Animal Oddity (Kirsh x GN!Reader) - Synthmas 2 "A Few Updates"
"Kirsh reached your office door and knocked lightly and precisely in warning before opening it and striding inside.
He immediately stopped as the darkness of the office filtered through his sensors, eyes attracted to your sofa and your body, startling up with a wince, a scarf falling down from your face.
Your reaction made him frown slightly, hands collected in front of his body with a small and brief apologetic bend at the waist. It was clear you were going through one of your episodes of migraines."
Song: Animal Oddity - MNQN
Warnings: Reader gets hurt in the present. Reader went through an accident as a kid and has brain implants to help deal with the effects. Migraines
You closed the coding files, tablesheets and diagnostic programs on your computer and disconnected the cable connecting it to the port behind your ear. The flow of data into your implants stopped, leaving only a dull ache resultant from the connections between wires and nerves.
You still had work to do, including a few new messages and orders, but your brain and implants couldn’t deal with that now. You needed some time.
At least your contract with Prodigy took that in consideration gave you the right of shift hours broken across the day, instead of uninterrupted shifts. As long as you did forty weekly hours at least, you were clear.
Sighing, you pressed two fingers on the bone just above the port, massaging slowly, despite knowing it wouldn’t do much, if anything.
You had been run over by a car as a child, and the damage your brain had received had been extensive. You had needed to relearn most of everything in the first years, and while nowadays your long term memory was mostly okay, the same as any normal human, your short term memory was… Way less than ideal. The implants helped with that, and when working it was better if you connected with the computer to help you stay on track. They also helped stabilize your fine motor skills in bad days.
However, the implants were old and not properly made for how much data your work as a software engineer with Prodigy made you handle on a day to day basis, and you weren’t about to put yourself into a bigger debt with Prodigy to update them.
You knew the price with any of the five was always too big. It was better to keep suffering the occasional migraine.
Breathing in deeply, you got up, intending to return to your quarters, but the dull ache immediately worsened, spreading through the whole left side of your brain, making you wince and give up. The trip would be too long, and there would be a good chance of you collapsing from the pain somewhere along the way.
No. Your office, small as it was, was your best option. So, trying to keep the wince at bay, you closed your office curtains, drank some water, turned off the lights and your computer screen, and lied down on the small sofa against a wall, your scarf over your closed eyes.
The pain was still there, but the absence of lights and the silence helped a bit.
This feeling you put in me
Your bright-faced brutality
This blue sky is a forgery
Kirsh walked down the corridors, hands collected at his back, steps purposeful towards the technical labs, systems going over the list of chores related to the research for the synthetic bodies that would hopefully one day receive human minds. There was still much to be done, including the selection of subjects.
A ping and priority request of contact and Kirsh tapped the communicator by his ear without stopping, ignoring the contempt trying to bleed from his systems at the knowledge that it could only be Kavalier on the other side.
“Heya, Kirsh. So, I just finished setting up a few updates for you, mainly firewalls. Go on, Arthur already has the orders to apply it to your systems. Chop chop.” Kavalier didn’t wait for an answer, the call cutting.
Kirsh froze in place, letting out an unnecessary sigh. He knew Kavalier’s “few updates”. They were never “a few”. He would probably end up in the synthetics maintenance room, cables connected to his back so his body would be immobile while massive quantities of data were downloaded into his temporary storage and then applied to his systems and programming.
If they were “a few”, it would be done through his arm port.
It was never done through his arm port.
It would take hours, and he had responsibilities and chores. Kavalier was his creator and employer and the human just made Kirsh’s work a thousand times harder.
Subroutines suggested he went to do his chores anyway and delay the updates, and Kirsh deleted those. At least Kavalier had passed the job on to Arthur Sylvia, someone that knew how to focus on the work at hand. If Kavalier had insisted on doing it himself, as he was prone to do, Kirsh would be tempted into letting the contempt moving him to strangle Kavalier at some point.
