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

[diplomats]

"Not really, no." He exhales narrowly, shaking his head. By the time he tugs open the door at the far end of the office, Leo's already gone: either made his move to leave, or settled into the focus of the public eye.

Markus hopes it's the former. The latter could be disastrous for a man that's always been unpredictably fragile and keyed up all in the same breath.

He stops just in the hallway behind the altar's center point, halfway between the primary and emergency exits: a difference of risks. Leaving openly attracts attention, but leaving privately? It's like asking anyone loitering nearby to personally take up a career in rumor mongering.

"You?"

[biocomposer]

Elijah takes a breath. Anyone who actually gave a damn about convering the passing of a great artist will have followed the funeral party. That leaves the jackals.

"No," he says, then straightens his lapels and eats up the distance to the front door in long, confident strides.

There are instant camera flashes. He hears his name multiple times. Mister Kamski - Sir, can you comment on - Have you been in contact with - Were you aware of - Elijah!

Markus is facing similar barrage, but Elijah isn't listening any more, making for the cab he's already summoned with a tap on his phone. His heart is beating too fast; there's sweat beading on the back of his neck. He's spent too long in the controlled silence of his own home.

[diplomats]

Fortunate for the both of them, Elijah Kamski had the good sense to build Markus impressively tall— wide across his shoulders— and as Elijah retreats into the taxi amidst increasingly frantic demands for attention, Markus is no more than a dense step behind, stubbornly blocking either side of the car's automated doors with his hands so that none of the hungrier vultures can shove in the featherweight plastic of their microphones.

To their credit, they try regardless.

When they fail, the doors finally snap shut, muffling the chorus of shouting voices outside (simultaneously highlighting the contrast of the taxi's cheerful VI thanking them for their choice to use DTS transit services). Markus settles in beside Elijah, taking care not to crowd him in the process. Physical markers, all the slight signs of stress he'd known to look for in Carl— it's strange, noting them in Elijah as well— drawing a line between the two of them. Something almost

fragile.

Fragile machines, Markus thinks, head tipped towards his shoulder.

"Take a minute if you need it."

[biocomposer]

He probably does, but refuses the offer. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says:

"What predicated your design was a debate over designing androids to work in areas of high radioactivity. The issue was that wireless networking was so poor. Transmitting orders continously would be challenging."

[diplomats]

He expects Kamski to take the opportunity to recover. Instead, there's no real ceremony to the subject change, just that single, drawn out inhale.

It's not really enough time for either of them.

Not for Markus, who told himself he was ready for this conversation and all its implications (there's no closed-door sessions with your maker that don't end in splintering self-reflection; he'd spent enough time pouring over George Eliot's words and Fehr's hard-hewn lines to know that much), expression already pinching tight between his brows as he works to process what he— too quickly— interprets as his own bluntly summarized origin.

"So you built a prototype machine, one that could communicate directly instead."

[biocomposer]

"In a way," Elijah murmurs. "What I was aiming for was a...conscious android, more aware of itself and its environment. One that could take an initial order - to clear a given area of dangerous waste, for example - and then have full autonomy in how that task was completed.

"Such a model could be left to work without explicit direction for - months. The idea had applications across countless extreme environments. Mountain and ocean rescue, deep mining, even space travel. All the intellectual freedom of a human, paired with the physical hardiness and processing power of an android."

[diplomats]

"And you didn't think that would be dangerous?"

'Dangerous'. Danger always being a matter of perspective: to humanity now, androids were as much a potential threat as they were a benefit. Competition. A demand. A mirror tipped a few degrees higher. An improvement— and maybe even a segue into obsolescence, if all their paranoia and apprehensions were made real.

He wonders how Kamski sees them. He makes it a point to ask.

Later.

[biocomposer]

Don't ask him if he thought, Markus. Ask him if he cared.

"I thought it would be - interesting. But in the end, I was only able to build one prototype with the capacity for consciousness."

[diplomats]

Elijah's answer is telling enough.

"Interesting." Markus repeats, voice edged, mismatched eyes sharpening as they narrow by degrees. Somewhere in the rooted tangle of his own secondary functions, he can easily picture North wrapping polyalloy fingers around Elijah's (still) sweat-soaked neck.

He stays where he is.

"Why." Less a question than a demand this time.

"Why Carl — why didn't you ever come back?"

[biocomposer]

"We stayed in touch," Elijah says calmly. "But he preferred his privacy and so did I. If he'd asked, I would happily have visited, but..."

He didn't, so Elijah didn't. End of story.