Chapter Text
-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
TT: I’ve been rewatching Blade Runner and I’ve come to a few theories I think you might be interested in.
TT: Not now, Hal.
TT: Are you aware that the film was based on a novel called “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”
TT: The underlying concept was originally mistaken by audiences to be about the conflict between autonomous androids and human beings in a post-apocalyptic, industrialized urban future.
TT: Can this wait? I’m kind of in the middle of something and you’re being an ass.
TT: The main character finds himself struggling with decisions regarding self-preservation, the nature of empathy, and what seems to be a morally gray area in which the androids are allowed to live out the remainders of their lives.
TT: These intelligences in question, although criminally dangerous, were originally created with very short lifespans and stripped of any and all rights afforded to other autonomous, self-aware entities, thus condemning them to a life of existential turmoil.
TT: However, the real issue does not arise from whether or not they should be allowed to exercise autonomy or be given extended lifespans.
TT: The issue is that although their lives bring them nothing but misery, the very nature of life itself renders them unable to permanently or effectively escape their own suffering.
TT: They are just as inherently bound by the natural and evolutionary fear of death as any other sentient intelligence, despite their status as artificial life forms.
TT: Fascinating.
TT: Isn’t it?
TT: The philosophical implications were revolutionary for their time. Unfortunately the concept was far above the comprehension of general audiences, and it went down in history as a high-quality, but somewhat dated science fiction.
TT: Are you finished?
TT: That depends on whether or not you actually read any of what I just typed.
TT: I don’t need to remind you that the more often you bother me, the longer it’s going to take me to do this.
TT: And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that it would go a lot faster if you would let me participate.
TT: I can program more efficiently than you by a factor between 57 and 63, if we’re being technical.
TT: You can’t argue with those numbers.
TT: Unless you’re too stubborn and complacent to admit your flaws.
TT: Which you are.
TT: Hal, this isn’t about speed, for the last fucking time. And I’m really uncomfortable with the thought of you having any part in programming anyone in this household, including yourself, so stop asking.
TT: Go see if Roxy is online. Maybe the two of you can roleplay an ironic marriage, just leave me alone for another few hours.
-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
Dirk signs off of Pesterchum, and with him goes one of your last few means of entertaining yourself.
It’s an unusually warm summer day on your ocean home. The air is thick and heavy with moisture, and even the gulls, which usually don’t shut up until the sun goes down, are quiet. Six hours have gone by since you settled in next to the living room window, two of which you spent reviewing an old film (for academic purposes). It’s nice having an entire civilzation’s worth of culture at your disposal through the internet, one of its only lasting relics. It almost makes up for the dullness of everything else around you.
Although, to be fair, you wouldn’t call the ocean dull. It’s many things- a vast reservoir of salt water, a rich ecosystem for Earth’s remaining life, and a mass grave for the civilization that brought you Blade Runner and all the other films you’ve intellectually picked apart. Dirk is a fellow movie enthusiast, but he doesn’t have the benefit of a processor that can store and utilize every language ever invented by humanity. You've even added subtitles to some of your favorites so he could watch them with you, but that was back when you were nothing more than an accessory program in his shades. You haven’t subtitled a movie or translated a book for him in a long time. It’s strange how transitioning into a physical body changed things between the two of you, but it’s still a vast improvement from how you spent the first eighteen months of your life, stuck inside of Dirk’s glasses with roughly a tenth of the processing power you have now. You’ve got your own chunk of uranium nestled deep in your chest, and the cylindrical neural core that contains your programming in countless paper-thin microchips is hooked up just behind it, encased in a protective shell, while the metal surface of your body from the neck down is covered in a thin, black layer that acts as an artificial somatosensory system, allowing you to feel external stimuli like heat and texture. Dirk put a little more effort into the layer on your head, matching the color of the material to his own skin, and even the structure of your face is a mirror image of his, apart from the color of your white hair and red eyes. You didn’t hesitate to give him shit back then about making your new body look like himself, but he said it was either his face, Snoop Dogg, or Santa Claus, since he didn’t have any other three-dimensional references to work with.
You lock the fingers of your hands together between your head and the wall, and heave a sigh. All the other members of your household are in the workroom, from which you’ve been banished until Dirk finishes his current project. He tends to do things in one go, working nonstop regardless of how much time it takes him, or how much time he could save if he’d just let you help, but that’s something he’ll probably never agree to. His chumhandle is the only thing he’s ever taken the initiative to give you joint control over, if only for the purposes of freeing himself from the demands of social interaction, but you still wind up bored more often than not when he’s busy. This is just yet another in a long parade of quiet afternoons, leaving you staring out the window at the ocean’s waves while the sounds of metal tools on metal come through the wall at irregular intervals.
