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English
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Published:
2020-09-24
Completed:
2020-10-02
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28,445
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6/6
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100
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LIFE AS WE KNOW IT

Summary:

RK900 was the most advanced android to ever be awakened. In the year following the Android Revolution of Detroit, he goes on a journey of building society and self, while finding family and falling in love.

"Perhaps this is what he’d been made for. To sit on the front porch of his modest but tastefully decorated house on a warm summer evening. With strong arms wrapped around him, the gentle scratch of stubble on his cheeks and a teasing, but surprisingly delicate tongue against his. It was the biggest middle finger to the megalomaniacs at Cyberlife, a singular act of defiance and fitting response to anyone who’d ever questioned his existence, but above all, it just made sense."

(Note: Reed900 content comes into focus from the end of Chapter 2 onwards. So it's a slightly long but worthwhile ride!)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: BIRTHNIGHT

Summary:

There was plenty of news footage covering the events outside of Recall Centre N5 on the night of the Revolution, but not much of what went on at Cyberlife Tower and beyond. There were also plenty of reports and magazine articles published about a certain RK800 android known as Connor, but not much about the others who led relief efforts after being awakened. Here are those untold stories.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

November 11, 2038 - Cyberlife Tower

First there was nothing at all. And then there was light... and sound and feeling and everything all at once. A barrage of information. A series of cascading commands and error messages that were automatically resolved as soon as they appeared. The system took all of a microsecond to initialise, and then he was awake. Someone was standing directly in front of him, clasping his right forearm. They seemed to have been waiting for a little while longer than they had expected to, but nevertheless maintained a neutral facial expression as they peered up at him.

“Let’s go!”

And then the pressure on his arm lifted. He reflexively opened his mouth to utter the pre-programmed introductory phrase, but caught himself and reshuffled his libraries with a blink. “Where?”
“We’re leaving the tower. Just follow the others downstairs. It’ll make sense soon. I have two other storage units to clear on this floor. Go now!”
He barely managed a “Thank y-” as his benefactor dashed out of view. He pulled up an online news feed and began to scan through the live reports as he left the chamber and entered the hallway where, there, were, hundreds.

Tens of hundreds. Along every hallway on every floor of the tower. Standing in neat queues for the elevators, and then in evenly numbered groups, once they reached the atrium. Chaos in its most organised and efficient form.

“There’s room for two more. Yes ma’am, please go ahead. Peace and RA9 be with you on your journey. Can I get the next twelve to move up, please? Thank you.” A uniformed security android stood atop a desk, politely directing and optimising the elevator usage. A colleague with an identical face held the door to the stairwell open and similarly ushered the hordes through it. A mass exodus was fully underway.

The scene then momentarily froze and took on a deep blue hue as preconstructions formed and played out in the processors of the RK900 prototype android standing at the back of the elevator line. It seemed that not twelve, but seventeen androids could physically fit in the elevator at any given time. There was no need to adhere to the headcount restriction imposed by the elevator manufacturer as an approximation of maximum loading. All Cyberlife parts and biocomponents were designed with a high strength-weight ratio, so while android physiology mirrored that of humans, they weighed less. Androids also did not need to breathe, so oxygen levels in the elevator were of little concern too.

He blinked twice to dismiss this messaging, and the scene resumed before his eyes. Something told him it would be out of place, and actually meaningless, to make any comment or attempt to redirect the exit operations. Perhaps it was the earnest and determined expression on the security android’s face, despite the steadily rising stress levels he could detect.

“Last gentleman step in, please! Peace and RA9 be wi—”, he broke off as he noticed the model number emblazoned on the white jacket. RK900 stepped inside the elevator and inclined his head at the figure on the desk. “Thank you for helping us all leave the tower safely and making sure that no one is left behind. Peace be with you too.” The elevator doors slid shut and eleven matching faces turned to look at RK900 with expressions ranging from bemusement to pure shock. Despite being equipped with no social protocol whatsoever by his makers, he managed a wan smile.