He started walking again, and a new call reached him. Not high priority, but his systems warned it was Dame Sylvia, and that made him frown slightly while accepting the call.
“Doctor Sylvia. Is something the matter?”
“Yes, so… I’m deeply sorry, Kirsh, but Kavalier’s orders just arrived and Arthur is in no condition. We just arrived at the infirmary, I think he has some food poisoning. The doctors are examining him.”
“That’s unfortunate.” And he would be able to focus on his chores.
“It is. But his second can do it, I’m transferring all of Arthur’s most urgent work to them, and that includes your updates.”
The Sylvia’s had basically brought you along when Kavalier contracted them, convincing him that your abilities would be a valuable addition. You had been friends with Arthur since graduation, still a doctor even if fewer doctorates, and had even made a speech in his marriage with Sylvia.
“Your warning is appreciated.”
“You’re welcome, Kirsh.” And with that the call dropped.
Kirsh let out a small, unnecessary sigh, and started walking towards your office.
You were… Someone he didn’t know how exactly to read or interact with most of the time. You were, by all means, a cyborg, one that had had no option but to accept the implants received, something your parents had decided when you were still a child. You accepted it, dealt with it, used it to help with your work even with the migraines that came with such use – migraines that had become more frequent since the start of your work, according to his observations. He had seen other cyborgs that hated what they were, the middle ground between human and machine, but you didn’t show the same.
The machine pieces were just part of you. Didn’t define you, didn’t make you uncomfortable, you didn’t want more. You just were.
His words needling that fact, being a cyborg, rarely had any effect on you. At most you occasionally seemed to find amusement at them, always a low and brief one. It was in such a way that he had simply stopped, and overall the interactions were limited to the professional and civilized. If he was sarcastic next to you, he rarely was at you or about you.
In a way, Kirsh was more civilized with you than with most humans in the facility.
Kirsh reached your office door and knocked lightly and precisely in warning before opening it and striding inside.
He immediately stopped as the darkness of the office filtered through his sensors, eyes attracted to your sofa and your body, startling up with a wince, a scarf falling down from your face.
Your reaction made him frown slightly, hands collected in front of his body with a small and brief apologetic bend at the waist. It was clear you were going through one of your episodes of migraines.
“Apologies.” He limited himself to the single word, watching your eyebrows frown in confusion and pain, then softly closed the door and turned on the lights. You frown and wince worsened, but your eyes focused on him, nodding lightly and sitting slowly.
“I-No, Kirsh, it’s okay. I… Do you need something, is this about some of the firmware code research, or-”
“No, doctor. Breath.” He interrupted and you stopped talking while taking a deep breath. “Kavalier has finished establishing a series of updates for my systems and programming. Doctor Arthur Sylvia was supposed to apply them, but he’s indisposed at the moment.”
You blinked and nodded, getting up with a wince.
“Oh, Dame must have transferred everything to me.” Fingers pressing and massaging your temples, you started to move towards your computer, letting your body fall on your rotating chair. Kirsh watched your movements with attention, systems tagging your slow steps and light swaying and the way your face twisted as you moved.
“You don’t need to do it now. I can return later.”
Really, it would be the best for both him and you, even his main routines agreed with the assessment. He could go back to his own work and chores and you could recover from your migraine. Everyone satisfied with the present situation.
You looked up at him with a pained smile while your computer started, fingers positioned over the keyboard.
“Applying updates are easier than coding, especially the ones Kavalier makes. Code wise, there’s rarely conflicts.” Light hit your face from the screen and you looked at it, fingers at a deliberate pace over the keys, port behind the ear disconnected. “Someone applying is for safety reasons, since-”
“-It usually means the synthetic needs to be shut down and manually restarted.” Kirsh finished, eyebrows slightly up and a barely there smirk, sarcasm managing to drip despite the common words.
It made your smile gain teeth, not in an aggressive way, just as if you found his words funny, almost laughing- It turned into a wince with fingers pressing above the port.
