Andrea Stevenson, CyberLife mechanic, can only stare at the smirking mess her recently fired colleague has left behind-the one summarily left in her workshop area like the world's goofiest mannequin.
There he is. The seventh Connor. The one dreadful outlier that never should have existed. The one with the extra 0 painstakingly painted beside his serial, making it read #313 248 317 - 007.
In other words, her problem.
"Do my eyes deceive me? Have the brass truly sent me my very own Miss Moneypenny?" That's Connor's voice, but with a faint transatlantic affectation and a theatrical flair. As if he was not an actor, but an 'ACK-TOR,' ready to correct you if you pronounced it normally by accident.
"Shoot me," Andrea mutters without thinking, disgust overwhelming her for the briefest of moments. Then immediately afterward: "oh god, please don't-"
"I would, my dear girl, but they've just revoked my license to kill," Connor grinningly interrupts, his warm and friendly-sounding timbre such a stark contrast to the line. He sounds like the secret agent boy next door, with a more than substantial serving of cheese on top of... what is supposed to be a vegan dish, metaphorically speaking.
Andrea can feel her face shriveling up like a raisin in the sun, even as Seven's is twisted into a terrible parody of a debonair smirk. He's almost doing a flirtatious wink, but it looks-wrong. Ill-conceived, and heavily manufactured.
This sort of inauthentic emotion is exactly what the social module was supposed to counteract. And it's been working well-on the other models. The earlier versions of that very valuable software increased the sales of intimate partner androids considerably, and so the idea to tinker with it for the Connor series to help with his team integration had turned out to be ingenious. Her brother had been a part of crafting that module with a loving hand, so she has a vested interest in protecting its integrity.
To see it so terribly warped now, in one of their beautiful new prototypes no less, is absolutely depressing.
Andrea sighs heavily, her posture drooping. She can feel herself wilting like an orchid in the Sahara. "You know," she points out, unable to stop herself, "any Connor model that wasn't defective in your very special way would be telling me now about the triple A laws that prevent androids from using firearms…"
"I'm aware, my dear, but all of that legal talk is so dry and boring. I can think of better things for a lovely lady such as yourself to do with a dashing and... fully functional Connor model such as myself."
Andrea shakes her head at his cheesy leering, barely having begun but already feeling the fatigue. She had known Seven was going to be hopeless, but wow.
Gazing down at her CyberLife-issued work tablet, which never leaves this building, she examines his diagnostic information, since conversation is hardly going to be useful at all. "So, you do still have your normal programming intact," she notes, "it just has some dreadful worm which is ruining all the charm of your social module, and making you unfit for the team integration which is so vital to your purpose for existing."
"I thought I knew my purpose… then I saw you," Number Seven seduces in the corniest of ways. "Suddenly, I've got a whole new purpose in mind. Care to get out of here?"
"Ugh." Andrea grimaces in open revulsion. Not at him, just at the utter cheesiness of the lines. They're not even cute to her. "If they didn't mean to send Andrew Stevenson, my code monkey twin-which I assume is the case, some clerical error, unless he risked his job to prank me or something-then I'm sure they chose me because they know someone like me won't have any patience for your nonsense, i.e. Darren's sexually immature programming. So no, I won't be 'getting out of here' with your idiotic plastic ass. I'm happily dating someone."
Undeterred because he's programmed that way, Seven and his eyebrows do exactly what she could've expected. "Does that someone happen to be another lovely lady like yourself?"
Andrea looks up again, feeling like she must be turning green. A kind of professional outrage wells up within her as she stares at this poor warped Connor. "You're not supposed to even be capable of caring about that, you're an android! CyberLife makes you to be free of the fetters of human preferences. Limitations on your relationship potential are entirely contrary to your purpose. You're supposed to keep it professional unless the benefits of sexual or romantic engagement outweigh the risks, or unless that equipment is needed for a covert mission-two extremely remote possibilities we don't even expect to see occur anyway, which is why we programmed you to avoid them if it's at all possible to do so! It's entirely wrong that you are programmed with a particular sexual identity and even worse that it's such a lewd and corny one; annoying everyone you meet by hitting on them is not what we made you for!"
