fonsvitae | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's late when Avicebron ventures from the warehouse he calls home. It's been a while since he's ever emerged before dark. In this part of the city, it's quiet at night, and the spaced-out street lamps means even the few passersby probably won't see much of him, which is perfect.

The less contact he has with other people, the better.

His cane taps steadily against the pavement as he makes his way towards the corner store -- he's made an arrangement with the owner there to have all of his food and supplies delivered there to pick up at his leisure. It's never anything fancy: the bare minimum of food and drink needed to survive, some tools, some android repair supplies. Avicebron pays the store owner in cash, like he always does, and starts making the return trip home.

He's walked this same path many, many times before, and even in the darkness, he can tell when something feels ... different.

It only takes him a second or two to realize that the door to one of the abandoned warehouses off to the side is open, a tiny sliver of light seeping past the cracked-open doorway. And there's sounds coming from inside -- muttered words and grunts and jeers. Multiple men, it sounds like. And not just having a friendly conversation.

As solitary a creature as he is, Avicebron still can't bring himself to completely ignore the situation. So he carefully approaches the warehouse, cane held aloft so it won't make any noise and instead limping closer to get a better look.

If there's trouble, he might go alert the authorities. Get them to take care of it. But depending on if the subjects involved are human or android, he might have to change his course of action ...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's bleeding, a thin trickle of thirium leaking from the ragged gash at his temple. One wrist broken, two ragged bullet wounds at his shoulder and hip, hands bound above his head, an assortment of odd gashes and a few components knocked out of place... functionality at 71%, better than Nyx could have hoped for. Gravel digs into the synthetic skin of his back, hot breath above him, and Nyx lets out a sharp gasp of pleasure, back arching to jeering laughter as the man on top of him bucks into him, once, twice, and then climaxes. He's pulled off almost immediately, and another one of the four hunters takes his place, shoving Nyx's already-spread thighs further apart. Dirty nails dig into his hips, and the urge to roll his eyes marks a blip in his otherwise smooth processes.

"Now this is a catch. Ain't every day we get to fool around with one of Eden Club's expensive fuckbots. Not that it makes a difference to this tin can... don't make a different who or what you fuck, you love it all the same, don'tcha?"

It isn't hard to keep up the expression of ragged defiance, brimming over with raw, wanton sensuality-- Nyx is exactly as he was designed to be, a machine that anticipates and adapts to the desires of whoever might have him. But this isn't an opportunity to flex his capabilities as a sexual companion android; timing is everything for this mission, and in a matter of minutes he would have to make a choice-- to stay, acquire a few more scrapes as part of his cover, and see if the spy's reports regarding Avicebron's activities and inconvenient sympathy for deviant androids contained any truth to them. Or leave in pursuit of Avicebron himself, leaving a premature trail of bodies, and possibly blow his cover. Ugh, decisions, decisions...

There's a hard yank on his hair just as he comes to a compromise-- one more minute, and then it would be time for plan B.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm programmed for low standards." The laugh that escapes his lips is ragged, forced out between the faint whimpers spilling from his throat, another simulated reaction triggered by appropriate stimuli. "But I only fluff egos for folks who paid good money for me, if that's what you're hoping for. Until then... well, are you lot looking for some pointers? Tips and tricks to last a little longer? 'Cause you sure as hell need them."

One more minute. That's fine. All he has to do now is endure.

Vile. Utterly vile. Avicebron recoils at first when he realizes what he's seeing.

Sexbots were bad enough. It had taken a long time for Avicebron to come to terms with the fact that the code he'd so carefully crafted -- code he'd devoted years of his life to, meant to emulate the depth and complexity of the human mind -- had ultimately been boiled down and used to create servants and sex toys for the rich.

But the androids were not the ones at fault. That much, he'd always known. The androids were not the ones to be rued for these circumstances. The ones who had to be blamed for these circumstances was irresponsible engineers like himself ... and disgusting, wretched brutes like these men.

His first instinct is to leave. He knows he's outnumbered, and each of these men could easily overpower him. But at the same time, the android pinned to the ground is damaged -- he can see the trickle of thirium and the scatter of minute parts. Left in this situation, that android might not last much longer. Avicebron knows that, if he leaves now, the guilt will eat away at him.

And there's already enough guilt weighing on his shoulders.

Avicebron abandons his purchases, setting them aside so he can move more quietly. Thankfully, it only takes him a moment to find the external fusebox to the warehouse. The sharp points to his prosthetic fingers are certainly useful in pulling open the fusebox's lid, and he exhales slowly as he tugs out several choice wires.

Before he can change his mind, he jams them into the battery port of his prosthetic arm.

Inside the warehouse, there's a sharp, keening noise as the lights overhead glow impossibly bright, blindingly so. And almost as suddenly, there's the shatter of glass as all of the lightbulbs explode, showering down on Nyx and the men.

