albinomilksnake | DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

I don't even know who you are.

[Much less what she is, if she's telling the truth. What she stands for— why she's here, now, reaching out to him while the world opted to do so much worse than turn their collective backs. When he blinks, it's slower this time. Longer. Humans claim androids don't feel pain, but he's... aware. Aware of the blood on his hands, the levels of thirium in insulated veins as they deplete, the way his system slows unnecessary processes to try and protect crucial function.

He knows what this is like. He knows how it ends.]

If you think—

[It's the last thought before something buckles— or fails— a steep shift as his weight drops, shoulders hitting the wall behind him. Spacial awareness an abstract concept, and not nearly as palpable as the shudder of a deep-set biocomponent stuttering in its housing beneath manufactured ribs. He sets his hand to his chest, instinctively. Breathes out hot, expression twisted into a tight grimace.]

[ She doesn't hesitate as he falls. Carrying herself too fast, easy steps that roll her the distance that isn't quite right nor quite natural. So many years and the blackwater comes liquid fast into her limbs at the slightest need. To his side, her hands going to his shoulders. Furtively look at his wounds with searching fingers. Her face tilting up in the half shadow of streaked moonlight. Turning gold eyes dark, a thick heavy breath in. ]

Every child knows my name, think, and you will know too.

[ A distraction, easy, ( like she would do for any human ) as she pulls at his coat, pushing back to see the damage that was done. The blue substance might not be blood but it told just the same need for quick assessment and fast action. Damn, damn, damn this is what she got for not paying attention to changes as they happened. ]

No, it's all right. It's all right.

[His voice is digitally artifacted. He can't focus, systems fading in and out of immediate functionality. For a moment, with her hands braced steadily across his chest, he thinks she's— no, North is gone. North is gone. He knows better.

Under a mix of relieved strain and pressure from the drastic shift in his positioning, the component in his chest manages to realign itself, vibration stilling. Maybe only momentarily, maybe permanently. His eyes train themselves on the ceiling (the mottled holes that allow hazy light from nearby streetlamps to pour in) before he cinches them tightly shut, and resets.]

I can't— leave. [Like this, they won't get twenty feet from the building without being spotted.] If you want to help.

[He can't transfer data to a human. There's also an inherent risk that she won't remember the specifics of what he tells her: where to go, what to get, down to the ounce or serial number. Aside from spare packets of thirium, if what she brings back is too old, he won't be able to use it.]

Cyberlife keeps an automated kiosk a couple of districts up. It's designed to supply humans with replacement parts for their androids, and last I checked, they hadn't shut it down. You can buy them or steal them, that's your call to make.

[Buying would be the safer option, it'd protect her identity, if she isn't as familiar or efficient with the concept of theft.

Markus lifts his hand, stained palm expectantly turned up.]

Give me your phone.

Alright.

[ She nods - and there's a tinge there, of an inherit uselessness to the situation that she cannot abide. She has spent her years fight, patching up, and dealing with humans. Plenty enough that are a problem, that have been her problem. That to a certain degree, she was good at that after so long.

But this? His blood is chemical, his organs filled with light. She opens her mouth, then shuts it as promptly, nodding to his words. Alright, a plan, one she could certainly do, that formed quickly in her mind. ( There was a joy to being what she is, sometimes. )

Phone - ? She looks up at him, confused for a moment as her brows knit together. ]

Why do you... [ where was the thing, her grandchildren nagged her so often over it. Baiji, can't you get anything new? Teased endless. Informed by her younger family that it was a monstrosity in pink.

But she liked it, a chipped flip-phone that had certainly put up with a great deal over the 50 odd years she had it. Held up to him to use. ] As you wish.

I-

what is this?

[There's no transparent glass, no networked signal he recognizes to tap into. With this, he can't automatically map her way, much less attach himself to its tracking system. What's more is that androids never had a use for phones of their own. Everything was internal, everything synchronized: he can't lend her what he doesn't have.

Which means he has no choice but to tip the device open, staining its edges a deep blue, browline gone sharp and taut as he works out a secondary plan. He can type the address. Manually list directions. Compile priorities and components— Blue Blood, more than anything else, if his self-repair functions are as damaged as he suspects.

The device is returned to her nearly half a minute later, pressed in tight against her palm.] Go.

I can shut down what isn't necessary. Buy a few more hours.

Don't let them see you

[If she succeeds, if she lives through this and keeps her word, she'll have earned the respect of Jericho.

What little is left of it, his arm tucked in tight against his side.]

A phone.

[ She replies it blandly, with a look down at it. Stiff almost. Nothing wrong with a working phone.

