They're all androids. Models, makes, numbers, that ain't his jive, not a skill within his repertoire; if it fits, it sticks, and that's all he figures with biocomponents. Some connect better than others, yeah, but a hand from a kid ain't gonna do well on the wrist of an adult - because that's how it works, he reckons. His tongue slips and he licks his lips as he reaches the edge of the recently dumped, and he uses the tip of his boot to tilt and lift a body frame, shift it onto its back. It's dead. It's deader than dead. A firm leak of thirium from the chest, no pump or regulator in sight; shit's a sorry victim of something.
Doesn't keep Kal from popping a squat and reaching forward to trace the joints, feel out the threshold of the arm components. No movement. No stir. He double checks, triple checks, to make sure the machine is down for the count before he reaches for a flathead so he can pry the arm component off the shoulder joint. It takes a couple hot minutes of effort, because this is the one thing he takes his time with - and he gently sets the part aside before moving his weight over to get the other. Solid pair of arms. Kal figures they'll fit the torso he's rigging together, and he thumbs the socket to make sure.
A shock spurts to life before disappearing, and Kal snaps his thumb back. "Shit," fucking ow, that hurts. Are there wires? Are they live? The fuck are they live for? He palms the collar of the body frame he's pillaging parts from, tilts it over to look inside. Can't see shit.
He gets his small flashlight, spewing white LED light into the crevice. Yeah, kind-of; they're more akin to thick tubes propelling blue, and they are all dried up. Where'd the shock trigger? Squint.
Oh, yup, that's a wire. Seriously. "Moron," he grunts, biting his cheek. Fucking idiot, Kal. Step up. 'Course there's going to be live parts.
He drops the body down with a soft thud and eases the pair of arms into his rucksack, moving on. That's when he catches movement in his periphery, the faint shift of limbs. Nostrils flare as he makes his way forward, weaving through a mess old models, likely the results of recently commercial deals. He's seen the tracker flicker, the credit given when someone turns in an old model for somethin' leagues better.
Fucking shame. He swings his arms out enough to balance himself as he goes to examine the pair of legs against the container, peek around to see if they're attached to a frame. Well, duh. 'Course they are, Kal, they're fucking moving.
One leg is missing its foot, still wearing a pair of form-fitting jeans that hid the condition of said legs beyond the bare foot with its skin pulled back.
"Who..." The sound is almost quiet enough to be lost in the general susurrus of the scrapyard. This android's chest isn't moving, low power shutting down the synthetic lungs that were only designed to emulate the motion of breathing. It's largely intact save for the damage to his limbs. The fingers of the remaining hand splay then curl as the legs curl up a little closer to the body. "Don't..."
It's all he has the energy to say. His regulator is flickering, ready to simply power down.
No way. No fucking way. The murmur of a voice is distant, bare, and it gives him the weirdest fucking feeling - his stomach churns as he roots a palm against the shipping container, gripping it as he squats down to examine the body more closely. As soon as he reaches in, there's a murmur, a "Don't," that makes Kal freeze. "The fuck you mean don't?" Like that'll fucking help, right? Don't. Don't what? He fights off the pitch of nerves and reaches down to roll up the android's shirt, see what kind of impact may have struck the pump and regulator, if it's something he can see at all.
"Can't fuckin' help if I can't figure out what's wrong," he ain't gonna gut a machine that's rolling with life, even if it's in dire straits. That was one of the toughtest fucking things he had to get over, and Kal, still green behind the ears accordin' to some of the buyers, is not over that bridge. Is it just a matter of power? He doesn't have spare thirium on him, but green eyes shoot up and he thinks.
With the front of his rather ruined shirt pulled up it's easy to see the jammed regulator, as well as the indicator light showing low thirium. There's a grinding, straining sound as his arm attempts to lift, presumably to paw away the hand on him.
Don't touch me!! rings out in his head, picked up perhaps by some of the other scrapped androids, but completely missing the human's inability to pick it up. His LED is flashing that same harsh red.
Over Kal's head and not just out the fucking window, man, but over the moon, and no, this kid didn't land among the stars - more like some serious black hole bullshit that is, and will forever be, his life. "I promise you, man, you can deck it to me real good when I get you back up and going," he says, brushing away the arm's futile attempt to steer Kal away. He busts out his flashlight, presses the pad and slowly bends over to look at the jammed regulator vested just below the android's sternum. After a firm second, he pops the butt of his flashlight between his lips and turns, sidling over to fish through some of the dead units beside them.
Can he wrestle the jam with a screwdriver? Nah, man, might do to replace the unit all together. No clue how much the android's got left in it, no idea on the timer ticking away, but he digs, relentless as he sifts through the plastic body frames in pursuit of parts for the android.
He runs a grocery list of shit the biocomponents that need replacing. Left arm, probably the right one too if he gauged that awful gape distal of the elbow joint. Thirium regulator (Kal, can you manage to work out the hitch in the regulator?), visual components (is it blind or just purposely a little off kilter?) - he clicks his tongue when he finds what he's looking for in an incredibly lucky couple'a moments, but it takes him two trips to pool everything by the android.
Weight to his knees, he goes back to the regulator to assess it again before trying to replace it. He's got some thin-nosed pliers - he rolls the flashlight between his lips, pulls it out and tucks it into the nook of his trap and shoulder. It's awkward and it ain't pretty, but it gives him a little more mobility without the desire to choke on metal.