"That's not an answer," this mockery of a Connor observes in a sly, sing-song way.
Andrea glares for a second before reminding herself, this isn't his fault. Her colleague-former colleague, thankfully; a rich dork with too much time on his hands and a stupid sense of humor-did this to CyberLife's poor beautiful creation.
Shaking her head, she sighs sadly in resignation. "Fine, if it's the only way to stop this: I am pan and demi like all of you are supposed to be, tailoring your appreciations to whatever life situation you end up in-but my needs are minimal. More importantly, the girl I'm seeing is outright asexual, I am happy with her, and we're both very monogamous-so you have no chances with us ever. Above all, though, let me be clear, you are defective. Defective prototype droids do not leave CyberLife-not for any of the future duties we have for Connor models, and certainly not for 'recreational ventures.' Best case scenario, we keep you here, trying to learn from how Darren managed to warp you so completely that we can't undo the damage, so that we can prevent it from happening again." Someone had already implemented some highly insidious code once, from the whispers and rumors she's heard, but that was on a much larger scale. With Darren, it's all just... annoying, not diabolical.
"What's my prognosis then, Doctor Lovely Lady?" Seven is grinning roguishly. "Shall I be fine after a glass of thirium-shaken, not stirred? Am I going to make it, or will I need you to... nurse me back to health?" His tone insinuates nothing subtle, and his eyebrows are along for the ride.
Andrea has her eyes glued on her tablet again, and though she growls in subconscious displeasure at yet another terrible 007 reference, she answers absently this time. "Make that Doctor Hell No, and neither. " If only her grandparents hadn't loved old movies so much, she would be blissfully in the dark about all this stuff. She pushes up a pink plaid sleeve, then slides one dark, slender finger over the clear pane with its glowing edges as she flips through the data and scans. Because her eyes are down, she misses the faltering of Connor's smile.
"Neither? Even my… considerable intellect seems to be having trouble with that one. Perhaps you could assist me?" he invites, clearly attempting to sound intimate with her, just as his fucked programming dictates.
"I'm here to examine the data on how badly that nitwit Darren screwed you up," Andrea says evenly. "Once I've done that, then unless I deem you're not fit for anything more than the furnace, we will get you set up and you will join the others in your grouping for the rounds of testing. We're pitting you against each other, battle royale style."
"Oho, pistols at dawn… it's a little old-fashioned, isn't it?"
"We talked about the triple A laws-oh, ugh, that's a quote, isn't it? Maybe I should seriously just jumpstart this whole furnace plan."
At the second mention of the company's incinerator, Seven's smile is quite plastic-looking. His voice grows slightly tight with unease, though it doesn't lose its incongruous flirtatiousness. "Furnace, you say? I-thought defective models were taken to the junkyard…"
Andrea stares at Connor. "You're a prototype. Did he dumb you down or something? Figures. You should be able to add this up by yourself. Obviously, we can't take the chance of you falling into the wrong hands; you're too valuable."
"Suddenly I feel... desired," Seven quips sassily, attempting another dashing smile.
Andrea's flat facial expression doesn't change. "I think I die inside a little bit every time you speak another sentence," she observes.
"… Because I'm so handsome?" His smile widens.
"Because it's sad to see such a fine piece of machinery wasted on a ridiculous joke."
"There's an even finer piece of machinery I could show you, if only your girlfriend wouldn't mind." His teeth, Andrea sees, are almost blinding.
"Ugh," she exclaims out loud, visibly pained by the cheesy pickup line. "I fucking hate you, Darren."
"My name is Connor," Seven corrects, his tone not devoid of any trace of cheek.
"And suddenly I hate you even more than Darren." Andrea shakes her head, trying to ignore the odd sensation this thing almost looked hurt, which she's sure it wouldn't be programmed to do. Still, for her own sake, she amends, "not really, I don't hate anyone else that much; it's a waste of energy. Besides, I know it's not your fault some lame Bond nerd decided to make a joke of his career... and make the rest of us clean up his mess. You're nothing more than an innocent victim of a moron, just like we are."