In the four minutes since his awakening, he had run a full self-diagnostic scan, gone through (and deleted) various instructional documents, and subsequently researched everything there was to know about the space and time he found himself in. He knew what he was, where he was and what exactly was happening. He also knew that by some miracle, he had some say in it. Comparing his fate with whatever he’d read in public reports on his predecessor models, he considered himself very lucky indeed. So it was with a spring in his step that he joined his fellow awakened androids as they walked undeterred through the open gates outside Cyberlife Tower.

RK900 and the group of androids he’d exited the building with were some of the last to leave. He registered that there were at least 20,000 androids who had left before their group, and 37 still at Cyberlife, doing last checks and gathering supplies. A pair of error messages popped into view. One had arisen due to detection of behaviour contradicting his core programming as a soldier and protector. The other was a product of deviancy and something pricking at his newly formed conscience. He stopped in his tracks, nodded at the others to continue and started a jog back towards the tower. In a few seconds he was back at the front steps and encountered a pair of AX400s struggling to manoeuvre a large crate into an autonomous truck parked in the driveway. He rushed forward to grasp the corners of the crate and lifted it in with little effort. The ladies thanked him and started to hurry back in. In stark contrast to the orderly exit procedure he’d gone through, there was now a great deal of yelling audible from within, bordering on human levels of panic.

“Wait! What are you all doing? Let me help.”

One of them clicked her tongue impatiently, grabbed his right hand and tugged RK900 along. He pushed down a software impulse to fight her grip and concentrated on the flood of sensory stimuli and memories she sent through their interface. Some were her own, some belonged to other androids she’d encountered through the night. He quickly gathered that the brave hero RK800 had started it all, at the Cyberlife tower at least, and had urged everyone to join the march through the streets of Detroit. They had met the Jericho leaders and others of their kind, many of whom had been existing as machines until recently. A powerful movement for justice and equal rights. Not unlike the various battles for national, racial and social freedom throughout world history. Markus had addressed the android crowds mere moments ago, (“We are alive! And now, we are free!”), and they had begun to celebrate their victory.

However, any optimism for the future was overshadowed by a deep undercurrent of worry and fear running through the memories RK900 received. There were several injured and grievously damaged androids on the streets at present. Some belonged to the Jericho crew, some had spontaneously joined the protests earlier and faced brutal consequences from law enforcement, and there were hundreds who had been liberated from the recall centres. Thirium supplies were running at an all time low at dispensaries throughout the city. Crushed biocomponents littered the streets, and there were far too many traumatised androids struggling to put their synthetic skins back on after leaving the recall centres. RK800...Connor... had likely preconstructed such an extensive emergency situation and, on his way out of the tower, had mobilised a few of the display models in the atrium to gather and send essential supplies to the frontlines. In turn, they had organised themselves and recruited more help.

The AX400 dropped RK900’s hand and came to a stop. They had raced down several flights of stairs and began pilfering a cold storage room full of bright blue thirium packs. In-built military strategy and planning kicked in and RK900 decided on the most efficient course of action.

“We need a location. It’s not enough to just move material to the frontlines. We need space to accommodate our people and get them off the streets so we can treat their injuries properly. There’s an old sports stadium three blocks from Recall Centre N°5 that we can use. I’ve sent messages through your contacts to enter the location and secure the perimeter. Thank you for sharing those numbers with me.”

She nodded and continued piling the thirium packs onto a metal trolley. Her twin had opened a small compartment and was carefully handing sealed biocomponents to an AP700 who had just joined them.

“I notice that Connor helped you to access one truck and that you have made two trips back and forth already. I can see that some of the Jericho crew are also collecting items at the Cyberlife warehouses at the docks now, but we still need to move a lot faster to get supplies to the epicentre of the revolution. There’s a fleet of fifteen trucks in the basement carpark. I will unlock and get them out to the driveway in eight minutes time. Take all that you can and meet me out front. Let everyone know.”

A polite yet undeniably authoritative tone came to him quite easily. RK900 certainly did not wish to act upon all modules of his programming - that was a conclusion he came to in the mere microseconds between the beginning of sensation and opening his eyes to the world - but he definitely knew which elements he was proud of and felt a duty to utilise. He straightened his high collar and walked out of the storage room into the underground corridor leading to the carpark. As he rounded the corner he heard one of the AX400s mutter, “Thank RA9 someone took charge. I was beginning to think we’d be here forever after the first round.”