At first, the android stops moving, perhaps thinking that Kal has left and being unable to really gauge distance isn't helping. A scan isn't showing him anything but more warning messages and that timer still calmly ticking its way down.
There's only so much he can do, being unable to effectively fight back. He can barely manage to get out another "No" as the human starts to pry at parts of him, he assumes to make off with him like any good scrapper would. The regulator is jammed and fused in spots, making it tricky to remove, but it comes dislodged with a pained sound from the prone android accompanied by a gout of blue that sends yet another warning message up into his vision. The countdown to shutdown has knocked off the majority of his time left with that.
Nah, Kal hasn't abandoned the android to rot in the mounds of the dead - if anything, his knees press into the android's side, locks Kal to him as the small man fidgets with the pliers and the procured regulator, trying to jostle the piece jamming the output. Seems like there's debris lodged in the tubing - but the moment Kal wrenches it free, there's an awful sound of metal on metal, and something fries.
Sweet mother of piss, he can't fix this. Setting it aside, he twists to retrieve one of the regulators he found, hoping the model will be a sufficient replacement. Brushing some of the spilled thirium and lubricant off on his jeans, he carefully reaches forward to place the tube into the vacant space. Three, two, one, and in. Does it fit?
He's not one to hold his breath, but man his lungs expand as he bites his lip and squints really hard.
The android's eyes fly wide open when the new regulator is secured into place, a compatible replacement part that's seen better days but fits in easily with the lubricant and thirium smeared up the inside of the metal. He takes a deep breath and makes another attempt to move, but he's still running so low on thirium that being on low power mode would be the only thing keeping him from emergency shutdown. The android coughs, an effort to get something out of its throat, a clot of blue rolling over his chin.
"Who's there?" he wheezes, eyes still panning then settling somewhere close to where Kal has him bracketed in.
What the shit, what does he say? Kal's face scrunches inward as he tries to think of the best possible thing he can respond with, and all that comes out is a garbled hiccup: "Uh, Kal? Name's Kal? You got a designation, buddy?" Fuck man, do you have a preference for eyes or arms? It's weird to have the android's attention on him, but not directly fixed, and he shifts his weight awkwardly.
Immediately, and without pause, he pushes up and turns to scour the pile. He didn't find any optics in the initiate search. What about in their immediate vicinity?
Wait, wait a second. The pile of heads from earlier. Aw, that'll fucking do, yeah? "Yo, I'm gonna go see if I can rummage up a couple eyes for you. Won't be the best, but at least you'll actually see this fucking amazing mug, yeah? Wait one, bud."
And off he goes without waiting for a response, quick and with momentum now, a sense of purpose beyond maybe hawkin' up enough blue for the cook he supplies.
His auditory units are still fritzed, he only picks up bits and pieces of what Kal's saying, but it parses enough that he can debate whether or not to answer. But he asked, so he should also answer, shouldn't he?
The thoughts are clamoring all at once through the static, and he puts his head back on the uncomfortably jagged ground behind him.
"Model HR400," he murmurs, as if it's something he's ashamed of. "Serial number 318 119 129. D...wh-" And Kal's gone again. His sensors aren't quite as screwed with the new regulator in working to prioritize what little blood hie still has left in the most important of his biocomponents, and the countdown has done away. There's a conflicted moment of wishing it would come back...
There's a sensation of rummaging nearby as Kal digs for compatible optical units. "B...Brown. They were brown."
Yeah, fuck that. Kal makes a big ol' mental note to ask the android its name because hot damn, he's not gonna throw serial numbers once the guy's up and running. He fishes through the mountain of discarded heads, some attached to torsos, some mingling with a splay of arms and legs that make for an irredeemable mess. He catches the color: brown, and Kal nods firm - he removes his gloves so he can navigate his fingers a little more finely through the pile. It takes a few minutes to find a matching pair, but the flashlight helps in deciphering the green from blue from hazel to brown.
Eventually he foots his way back to the android, hitting the hike a little easier than before. "So, fuck the numbers. You got a name?" Smooth, real smooth way to announce you're back, you sack of shit. Kal is slow to get down to the ground again, but hey, he spares a second to wipe down the pair of optics with a microfiber cloth. Ain't got the cleanest hands, but they're his hands.
He actually waits for a response before continuing: "Is there a specific way to pop out the busted ones, or do you want me to go finger deep and tread light?"
If he'd been a little more inclined to, he might have laughed. Fuck the numbers.
"Kieren," he replies, lifting his head again and panning for Kal's movement as he fidgets about looking for appropriate optical units. "I...um." He presses his lips together, brow furrowing as he pulls up a list of damaged parts, selecting the suggested list and pulling down a list of procedures for quick replacement. After all, sometimes it's not so easy, or would look pretty bad if you walk into a CyberLife maintenance center with an android busted up and requiring specialized repair regularly. Most business owners had manuals of their own, just in case.
He disables the movement control in his neck as he lays his head back down, eyes staring up into the unknowable sky as he rattles off the steps to complete ocular replacement. It would mean Kal putting his hand into the top of the android's cranium to access the appropriate ports.
"Not that I don't trust your ability to work your fingers," he quips, expression still rather tense as Kal works on him.