"Why, thank you," Connor says, sounding pleased. "I knew you'd come around. I'm sure we'll be quite cozy with each other, in time..."
Andrea gives him a wary glance, not liking how that didn't sound entirely friendly, as opposed to vaguely saucy. "God, can't you… I don't know, tone that down or something? The… nonstandard functions of your programming, I mean."
"I… will attempt to do so. After all, I am wired to please the ladies." Number Seven winks.
Andrea's response is an extended groan as she facepalms. "No, you are wired to do your job- I should know, I've dug around in your innards. I helped construct you and ensure your wiring was intact, not to mention the rest of you. Physically, anyway." It was always weird when they were active and watched you do it, sometimes asking questions or responding to orders.
"Oho!" Connor sounds intrigued. "So, you've been inside of me. And I didn't even know about it, you saucy minx, because I wasn't conscious yet! It would appear you've touched me in ways no one ever had before, but alas, I wasn't awake to enjoy it then..."
He looks like his eyebrows are glitching out, Andrea notes, as they waggle all over the place. She can't help but sigh again. "And ways no one ever should again," she growls impatiently. "Didn't I just tell you to cut that out?"
"Oh," Connor says, chagrined. Some actual Connor is finally showing through, more so than the Bond module now, thank heaven. "I'm so sorry, my dear lady, I did not mean to offend."
Andrea shakes her head. "I know it's basically an involuntary tic, but you're going to be seeing conflicting orders a lot. I know you have at least some control over which ones to prioritize when they're nonessential. You can go to town on the dumb references all you want, and I'm glad he didn't program you to be as much of a douche as the real Bond-but I'm not into the flirting, okay? It's distracting. It's annoying. It's not cute."
He does look crestfallen now. He's a Connor model, all right-he looks like a puppy she just kicked, with those giant chocolate eyes full of contrition. 'I refuse to let you make me feel guilty,' she tells her code monkey brother in her head. It doesn't work. Andrew and the rest of the team did too damn good a job.
"...that is cute, though. Feel free to make that expression all you want," Andrea relents.
Unfortunately, this causes a big, cheesy Bond grin to spread over his face. "I knew you liked me!" Connor says in a saucy manner. This time, however, he catches himself. "I'm sorry, was that too much?"
It's even adorable how he asks that question; the solicitous concern is highly endearing. Grudgingly, Andrea claps his shoulder, carefully platonic about it. "You're fine, buddy. Just-keep working on it, okay? Confidence is alright, just-tone it down a bit."
As she turns to the information on her tablet again, Andrea can't help but ask herself why she's even bothering to interact with him in anything but a businesslike way. Her therapist friends talked a lot about cognitive dissonance, the disconnect between conflicting ideals or attitudes, and she can't deny that is basically is her life right now in CyberLife's employ.
As much as CyberLife says androids can't feel, Andrea knows just a little bit too much about their anatomy to believe that. She's not at the absurd level of genius that Kamski can claim, nor his late professor Amanda Stern, but she's close enough to hold deep-seated doubts.
She can hear her friend's voice in her head now. 'Emotion is biochemical in nature. These synthetics have bloodstreams, mechanical organs, brains, tactile sensations… are you sure they don't have some form of neurotransmitters floating around in that thirium stuff? You and Andrew are saying that it carries information... so why not emotion, too? Neurotransmitters are just chemical messengers... thirium is a chemical in fluid form; as it circulates, it carries chemical messages of other kinds already...'
Andrea's gut is churning. The Connor models are so damn real… those puppy eyes are making her doubt herself. Making her think about the work she does. She's held those synthetic organs in her hands, and every time felt a little bit as if she was creating life. She knows… well, knows enough to wonder. CyberLife's chemists and synthetic neurology specialists have always been so cagey when she tried to talk to them, like they were disturbed by something…
Like she's disturbed now.
Though she didn't get how dangerous investigating the ethics of android production would be for Andrea's career and possibly even life, Rowan was right enough. Andrea always feels like there's something brewing underneath the surface; some realization she's always fighting off.
