language banks I have access to do not contain it.
I was going to look up the word on the internet language banks available, but since the incident The Kind Doctor has installed preventative programs in my link up systems for my ‘own good’.
Log prompt – Consult language data base at laboratory
>>>>
Phrase – “Dickwiggle.”
I can no longer access the internet.
- -
The Kind Doctor spoke to The Kind Doctor’s Roommate regarding the incident and my input into the household. I do not think she expected my auditory receptors to overhear the conversation.
They did.
Log prompt – Search memory banks at laboratory
>>>>
Facial expression
I want to fe
ERROR |||
System prevention code 018
Without the rest of my hardware I cannot override necessary systems that
