It had started simply, his original objective, that was. He was to be an outlet of information and a caregiver of Roman Santos. Of course, as time went on, his abilities changed, along with his physical frame. He "grew" with the needs of the family. His current iteration was that of a young adult, to match the person he had been overseeing. A companion to talk with that wouldn't take sides, simply listen, and give the most logical course of action. Despite his inability to calculate emotions well, he did his best to be the most satisfactory conversing partner.

He sat quietly, performing his monthly task of budgeting for Mrs. and Mr. Santos. Large funds required a much better understanding of money than both seemed to possess. Human's programming made it so they were social creatures, but it was quite a simple and repetitive task for him. From what he could tell, there was another "screaming match", as Roman called it, echoing through the house. He did his best to remove himself from these arguments. While it was easy to remove himself from acknowledgement in the conversation, he was programmed to respond to his name: Logical Organizational Guard And Neutralizer unit, or, the easier version, as Roman had decided as a young child, Logan. It interrupted his ability to complete his tasks.

Still, his neutrality was not incredibly useful in opinionated fights. It obviously didn't stop him from being asked. He quickly went back to full work, tuning out the environment around him. The numbers were important to complete.

The room around him was just under being comically large, a host to neutral colors and modern furniture. Bookshelves filled with decorative classics filled most of the east facing wall. Everything was sleek, brand new, and without a single smudge or dent. A modern house required modern living, as Mrs. and Mr. Santos liked to say. An impossibly clean home equaled a clean mind and body. Logan had no feeling toward it either way. Decoration was simply decoration. Nothing to it.

After about 30 minutes, Logan had finished, meaning he had about an hour until he had to complete his next task. He stood, putting everything away into an organized pile. It would make other items later in the day easier. Since last tuning in, the fight between Roman and Mrs. and Mr. Santos had stopped, leaving only quiet shuffling and the din of a tv from across the house. That was to be expected. Their altercations rarely lasted more than 15 minutes. Though he supposed they were often much more explosive than a common fight would be.

He simulated letting out a breath and went on a familiar path, quickly making his way up the large set of stairs and turning right. After a fight, Roman never failed to end up in his bedroom. It was a safe space, from what Logan understood. A place to "get away". This habit could be proven to be both negative or positive, given the specific circumstance, but he regarded it as a neutral component. It didn't prove any specific examples of harm.

Roman's door was one of the few items in the house with color, painted red with a decorative gold trim along the panels and an ornate rose-gold handle, objecting the white paint and silver handles of the other rooms. Before he could knock, the door swung open, Roman appearing with a tired face. Streaks of what had been tears slightly stained his cheeks. He sighed, closing his eyes and retreating back into the room, leaving the door open for Logan to enter.

Logan promptly did so, pushing the latch until there was a soft click. Roman had already slumped against the pillows on his bed, partially hiding behind the curtains on either side of it. He sighed again, glancing up at Logan with tight lips.

"Don't," he shifted, crossing his arms. "Don't you have other things to do? I thought my parents set you on the budgeting thing again."

Logan moved into Roman's eyesight, noting the mess scattered around the room. Cleaning would be for another time. He nodded.

"Correct. They did. Fortunately, I have finished it and decidedly came here to offer a form of comfort after becoming aware of your fight."

Roman regarded Logan for a moment, then shook his head, sitting further upright. Logan moved in another pattern, sitting down on Roman's bed and turning to him.

"What was it about?"

Roman bit his lip loosely.

"I don't even know. Something about being too loud in the kitchen."

"Did you perceive it being too loud?"

Roman gave a glare, shifting again.

"I dropped a plastic bowl and caught it almost immediately. No."

Logan nodded.

"How are you currently feeling?"

"Like shit. Because I got yelled at. For dropping. A bowl."

"Mh, that is an understandable feeling."

"My god,"

Roman rose quickly, facing Logan with his hands on his hips. Logan held back the next question.

"Logan, I don't know what you think you're doing to try and help me with my emotions, but I can guarantee that it's making me more frustrated than calm."