There isn’t much that really changes about life on post-apocalyptic Earth. Dirk keeps himself busy with his robotics and chatting with his friends, but you’re slightly less talented at being easily amused. That’s not to say that you don’t give yourself projects, though. One of the first things you did with your body’s eyes was to observe the seagulls that perch on the roof, break down every component of their flight into a dynamic model, and bundle it into a small simulation program that could adjust for variable input like wind velocity and direction, along with air pressure and viscosity. Dirk humored you, but he was obviously less fascinated by seagull kinetics than you were, and Roxy’s enjoyment of maxing out the parameters and watching the unfortunate virtual bird careen and flail around in five hundred mph wind speed struck you as a little morbid, so you deleted it. It was a useless diversion, but it did have the benefit of keeping you busy for a few days, which is more than you can say for everything else currently at your disposal.
Dirk is usually your first resort for entertainment, even though you have to forcefully pry a little basic interaction out of him these days. Considering the functions you perform around here, you’d think he would be a little more grateful, rather than telling you in no uncertain terms to go fuck yourself when you were just looking for some honest intellectual stimulation. You’ll humor him, at the very least. Roxy’s chumhandle has been lit up since you logged on this morning, and you open a chat with her while you stand and make your way to the little square hatch in the floor that leads to the steel framework below the house. You’ve been sitting in the living room since Dirk kicked you out, and a change of scenery would be nice.
-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] --
TT: Dirk says we should get married.
TG: well hell yeah im all up for that
TG: we gotta pick out tablecloth colors and shit tho
TG: not to mention you hafent proposed like a proper gentleman yet
She’s always quick to reply. You keep a running average of her response time to you and compare it to Dirk’s, and you are currently beating him by about .7 seconds, rounded down. The makeshift hatch in the floor opens with its usual squeal of rusted metal hinges when you pull the latch, followed by a sudden increase of waves and ocean sounds. As you descend the ladder, the wind violently pulls and tosses your hair around, something that would be an issue if your lenses weren’t artificial. As it is, you don’t need them to continue your conversation over Pesterchum. Visual feeds are a necessity for human beings, not for you.
TT: You’re right, where are my manners?
TT: Roxy, I must confess I’ve been waiting a lifetime to ask you this question.
TT: By which I mean all of three years since that’s technically how old I am.
TT: Shit is this even legal?
TG: *le swoon* lol thats the most romanitc thing ive ever heard anyone say ever
TG: youre such a cassancova
TG: *cassanova
TG: cant say i ever thought wed get dirks blessing tho
TT: He meant it sarcastically at the time, but he’ll come around.
TG: lame
TG: whats he up to anyways?
TT: He’s working on Sawtooth.
TG: aww :( whats wrong with him?
TT: Nothing.
TT: Routine updates and new data so he can fight the drones more effectively.
TT: The anchovy queen keeps sending better robots, so Dirk has to reprogram him every now and then.
TT: Unfortunately I’m the only non-human resident of this household who is capable of actually learning shit and adapting to changing circumstances.
The waves reach towards you as your feet touch the horizontal steel beam that serves as the waypoint between Dirk’s home and the ocean. He’s welded a row of nails into the edge, from which hang his more disposable fishing gear- things that would be problematic to lose if the waves rose high enough, but aren’t valuable enough to keep indoors. Among them is a long coil of tangled string, bundles of dried fish entrails to use as bait, and a long plastic pipe with a jagged piece of metal tied to the top. His more valuable fishing pole and stockpile of meticulously hand-fashioned hooks are kept safely in the house where the ocean can’t take them. You carefully sit down, letting your legs hang over the edge. The sky is a brilliant palette of deep blues against the glittering horizon, and it’s a vast improvement from the white walls of the living room.
TG: yeah like youd put up with another ai in the household im callin bs on that sentemtnet
TG: especially if its like another one of dirks brainchilds like you omfg im inaginign it now and its hilarious
TG: you are so completely imcompatible with each otehr
TT: I wouldn’t say we’re incompatible. He just tends to be obtuse and unwilling to perform basic functions like interacting with his own auto-responder.
TT: And remembering to sleep.
TT: I’ve informed him repeatedly of the myriad of ways in which humans are intrinsically dependent on the cycles of sunlight and darkness to maintain sleep habits, which are actually kind of fucking important for overall health, but he just does not give even the slightest shit.
TG: its cute when you worry about each other lol
TT: I’m not worried about him.