“… Anyway, it won’t overtax me, if that’s the worry.” Kirsh didn’t deny nor confirm, and you made silence, attention on the computer. A frown, not from pain, appeared on your face. “This update is massive. Did Kavalier tell you what it’s about?”
“Per his words, mainly firewalls.”
You hummed then leaned over your desk, hands collecting a pair of sunglasses, lanyard, cable compatible with your port.
“We will need to go for the synthetics maintenance. Your arm port and the cables compatible can’t safely deal with this type of transfer.”
Kirsh wasn’t surprised at your words and barely aborted a wince – not surprised didn’t mean satisfied –, subroutines attempting to give him ideas of how to get out of applying the updates exactly at that moment, systems judging all of them and summarily deciding they were stupid and deleting them.
What you were talking about meant he would need to take off his jacket and sleeveless turtleneck so you could connect all the needed cables to his spine ports, even the coolant and lubricant fluid drainage one, even if there would be no need of that.
If there was one thing that Kirsh could say he hated, as much as he could hate something – or more like he disliked –, it was when all his spine ports needed to be hooked for any update or maintenance. It meant an anchor cable at the base of his spine, to lock his torso in place and allow it to be opened if internal maintenance was needed; a systems monitoring and diagnostics cable above it, receiving and reading all the data from his internal sensors, core programming and systems in real time as whatever was done; a faster data cable right in the middle, through which all heavy updates could be uploaded into him, and that he could use to send something out too – he preferred to use the arm port, no matter how much slower it was compared –; a system stabilizer cable, just between his synthetic shoulder blades, something that functioned only to redirect data and energy overflow from him and out if there was a risk to his systems and hardware; and the drainage one, just under his nape, always covered by his clothes.
It was too much. It meant lack of control, because of so many cables, and because he would eventually be suspended, maybe even turned off, and depend of some other human to be turned on again. Coding and programming wise, he understood why all that: avoid data corruption during upload and applying of updates, make sure it would be faster, make sure the human applying would have information fast if something went wrong.
At the same time, it made Kirsh remember that, as a synthetic, humans exercised a great deal of control over him.
And all that without lingering on the fact that he would know truly what the update entailed once it started being applied, because Kavalier never explained those in details before. Firewalls, yes, but what else? It was always a surprise.
Kirsh, per his core programming and higher main routines, was curious and dedicated to research.
He never was able to engage those if it was about what Kavalier had in store for him, even if it was something another technician would apply.
The path towards synthetics maintenance was slow and careful, sunglasses covering your eyes. Kirsh made sure to walk close to you, hands behind his back and attentive to your own steps in case you worse than you were telling him, but in the end they arrived at the large room without issues.
The place was empty at the moment, most of the personal focused on the research for the development of the synthetic bodies that would receive human minds. You turned on just a few of the lamps, keeping it at a level that was gentler on your senses, as much as possible.
Kirsh approached the maintenance chair and prepared it, making sure all cables and wires were properly connected and in good state. H he liked that level of control, that he could guarantee that only the necessary cables would be there, that there wouldn’t be an overload into his systems. At the same time, you logged your credentials into the computer and accessed the files needed.
Giving you his back for a moment, he folded his jacket and sleeveless black turtleneck on the closest metal shelf, barely thinking about his movements of the fact that his upper torso was exposed.
“All right, the computer is ready.”
You stopped by the chair, sunglasses up on your head and gloved fingers tapping the backrest.
“Any prediction on how long this will take?”
Whatever answer, he knew it would be too long, but Kirsh still asked as he sat down.
“I’ll start connecting the cables now. And sorry, Kirsh, hard to say. The upload itself will probably be fast with this cable, a few minutes, but the applying… Hard to say, it depends on what will be updated.”
He hummed in recognition of your answer, body shifting slightly and warmth climbing up his skin as he felt the external electricity flow into him, as each thick cable took its place in their respective ports, your free hand touching his back as support. There was still no data travelling, so it was just his sensors accusing the connection and the electricity.