"I am attempting to assess your emotional state."

"I don't think it's incredibly hard to tell what my emotional state is."

"From what I understand, just because someone looks a certain way, does not mean that that's perfectly what they are feeling."

Roman rubbed his eyes for a moment, his hands drifting to hold his neck.

"What do you know about emotions, Lo? You don't have them, let alone be able to read them."

"I know that they may be hard to comprehend-"

"They aren't, actually. They're just hard for you to comprehend, because you're not human."

"Correct," Logan kept his gaze on Roman. He hoped it would help the other know he was attentive in the conversation. "But by having conversations about emotions, I may comprehend them easier and better help you."

"Logan," Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't have the capacity to care for anyone around you. I've been around you for like, my entire life. You just go on autopilot."

"I do have the capacity for care. It is what I am doing right now."

"No that's not care, that's performing your objective," Roman's voice carried tension. Why would it carry tension? "Real care is what my friends give me when they're over. That's not what you do. All you do is ask questions and give basic, disregarding answers."

"I assure you I am providing care to my best standard."

There was a silencer for a moment, the only sound coming from Roman, who was putting jeans on. When he finished, he turned to Logan, who hadn't shifted one bit.

"Fine," Roman crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed. "If that's true, what about Remus? Or me right now, for that matter?"

"Remus? And this current situation is an example of me caring about you."

Roman clenched his jaw, tears flooding his eyes.

"The other person you took care of? The one who loves the color green and weird sea creatures and putting things in his mouth that weren't supposed to be there well after toddlerhood? The one our parents demonized and pushed so hard he ran away," Roman's voice was quivering, tears streaming down his face. "My brother?"

Logan remained quiet, sifting through his data as a form of consolidation. He almost said that he would have liked to remember. If it was something that could better help his objective, then he would get the data without hesitation. And it did seem like important data he would have, going by Roman's description. But, nothing came out. Just a silent, clueless stare. Roman whipped the tears away, shaking his head and laughing bitterly.

"Of course you don't remember," he grabbed a jean jacket from the floor and slid it on, clutching his arms and grimacing down at the wooden floor. "You're just a stupid robot that only cares about his objectives."

He turned away, pushing through the piles on his floor and leaving the room. The door closed behind him with a thud.

Logan remained on the bed, staring at the wall in front of him. Roman was not wrong. His programming barely allowed proxy emotions and sympathy. He was there to fulfill tasks that humans didn't want to do, or have the time to do. It was all without fault. But of course, that didn't quite explain why Roman's words still echoed around his head.

A stupid robot.

A stupid robot.

Logan stared at the computer screen in front him, another rare, unproductive moment stirring in him. He couldn't help thinking of earlier in the day. He had once again failed to be a console. He couldn't quite figure out the reason why. Perhaps he could have handled the situation better, or attempted to show a proxy emotion for better support. Perhaps leaving it be would have been easier on Roman's mind. He'd mentally gone through all methods he could conceive as a form of data collection, attempting to see what would allow him to carry out his primary objective. None had tested successfully. It always ended in volatile emotions and words. Just as it had today.

Logan paused. He often did not get attached to words or phrases that were said to him, whether in endearment or insult, it was necessary. They were words that were used to refer to him, just as humans had. Robot, A.I., and/or any other variant words were simply adjectives to describe him. That was always the case. There were no negative connotations. None, and yet "stupid robot" had given it one. He did not have the ability to experience emotion, that was quite obvious, but he was sure that this was the closest he would likely ever undergo.

He blinked, forcing away many of those thoughts. It wasn't productive to dwell on words that were said. He needed to find a better way of approaching emotional sensitivity.

The blinking digital calendar sat half done, inviting Logan to finish and allow him to enter stasis until the morning. He could have easily forced himself to do it; initiate his usual protocol that slowed generated thoughts. While simple to do so, keeping the suppressor on at all times caused lag and several other problems due to overheating. If it became more of an issue, he would consider it as an option.