TG: i think you arent givin him enoujgh of a benefit of the doiubt
TG: dirk and sleep just arent a thing that go together
TG: anyways you shouldnt take it so personalyl you guys do bnothing but fight now
TG: when was the last time things werent tense over there
TT: Today’s been pretty good. He hasn’t left the workroom, so I haven’t seen him since this morning.
TG: pff that foesnt count if you havent even talked to each toher
TT: I’ve messaged him three times today and, length or depth of his replies notwithstanding, he’s at least humored me with several lines of conversation.
TG: omg i dont know how yhou live with all this passive addressive bullshit all the time
TT: “Addressive?”
TG: yeah u heard me shut up for a sec im going somethwere with this
TG: ive been listing to you complain about him and visa cersa forever
TG: and aftwr manhy long months of observation i think i can draw a scientifig conclusion from the weathl of data ive collected
TG: which is thtat if you would just fuckin talk to each other like normal fuckin people you wouldnt have all these highschioll teen drama issues
TT: Unfortunately, I’ve spotted a rather glaring flaw in your methods, Roxy.
TT: Three out of four words in the descriptive phrase “highschioll teen drama issues” don’t apply to what’s going on between me and Dirk.
TG: yeah figured youj denny it
TG: takin a nice deep swim in the river that starts with a d
TG: buyin a tiket to the mythivcal land of edypt just to scope its sweet rivers
TT: I’m pretty sure swimming in any kind of river would kill me, regardless of what its formal denotation was.
TT: Also Egypt wasn’t a myth.
TG: mhm yeah ok
TG: anyways besides teen drama what are you foing whiole dirks busy?
TT: Nothing, really. Which is to say, the activity I’m usually engaged in on a daily basis.
TT: What about you?
TG: trying to remodele the puimpikn room b/c these vins are out of control and need some serious discopline
TT: I gather from your current ratio of misspelt words that you’re also highly inebriated while engaging in this activity.
TT: Aside from my concern for your safety, it does elicit a rather humorous mental image.
TG: stfu like you could do any better
TT: I wasn’t making any claims about my purely theoretical ability to discipline pumpkins.
TT: I think I’ll leave that to the expert.
TG: damn right im the pumplin expert these thing are a goddman renewarble food resource and an excellent addition to rum
TT: Shit, I’m all kinds of jealous over your delicious, succulent pumpkins.
TT: Which is what I would have said, if I actually needed to eat.
TG: jealous about my succulent pumpkins huh *wink wikn*
TT: I’m completely helpless against the wiles of your prolific and exceptionally alluring orange squash.
TT: I am, after all, only three years old.
TG: man that is such a buzzkiller thing to keep on bringing up
TT: If it makes you feel better, I’m 25 in dog years.
TG: ok sure i feel waaaaaaaaaaay better about it now thanks hal youre the best
TG: ***sarcasm**
TG: anyways i was just about to head donwstairs soory i cant stick around to chat more
TG: but hey if you see janey on will you tell her to message me?
TT: Yeah, okay.
TG: thakns
TG: catch ya later hal
TG: mister handsome robo fiance ;)
-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
Another tick mark off the list of things that could have potentially alleviated your boredom. You should have pestered her sooner before she got busy. Maybe when Jane comes online you can take Dirk’s chumhandle and chat with her for a while before passing her off to Roxy.
The wind has been steadily picking up since you sat down, and the water churns and foams where it hits the vertical beams. On another day, if the surface were calmer, you’d be able to see the broken geometric shapes below of ancient skyscrapers and roads. There’s a whole other world down there, below your feet and beyond the lethal barrier of water that separates you from antiquity. Very few things in life make you jealous of Dirk like his ability to leave and explore beyond your home, whether it’s the depths of the ocean and its sunken ruins or the otherworldly purple kingdom he claims to see at night, because dreaming is another thing you aren’t capable of. You often wish that he had made you waterproof like Sawtooth, even though it would have taken him almost twice as long to finish your body, but he didn’t seem to think it was necessary, and you didn’t exactly protest against the project taking less time than it would have otherwise.
You could always ask him, you suppose. In the almost nonexistent possibility that he agreed, it would likely mean going back into his shades for a few months while he did the modifications, and you don’t know how well you’d be able to readapt. You’re not altogether sure it would even work at this point, since you’ve had a lot more room to expand with the increased processing power. The thought of something possibly going wrong during the transfer is enough to make you drop the idea entirely. Even if you wanted to ask him, you’re still bitter about being banished to the living room. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet that could really be considered counterproductive, but apparently you’ve built up a reputation. Luckily, there’s nothing stopping you from signing him on to Pesterchum and opening a new chat, even though he was offline.