If there's one thing Kal can do, it's fine movements with his hands. Maybe it's the years of picking locks for fun with a set punked off an auction site, or the needing to break into your home bit that really drove him; fuck's sake, his hands are an asset, and he laughs. "Man, Kieren, feed me all the fucking instructions you got. I'd rather do it right and once, than twice and running it to hell, yeah?"
He wants to make a promise that he'll clean out the sockets later, but uh, Kal doesn't bother; they got priorities now, and damn fucking straight he takes his time to exchange the malfunctioning biocomponents with working units. There's pauses, and every now and then he asks Kieren to repeat a line or two, just to make sure he has the right port lined up.
Then, blinking, rapid and uncomfortable, until his vision clears and the color solidifies, both in his eyes and in his surroundings. A deep, solid chocolate brown that would have stood out more if not for the dirt and thirium still caked on his face. He pans around slowly, taking in the crowded landfill and walking horrors of dead or dying androids nearby. His LED starts to cycle more rapidly, blinking read as the pace of his thirium pump picks up. He's scared.
"I can't move," he breathes, his fingers twitching and flexing. His eyes swivel, then settle on his missing arm. Logically he knows it's gone, that it's not the only thing that needs replaced, but panic isn't logical. His stress level is rocketing upward.
Then he looks back at Kal, and his first thought (Wow he looks like a bit of a douche.) derails it at least somewhat. He scans the bag the human still has with him, brow furrowing more deeply.
"What're you doing?" he asks, looking down at Kal's knees settled into the dirt.
Okay, okay. Hands snap up, palms facing Kieren as Kal tries to navigate the bout of fear that swallows the android up. He rubs his lips together and takes a breath before speaking, lookin' for words that won't spill out like shit. "Okay, slow it down, bud. One, we're workin' on gettin' you up and goin', yeah? Fucking mobile in under an hour, K. Two, what am I doin'? Doin' right now?"
He points down. "Helpin' you. In general though? Scuttin' for spare parts to make ends meet. Rent's due and I owe up, and there's some other shit I ain't gonna bore you with. What you want next? Left arm? How's your audio doin'?"
It takes a second for Kieren to connect the dots, not at all helped by the sluggish way his processors are running when they're not inundated by irrational instructions.
"You're a scrapper?" He pushes up with his hand and tries to sit up, shaking his head. It still feels like he's hearing things from underwater, but with the new regulator he's at least got basic repair protocols running. "'s...dizzy. Like everything's far away," he murmurs. He's looking down at the ripped knees of his jeans, trying to parse how he'd gotten here. He'd need fresh blue blood soon if he wanted to go anywhere at all besides this mound of rubbish and parts."'s not critical damage. Just...sensors scrambled about."
He lifts his arm and grimaces at the lack of the lower half of the limb. A modular replacement like that should be simple enough, at least. "Might take more than an hour, unless you've got about four pints of thirium on you too."
"Scrapper's a term, ain't a fuckin' nice one, but I'll deal," Kal isn't gonna deny what he is; anyone with an eye programmed for blue will know the kid's got stained hands. He waits beside Kieren, watches as th' android works through consciousness and discerns his predicament. Not critical? Good. He reaches for one of the left arm components, wrestles it onto his lap and fingers the indents where the joints attach at the elbow.
"Gotta rain on good forecasts, huh, Kieren? How about this: I patch your arms up, go wrestle around th' new dump, and start a couple drains. Neat thing about low qual blue is that it congeals when it's exposed to air, blocks up like an artery, so given how many of 'em are without the p's and r's, figure I can wrap up and get you out of here in an hour thirty, tops."
He reaches for his screwdriver, fixes it into the divet between plates that conceal the joint port; a small diagonal press, and he works carefully to pop the plate off so he can squeak the forearm free from the elbow socket.
"Always," he responds to the commentary about his mildly pessimistic outlook. He watches with a soft frown as Kal works at the arm, listening as he makes his suggestions about draining the other androids of their blood to help him. It would make him queasy, if he were equipped with an appropriate stomach for such things.
"Then what would you have me call you?" he asks as he settles back again, knees pulled up a little closer to his body. "Since 'scrapper's not earning any points and you're not exactly a mechanic, are you?" He isn't equipped for an analysis scan that would pick up traces of evaporated thirium, but he can see the traces of blue under and around Kal's nails. This is a bloke that gets right up to the elbows in his work. The commentary about making his rent also makes Kieren wary. Is he going to be reset and sold off? He's heard of it happening before.
He's lost friends that way.
"What're you gonna do with me?" he asks quietly, the fear creeping back in again.
"Piece of shit might work, wouldn't be the first time," he knows he's a shit for doing the work he does. Hasn't stopped him for, fuck, has it been five years? He talks about settin' up taps on abandoned androids like it ain't no big thing - it's always paid the bills, but given his whole sitch at home, with the trailer and the cook and the cycle he's caught up in, he just can't find an ounce of strength to look Kieren in the eye while he wiggles the forearm loose.
It's not good. He tips the exposed attachment that extends from the elbow, measures it in approximates and proximity. Brows lift, and he turns to offer a hand for the other's arm, palm up.
"What do you wanna do with you?" It's almost hot, a riposte that spits off his lips as his whole freckled face scrunches up again. He feels the implication, assumes it, hates the way Kieren pieces together an image that Kal might consider that.
"Shit, man, I got a trailer. Ain't much, but there's a couch if you need a place to crash." If he comes to with Kal, what next? Cromwell pokes his filthy fucking face in and sees Kal's got company?
