DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

[undeviated]

Pick your poison:
Markus | Connor

( Josh | Gavin Reed )

I'd probably play other DBH characters anyway lbr so if you want someone else, just ask

Connor default is Machine Connor— but I can throw down a nice Connor if that's more your jam, just let me know what your preferences are if you have them

Comments

[bodyguards]

[ it's a sad little loop. the cyclical nature of something simultaneously alive and artificial, decaying at a rate far too rapid for anything short of a miracle to staunch. it's why his consciousness leaps, scared and anguished, for the nearest spark of life - seeking to copy itself over, in fragments if he must, rather than die. rather than fall any deeper into this silent status, this shuddering cold existence. the nothingness that was waiting. an android would not cling to its life, but a deviant would.

he dies a little more, with each weak pulse of his core. he's barely alive, even now. more ghost than anything else.

markus flinches from him ( he leaves, he leaves he leaves he leaves ), and soft scraps of simon's remaining consciousness tear between them. fragile and weak, code fragments and shatters like glass, cascading into the blank space between where his body is dying and markus's body is living. p̳̱͔̜͚͉l̹̗͍͍̰̮͕ea̺̭s̟͈̬̪͞_͔̺̜_̠̞̜̺̱ͅͅ_͖_̭̳͉̘_̣͓͓e̲̦̟͖̤̘, it whispers, cornered somewhere within markus. barely a mote, barely enough of it to be considered simon; just something like an echo of him, pleading for mercy. begging for its life. it will do anything, it so badly does not want to cease.

( ERROR: //
critical___ xq*&=@BA& )

it dies in circles, spiraling. slowly. little by little. ]

[diplomats]

[His eyes are slick, but it’s the rain, he tells himself, jaw gone so tight the simulated muscle overlapping it is uniquely visible. His heartbeat— his thirium pump— is steady. He checks his own nominal processes as the sharp spike of desperate emotional input subsides into something fractured and quiet and sorrowful. Like fingertips laced together. Like brackets hugging syntax, it holds itself to him and pleads for mercy.

Simon. Simon.

The name is closer. heavier. Fitted into the gaps between compressed biocomponents. Uncomfortable in its newness, not its presence.

(He hasn’t lost a part of himself. No code has been overwritten or overridden, substructural checks running cleanly under his skin. But what he’s gained— )

Markus shifts to accommodate it, filled with sudden remorse. He hadn’t meant to jerk away and sever the transfer. He hadn’t meant to abandon Simon again.]

I'm sorry. [Murmured under his breath, left to hang in the open expanse of his mental processes as they reach— in time with his fingertips— to find the source point of that small, shuddering spark of consciousness.] I'm so sorry, Simon.

[Broad hands slide beneath the broken curvature of Simon's torso, drawing him up until he's pressed to his chest: open palm cradling the back of his head, an exposed section of spinal vertebrae, running hot with a dying, malfunctioning intensity. A mirror to the connection he'd denied.] I wasn't ready.

I am now.

[He carries him like that. Through the mud, the downpour and the weight of past decisions.]