Logan folded his hands into his lap, doing yet another scan of any keywords or missing spots. Roman had been particularly vexed by Logan's inability to recall a seemingly important person. Of course, it was uncharacteristic of him to forget. Roman knew that as well. He was, along with a care unit, a storage unit of needed and wanted information. Conversing around this person appeared to be a tender subject. Perhaps if he allowed breaks and explanations in between questions, they would be easier to answer.

A sound rang out from the kitchen, Logan's attention breaking from his internal problem solving. From the chair he sat on, he could see the door cracked. He checked the time. It was likely Roman, as he often ventured out later in the night for food or to replenish his water. Like all of them, he was a creature of habit. Logan stood and started walking toward the kitchen. If Roman were to be up at this time, he might as well give his inquiries sensitivity and then tell the other to get to bed. He reached the entry, peaking through the crack in curiosity. Often, Roman would leave the fridge door open as a source of light in the otherwise dark kitchen. Why wasn't the light on now? He fully opened the door, quickly registering the situation.

Instead of Roman searching for late night sustenance, a hooded intruder shuffled through the dark in front of him. Their movements were quiet and precise, but quick and uncalculated, indicating obvious signs of urgency. Drawers that once held many items hung open and empty. They move their way around the kitchen island, taking items he could only assume they deemed useful, and shoving them into a dark, over-shoulder bag. How distressing.

"Salutations,"

The person froze, their shoulders tensing. From what he had gleaned from his interactions with humans and the particular happenstance they were in, this meant they were surprised and on edge. This was an understandable reaction, though, he wasn't completely sure what they had been expecting.

"I am afraid I am obligated to stop you," He took a perfectly angular step forward. There was a slight shift of clothing from the silhouette across from him. "Those are not yours to possess."

Logan flipped open a panel on his arm, quickly dialed a number, and just as quickly, returned to his original position. The person still remained motionless.

"While I am unable to arrest you myself, due to law, I am able to restrain you until authorities arrive. Please stay where you are."

The figure's head finally moved, eyes narrowed and fearful. They wore a simple black mask, an intelligent decision that affected Logan's ability to scan their face, and an entirely black outfit, also a good way to hide identifying features. For someone who seemed surprised, they were particularly well prepared. The person shifted full to face him, a specific look in their eyes that he couldn't parse out. Logan started moving toward the figure, careful, but unconcerned steps echoing on the checkered tile. As he reached the island, the figure climbed onto the counter, crouching into a squat.

Logan stopped. That would not give them a tactical advantage in this situation. Due to his build, he had the ability to physically restrain and stop even adults. Of course, that did not stop this intruder from thinking they could easily slip away. He went to say this as a way to inform them, but was very quickly interrupted by leaping across the island counter, slamming something into his neck, and tumbling behind him. Although he had managed to lock their wrist, it was almost like his grip strength was the only thing functioning. He managed to look at the person, trying to speak, but only managing an agape mouth. It felt as though someone had taken a cheese grater and rammed it against his internal workings.

The figure managed to get free, stumbling back but quickly regaining their balance. A strange look was in their eyes.

"I'm- I'm so sorry."

And with that, they were gone, no doubt escaping through the closest, least obvious exit.

Logan remained still in the kitchen, every signal in his body failing to follow them. What had the intruder placed in his neck? Some sort of corrupter? A signal jammer? His vision started to dim, eyes flashing on and off. He wasn't completely sure that a signal jammer could cause this. Was he still standing? He had to be. His chest felt pressurized and warm, something that he had never experienced. That only caused it to get tighter. Even through his now black and white vision, he could see flashing lights. He knew the word for this; quick thoughts and the strange heaviness in his torso. He knew the word but it wouldn't come to the forefront of his mind. There was knocking at the door, though his vision continued to dim. Another, softer sounding knock. His arms went completely limp, his head soon following. He knew this sequence well enough, but he had not initiated his sleep cycle. The knocking at the door faded with the rest of his receptors. There was no use in fighting against it. He would have the information when he started up again.

If he started up again.