Kirsh hummed with your expected answer. A tapping on his shoulder signaled him to sit back, ports settling around the cables and chair reclining slightly. He intertwined his fingers above the button of his pants, elbows on the arm rests, eyes blinking at the ceiling and hearing your steps moving away.
The minutes dragged. A request for connection reached his systems and he accepted, your computer starting the upload of the update package.
It was bigger than usual and Kirsh needed to resist the temptation of sighing loudly at it. What exactly was being updated?
With nothing to do but wait the file to finish transfer so you could start applying it, Kirsh closed his eyes and sneaked a look into your computer. It wasn’t easy, to use the fact that the connection was a two way path so he could look into it with his own systems without triggering firewalls or alerting the monitoring, but it was a good exercise and gave him something to do, as long as he didn’t really do anything. It was really just observation. It helped that you still hadn’t connected your own implants to the system – you clearly were holding on to do it only when extremely necessary.
If anyone was ever curious enough to ask how he experienced it, the best way he could think to explain was “looking over someone’s shoulder”: if he extended a hand, he could make something specific, but would make it clear he was watching. Sure, he could still check more than if it was just like that, since he was able to look deep in the files, but overall the analogy held.
Your computer was logged into your credentials and into the Prodigy network, including its cloud, data you usually worked with on a day to day basis available for his systems. His core programming wasn’t alerted to start the process related to privacy only because of that: directly hosted into the Prodigy network, meaning, proprietary data instead of private.
Kirsh sifted through the files, not opening any, just changing how they were exhibited, observing their sizes, the markings and formats indicating which ones you usually accessed with your implants, the metadata he could access without alerting you.
His eyebrows arched lightly as he noticed something just… Off. He couldn’t say what, exactly, not without delving deeper, maybe taking control and running some files, but his systems alerted some minor anomaly.
A finger tapping his hand, he retreated a bit, just enough to properly revise his systems findings and data analysis, make new calculations.
The finger tapping immediately stopped as his systems warned that multiple files were just… Too big, considering their formats and their use and the needed compatibility with your brain implants.
Kirsh had gone over all the details and specification about your implants and the damage your brain had suffered as a child. He had wanted to understand what it implied, what he could expect from you behavior wise – it hadn’t really prepared him, so to speak –, and what limitations you had because of those.
As a consequence, he knew that the implants mainly stored temporary data and ran it as you worked on it, almost like the RAM memory of a computer. Connecting the implants to the computer only meant an easier time of remaining on track and, occasionally, of manipulating such files. The implants specification stablished that large amounts of data could be dealt with at the same time, but it wasn’t recommended: the implants were made to help with short term memory and at most improve the path towards long term memory; interfacing with heavy files and too much data would strain the connections with your neurons.
Those files were bigger than the specifications he had read recommended. They should be broken in smaller parts. Why weren’t they?
“Kirsh.” Your voice called and he turned his head, eyes open. You had lowered the sun glasses back.
“I forgot to bring my water bottle and I’m going to the closest break room to get some. The upload should have finished when I return, just don’t move.”
Kirsh let a barely there smirk stretch his lips.
“It’s not as if I can really leave with the anchor engaged.”
You gave him a small smile.
“Noted. Do you need something?”
He just shook his head and you left after a nod, door closing behind you.
Thumbs pressing into each other, he calculated that you would take anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes to return. Plenty of time for him to satisfy his curiosity of why the files were too big.
Eyes open, Kirsh sank again into the data, less subtle, faster, systems pulling on the metadata and opening multiple files at the same time, analyzing what they showed.
At first there was nothing, and they seemed fine, but he noticed his processors speeding and a subtle increase of temperature. Frowning, he slowed down. That shouldn’t happen; those weren’t not even close to how much data his systems and processors could handle at the same time.
Humming, he closed a few files, processors not slowing, systems accusing unexpected temporary data in his storage. He closed all, new warning of temporary data.