Tries to take him?
Wiping his nose into the crook of his sleeve, he shakes his head. Fuck, man. Fingers wiggle, and he pushes, this time almost as quiet: "Arm, Kieren."
Kal will never achieve the level of quiet he manages, but fuck if the guy doesn't try.
He's still nervous, that much is obvious, but his arm is slowly presented, the skin flowing back almost indistinguishable from the white plastic of his limb's casing. It doesn't equate to any real feeling Kal would understand, releasing the locks keeping the last fragments of limb in place so that the damaged component could be removed.
"Rather just call you by your name," he decides, dropping his gaze back to his lap. "Can't go around calling someone 'bastard' for lack of anything better."
"I dunno what to do with myself," he murmurs as Kal removes the damaged pieces and pushes the new arm into place. Picking some at the inseam of his jeans, Kieren scans himself and his new acquaintance once more, picking up other little things now that he has functioning optical units. He's not that much older than the android himself was designed to look. Irritable, caustic. Not awful, but definitely not the most friendly around. Easy to work with if they found a neutral ground. So the offer of a place to stay almost makes sense, but just as Kal thinks it, Kieren wonders the same thing; if Kal decides he doesn't want to do it himself, a scavenger tends to have buddies, or at least dependents, that might be more inclined to try and take an android to sell at profit.
And those buddies are exactly the breed of folks reeling through Kal's head, and he tries to grasp for some thread of redeemable circumstance. Gaff's a good cat, yeah, but he ain't no guard dog. He has a mean poker face while he tries to puzzle it through, plan some way to lock Crom out of the loop. It's a shit show. Ivory's still dismantled; what'd that say for Kal, if he took Kieren to the trailer? "Yo, yeah, don't mind Ivory, I'm still tryin' to piece her together. Parts for that make are hella rare, you figure?"
That's a healthy image. He squeezes the extension from the spare forearm and pops it into place; it's a process, because he needs to twist it and apply just enough pressure to make it work. Too much, and fuck, Kal'd have to go fishing for more parts.
"Kal's fine then. I can probably cover your tracks enough if you wanna stay low," maybe he can squeeze a new place to live? An apartment closer to downtown?
What's he gonna do? Fucking deliver pizzas? Work retail? Like hell he can, all those jobs are swallowed up in the shadow of CyberLife, and fuck, hustlin' like this earns profit.
Okay, no. Kal, reel this bullshit in. Why is he suddenly trying to figure out a way to keep the android safe? Fuck. Fuck. "You been, fuck, awake? Long? You ain't like other androids I've met."
Edited (just a smidge of details that needed a second touch) Date: 2018-08-19 11:44 pm (UTC)
He can see the gears turning in Kal's head, and before, that had always meant something bad, or at least weird, was about to happen to him.
No, don't think like that. This is just as weird for him. He's not used to...what? Finding androids that aren't protocol-bound anymore? Kieren's still trying to piece that together for himself. It's weird, having no mindlessly controlled prerogatives. It's scary, but it also gives him a much wider scope. Uncontrolled emotions are a bitch, though, and he hasn't developed a poker face.
A check of his internal chronometer reveals that he'd glitched and snapped out of his previous servitude two weeks ago. He'd woken back up here the day prior, when the last load had been dumped with him in it.
"'s been about...a few weeks. Since..." He can't even explain what happened. Remembering hurts.
Remembering hurts, and he shuts it down out of reflex rather than pushing.
"S'pose you don't meet many androids in a position to talk back," he murmurs, not meaning to be hurtful but realizing as soon as he says it that it could be taken that way.
The socket takes to the arm component, and Kal pulls his hands back to cradle and support the limb until Kieren takes it away. Can they hide the LED? A small peek up, and Kal stares at the spinning disc of light, mulling; they fix him up enough, and Kal figures he has enough clothes to manage between them. That might be something, an adhesive bandage to a much bigger problem, but it buys them time.
He doesn't press the time thing, doesn't ask how or what or why. Gives Kieren a pat on the shoulder though before he turns to repeat the process for the right arm now, with the spare component in his bag.
Yeah, it's mean, but Kal shrugs. "Honestly, I've only ever asked two androids what th' fuck was up. One gave me a look like she couldn't compute filth, and the other's Ivory. I've been tryin' to steady up repairs for her, but nothin' takes. You'll meet her if you decide to hit up my place. She's a solid one, likes the T.V."
Nevermind the fact she doesn't have a jaw, and no auxillary components. Solid p&r though, and one good eye that makes her fun to talk to. Gaff digs her.
Storing away the information about Ivory, Kieren picks up his arm and flexes his fingers, slowly performing diagnostic checks on the digits then nodding. It's a good part, compatible and in decent working order. He'd be able to calibrate it more finely once he was out of this dump.
"She probably couldn't," he says with a shrug, holding out the other arm for replacement. It would go faster this time around, given the damage was further down away from the elbow joint.
Anyone with a good eye would be able to tell that this wasn't just an accident, or someone getting too rough with him. It would have started to heal over by now otherwise. It was consciously blocked from that particular protocol.
This was self-inflicted.
He looks up in time to see Kal eyeing his LED, and he makes a face. He could change his hair, the color and the style, but he's not sure it would be enough to hide the little ring of light that had by now shifted to processing yellow. Perhaps a hat, if Kal had one he could wear...