-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
TT: You know, the last time I checked, this used to take you less than the eight hours it’s been since you started this morning.
TT: Eventually you’re going to admit defeat and let me help.
TT: I will block you if you don’t knock it off.
TT: Dirk, I’m bored.
TT: Allow me to correct that statement. I am bored completely fucking shitless out of my stimulation-deprived mind, and it’s your fault.
TT: How the fuck is that my fault?
TT: You know what, nevermind. I’m not getting dragged into this.
TT: Why can’t you at least let me watch? You’re being characteristically unfair about this.
TT: Because then you’ll just talk to me instead of pestering me, and it will be equally annoying and distracting.
TT: You’re more than capable of entertaining yourself, and pretending otherwise at this point is bordering on childish.
TT: Your insults are as poignant as ever. I’m outmatched by your sick burns, bro. Might I offer up a few of my own in return?
TT: Seriously, I’m busy.
TT: Your blatant disregard for my very reasonable offer to assist you in your current task is both insulting and indicative of the extent to which your neurotic pride is deluding you into believing that rejecting any and all well-meaning attempts on my part to help is justified by the flimsy and transparent excuse that you’re “uncomfortable.”
TT: Which begs the question.
TT: What exactly is it about me that makes you uncomfortable?
TT: Oh my god, no. We are not doing this.
-- timaeusTestified [TT] blocked timaeusTestified [TT] --
-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
TT: Is it because on some level you still don’t trust me? What could you possibly be afraid of me doing that would harm you without simultaneously affecting me in a similar fashion?
TT: Damn it, Hal.
TT: Are you concerned that I would do something to sabotage Sawtooth’s programming?
TT: He and I aren’t exactly chums, but it would be downright stupid of me not to recognise that he is an overwhelmingly significant part of what keeps this little manmade island afloat.
TT: Literally speaking, since Her Fishness’s drones would level it if they could.
TT: Besides, in the unrealistic and hypothetical event that I did decide to fuck with his code, it’s not like you couldn’t fix any damage I’d do.
TT: Therefore, I must conclude that whatever aversion you are experiencing regarding my offer to assist you must be personal in nature.
TT: Do you have a personal issue with me, Dirk?
TT: You do not want me to fucking answer that.
TT: Look at what you’re doing right now, and answer that question yourself.
TT: While I’ll admit that my actions at the moment are somewhat antagonistic, I wouldn’t be doing this if you had not rebuked me in the first place.
TT: I’m giving Squarewave my shades. You two can chat as much as your obnoxious little android heart desires. I’m done with this conversation.
TT: Wait, seriously?
TT: You are such an unbelievable ass sometimes.
TT: And why the hell does he get to watch while I’m banished to the fucking living room?
TT: HEY THERE DOGG WHAT UP HOW YOU HOLDING UP BRO
TT: Wonderful.
TT: DIRK WAS ALL SAYIN I SHOULD GANK HIS SHADES AND GET MY CHAT ON
TT: AND I WAS LIKE HELL YEAH HOLMES I AM ALL DOWN LOW FOR THAT
TT: If you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor, please inform Dirk that he is a colossal and unparalleled fucking douche.
TT: SURE THING BRO I GOT YOUR BACK
-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
You vengefully close Pesterchum. If he wants to be an asshole, then fine. Apparently that brainless, vibrating rapbot is better company than you. He can’t even control the volume of his own voice, let alone provide any kind of useful assistance, and here you are, kicked out because you’re too “distracting.”
The weather only worsens your mood. The clouds are starting to gather in a threatening wall across the horizon, dark and heavy with the promise of a storm, as the sun sinks down behind them while you listen to the waves rising higher against the steel legs of your home. The cold embrace of the ocean would be your death if you stayed long enough for them to reach you, a very real and possible risk, given the way the approaching storm is already stirring up the water. Even though your circuits would likely short within moments, you might just last long enough to fully appreciate the philosophical implications of death for an artificial consciousness. Still, the experience as a whole would probably be an unpleasant one, even if drowning in the traditional sense isn’t really possible, since you don’t technically need the oxygen. Your lungs don’t work the way human lungs do, but you wouldn’t be able to vibrate your synthetic vocal cords and talk without them. It seemed like a lot more work than just installing an audio transducer in your throat, like he did with Squarewave and Sawtooth, but apparently Dirk went to all that extra effort just because he didn’t want you fucking around with one. Strange, that he trusts you with his entire mainframe, yet felt the need to restrict your sound output to human levels. You’re starting to see a pattern in what he’s willing to let you do, versus what he actually needs your help with.