No doubt the thugs are startled and mostly blinded, and Avicebron takes the chance to slip inside. Even if the human portion of his body is horribly weak, his prosthetics are powerful, custom-made deals. His metallic feet ping off the concrete as he swiftly dashes forth, then swings his cane in a wide arc -- aimed at the thug pinning Nyx down and hitting him square in the throat. He's sloppier on the backswing, managing to strike another thug across the head, then he turns his focus to Nyx.

"Get up." It's an urgent whisper as he yanks at Nyx's arm, trying to tug him to his feet. "We need to run." He doesn't stand a chance in a physical fight. He just has to hope those distractions earned enough time for them to escape.

He catches the faint crackle and flicker of the lights, bringing up his bound arms just in time to shield his eyes as glass comes raining down. Overhead, Nyx can hear cursing and the crunch of glass beneath booted feet, the man on top of him pulling out in a rough motion that sends a shock through his sensors. For his part, he stays laying prone, seemingly in shock, an android unable to adapt and respond to overwhelming stimuli. Internally, his mind races-- what the hell just happened? Electrical failure? No, too convenient. An attack by hostile androids targeting the human hunters? Or maybe...

Nyx looks up sharply at the faint chime of metal against concrete-- and there's his target, knocking the stunned hunters aside without hesitation. Metallic fingers close around his arm, and Nyx obeys the command without question, stumbling after Avicebron as they escape into the night.

His legs aren't injured too badly, but the bullet lodged in his hip is an irritant, working its way deep into synthetic muscle and disrupting the joint. Nyx stumbles, and the leg folds beneath him as he collapses in a heap.

"Sorry," he mutters, head down, feeling the crash of system alerts and proximity alarms overwhelm his processors and making no effort to suppress it. His teeth begin to chatter, limbs shaking, a programmed response that Nyx finds himself considering with detached amusement. How very... human. "Shit, I... sorry..."

Avicebron's eyes are better suited to the dark; constantly wearing his mask has made his vision slightly quicker to adapt to low lighting, and the blown lights aren't a huge deterrent to him. Instead, it's his physical condition that poses a challenge. He drags Nyx along, grasping tight at his arm and hurriedly leading him outside onto the streets. They're barely out of the building, and already, his breaths are starting to come in hoarser rasps.

Behind them, the men that had been assaulting Nyx are busy gathering themselves. Some of them want to flee. And some of them want to give chase. Avicebron grits his teeth behind his mask, eyes fixed ahead as he starts leading the way down a narrow alleyway -- only to get dragged down to his knees when Nyx buckles.

"You don't need to apologize." Avicebron's voice is hoarse, a little strained around the edges, but stern. He straightens up on pointed feet, briefly looking down the way they came before fixing his gaze on Nyx; light reflects eerily off the sharp edges of his mask. "I know you've been damaged. But you need to run. I'm weak, and can't carry you. Once we're safe, I can conduct repairs. So for now, you must endure."

The men burst from the warehouse, arguing amongst themselves, and Avicebron wastes no time jamming himself under Nyx's arm and helping him back onto his feet. In this position, Nyx might feel just how bony and frail Avicebron is, the seams between his torso and his prosthetic arms obvious to the touch beneath the fabric of his sweater. Trying to maneuver Nyx while handling his cane is difficult, as well. But still, he valiantly drags Nyx along, down the alleyway and around a corner. Hopefully they can lose those men in these confusing back streets.

Hard metal digs into his ribs, in sharp contrast to the bony flesh just under his arm. Prosthetics... and advanced ones, at that. Of course, Nyx could hardly have expected anything less from a masterful engineer of androids, even considering the reports of the so-called "accident" that had fallen Cybergen's former head of research and development. The mask, on the other hand... none of the files had mentioned anything about that. The lack of facial pattern recognition leaves Nyx struggling to fill the missing gaps of emotional information-- how should he react? Play up his own helplessness? His fear and desperation? Would a scientist renowned for his cold logic respond to those pleas? Or maybe...

"Leave me," he finds himself muttering, even as he hobbles along beside Avicebron, injured leg just barely holding his weight Behind them, the shouts are beginning to die down, heavy booted footsteps falling behind. Good. He'd hate to have to reveal any of his additional capabilities unnecessarily. "You're... human. ...can't let you get hurt... they're only supposed to capture me..."

"I will not." It's said flatly as he continues to haul Nyx forward, even as his breathing grows a little labored. He's never been suited for physical activity, and it's been a while since he's run into an android this badly hurt. Part of him does regret intervening -- the muscle pains tomorrow are bound to be stunning -- but he quashes those thoughts.

"You say they were supposed to capture you. But they were obviously intent on doing much more than simply disabling and transporting you. Don't be foolish."

His words are stern, but not unkind, and he glances over his shoulder at the sound of the shouting growing distant. It sounds like those men are heading off in a different direction, and Avicebron breathes a ragged sigh of relief.

"... rest assured. You're free to go wherever you like, once your repairs are complete. But until then, I'd ask you to listen to me." He moves a bit slower, now that they're not in immediate danger, squinting at the street signs ahead. He's taken a slightly roundabout path in the rush to get away from those men, but he knows his way around this place. "It isn't much further."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only