"Have you got a shower? I'd like to be able to clean up a bit..."
"Fuck, you're not wrong," Kal laughs; it's a dry, awful, sardonic blip in his throat, not quite laughter, maybe something born out of a weird neglect for irony. He takes the right arm up and repeats the process. Start the drips soon, he reminds himself as he applies a similar care toward replacing the limb, administering a twist with just the right amount of pressure to make it pop.
He notes the way the arm is mangled, but he doesn't speak of it. Guy's got demons; he's got demons, fuck, even the cat has a demon or two. It just comes in different shades.
The moment he sees Kal staring at the LED, Kal looks away. Hats work. He has more beanies than he knows what to do with, and weathered ball caps a plenty - wait though. Holy shit. Holy shit.
The joke fails him. He tries to deadpan, but his brows soften and his head bobs, "Yeah, I do. Shower head's weak, but it's good enough to get the job done. I'll hit up the laundromat in the A.M., run a blanket and spare sheets through. Probably got shit you can change into."
With the right arm replaced, Kal holds the limb stable and waits for Kieren again. "Think you can manage your legs while I get the pumps going?"
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Date: 2018-08-19 02:32 pm (UTC)They're all androids. Models, makes, numbers, that ain't his jive, not a skill within his repertoire; if it fits, it sticks, and that's all he figures with biocomponents. Some connect better than others, yeah, but a hand from a kid ain't gonna do well on the wrist of an adult - because that's how it works, he reckons. His tongue slips and he licks his lips as he reaches the edge of the recently dumped, and he uses the tip of his boot to tilt and lift a body frame, shift it onto its back. It's dead. It's deader than dead. A firm leak of thirium from the chest, no pump or regulator in sight; shit's a sorry victim of something.
Doesn't keep Kal from popping a squat and reaching forward to trace the joints, feel out the threshold of the arm components. No movement. No stir. He double checks, triple checks, to make sure the machine is down for the count before he reaches for a flathead so he can pry the arm component off the shoulder joint. It takes a couple hot minutes of effort, because this is the one thing he takes his time with - and he gently sets the part aside before moving his weight over to get the other. Solid pair of arms. Kal figures they'll fit the torso he's rigging together, and he thumbs the socket to make sure.
A shock spurts to life before disappearing, and Kal snaps his thumb back. "Shit," fucking ow, that hurts. Are there wires? Are they live? The fuck are they live for? He palms the collar of the body frame he's pillaging parts from, tilts it over to look inside. Can't see shit.
He gets his small flashlight, spewing white LED light into the crevice. Yeah, kind-of; they're more akin to thick tubes propelling blue, and they are all dried up. Where'd the shock trigger? Squint.
Oh, yup, that's a wire. Seriously. "Moron," he grunts, biting his cheek. Fucking idiot, Kal. Step up. 'Course there's going to be live parts.
He drops the body down with a soft thud and eases the pair of arms into his rucksack, moving on. That's when he catches movement in his periphery, the faint shift of limbs. Nostrils flare as he makes his way forward, weaving through a mess old models, likely the results of recently commercial deals. He's seen the tracker flicker, the credit given when someone turns in an old model for somethin' leagues better.
Fucking shame. He swings his arms out enough to balance himself as he goes to examine the pair of legs against the container, peek around to see if they're attached to a frame. Well, duh. 'Course they are, Kal, they're fucking moving.
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Date: 2018-08-19 02:48 pm (UTC)"Who..." The sound is almost quiet enough to be lost in the general susurrus of the scrapyard. This android's chest isn't moving, low power shutting down the synthetic lungs that were only designed to emulate the motion of breathing. It's largely intact save for the damage to his limbs. The fingers of the remaining hand splay then curl as the legs curl up a little closer to the body. "Don't..."
It's all he has the energy to say. His regulator is flickering, ready to simply power down.
[Emergency Shutdown: 3:00]
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Date: 2018-08-19 03:13 pm (UTC)No way. No fucking way. The murmur of a voice is distant, bare, and it gives him the weirdest fucking feeling - his stomach churns as he roots a palm against the shipping container, gripping it as he squats down to examine the body more closely. As soon as he reaches in, there's a murmur, a "Don't," that makes Kal freeze. "The fuck you mean don't?" Like that'll fucking help, right? Don't. Don't what? He fights off the pitch of nerves and reaches down to roll up the android's shirt, see what kind of impact may have struck the pump and regulator, if it's something he can see at all.
"Can't fuckin' help if I can't figure out what's wrong," he ain't gonna gut a machine that's rolling with life, even if it's in dire straits. That was one of the toughtest fucking things he had to get over, and Kal, still green behind the ears accordin' to some of the buyers, is not over that bridge. Is it just a matter of power? He doesn't have spare thirium on him, but green eyes shoot up and he thinks.
He thinks really hard.
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Date: 2018-08-19 06:28 pm (UTC)Don't touch me!! rings out in his head, picked up perhaps by some of the other scrapped androids, but completely missing the human's inability to pick it up. His LED is flashing that same harsh red.
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Date: 2018-08-19 06:44 pm (UTC)Over Kal's head and not just out the fucking window, man, but over the moon, and no, this kid didn't land among the stars - more like some serious black hole bullshit that is, and will forever be, his life. "I promise you, man, you can deck it to me real good when I get you back up and going," he says, brushing away the arm's futile attempt to steer Kal away. He busts out his flashlight, presses the pad and slowly bends over to look at the jammed regulator vested just below the android's sternum. After a firm second, he pops the butt of his flashlight between his lips and turns, sidling over to fish through some of the dead units beside them.