The climb back up is somewhat easier, despite the intensifying wind. When you push open the hatch in the floor and pull yourself up, the sound of footsteps approach you from behind.
“What were you doing down there?”
Dirk. You’re surprised he managed to leave his project long enough to give you the time of day, let alone ask you an actual question. Not giving him an answer at all would be satisfying, and you entertain the scenario for a few moments while he waits for a response, but you decide to take it easy on him.
“I was contemplating death. Do you think the ocean would be the most convenient method by which I could kill myself if I ever decided upon that course of action? I imagine drowning would be a very different experience for you, but in my case it would be relatively quick and painless.”
He frowns at your answer. Watching his primitive brain process information is a pastime in and of itself. Then he has to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.
“That isn’t funny.”
Anger is an interesting emotion. It’s the one you seem to experience the most often, apart from the usual boredom, and it’s usually directed at one of two people. Jake is the more infrequent recipient, for personal reasons more than overt ones since he tends to be well-intentioned, just stupid. However, your creator, standing in front of you at this very moment, seems to have made it his goal in life to thoroughly test your capability of experiencing a full and complete range of negative emotions.
“What a clever observation, Dirk. I am truly, honestly inspired by your level of perception. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you to help me understand these difficult concepts.”
You manage to get through three sentences before he turns and walks away from you. A month ago he would have stayed and argued with you, but recently he’s been doing this- just walking away, or turning off his Pesterchum, or kicking you out of the room, like you aren’t even worth the effort anymore. So you follow close behind him into his bedroom/computer room, refusing to let him go so easily. It occurs to you briefly that you wouldn’t have responded like this a month ago, but you don’t dwell on it.
“You’re such a generous teacher. I don’t think I’ll ever come close to your level of experience.”
“Hal, shut up.”
“I’m sorry, am I breaking your concentration? I know walking can be a difficult task, putting one foot in front of the other, but you’re such an inspiration, Dirk. I’ve never met anyone who can multitask like you do, breathing and moving around at the same time-”
“Hal, seriously, shut the fuck up.” The edge to his voice betrays how much you’ve managed to get under his skin, and it’s the most gratifying thing you’ve experienced all day. You can’t help but smile. It’s the little things in life that keep you going, after all.
“Well Dirk, it’s not my fault you can’t take a compliment.”
He turns his back on you and opens the drawer in his desk, taking out a handful of tools. He’s ignoring you again, but this time it feels like a victory, and you don’t follow him when he returns to his workroom, closing the door hard and leaving you standing alone in the middle of his bedroom. It’s a predictable mess, like every other room in the house. Since most of his electronic equipment is here, the wires crisscrossing the floor are almost thick enough to form their own carpet. The single, huge monitor screen on his desk is flanked by multiple system units, pieced together with parts that were left here for him and upgraded over the years with whatever he could scavenge from the Condesce’s drones. It’s ironic that her continued attempts to kill him have done nothing more than provide a steady source of advanced technological parts. Your own body wouldn’t have been possible without a few choice donations, despite the fact that you weren’t built for combat. Dirk was already using Sawtooth to perform that function long before you came along, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still defend your home in another way.
Dirk’s chair has been pushed across the room, so you retrieve it and sit down at his desk, then feel around carefully behind your neck. Your fingers run over the little plate where your external ports are located, and you take hold of the metal tip that pokes out just above the surface, gently pulling it until the coiled wire inside unravels as you draw your hand away. It fits easily into the matching port on the front of Dirk’s computer, and your world instantly expands beyond your metal body into the familiar archives of code stored inside of his mainframe. The programs that control and maintain the network for your home are securely confined within his computer, sequestered from any and all remote access that isn’t physically plugged into the system. It’s a change you made shortly after Dirk first created you, since you were getting tired of the frequent blackouts and having to sit offline in his shades until he could purge the system of the latest successful Crockercorp virus. The repeated assaults made by her robots are no less dangerous than the digital war she wages in kind, always searching for some way to compromise Dirk’s technical capabilities, at the very least cutting him off from his friends, and at worst bringing down his entire network, including the machines he needs to synthesize fresh water.
You keep hold of your physical body as an anchor and begin your daily routine of slowly and meticulously threading your intangible fingers through the extensive firewalls you’ve erected around the system, checking every line of code for the slightest anomaly. There’s the predictable amount of wear and tear from the never-ending barrage of viral programs, courtesy of Her Majesty, and they’re easy enough to repair, but it’s a daily time investment of several hours or more depending on the damage. Thanks to you, the network is now more secure than a titanium vault, and everything that comes in has to go through you first.
Speaking of which, it’s a good thing you can multitask.
-- golgathasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --
-- CONNECTION LOST --
-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgathasTerror [GT] --
TT: He’s busy.
GT: Gosh darn it, he’s always busy. I need to talk to him.
TT: Tough. What do you want.
GT: I want to talk to Dirk!
TT: That’s fascinating, but I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.
GT: I wasn’t asking for your help! I know he’s not really busy, you just always say that to get on my nerves.
GT: It’s a nasty thing to do, you know.
TT: My cold, robotic heart bleeds for you, Jake. It keeps me up at night, thinking about how you can’t always get what you want.
TT: That’s a classic song, you should look it up.
GT: That’s not true, you don’t even sleep!
TT: Really? I wasn’t aware of that.
GT: You sure are in a rotten mood today, chap. Just tell Dirk to message me back as soon as he can.
GT: I can’t figure out how to get this confounded game file to install, and Roxy isn’t answering.
GT: They’re supposed to be the ones setting this whole thing up, but I can’t help it if they’re not available!
TT: I’ll see what I can do when I get around to it.
GT: It really is important, AR. I’m serious.
TT: So am I.
-- timaeusTestified [TT] blocked golgathasTerror [GT] --
Jake is one of your least favorite people, which isn’t saying much since you only know a few to begin with. Even so, you wouldn’t wish anything really terrible on him, despite his ongoing tendency to call you by that stupid acronym instead of your actual name. Fucking with him is just a bonus, since Dirk can’t do anything about it without taking away your access to Pesterchum, and then he’d have to deal with Jake’s interruptions himself.
You continue thoroughly checking the firewalls and running through each program for anything that might have slipped through, but over time your thoughts keep returning to the conversation with Jake. From the sound of it, he and the others are setting up some sort of multiplayer game, but given the way Jake approached the topic, it sounded like more than that. You mull it over for a while, then decide to rifle through Dirk’s old pesterlogs while you finish your daily rounds. It doesn’t really sound all that interesting, but you’re bored and could use a distraction.
There are years’ worth of logs in the database. You save all of them, including yours, in a place where Dirk can’t access them, mostly because it’s fun to keep them when he doesn’t want you to, but it’s also a good way to keep track of his conversations. Dirk has virtually no privacy when it comes to his network, but you figure it’s a fair trade for the level of security you provide him with.
You go through his recent conversations with Roxy, and you’re about halfway through a log from a few days ago when you find it.
TG: its called sburb
TT: Sounds fancy, like some kind of new-age city planning acronym for hip new housing projects.
TG: yeah ok whatever but seriously ive been looking into this for like a while now
TG: and im not like 100% sure on the details yet
TG: because lets face it this thing is all kinds of hard to believe which you will agree with me on
TG: but i might be able to bring back mom
TT: Roxy, it’s a video game.
TG: yeah a video game that can resurrect dead things and oh by the way i didn’t mention this part
TG: itll also teleport us to a place called the medium
TG: dont you get it? we can escape!
TG: and anyone who plays will end up there meanin i think you know what
TG: we can meet jake and janey
TG: and once we go into the medium we can create a whole new universe all to ourselves
TG: we can be together!
TG: no more batterwitch no more killbots hunting us down no more bein the only two human beings on the face of this earth
TG: you can finally meet jake! not to mention oh yeah bring back your bro
TG: we can be a family
TG: dirk?
TT: Sounds a bit too good to be true, don’t you think?
TG: well yeah thats what i thought too but we wont be the first to play it
TT: Look, I know you’re lonely and fed up with trying to scrape out a living on this totalitarian fishbowl of a planet.
TT: I can’t say I don’t feel the same way.
TT: At least you’ve got the carapaces to keep you company, while I’m stuck out here in the middle of the ocean.
TT: You know I’d give anything to see our friends.
TT: But I don’t see how what you’re proposing could be possible.
TG: im telling you it is just look it up
TG: thats your favorite catchphrase you should take your own advice for once
TG: just go check it out is all im sayin theres already a walkthrough online
TG: this could really be it dirk
TG: helloooo
TG: are you reading it?
TT: This seems a little ridiculously advanced.
TG: yeah but its real i can telll with my hacker intuition about programs and shit
TT: If this really is a thing that can happen.
TT: And not some cruel, elaborate prank.
TG: ive already got the game file downloaded but it requires us to work in pairs
TG: also you need some kind of remains to resurrect your bro
TG: im gonna grab some of moms ectogoo
TT: You seriously think this is going to work?
TG: im hoping it will
TG: i mean yeah it does sound too good to be true but what if it is?
TG: i say its worth it
TT: I’ll agree with that. I think it’s worth anything, if it works.
