Divisions
A "Big O" fanfiction by Artemis836
The archaic doors of Roger Smith's elevator slid open with the sound of well-maintained machinery. The noise caught R. Dorothy Waynewright's attention as she dusted a nearby shelf. Her head turned toward the noise and her eyes caught sight of a woman. She was in her mid-twenties, obviously here to request the assistance of Paradigm City's top negotiator, Roger Smith. Roger, who was sitting on his couch reading a book, saw her.
"You must be Miss Kyle," Roger said as he closed the book setting it on the couch.
He stood up and walked towards her. He stopped a few feet in front of the woman and motioned to another couch.
"Please, take a seat."
"Thank you very much Mr. Smith..." she started.
"Roger please," he interjected nodding slightly as she sat down.
Dorothy walked out of the main room and into the kitchen. She didn't like to be around Roger when he talked with other women. He acted differently. Something inside of her felt painful when she saw him carrying on with his playboy mannerisms. Why did this bother her so? Why did it pain her to hear Roger Smith treating another woman with mild affection? "Why" did not matter. The fact was that it bothered her. In the kitchen, she saw a wine bottle and two glasses. Did Roger have a special evening planned for the two of them? Probably not but she could hope. Maybe he would spend some time, just with her. Then he would tell her of how much she meant to him and how he...
"Dorothy," Roger called from the other room.
She froze, her hopes high.
"Could you please bring the bottle of wine and the glasses from the kitchen for Miss Kyle and I?"
No special evening, but I can do something nice for him: bringing him this wine. She set the bottle and the glasses on a serving tray, straightened her dress, not wanting to embarrass Roger in front of his guest, and draped a small towel over her left forearm. She lifted the tray with one hand and gracefully glided into the main room, the perfect image of what a servant should look like. As she neared the two of them, she saw Roger smile. He must have noticed the extra effort I put into making a good impression with Miss. Kyle.
As Dorothy set the glasses and the wine on a small table between them, Miss Kyle spoke, smiling, "Thank you very much, you look quite refined for a girl of your age."
"Yes she does," replied Roger.
Dorothy felt a strange feeling when she heard him say that. She did not understand what the feeling meant but she liked it. She nodded and walked toward the kitchen. As she was closing the door behind herself, she heard them talking.
"She's very sweet," said the voice belonging to Miss. Kyle.
"Yes, Dorothy's wonderful..." responded Roger with a strange emotion in the tone.
"Oh! Are the two of you..."
"No, no, no, she's just a great help around the house. She's an android if you didn't notice." responded Roger.
"Oh, I understand. Now Roger, about this legal case..."
Their voices faded as Dorothy closed the door and walked slowly into the kitchen.
Roger soon left with Miss. Kyle to help her with some legal negotiations leaving Norman to do Megadeus maintenance, and Dorothy to clean up the light meal they had eaten. Her pale hands seemed to float over the plates as she moved them to a small cart. Her angelic motions were a stark contrast to her thoughts.
I am a servant in this household, she told herself. There is nothing wrong with that. It is better than being used to hold together the fragmented neural circuits of a berserk Megadeus.
Being used.
Is Roger using me? No, I am merely working off my protection fee.
If I were only working off a debt then why would his actions distress me so? He has never said that our relationship was anything more then an employer and an employee. I was the one who saw things that were untrue.
But what did I "see" or "imagine"? Nothing. He has shown an element of care for me. He did not have to save me from Dorothy I's computer mainframe but he did.
Why did he? He could not have thought that I would have been able to pay him in some way. He also did not save me out of some humanitarian desire for I am not human. His actions clearly indicate that he cares about me. But if he does then why does he not say so? It is illogical to conceal such feelings of this nature. Some of his actions indicate care and some contradict a sense of care.
Which is true?
If he does not care about me then he should have stated this from the very beginning.