He put his systems to make an analysis of the temporary data while he selected a single file and run it, at the same time pulling his own diagnostics to analyze it in detail and with attention.
The seconds piled on each other and he let out a low “hum” with arched eyebrows as his systems finished the analysis and he himself concluded with the file.
The temporary data was just garbage, nothing important, but it was resistant to be deleted, programmed to be persistent. Ideally, temporary data was always deleted the moment he closed a file, but not that one. He had to manually do it.
The data was hidden on the files. Once they were executed, the excess temporary data was automatically unpacked. Once he understood the code behind it, he wrote and saved to storage a protocol to keep that from happening again – better implement it after the update.
And all that excess data wasn’t something you had done. No. Kirsh could recognize Kavalier’s sticky fingers in the metadata associated with the files.
As he retreated from the computer, letting it be exactly as it was, his systems and processors started to attempt to deduce why Kavalier had done that.
If your implants were getting overwhelmed with persistent temporary data, that would explain his observation of higher frequency of migraines; if his processors had felt the need to accelerate to deal with them, what about your implants. Your brain cells were constantly being overtaxed.
You arrived a few minutes after the upload of the package finished, a plastic water bottle in hands. Kirsh was still thinking, and the only conclusion he had was that Kavalier expected you to eventually be unable to fulfill the weekly hours you should, and then either fire you, or sink deeper the Prodigy claws into you by arguing that the problem were your old implants and offering newer Prodigy implants.
The second option would mean that you would never be truly able to work anywhere else.
You nodded at Kirsh, sitting down at your computer. Faintly, he felt your implants joining the closed network.
As his systems and programming accused the package being unpacked, he tried to consider what to do with the knowledge, if he should do anything with it or not.
He hadn’t reached a conclusion when you warned it was time to suspend him so the new files and codes could be properly added and linked to his systems, core programming, processes, firewall, firmware.
Sighing, he fixed himself in the chair, verifying the data from the sensors along his spine ports, making sure the cables were firm.
The order for suspension arrived through the cables and he accepted it after a longer bit than usual.
His systems started resetting, a faint awareness slowly filtering in from his sensors: the fabric of his pants and socks, the pressure of the boots, the cold air of the room, the metal against his back, the cables connected to his spine ports, the sound of the air conditioning, a slow human breathing. Kirsh blinked, and while he could feel the synthetic eyelids closing, his visual sensors still hadn’t restarted and he saw nothing. His imbedded communicator and the wireless connector also were still offline, as multiple components of his systems.
That reset was taking longer than usual.
“Care to share which updates were done beyond firewall, doctor?” His voice came out filled with static, indicating that while his voice box was online, the modulators and filters were still restarting.
There was no answer, just that still breathing sounding. Kirsh would risk that the software of his auditory processors were dysregulated regarding frequencies he could hear, but he had heard himself, so that was not the issue. It made him frown.
There was something wrong.
Carefully, he tested his limbs one by one, first checking the processes and programming for his motor control had started, then moving each one, one by one.
Another blink, sight coming to him both blurry and too bright. Visual sensors online, but iris response to light level still offline.
It was still enough for him to notice that there was a shape fallen down on the floor, immobile.
His olfactory sensors came online, olfactory processors pulling more processing power than usual. Steel, blood. Faint, but there.
Kirsh pressed his lips in a line, the iris response to light level coming online as he watched, lights dimming, the lab coming into focus.
It was you, eyes closed, body akimbo, one wrist twisted in a way that was wrong. Tools and pieces were spread close to your feet and legs. There was a cut on your forehead, a trickle of blood. He looked around, finding the rounded corner of a metal table with a small crease and a speck of blood that wasn’t there before, more tools spread on it.
He still could hear you breathing, and that was a relief, as close to relief as he could feel.
Kirsh’s best bet was that your migraine had worsened to the point your started to pass out, tried to catch yourself on the table, failed, and just managed to hit your head and apparently break a wrist. Not good.