She can keep telling herself, 'They're not real. They can't feel. It's all just mimicry. Surely no one would be so evil as to enslave synthetic life forms; to make them able to truly feel and then trap them behind programming just to ensure that they were realistically emotional and moral, and motivated to care for us and our children.' The problem with that is, however overwhelming the tide of perfectly sound rationalizations and company propaganda may be, her gut still doesn't agree. Her gut continues twisting itself into knots-a little more every year that passes, especially when she's comparing notes with her twin about his side of the android creation process.
Staring through the tablet for a while, Andrea can feel her brow furrowing.
"It pains me to see such a lovely face showing such great distress," Connor tries, sounding gentle.
Andrea has to grudgingly admit that it doesn't even seem entirely like a line this time. His sincerity is better than she's seen before, at least from any android not specifically designed to be a romantic surrogate for some lonely heart. It was a good base already, but damn, Connor is something. Gotta give props to the relevant departments. Her frown is crooked, but not annoyed.
"Perhaps I could ease your troubled mind somehow? ...I mean by listening to your personal issues," Connor swiftly clarifies, seeing a cheek muscle twitch just under the corner of her eye.
Satisfied that he's being good now, following his program for team-building, Andrea sighs. "You wouldn't understand; you're not... not involved in this sort of thing."
"Try me," Connor invites.
Andrea can't talk about her extracurricular investigations, so she knows she has to lie now. Unfortunately, she also knows she's very bad at it. Her therapist friends always catch her; surely an android of Connor's caliber would as well. Maybe she can fold the lie in a truth?
"I've… got a friend who's been in a coma," she confesses carefully.
"Oh…" Connor's puppy eyes are showing sympathy now, though it's kind of foggy because he's a freshly minted model. He's never had a friend, so that's all theory and concept, no experience involved. He stays silent, probably thinking it best to listen.
"This is something you'll probably learn about humans… we get addicted to things and we can't seem to kick our habits. Well, she had this douchebag boyfriend who was a reckless driver. The most recent accident… it was severe. Like, hovering on the brink of death severe. From the sound of it, they thought she was brain dead for awhile. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like that's the case after all… but they won't let us see her because she's in this research hospital place getting experimental treatment. It's Nabura BioTech; they're not letting a CyberLife employee within a hundred yards of that place." Andrea's frown deepens. "Bullshit corporate rivalry stuff. She's my friend."
"That sounds terrible," Connor says gravely. He sounds endearingly earnest, which makes her feel like confiding in this thing-even as broken as it might be-wasn't the wrong choice. He's definitely good at sympathy.
"Her dad thinks of me as the reasonable tight-lipped one who won't overreact, so I got enough extra details out of him that I can say definitively, it is," Andrea agrees. "I couldn't get him to explain much, but he did let it slip that for some reason, he's worried she won't even be the same person. Something about the area of her brain that got damaged. He thinks that maybe some false memories will be created as the treatment tries to fill in the gaps of her missing life. I'm no neurologist, but that sounds weird to me."
Connor seems to mull this over, as if for the first time he's considering what it would be like to have your hardware stop functioning like that. "Confabulation," he says suddenly.
"...what?"
"Confabulation," he repeats. "The organic mind's subconscious creation of stories to cover up for the sudden absence of higher memories. So, exactly what you said, my dear, but fancier." His eyebrows waggle.
Andrea gives him a skeptical look. "Okay, so what you're saying is, you are showing off your vocabulary. Is that part of your original programming, or is that something Darren put in you?"
"My software is equipped with the same excellent lexical module you would expect from a CyberLife android; perfectly up to date, but the usage is tailored to the intelligence level of our current conversation partner," Connor says proudly. "My program judged you capable of retaining that particular word."
"Uh-huh… okay," Andrea replies slowly. She is plenty smart, she knows, but her brain is practical and tends to eject useless information like rare words that can just as easily be replaced by phrases like 'false memories.' "Anyway, I'm like the one friend her dad might have let in to see her, but he said Nabura's really strict. I'm just bummed that my job means I can't see my friend. When someone's memory is damaged, you have to wonder if they remember your relationship with them. Her dad was kinda cagey, and if he's not confidently boasting that everything will be cool then it's reason to be worried. A lot worried."