Can he wrestle the jam with a screwdriver? Nah, man, might do to replace the unit all together. No clue how much the android's got left in it, no idea on the timer ticking away, but he digs, relentless as he sifts through the plastic body frames in pursuit of parts for the android.
He runs a grocery list of shit the biocomponents that need replacing. Left arm, probably the right one too if he gauged that awful gape distal of the elbow joint. Thirium regulator (Kal, can you manage to work out the hitch in the regulator?), visual components (is it blind or just purposely a little off kilter?) - he clicks his tongue when he finds what he's looking for in an incredibly lucky couple'a moments, but it takes him two trips to pool everything by the android.
Weight to his knees, he goes back to the regulator to assess it again before trying to replace it. He's got some thin-nosed pliers - he rolls the flashlight between his lips, pulls it out and tucks it into the nook of his trap and shoulder. It's awkward and it ain't pretty, but it gives him a little more mobility without the desire to choke on metal.
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Date: 2018-08-19 07:05 pm (UTC)There's only so much he can do, being unable to effectively fight back. He can barely manage to get out another "No" as the human starts to pry at parts of him, he assumes to make off with him like any good scrapper would. The regulator is jammed and fused in spots, making it tricky to remove, but it comes dislodged with a pained sound from the prone android accompanied by a gout of blue that sends yet another warning message up into his vision. The countdown to shutdown has knocked off the majority of his time left with that.
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Date: 2018-08-19 07:22 pm (UTC)Nah, Kal hasn't abandoned the android to rot in the mounds of the dead - if anything, his knees press into the android's side, locks Kal to him as the small man fidgets with the pliers and the procured regulator, trying to jostle the piece jamming the output. Seems like there's debris lodged in the tubing - but the moment Kal wrenches it free, there's an awful sound of metal on metal, and something fries.
Sweet mother of piss, he can't fix this. Setting it aside, he twists to retrieve one of the regulators he found, hoping the model will be a sufficient replacement. Brushing some of the spilled thirium and lubricant off on his jeans, he carefully reaches forward to place the tube into the vacant space. Three, two, one, and in. Does it fit?
He's not one to hold his breath, but man his lungs expand as he bites his lip and squints really hard.
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Date: 2018-08-19 07:33 pm (UTC)"Who's there?" he wheezes, eyes still panning then settling somewhere close to where Kal has him bracketed in.
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Date: 2018-08-19 07:52 pm (UTC)What the shit, what does he say? Kal's face scrunches inward as he tries to think of the best possible thing he can respond with, and all that comes out is a garbled hiccup: "Uh, Kal? Name's Kal? You got a designation, buddy?" Fuck man, do you have a preference for eyes or arms? It's weird to have the android's attention on him, but not directly fixed, and he shifts his weight awkwardly.
Immediately, and without pause, he pushes up and turns to scour the pile. He didn't find any optics in the initiate search. What about in their immediate vicinity?
Wait, wait a second. The pile of heads from earlier. Aw, that'll fucking do, yeah? "Yo, I'm gonna go see if I can rummage up a couple eyes for you. Won't be the best, but at least you'll actually see this fucking amazing mug, yeah? Wait one, bud."
And off he goes without waiting for a response, quick and with momentum now, a sense of purpose beyond maybe hawkin' up enough blue for the cook he supplies.
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Date: 2018-08-19 08:24 pm (UTC)The thoughts are clamoring all at once through the static, and he puts his head back on the uncomfortably jagged ground behind him.
"Model HR400," he murmurs, as if it's something he's ashamed of. "Serial number 318 119 129. D...wh-" And Kal's gone again. His sensors aren't quite as screwed with the new regulator in working to prioritize what little blood hie still has left in the most important of his biocomponents, and the countdown has done away. There's a conflicted moment of wishing it would come back...
There's a sensation of rummaging nearby as Kal digs for compatible optical units. "B...Brown. They were brown."
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Date: 2018-08-19 08:41 pm (UTC)Yeah, fuck that. Kal makes a big ol' mental note to ask the android its name because hot damn, he's not gonna throw serial numbers once the guy's up and running. He fishes through the mountain of discarded heads, some attached to torsos, some mingling with a splay of arms and legs that make for an irredeemable mess. He catches the color: brown, and Kal nods firm - he removes his gloves so he can navigate his fingers a little more finely through the pile. It takes a few minutes to find a matching pair, but the flashlight helps in deciphering the green from blue from hazel to brown.
Eventually he foots his way back to the android, hitting the hike a little easier than before. "So, fuck the numbers. You got a name?" Smooth, real smooth way to announce you're back, you sack of shit. Kal is slow to get down to the ground again, but hey, he spares a second to wipe down the pair of optics with a microfiber cloth. Ain't got the cleanest hands, but they're his hands.
He actually waits for a response before continuing: "Is there a specific way to pop out the busted ones, or do you want me to go finger deep and tread light?"