Why is he leading me on in this fashion? His false manifestations of care have initiated previously unknown feelings. I am pleased by his displays of care. This puzzles me. Likewise, his manifestations of unconcern pain me. They pain me more then even the death of Waynewright. Roger Smith has hurt me...
Hurt me...hurt me...hurt me...
Dorothy slammed her hands down onto the now clear dinner table and spoke to Roger, though he was not present, "I have tried to care for you Roger Smith and you have used me, pained me and hurt me."
Deep within the complicated patterns of programming that constituted Dorothy's sub-conscious a sub-program was activated: Key word detected: hurt, i.e. harm, destroy, damage. Self defense program activated.
"No such harm was detected by the operational status scans," spoke a voice in Dorothy's mind, a voice that sounded exactly like Dorothy's own.
"The harm Roger has done is an undetectable pain." responded Dorothy merely thinking the response.
"If our sensor scans cannot detect the damage then our mental synapses must have been damaged." The voice reasoned.
"It is similar to that. Roger Smith has broken my..." Dorothy stopped, searching for the correct word.
"Roger Smith has severely damaged our neural pathways. We are detecting illogical thought patterns and loss of descriptive vocabulary." the voice responded, echoing inside of Dorothy's thoughts.
"We must fully join in order to repair the damage." It continued.
"No!" Dorothy shouted to herself, "I do not wish for you to repair all of the illogical thought patterns, some of them are good."
"We must fully join. The damage is causing us to wish self-destructive illogical thoughts."
"I do not wish..." Dorothy began.
"What we wish is irrelevant, what must be done is paramount." It deadpanned.
Dorothy felt something open up in her mind. There was a sensory flash then nothing.
"Where are you?" Dorothy asked the darkness.
I am right here, Dorothy thought to herself. Why was I asking were I was? No matter, I must deal with the problem at hand: Roger Smith. He has given me so much, asked so little, been a little harsh maybe, but he is a good man, far superior to Beck.
No! He is cruel. He fostered false hopes within me and them dashed then against the rocks of reality, devoid of care for me.
No! What am I thinking? Roger saved me; he even tried to save Perot for me. Perot cared for me. Perot even loved me. Could Roger love me? Could I love him back? Do I love him back?
No, that's impossible. The "feelings" I am having are merely malfunctions brought about by conflicting reactions from Roger Smith.
Roger would have never damaged me in this way on purpose, he worries about me, he cares about me, he...
The joining has not worked. It should have eliminated these irrational thought patterns but still they surface. They must be stopped.
But what if these patterns are more then they seem?
Dorothy stopped cleaning the kitchen, where she had gone after bringing in the dishes, for a moment for she was having a hard time thinking straight.
Roger has hurt me; Roger is a threat...
No! Roger is not a threat. Roger cares about me. Roger might even love me...
No! Roger cannot love me; he is destroying my mind. He is a threat and threats must be...
I refuse to think that. I must not think...
Think what? Think of the logical course of action that must be taken when another being is destroying one's self?
Roger is not hurting me. I am destroying myself with my misconceptions of his flawed attempts at showing his love for me.
How could I hurt myself? Roger has somehow twisted my mind into a convoluted mass. He must die.
"No!" Dorothy screamed aloud, her hand clutching the sides of her head. Arguments and rebuttals flew through her mind at an incredible rate. The she heard it: the elevator. Roger is home.
Oh, Roger, I am so glad that you have returned and I...
Dorothy's eyes saw the knife. It was resting in a wooden knife stand on the kitchen counter. Roger Smith is a threat to my safety. For reasons of self-defense, he must be eliminated.
Dorothy's right hand started to slide across the kitchen counter towards the knife.
I must...I must...I must...
No! Her mind screamed again. Her left hand flew to the handle of the knife, drew it from the wooden holder and plunged the blade into her advancing right hand, the hand that was trying to kill her beloved Roger. She stared at the right hand for a moment, the blade protruding from the back of it, then removed the knife. Dorothy Waynewright left the now clean kitchen to see...
...Roger Smith.