He checked again his communicator and wireless component, both still trying to start – not integral components, those would be the last for his systems to deal with –, which meant he had no way of warning about a medical emergency.
Sighing unnecessarily, he checked if there was any data coming or going through the cables, and it became clear that you had already even turned off the computer on the other side. You should be approaching to help him with the cables connected to his spine.
That meant he got straight to business.
Kirsh straightened and carefully reached back with his hand, disconnecting the cables one by one with precise movements. His shoulder joint accused an overextending and the risk of damage, a main routine appearing and trying to execute to abort the movement, and he stopped and deleted it. The joint would be easier to fix than you.
There was an absence in his sensors as all cables were disconnected and he got up, processors speeding to the usual when he was out and about, servos needing a few more seconds to catch up and keep him balanced as he walked towards you – another check, communicator and wireless component still offline.
He knelt by you, pulling from storage his first-aid knowledge and training, fingertips carefully feeling around your nape and supporting your head and neck to turn you on your back. Your eyes fluttered, a heavy wince twisting your features. He managed to stop you from moving your hand and wrist, but you still hissed.
“Don’t move. You fell and hit your head and wrist. It seems your broke it.” He carefully put your wrist above your chest, and your other hand came to it, stabilizing. “How’s your head?” He asked, observing the response time of your pupils – good, stable.
“Killing me. I… This is-God-Worse than ever, Kirsh. I think there’s something wrong with my implants.”
Kirsh froze and let out an unexpected sigh before he could extend a finger to test how you followed it.
The “something wrong” was Kavalier playing God in an attempt to get you to be more dependent on Prodigy than you already were, and you didn’t know where to look. As it was, the emergency team would probably just double down on that narrative, because old implants, and try to convince you to update them.
His systems returned a new analysis he wasn’t expecting, but that he immediately read and paid attention, core programming and processes regarding life preservation taking over: you were lucky you had hit your head where you had. Any other place, any other point of your head, and the chances of you being dead before he came to would have increased considerably.
That was a direct consequence of Kavalier’s action and that, if it had happened, would have served nothing, an unnecessary death.
“Stay here and don’t move.”
With your answer, he got up and strode across the room, hands finding a fast cable compatible with his arm port and finding a connector adaptor for the port behind your ear.
Kirsh couldn’t really do anything about Kavalier, his core programming would stop him, but he could make sure your implants would delete whatever persistent temporary data still in them and apply a small update based on the protocol he had written for himself, so that wouldn’t happen again, no matter how Kavalier played with the files you had to access on your work.
Besides, he had to admit… He felt a… Kinship with your situation. Something outside your control, caused by Kavalier, just like the updates he occasionally had to go through.
Kneeling again, he connected one end of the cable to your port and held the other floating close to his arm port.
“I’ll take a look at your implants, doctor. Make sure that you didn’t accidentally get something that was supposed to go my way.”
“Never saw this, but go ahead. If it helps…”
Satisfied with your agreement, he touched the connector to his arm port, heat around it as his sensors accused it.
There was an immediate request for connection from your implants. Kirsh accepted it and dove towards the data, eyes closed-
It was overwhelming. Not the data, but the chaos. The implants and the data they represented were organized, software easy to process, the persistent temporary data easy to identify.
It wasn’t like when you had connected to the computer when starting to apply the updates. That moment was pale, faint, only the implants accessible.
At that moment he could feel beyond the implant, the brain connected to them. Electrical signal from your neurons fired and connected with your implants in constant flashes, a constellation of signals and information he couldn’t process or absorb or translate, only feel.
His systems tried to translate, to organize, categorize, make sense, map the electrical signals that travelled through the connection almost as if, for one moment, his systems were an extension of you, but they couldn’t. For him, it was just electricity, and the only thing he could do was record it, map it, as he could feel the electric signals.