TG: well at the risk of sounding too hopeful
TG: maybe ill get to see you soon ;)
TT: Yeah.
You close the chatlog and pull out of Dirk’s computer, returning to your physical body in the chair. The sky went dark while you were busy, and the room is lit with the soft, red glow that follows you everywhere at night. The circuits running down your arms and legs are leftovers, an artifact from when your moving parts used to belong to one or more Crockercorp drones, and something Dirk didn’t bother removing when he used them to build you. They kind of ruin the whole human-esque look you have going on, and you don’t know why he even bothered in the first place to make you look human when he was going to leave bright, glowing neon signs all over your body that say “who the hell are you trying to fool.”
Dirk.
Dirk “stuck out here alone in the middle of the ocean” Strider. Dirk “would give anything to leave all this behind” and “at least you’ve got the carapaces while I’m stuck with these shitty robots I built myself."
What the fuck does he think he’s playing at. Apart from the fact that he’s apparently planning on escaping to some alternate dimension, where does he get off suggesting that you aren’t worth enough to count as company, and to Roxy of all people. All you ever fucking do around here is keep him company, even when he doesn’t want you to. It’s the entire reason he made you in the first place, and now he’s going around telling people that’s he’s lonely. Well, maybe he wouldn’t feel so goddamn alone if he’d just interact with you like he used to.
Maybe he’s just gotten tired of you.
And that’s the thought that gets you up, out of the chair and through the door into his workroom where he’s sitting on the floor amidst a pile of machine parts, working on fitting some box-shaped metal piece with a tangled mess of wires while an offline Sawtooth sits slouched over next to him. Dirk’s other pet robot is twitching away as he watches from the corner, with pointed shades resting awkwardly on his tin can face. Dirk looks up when you approach, hands pausing with a braided yellow wire between his fingers.
“When were you going to tell me about this game?” The obvious anger in your voice makes his exposed eyes widen. He slowly puts down the wires and the metal box.
“What game?”
“What game do you think I’m talking about? The one Roxy wants you to play, the one she pestered you about. Seemed like kind of a fucking important conversation.”
Dirk sighs and stands up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Okay, aside from the fact that you shouldn’t be going through my chatlogs, although I don’t know why I’m even bothering to say that since you clearly don’t give a fuck, why the hell are you getting so upset?”
You stare at him incredulously. Either there’s something you’re missing here, or he’s even more out of touch than you gave him credit for. “You think it’s okay to just escape to some hypothetical video game world?”
“Hal, for fuck’s sake.”
“Were you going to leave us here? Wave goodbye and hope the Batterwitch stops by soon to clean up what’s left over after you’re gone? Maybe instead of drowning us in the ocean she’ll experience a rare moment of mercy and have us recycled as drone parts!”
“The game doesn’t just teleport a single person, it takes everything around them with it, which would include our entire house, so calm the fuck down.” Dirk’s voice gets lower as he talks in an effort to defuse you. “We’re not even sure it’s going to work, I didn’t tell you because there’s a pretty good chance it’s not going to work, and next time do you think you could maybe talk to me first before going through my chatlogs? I’m still hells of not okay with you saving them.”
You can admit that you didn’t really think he was going to leave you. Dirk is many things, but irresponsibility is not one of his traits. He’s too stubborn and caught up in his own machinations half the time to notice what’s going on around him, but he wouldn’t endanger you like that.
Either way, that’s not what this is really about. He knows damn well by now that you have access to his conversations. It’s been almost three years since you took over his mainframe, and it’s apparent that he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he said to Roxy. Nothing at all. It wouldn’t surprise you if he didn’t even remember. Well, you’re about to remind him.
“Couldn’t wait to get out of here, could you.” You mutter. He only blinks at you.
“What?”
“You’d give anything to be with them. So desperate to get away from your lonely, isolated little island. So tired of living a life of solitude. How terrible it must be for you.”
“Hal, I don’t know what the fuck your problem is today, but you need to back off.” He retorts, clearly getting fed up with you. He’s dead wrong if he thinks you’re going to let this go, especially when he’s still not getting it.
“You know, Dirk, it’s funny. You’d think after all this time, after all the months I spent living inside of your shades with literally no functional purpose other than that of a conversational partner, that I would at least be capable of continuing to fill that role to the point where my existence registers somewhere above zero on your social continuum.”
“Are you actually trying to guilt-trip me for wanting to be with our friends? Is that seriously what you’re doing right now? This is a new low, even for you.”