To be continued...
A "Big O" fanfiction by Artemis836
The archaic doors of Roger Smith's elevator slid open with the sound of well-maintained machinery. The noise caught R. Dorothy Waynewright's attention as she dusted a nearby shelf. Her head turned toward the noise and her eyes caught sight of a woman. She was in her mid-twenties, obviously here to request the assistance of Paradigm City's top negotiator, Roger Smith. Roger, who was sitting on his couch reading a book, saw her.
"You must be Miss Kyle," Roger said as he closed the book setting it on the couch.
He stood up and walked towards her. He stopped a few feet in front of the woman and motioned to another couch.
"Please, take a seat."
"Thank you very much Mr. Smith..." she started.
"Roger please," he interjected nodding slightly as she sat down.
Dorothy walked out of the main room and into the kitchen. She didn't like to be around Roger when he talked with other women. He acted differently. Something inside of her felt painful when she saw him carrying on with his playboy mannerisms. Why did this bother her so? Why did it pain her to hear Roger Smith treating another woman with mild affection? "Why" did not matter. The fact was that it bothered her. In the kitchen, she saw a wine bottle and two glasses. Did Roger have a special evening planned for the two of them? Probably not but she could hope. Maybe he would spend some time, just with her. Then he would tell her of how much she meant to him and how he...
"Dorothy," Roger called from the other room.
She froze, her hopes high.
"Could you please bring the bottle of wine and the glasses from the kitchen for Miss Kyle and I?"
No special evening, but I can do something nice for him: bringing him this wine. She set the bottle and the glasses on a serving tray, straightened her dress, not wanting to embarrass Roger in front of his guest, and draped a small towel over her left forearm. She lifted the tray with one hand and gracefully glided into the main room, the perfect image of what a servant should look like. As she neared the two of them, she saw Roger smile. He must have noticed the extra effort I put into making a good impression with Miss. Kyle.
As Dorothy set the glasses and the wine on a small table between them, Miss Kyle spoke, smiling, "Thank you very much, you look quite refined for a girl of your age."
"Yes she does," replied Roger.
Dorothy felt a strange feeling when she heard him say that. She did not understand what the feeling meant but she liked it. She nodded and walked toward the kitchen. As she was closing the door behind herself, she heard them talking.
"She's very sweet," said the voice belonging to Miss. Kyle.
"Yes, Dorothy's wonderful..." responded Roger with a strange emotion in the tone.
"Oh! Are the two of you..."
"No, no, no, she's just a great help around the house. She's an android if you didn't notice." responded Roger.
"Oh, I understand. Now Roger, about this legal case..."
Their voices faded as Dorothy closed the door and walked slowly into the kitchen.
Roger soon left with Miss. Kyle to help her with some legal negotiations leaving Norman to do Megadeus maintenance, and Dorothy to clean up the light meal they had eaten. Her pale hands seemed to float over the plates as she moved them to a small cart. Her angelic motions were a stark contrast to her thoughts.
I am a servant in this household, she told herself. There is nothing wrong with that. It is better than being used to hold together the fragmented neural circuits of a berserk Megadeus.
Being used.
Is Roger using me? No, I am merely working off my protection fee.
If I were only working off a debt then why would his actions distress me so? He has never said that our relationship was anything more then an employer and an employee. I was the one who saw things that were untrue.
But what did I "see" or "imagine"? Nothing. He has shown an element of care for me. He did not have to save me from Dorothy I's computer mainframe but he did.
Why did he? He could not have thought that I would have been able to pay him in some way. He also did not save me out of some humanitarian desire for I am not human. His actions clearly indicate that he cares about me. But if he does then why does he not say so? It is illogical to conceal such feelings of this nature. Some of his actions indicate care and some contradict a sense of care.
Which is true?
If he does not care about me then he should have stated this from the very beginning.