But he goes on before she can give her next suggestion, which he tells her and that she recorded it - the old-fashioned way, per a paper and pen she is carrying as well. A grumble somewhere in the throat that sounds a little more like someone else's complaints about the changing world than her own.

Taking it back, she looks over what he's recorded for her. Reading over the numbers and items with a nod, the instructions and the formulation of a story in the mean time. Has one benefit at least for getting what she wants.

A determined personality, to say the least. ]

Have no concern for me, and I will be back before any of that happens. [ Arrogant perhaps, but she was as good at being arrogant as she getting into buildings she shouldn't be in. She rolls out of her crouch, straightening up as she dusts her hands off against her legs. ] A moment -

[ hopefully, Gods all willing, he'd be safe without her there to watch him. Adjusting herself, her hidden weapons, she stops only for one brief matter - couldn't risk anyone seeing him before she returned. So she takes a minute as she looks around to look for - boxes, leftover equipment on the factory floor. Finds... enough to make do, and makes quick work of it.

Boxes she stacks like squares, old cans onto of each other. A sheet of metal from an old piece of machinery that was falling apart that one by one she stacks... around him. A child's house, if a sight more unpleasant. But it would most importantly keep him hidden from passing eyes. ]

[He opens his mouth to say something, just at the height of her arrangement: bewilderment scrawled tight across his expression, intermingled with a sense of urgency— dulled fingertips curling as though he's pressing himself towards movement—

But as she nears the completion of her shelter, his eyelids flutter, functions wilting and stuttering against his every conscious will. His shoulders slump, head dropping, drifting into a precautionary mode of reduced functionality, designed to protect the most vital of his functions.

Somehow, the last fading recesses of his awareness aren't comforted by the idea that if he dies here, he'll at least have a very nice shrine surrounding him.]

[ She's gone, shortly after that. Footsteps retreating on her concrete floors until it's gone entirely.

Honestly - there is something nostalgic to it all. Going to places she shouldn't be, taking things that weren't hers. Weren't right for others to keep, if she had the right of what the truth had become of the world these days.

Luckily, more than one person owed her favours. Enough people that would never even question it. Even when her name was famous across half the world. Walking as she dials one, two, three numbers across the line to put in orders at a few dealers. It would maybe take a little longer, as she gathers the material she needs.

Any time she had lived through, had unrest, and now just as much as ever. Those who loathed Androids were not different to those who had protested weaving looms. Angry, disregarded and hungry. Easy to take up their cause for the short time she needed. To go to the warehouses, once she has confirmation from contacts about the movements of the pieces she wants to the places she needs the line she can hit.

Sewing chaos after that was an old hand. Even if it takes all total more time than she perhaps wants, but gets her what she wants to do it well. Molotovs were quick to make, easily made bigger through old lessons of Tesla's chemistry and electronics, and hurls them and leaves them for distracting others. Outside the parts shops, her contacts organised them to be. Causing a fire, a big one, near to or outside, as discreetly as she could manage for herself. One after another after another - and for each: sneaking in back doors, of business owners otherwise distracted by the chaos, the people milling in the streets, or running from the - targetted terrorist attacks, she's sure the headlines will read when the news rolls in for the evening. She takes what she needs, plus whatever parts were at the time that might look like someone could have stolen them without much thought. The rest? She gladly, happily, trashes. Setting fire and hurling it about and taking off with what she really needed.

The rest is slinging the equipment in her bag. Throwing all the clothes she had been seen in out and burning them, and heading back to where she left him. Damn, she hoped it wasn't too late.

So that near to three hours later, she's back. Pulling the rubble off him. Faintly scorched with a smear of smoke on her face and hands, the reek of petrol and smoke on her clothes and skin as she drops the bag. The heavy bag that clearly has too much in it, down next to him, hastily pulling out the pieces of equipment to get what he had asked for. Plus a great deal more that seemed useful - weapons, ammunition, bandages for herself. Leftover bottles of vodka she might need. ]

Which did you need first?

[Waking up for androids isn't a process all that far off from what humans endure or express: minor senses return to life first— touch, hearing— he's aware of her presence even in his suspended state before she moves to rest beside him, eyelids slow to flutter open regardless. His reserves are low, he can count out the seconds before his body shuts down entirely (part of him— the human part, so desiccated from loss— only briefly chases the suggestion of letting it happen). Markus strains to lift his hand, to cant his head lower and gesture towards the bag she's brought with her.]

Thirium. [Corrected a moment later with its broader terminology:] Blue Blood.