Taking in an unexpected breath, Kirsh forced himself to focus on deleting the persistent temporary data from your implants and unpacked the protocol that should protect you from that type of underhanded tactic.
A small test, a transference of a persistent temporary data. The protocol easily deleted it.
Kirsh started to retreat, but the electric signals attracted him one last time.
Still there, not a constellation, a nebula of connections and electricity travelling that his systems made their best to record, the main routine of curiosity producing new subroutines that wondered what type of information was travelling through your brain and between your implants.
That wasn’t how information travelled through his systems and storage and routines and processors. Not even close. Electricity, yes, but not that way of chaotic spreading that made him think of rivers breaking and meeting more rivers, the multiple twigs and branches appearing from a single tree. Synthetic thought processes and recovering of memories and data were more linear.
He cut the connection, deleting new main routines trying to convince him to start it again just so he could record more, disconnecting the cable from his arm port, opening his eyes.
Your wince had softened, your breathing calmer.
“That should take care of it.” He mumbled, pulling the cable away from your own port.
“Did you find something?”
“As I had imagined. Excess data that your implants didn’t know what to do. I deleted them. Your migraines should keep to the usual level.” A check showed the communicator was back online. “I’ll call the emergency.”
“Thank you, Kirsh.” He allowed a small barely there smile and a nod before tapping his communicator.
Kirsh’s systems had finished restarting and he was already dressed back in his sleeveless turtleneck and jacket by the time the paramedics arrived. He watched as they immobilized your neck and wrist temporarily and transferred you into a stretcher, and followed until the infirmary. He didn’t follow inside, main routines warning about the work and chores he had to do.
“Recover well, doctor.” He called before they took you through the door, and you smiled, not immobile hand waving.
He stood in place for a few moments, watching the closed door, and started walking again towards his own lab, systems pulling his list of chores.
A light in the corridor flickered ahead, and subroutines asked to see the recorded map of the electrical signals of your neurons firing in those brief seconds. Steps not faltering, Kirsh lingered on the subroutines, on the verge of deleting them, focus on what he should actually do, but a push from the main routine of curiosity made him pull the recording.
Multiple pathways of multiple firing neurons reaching to each other. Stars in a constellation irrevocably connected, a nebula of multiple interminable constellations. Information coded in all of it, information he had no way of deciphering, but that his curiosity wanted to. Something he couldn’t exactly see or describe in a way that would make sense to a human, but that was indelibly carved in his storage and systems.
Kirsh felt tempted to categorize the recorded map of firing neurons as “raw beauty”. Something that he had felt and interpreted and mapped and that in a way filled his systems, but would be just noise if he put in a computer and tried to look through a screen.
The best he could about the map was infer it was related to the pain you were feeling at the moment, but he knew without a doubt there was more, including about the connection itself.
A new subroutine, ask you how you had perceived the connection with him. Was it feeling, just an awareness, or had you actually been able to seen something because of your implants?
The more he thought on the question and the more he replayed the map of firing neurons, more subroutines appeared, asking him to turn back towards the infirmary to ask, to connect again and record more-
A door closed behind him and fractured the thought process. Kirsh stopped inside the lab, systems still on the recording, noticing better all the new subroutines, noticing the slight increase in speed of his processors.
A fascinating one, but still an anomaly. One that was taking him off the tracks of his work.
… He should delete it all. The recording of your firing neurons, the subroutines, everything. Take away the temptation from the reach of his main routine of curiosity.
Kirsh started the code to do it, to delete, and his systems waited for the order.
He blinked, hands moving from his back to his pockets, systems awaiting confirmation to delete.
He cancelled the action and encrypted the whole memory – the connection, the map of firing neurons, the subroutine that wanted him to ask you.
There, he thought, main routines and subroutines relaxing, processors decelerating to normal speed. Memory kept, but he would need to effectively work every time he wanted to access. That would help him control himself.
Kirsh should delete it all.
… Maybe one of those few updates from Kavalier was to blame for his inability to let go of the memory and recording.