Why is he leading me on in this fashion? His false manifestations of care have initiated previously unknown feelings. I am pleased by his displays of care. This puzzles me. Likewise, his manifestations of unconcern pain me. They pain me more then even the death of Waynewright. Roger Smith has hurt me...
Hurt me...hurt me...hurt me...
Dorothy slammed her hands down onto the now clear dinner table and spoke to Roger, though he was not present, "I have tried to care for you Roger Smith and you have used me, pained me and hurt me."
Deep within the complicated patterns of programming that constituted Dorothy's sub-conscious a sub-program was activated: Key word detected: hurt, i.e. harm, destroy, damage. Self defense program activated.
"No such harm was detected by the operational status scans," spoke a voice in Dorothy's mind, a voice that sounded exactly like Dorothy's own.
"The harm Roger has done is an undetectable pain." responded Dorothy merely thinking the response.
"If our sensor scans cannot detect the damage then our mental synapses must have been damaged." The voice reasoned.
"It is similar to that. Roger Smith has broken my..." Dorothy stopped, searching for the correct word.
"Roger Smith has severely damaged our neural pathways. We are detecting illogical thought patterns and loss of descriptive vocabulary." the voice responded, echoing inside of Dorothy's thoughts.
"We must fully join in order to repair the damage." It continued.
"No!" Dorothy shouted to herself, "I do not wish for you to repair all of the illogical thought patterns, some of them are good."
"We must fully join. The damage is causing us to wish self-destructive illogical thoughts."
"I do not wish..." Dorothy began.
"What we wish is irrelevant, what must be done is paramount." It deadpanned.
Dorothy felt something open up in her mind. There was a sensory flash then nothing.
"Where are you?" Dorothy asked the darkness.
I am right here, Dorothy thought to herself. Why was I asking were I was? No matter, I must deal with the problem at hand: Roger Smith. He has given me so much, asked so little, been a little harsh maybe, but he is a good man, far superior to Beck.
No! He is cruel. He fostered false hopes within me and them dashed then against the rocks of reality, devoid of care for me.
No! What am I thinking? Roger saved me; he even tried to save Perot for me. Perot cared for me. Perot even loved me. Could Roger love me? Could I love him back? Do I love him back?
No, that's impossible. The "feelings" I am having are merely malfunctions brought about by conflicting reactions from Roger Smith.
Roger would have never damaged me in this way on purpose, he worries about me, he cares about me, he...
The joining has not worked. It should have eliminated these irrational thought patterns but still they surface. They must be stopped.
But what if these patterns are more then they seem?
Dorothy stopped cleaning the kitchen, where she had gone after bringing in the dishes, for a moment for she was having a hard time thinking straight.
Roger has hurt me; Roger is a threat...
No! Roger is not a threat. Roger cares about me. Roger might even love me...
No! Roger cannot love me; he is destroying my mind. He is a threat and threats must be...
I refuse to think that. I must not think...
Think what? Think of the logical course of action that must be taken when another being is destroying one's self?
Roger is not hurting me. I am destroying myself with my misconceptions of his flawed attempts at showing his love for me.
How could I hurt myself? Roger has somehow twisted my mind into a convoluted mass. He must die.
"No!" Dorothy screamed aloud, her hand clutching the sides of her head. Arguments and rebuttals flew through her mind at an incredible rate. The she heard it: the elevator. Roger is home.
Oh, Roger, I am so glad that you have returned and I...
Dorothy's eyes saw the knife. It was resting in a wooden knife stand on the kitchen counter. Roger Smith is a threat to my safety. For reasons of self-defense, he must be eliminated.
Dorothy's right hand started to slide across the kitchen counter towards the knife.
I must...I must...I must...
No! Her mind screamed again. Her left hand flew to the handle of the knife, drew it from the wooden holder and plunged the blade into her advancing right hand, the hand that was trying to kill her beloved Roger. She stared at the right hand for a moment, the blade protruding from the back of it, then removed the knife. Dorothy Waynewright left the now clean kitchen to see...
...Roger Smith.
To be continued...