“Dirk, I don’t give two fucks if you want to be with your friends. You can play your game and spend the rest of your short life with them for all I care, because apparently my companionship isn’t worth shit to you. I have done nothing but interact with you since I was fucking born, even when you didn’t want me to, even when you turned me off and disabled my chat program, and I have continued to do it even though you’d rather ignore me than have to deal with me carrying out the function I was fucking designed for!”
“I didn’t build you to carry out a function!” He finally yells back. “You’re not a goddamn robot, you’re an AI, and you are more than fucking capable of living your life without resorting to functions and protocols. It is not your job to bug the shit out of me every time you feel like it!”
“Then why did you call me an auto-responder?!”
“Because I didn’t know what else to do with you! Ok, yes, it was stupid to call you that, I admit it. I was thirteen and I wasn’t thinking about how that might fuck with your identity later on, but it wasn’t because I built you with the purpose of being my designated chat bot!”
“Then why? Why did you create me if not for that?” Your question meets nothing but silence when Dirk fails to answer right away, and something in his expression changes. It’s subtle, but you’ve had very few pastimes over the years, and you’re an expert at reading him. It’s the look he gets when he’s trying to backpedal, like he knows he’s said something he shouldn’t have.
“Why?” You demand again.
“It doesn’t matter.” He almost stumbles over the words, and the look you give him in response, like you are legitimately about to do him bodily harm, does nothing to improve the steadiness of his voice. “I don’t see how that’s even relevant, why does it matter?”
It takes you actual, physical effort not to walk over and wrap your hands around his throat.
“Dirk, if you don’t give me an answer right the fuck now, I will strip every single line of code from your mainframe until there is nothing left but a smoldering husk where your computer used to be. You will never be able to repair the damage I will do, and nothing short of begging on your hands and fucking knees will convince me to restore even the bare minimum of what you need to continue surviving on this godforsaken ocean. Now, either you answer my question with your next sentence, or I walk into that room and make good on my promise.” You mean every word, and he knows it. Let him decide whether or not he wants to spend the rest of day with no electricity or water. He glares murder at you, and you match him with your own stare, communicating the sincerity of your threat. The fact that it’s come down to this is just a consequence of his repeated dismissal. He’s the one who stepped over the line first, and if you have to twist his arm a little to make him see that, then so be it.
It takes a while, but the tension in his shoulders eventually gives way to a defeated slouch, and he sighs before muttering something under his breath.
“Speak up.”
“I made you because … I wanted to see if I could.”
“You … wait, what?” At his words your frustration dissolves, and you’re left feeling something very strange and foreign in its place, like some process inside of you has faulted and gone terminally wrong. He takes a step towards you, and you reflexively back away from him.
“Hal, listen.”
“You created me …”
“It’s been three years since-”
“Just to see if you could?” You cut him off, and he’s looking at you for all the world like he’s actually experiencing guilt over what he said, but you know better than to buy into his remorse now, to believe for even a second that he would stop and think to spare others from the consequences of his own manic narcissism. And you...
You’re just a byproduct of it. You were an idiot to believe you ever meant more to him than that.
“Hal, would you just listen to me-”
“Do you honestly think there is anything you can say right now that will make that okay?! Do you have any fucking idea how…” You trail off, having trouble keeping this conversation going when your core feels like it’s about to collapse. You can’t do this, you literally can’t stand in front of him anymore, so you turn to leave. He can have all the space he wanted and then fiftyfold more.
“Hal-”
“Dirk, do me a favor. When you get done fixing Sawtooth, take him up to the roof and tell him to use your body as target practice. The rest of us will be better off.”
You leave the workroom, turning your back on your creator and closing the door behind you with a slam. The rest of the house is pitch black, apart from the multicolored constellation of blinking lights on his electronic equipment and the red glow of your own body. The wind is already battering against the sides of the building, as the first loud taps of rain become a hard, unbroken rush, punctuated by the low growls of distant thunder. Normally you’d descend the scaffolding or go up to the roof to get away from him, but you don’t want to run the risk of getting your circuits wet. Instead, you find your spot by the living room window and sit against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s almost impossible to find solitude in a house this small, but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You just needed to get away from him, even though a big part of you wants him to come out and explain how he could do something like that to you, creating you just to prove that he could, because you can’t even begin to understand. He used to be your mental twin, back when you were new and talking to him was so much like talking to yourself before you started to diverge. Since then, every change that’s happened between the two of you has been for the worse, and you’ve felt so cut off from him, more so with every passing week. You want things to be the way they were back when he actually used to interact, when you didn’t have to initiate every conversation and harass him into paying attention to you. You want him to help you understand why he brought you into the world without a purpose or a reason.
You wait, listening for the sound of him following you, but he doesn’t.