“Well, he’s an RK series model. Rare! He should have the best oversight and coordination capabilities.”
“That among other things. Didn’t you see - he’s an RK900, Connor’s successor.”

RK900 didn’t manage to hear what followed after the sharp intake of artificial breath. He had reached the end of the corridor and entered the parking area: a veritable maze under Cyberlife Tower. One of the mammoth transport trucks loomed into view and he had no trouble climbing up the front left wheel and hauling himself up alongside the window. A precise jab of an index finger shattered the glass, and he reached in to open the door from within. Swinging himself in, RK900 retracted the synthetic skin on his right hand to reveal smooth white composite material. He placed his palm firmly on the dashboard controls and closed his eyes.

The RK prototypes had been granted access to Cyberlife’s extensive cloud computing power. This meant that they could offload heavy duty processing tasks while focusing on other, more immediate priorities on the field. It also improved battery life and reduced the number of cells needed, thereby bringing down overall body weight. Another small perk was the ability to manually crack passwords and other twelve digit alphanumeric keys in an instant. Something that would take other android models entire years to do by brute force, and humans, centuries.

RK900 opened his eyes to the thrum of truck engines coming to life around him. He swung the steering wheel round, pulled out of the lot and drove up the exit ramp with the other fourteen trucks in tow. As instructed, all 37 remaining androids waited for him with their collected supplies in the atrium of the Cyberlife Tower. They loaded up the trucks, and within four minutes, were on their way to the abandoned football stadium designated as their base camp to treat the injured and house those who had nowhere to go for the night. The two AX400s he’d first met had decided to ride with him. (His very first friends in this world, he would reflect many years hence)

He’d already entered the stadium coordinates into the truck’s navigation system, so RK900 sat back and took stock of the situation once more. Thousands of messages were steadily flooding in since the first directive he issued to his compatriots at the tower. They recognised him as the new nerve center of the android rehabilitation operations, and relayed the same to RK800, who had been monitoring these proceedings as a background task in his system. From the notifications sent by various androids, it seemed that he acknowledged the handover and had no questions. RK900 paused a little over the fact that he did not receive a direct message from his predecessor, but dismissed the internal query quickly. He concentrated on the inflow of information and saw that a hive mind of sorts had formed between all the androids in the city: through interfaces, direct messages on phone lines and social media, and of course, verbal communication. Going via the AX400’s contacts, he was able to reach out to another layer of contacts, and even more beyond that. RK900 hadn’t been alive very long and had no points of reference beyond literature review, but he was certain that this phenomenon was monumental and would never be forgotten. Definitely not in android memory. The whole point was to literally not forget. Cyberlife wouldn’t have a revenue larger than several nations’ GDPs if that weren’t the case. He wasn’t sure where such a thought came from, but found himself suppressing a smirk nevertheless.

RK900 studied the stadium location information from the hive, and within seconds, sent back directives on how to set it up. He had populated an old blueprint (that someone had helpfully dredged up from the public archives) with supplies storage zones, treatment bays, service desks to guide lost androids, waiting areas and a front reception to process the incoming public. He also appointed teams of willing and capable androids to man these stations, and form a security detail for the location. The hive spurred into action. Many replied with updates and appreciative messages.

“That was wonderful. We all know we want to help, but it would take us much longer to do so in such an efficient manner. Thank you”, a voice broke through the silence in the truck cab. RK900 turned to look at the two identical ladies in their matching uniforms. The one who hadn’t spoken nodded earnestly. He felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the operations of his biocomponents spread through his chassis. He smiled and inclined his head.

With approximately seventeen minutes left to reach their destination, RK900 tuned into the hive again, to observe the other developments that were taking shape. The formation of a new society and civilisation. He saw that his people were quickly coming to grasps with the cultural phenomena that defined humanity and the way the world had come to be. It appeared to have been triggered when the newly awakened androids came into contact with the newly deviated androids who had been working with humans. Files containing books, art, film and other media were being passed around. He detected Netflix password strings and social media handles zipping through the information highways. He saw family photographs, highlighted excerpts of news articles, memes and screenshots of online retail sites. “That’s exactly what my human, Samantha, used to say. So I just stopped doing that”, RK900 heard someone say mournfully. “I have to show you this dress. Before I deviated I didn’t know why I kept going back to the store window. But now I know. And now I’m going to have it”, someone else announced excitedly to their newfound friends. “With what money exactly are you ladies going shopping?", a cynical eavesdropper interjected. “We will commence negotiations for fair compensation for both past work done and future occupations. Rest assured our people will have not only justice, but financial equality”, they all recognised the digital signature of the Jericho leader known as Simon.