[The rest can wait. It can wait exactly fifty-six seconds— fifty-five—]

[ A blackwater for a new age, she thinks, and then doesn't care. She yanks it out - uncapping it with a heavy twist, feeling the liquid move about it. How does he need it - to drink? Looks that way.

She doesn't bother even passing it to him, just holds it up to his mouth and tilts it up from him to drink as quickly as he needs. Tipping it against his lips even if might just end up splashing about everywhere in a waste.

At least she'd gotten more than they need. ]

[Markus cranes his neck to match the angle, sluggish enough that thirium pools at the edges of his lips— overflowing a beat later— running down his throat in streaks of brilliant blue. Androids breathe more as a concession made for humanity's comfort than for the cooling process of cycling air throughout overclocked systems: at times, it is necessary, but more often than not it's nothing more than a superficial feature. He cannot choke, he cannot aspirate; he drinks without stopping, inhaling (sharply) only after the bottle's been emptied to relieve a tangled pocket of stored heat within his chest.

(The timer ticking down in his peripheral awareness slows. Stops. Reverses itself— citing thirium reserve levels at a critical 15%, rather than the 3% it'd held only a few seconds prior. Diagnostic scan necessary. Please visit your nearest Cyberlife maint—)

He should thank her, but he can smell it now. The smoke, the ash. pale eyes settling on the assortment of makeshift weaponry already emptied from her pack.]

What did you do?

[ she leans in once he settled back, the immediate danger passed. Watching over his face, for anything that might be off. Searching over his expression, reaching up - her thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. Smearing away the blue blood that ran from the corner.

The answer is nonchalant, after all, it was a far cry from the wars before. ]

What I do best.

[ the blood is swiped off on her pant leg. Back to business. She fishes for another bottle of the blood for him again. Trusting him to take care himself now. The few times he said need replacing laid out. As well as the few weapons - the combat knife, the rifle, heavy and black metal. Slide across to him as she started the simple preparations. Here was as good as anywhere, out of the way. Defensible with some help. Think she spied a small room that was offices in another life now empty. ] Nothing traceable to me or back to you, I am... Skilled at causing confusion.

[ she rubs a smudge of smoke at her cheek, absent thoughts, absent concerns. ]

[Machines suffer from exhaustion differently than humans, but the end result is, in so many ways, the same: energy needs to be managed down to the most microscopic measurements, tasks like speech, like movement and cognitive focus— all of it comes at a cost. All of it needs to be decisively allocated. He lifts the container to his mouth to drink; he doesn't tilt his head to look at her between increasingly tempered mouthfuls.]

Who are you. Really.

[No more elusive answers, no more games. He wants to know the truth.

He wants to know why.]

[ Her head doesn't lift from the two parts of her work, unpacking the rucksack of gear, then arranging it to what is needed for the immediate things at the moment. One knee on the ground, the other planted boot down firmly. Ready, always ready, to jump up. ]

Jhansi ki Rani. [ The box of ammunition for the rifle is placed on top of the box of his parts. Flicked open as she fishes out what she needs to load it. Thumbing through bullets with a deft hand that she's at least comfortable enough to not really look at it, to glance at him sparingly. ] I am sure all that data can fill in the rest. You may call me Rani.

[ Her eyes drop again, going back to her work. Once it's loaded, she swings the strap over her shoulders, around her back, then lets the gun swing loose behind her. ] There is a small office up there, I am going to move you there once you are ready. Then we can see what else you need done.

Jhansi... [Markus mouths back, a half-formed thought, wordlessly blinking his way through it— and setting it aside along with the now-emptied container of Blue Blood. There's a lot that he could say, starting with thanking her for saving his life. The last of Jericho's living, if the deadened connection he leaves to echo out across the city is right.

Instead, he shoves himself forward with effort, away from the heap of camouflaged scrap she's aligned for him, bypassing the miniature armory at her heels (volatile, but not enough to protect either of them, should the military succeed in tracking them down).] I'm ready now.

[He isn't, not really. Warnings still frame the lining of his vision, fingers shaking as they curl deep into dust. None of it deters him.]

The sooner we get away from these windows, the better.

[ She nods, briefling standing to look up, around, gaze on the windows and it seemed no one was coming this way any time soon. Good. ] My thought exactly.

[ She drops down again then because he might say he's ready, he surely isn't. Not risking him pushing himself further and damaging something that no amount of stealing could fix.

So she packed up her procured items, slinging the bag around her shoulder. Then goes to him, slowly easing one arm around his back, - ] Ready?

[ - and ready or not, she slides the other arm under his legs, and with a deep breath, heaved him up. Bridal carry, balancing him easily in her arms. Damn, but they were heavy, weren't they? Jostling only briefly to keep her hold secure. ]

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

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