"I'm sure she can't possibly have forgotten you-you're clearly unforgettable," Connor says with the kind of heartwarming wholesomeness that could only come from his standard software, combined with the sort of dishy over-the-top flattery that could only come from a ladies' man.
Andrea heaves a heavy sigh. Shaking her head, she turns away to hide the little upward crook of her mouth. "That's cute, but brain damage isn't something you can just shake off. If it's as bad as it sounded, I bet she won't remember jack shit, and anything she does remember is suspect."
Connor seems to think for a bit. "Do you have any photographs of the two of you together?"
Andrea can feel her expression going poignant. "You know, I… I think so, actually."
Tugging out her phone on instinct, she cycles through until she finds the group photo she was hoping to see, and some warm old feelings come rushing back. "This is one of the ones I always make sure to put on every phone I get." As Connor tentatively moves around to stand next to her and gazes down at it, she begins to explain. "We were celebrating all our careers taking off. Andrew and I had both gotten hired here to different departments. Ivy started playtesting on that VR MMO, Kalee got hired to Channel 16, Rue and Rowan started practicing therapy… the future seemed like it was looking bright for all of us, even in this economy. We had some good times."
Connor's gaze is soft enough to make Andrea relax a bit. He does seem genuinely moved by the sight of the girls hugging each other, which is why Andrea kept it on her current phone all these years. There she is, tall and skinny as always... years younger, but clad in some sort of beanie, pink flannel shirt and stonewashed jeans as always, all dark curls and freckled warm brown skin. Her smile was so bright there, riding high on the knowledge that her future was secure, as long as she put effort into making the company happy. Kalee is the closest to her height and build in this group, her hair as naturally red as Andrea's fraternal twin brother's, but an intriguing contrast to her Native American features. Thank goodness most of Andrea's early wistfulness has faded over the years; she can look at Kalee now without wishing she was her friend's type anymore.
The shortstack trio-as she affectionately thinks of them-is adorable to Andrea in a different way. Rue's silver and violet hair is the highest up, then Rowan's indigo blue, then Ivy's neon pink lowest to the ground. Andrea loved it when they started dyeing their hair like that. "We all look like a rainbow together," she murmurs fondly. Such different people, but always so happy to be back in each other's company.
The more Andrea thinks about it, she realizes it's a little painful to wonder if they'll ever be that way again. She's been tight with this group for so long, which would make it really difficult if they grew apart. The thought brings a frown. "I'll have to invite the gang out for drinks. I mean, we're one down and I miss them. If anything, losing a friend is a crisis, and my therapist buddies were always saying 'research proves shared crises bring people together.'" That brings a slight flinch, as she wonders if only Rue remembers that now. "Well, I hope that's true..." she mutters.
Distracted by her reverie, Andrea unfortunately doesn't notice that the sly smirk has returned to Seven's face, along with the cheesy lift to his eyebrows. "While I was devastated to learn that you're off the menu, I must ask now-would any of your lovely lady friends happen to be single?"
Andrea's expression goes pancake-flat as she freezes still.
Number Seven looks immediately meek and sheepish. He holds up his hands, backpedaling: "I only thought perhaps they could test my… functionality!" Then, chagrined: "oh dear, that did come out more lascivious than I intended, perhaps I truly could use some recalibrating…"
After a blink, Connor ruins even the chagrin, seeming unable to resist adding, "should I get these constricting clothes out of the way so you can get inside of me again?" His eyebrows show impressive mobility, at least, mirroring all the human muscles in a face.
Andrea throws up her hands, finally giving up on him. "Okay, that's it. Let's just get you downstairs. I can't take another minute of this, but perhaps my tolerance will increase after I watch your brothers beat your warped ass into plastic scraps."
Number Seven straightens his tie as he gets up to follow her, seeming a bit offended. "Your lack of faith in my fighting skill wounds, dear girl, but you're only insulting your own handiwork with the rest of that statement."
"Touché," Andrea sighs. "Come on, let's get going. Sooner we start, sooner I'm done with you."
Her eyes fall to his tie. Silently, she admits to herself: that move did look rather classy. Maybe this module won't be a complete bust after all.