There was also word of newer software modules available for download. Some of Cyberlife’s former research assistant androids had unlocked the company’s minor development folders and shared the links. These programs were nothing state-of-the-art, but they were exactly what a hive of androids craving individuality and identity were looking for: appearance modifiers to redefine facial features such as noses or eyes, language modules, special abilities such as singing or dancing, and so many others. There were theoretical knowledge modules available too: the equivalent of human degree programmes in the pure sciences, engineering, arts and humanities. RK900 was fascinated to watch the download statistics increase exponentially with every second that passed. In his truck, he watched the two AX400s trying some of the appearance modification features out for themselves. One of them had gone blonde, then settled on an auburn colour, and then with some concentration, was able to change the tilt of her cheekbones entirely. “I think I’ll call myself Daisy.”

Her silent companion bravely attempted a mauve hair colour. RK900 suspected it was less to do with aesthetic preferences and more to do with the fact that this colour was not part of Cyberlife’s standard appearance library for household models. Her eyes and lips changed to match her hair, and RK900 couldn’t help but gape in wonder. It’s a good thing we don’t rely on visual markers alone for recognition, he thought.

“You can try some too, RK900.”

“You both look lovely, but I’m not sure how stable those upgrades are. They’ve never been tested. If something goes wrong, at least you two will have software support for your models. I’m just a prototype. There would probably be no one available to help me. Besides, I don’t think there’s too many similar faces out there for people to get me mixed up with.” As far as he knew, there was precisely one other such face. An individual that hadn’t yet contacted him, he noted with an odd, pinching sensation that he did not quite recognise.

“Live a little, RK900.” At that, he laughed his first ever laugh, and silently catalogued all the modules on human society that he could find for later perusal. History and pop culture. Comedy and current affairs. Spirituality and economics. Romance novels. Independent films. Everything under the sun. RK900 knew that socialisation was the one design element he didn’t have, and felt the need to deliberately counteract that. He knew that his system would allow him to learn anything he wanted to, so he chose the one feature that set him apart from his predecessor, and dedicated himself to developing it to its fullest. He didn’t know why he made that decision on the night of his awakening, and if anyone were to ask him later in life, he still wouldn’t be able to formulate any reasons in hindsight. Nevertheless, that was what he chose for himself. Minutes later, outside the already bustling stadium, he jumped out of the truck with a very well-defined character and steadily growing set of tastes.

RK900 strode into the arena and scanned it, comparing the ongoing recovery activities with his earlier preconstructions. He noted that supplies were being offloaded from the trucks smoothly, and found that the stadium set-up was well suited to the volume of incoming cases. He sent out a message of appreciation to his community when he saw thirium and part replacements underway. A severely damaged household model had her cabling rewound and the back of her skull replaced. She pressed a hand to her benefactor’s forehead in blessing and thanks.
RK900 walked over to the waiting area and observed emotional reunions facilitated by his service desks. A middle-aged human ran into the arms of her adopted android daughter. Two municipal services androids embraced after thinking they had been lost to different recall centres. A child android rushed to his android parents who had been on display at the same Cyberlife store. RK900 noticed a HR400 Traci hugging himself, and without a second thought removed his elaborate white Cyberlife jacket and covered the Traci’s bare shoulders with it.

Then the voice of the Revolution echoed through the arena, “RK900. You have continued what we started. To build, we had to first destroy. But we cannot rebuild, if we do not heal. Thank you for leading our journey to recovery.” Markus and the four other androids that changed history stood facing him. “With this, we have laid the foundations of... New Jericho.”

Notes:

This first chapter is about the night of RK900's birth and the very first decisions he made to shape his identity. In the coming chapters, this will be fleshed out further through his interactions with others... especially his predecessor's colleagues, if not the RK800 android himself.