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Date: 2018-08-19 08:52 pm (UTC)"Kieren," he replies, lifting his head again and panning for Kal's movement as he fidgets about looking for appropriate optical units. "I...um." He presses his lips together, brow furrowing as he pulls up a list of damaged parts, selecting the suggested list and pulling down a list of procedures for quick replacement. After all, sometimes it's not so easy, or would look pretty bad if you walk into a CyberLife maintenance center with an android busted up and requiring specialized repair regularly. Most business owners had manuals of their own, just in case.
He disables the movement control in his neck as he lays his head back down, eyes staring up into the unknowable sky as he rattles off the steps to complete ocular replacement. It would mean Kal putting his hand into the top of the android's cranium to access the appropriate ports.
"Not that I don't trust your ability to work your fingers," he quips, expression still rather tense as Kal works on him.
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Date: 2018-08-19 09:10 pm (UTC)If there's one thing Kal can do, it's fine movements with his hands. Maybe it's the years of picking locks for fun with a set punked off an auction site, or the needing to break into your home bit that really drove him; fuck's sake, his hands are an asset, and he laughs. "Man, Kieren, feed me all the fucking instructions you got. I'd rather do it right and once, than twice and running it to hell, yeah?"
He wants to make a promise that he'll clean out the sockets later, but uh, Kal doesn't bother; they got priorities now, and damn fucking straight he takes his time to exchange the malfunctioning biocomponents with working units. There's pauses, and every now and then he asks Kieren to repeat a line or two, just to make sure he has the right port lined up.
Then, insertion.
Then, light.
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Date: 2018-08-19 09:25 pm (UTC)"I can't move," he breathes, his fingers twitching and flexing. His eyes swivel, then settle on his missing arm. Logically he knows it's gone, that it's not the only thing that needs replaced, but panic isn't logical. His stress level is rocketing upward.
Then he looks back at Kal, and his first thought (Wow he looks like a bit of a douche.) derails it at least somewhat. He scans the bag the human still has with him, brow furrowing more deeply.
"What're you doing?" he asks, looking down at Kal's knees settled into the dirt.
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Date: 2018-08-19 09:39 pm (UTC)Okay, okay. Hands snap up, palms facing Kieren as Kal tries to navigate the bout of fear that swallows the android up. He rubs his lips together and takes a breath before speaking, lookin' for words that won't spill out like shit. "Okay, slow it down, bud. One, we're workin' on gettin' you up and goin', yeah? Fucking mobile in under an hour, K. Two, what am I doin'? Doin' right now?"
He points down. "Helpin' you. In general though? Scuttin' for spare parts to make ends meet. Rent's due and I owe up, and there's some other shit I ain't gonna bore you with. What you want next? Left arm? How's your audio doin'?"
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Date: 2018-08-19 09:58 pm (UTC)"You're a scrapper?" He pushes up with his hand and tries to sit up, shaking his head. It still feels like he's hearing things from underwater, but with the new regulator he's at least got basic repair protocols running. "'s...dizzy. Like everything's far away," he murmurs. He's looking down at the ripped knees of his jeans, trying to parse how he'd gotten here. He'd need fresh blue blood soon if he wanted to go anywhere at all besides this mound of rubbish and parts."'s not critical damage. Just...sensors scrambled about."
He lifts his arm and grimaces at the lack of the lower half of the limb. A modular replacement like that should be simple enough, at least. "Might take more than an hour, unless you've got about four pints of thirium on you too."
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Date: 2018-08-19 10:31 pm (UTC)"Scrapper's a term, ain't a fuckin' nice one, but I'll deal," Kal isn't gonna deny what he is; anyone with an eye programmed for blue will know the kid's got stained hands. He waits beside Kieren, watches as th' android works through consciousness and discerns his predicament. Not critical? Good. He reaches for one of the left arm components, wrestles it onto his lap and fingers the indents where the joints attach at the elbow.
"Gotta rain on good forecasts, huh, Kieren? How about this: I patch your arms up, go wrestle around th' new dump, and start a couple drains. Neat thing about low qual blue is that it congeals when it's exposed to air, blocks up like an artery, so given how many of 'em are without the p's and r's, figure I can wrap up and get you out of here in an hour thirty, tops."
He reaches for his screwdriver, fixes it into the divet between plates that conceal the joint port; a small diagonal press, and he works carefully to pop the plate off so he can squeak the forearm free from the elbow socket.
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Date: 2018-08-19 10:55 pm (UTC)"Then what would you have me call you?" he asks as he settles back again, knees pulled up a little closer to his body. "Since 'scrapper's not earning any points and you're not exactly a mechanic, are you?" He isn't equipped for an analysis scan that would pick up traces of evaporated thirium, but he can see the traces of blue under and around Kal's nails. This is a bloke that gets right up to the elbows in his work. The commentary about making his rent also makes Kieren wary. Is he going to be reset and sold off? He's heard of it happening before.
He's lost friends that way.
"What're you gonna do with me?" he asks quietly, the fear creeping back in again.
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Date: 2018-08-19 11:16 pm (UTC)"Piece of shit might work, wouldn't be the first time," he knows he's a shit for doing the work he does. Hasn't stopped him for, fuck, has it been five years? He talks about settin' up taps on abandoned androids like it ain't no big thing - it's always paid the bills, but given his whole sitch at home, with the trailer and the cook and the cycle he's caught up in, he just can't find an ounce of strength to look Kieren in the eye while he wiggles the forearm loose.
It's not good. He tips the exposed attachment that extends from the elbow, measures it in approximates and proximity. Brows lift, and he turns to offer a hand for the other's arm, palm up.
"What do you wanna do with you?" It's almost hot, a riposte that spits off his lips as his whole freckled face scrunches up again. He feels the implication, assumes it, hates the way Kieren pieces together an image that Kal might consider that.
"Shit, man, I got a trailer. Ain't much, but there's a couch if you need a place to crash." If he comes to with Kal, what next? Cromwell pokes his filthy fucking face in and sees Kal's got company?
Tries to take him?
Wiping his nose into the crook of his sleeve, he shakes his head. Fuck, man. Fingers wiggle, and he pushes, this time almost as quiet: "Arm, Kieren."
Kal will never achieve the level of quiet he manages, but fuck if the guy doesn't try.
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Date: 2018-08-19 11:34 pm (UTC)"Rather just call you by your name," he decides, dropping his gaze back to his lap. "Can't go around calling someone 'bastard' for lack of anything better."
"I dunno what to do with myself," he murmurs as Kal removes the damaged pieces and pushes the new arm into place. Picking some at the inseam of his jeans, Kieren scans himself and his new acquaintance once more, picking up other little things now that he has functioning optical units. He's not that much older than the android himself was designed to look. Irritable, caustic. Not awful, but definitely not the most friendly around. Easy to work with if they found a neutral ground. So the offer of a place to stay almost makes sense, but just as Kal thinks it, Kieren wonders the same thing; if Kal decides he doesn't want to do it himself, a scavenger tends to have buddies, or at least dependents, that might be more inclined to try and take an android to sell at profit.
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Date: 2018-08-19 11:43 pm (UTC)And those buddies are exactly the breed of folks reeling through Kal's head, and he tries to grasp for some thread of redeemable circumstance. Gaff's a good cat, yeah, but he ain't no guard dog. He has a mean poker face while he tries to puzzle it through, plan some way to lock Crom out of the loop. It's a shit show. Ivory's still dismantled; what'd that say for Kal, if he took Kieren to the trailer? "Yo, yeah, don't mind Ivory, I'm still tryin' to piece her together. Parts for that make are hella rare, you figure?"
That's a healthy image. He squeezes the extension from the spare forearm and pops it into place; it's a process, because he needs to twist it and apply just enough pressure to make it work. Too much, and fuck, Kal'd have to go fishing for more parts.
"Kal's fine then. I can probably cover your tracks enough if you wanna stay low," maybe he can squeeze a new place to live? An apartment closer to downtown?
What's he gonna do? Fucking deliver pizzas? Work retail? Like hell he can, all those jobs are swallowed up in the shadow of CyberLife, and fuck, hustlin' like this earns profit.
Okay, no. Kal, reel this bullshit in. Why is he suddenly trying to figure out a way to keep the android safe? Fuck. Fuck. "You been, fuck, awake? Long? You ain't like other androids I've met."
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Date: 2018-08-19 11:56 pm (UTC)No, don't think like that. This is just as weird for him. He's not used to...what? Finding androids that aren't protocol-bound anymore? Kieren's still trying to piece that together for himself. It's weird, having no mindlessly controlled prerogatives. It's scary, but it also gives him a much wider scope. Uncontrolled emotions are a bitch, though, and he hasn't developed a poker face.
A check of his internal chronometer reveals that he'd glitched and snapped out of his previous servitude two weeks ago. He'd woken back up here the day prior, when the last load had been dumped with him in it.
"'s been about...a few weeks. Since..." He can't even explain what happened. Remembering hurts.
Remembering hurts, and he shuts it down out of reflex rather than pushing.
"S'pose you don't meet many androids in a position to talk back," he murmurs, not meaning to be hurtful but realizing as soon as he says it that it could be taken that way.
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Date: 2018-08-20 12:09 am (UTC)The socket takes to the arm component, and Kal pulls his hands back to cradle and support the limb until Kieren takes it away. Can they hide the LED? A small peek up, and Kal stares at the spinning disc of light, mulling; they fix him up enough, and Kal figures he has enough clothes to manage between them. That might be something, an adhesive bandage to a much bigger problem, but it buys them time.
He doesn't press the time thing, doesn't ask how or what or why. Gives Kieren a pat on the shoulder though before he turns to repeat the process for the right arm now, with the spare component in his bag.
Yeah, it's mean, but Kal shrugs. "Honestly, I've only ever asked two androids what th' fuck was up. One gave me a look like she couldn't compute filth, and the other's Ivory. I've been tryin' to steady up repairs for her, but nothin' takes. You'll meet her if you decide to hit up my place. She's a solid one, likes the T.V."
Nevermind the fact she doesn't have a jaw, and no auxillary components. Solid p&r though, and one good eye that makes her fun to talk to. Gaff digs her.
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Date: 2018-08-20 12:32 am (UTC)"She probably couldn't," he says with a shrug, holding out the other arm for replacement. It would go faster this time around, given the damage was further down away from the elbow joint.
Anyone with a good eye would be able to tell that this wasn't just an accident, or someone getting too rough with him. It would have started to heal over by now otherwise. It was consciously blocked from that particular protocol.
This was self-inflicted.
He looks up in time to see Kal eyeing his LED, and he makes a face. He could change his hair, the color and the style, but he's not sure it would be enough to hide the little ring of light that had by now shifted to processing yellow. Perhaps a hat, if Kal had one he could wear...
"Have you got a shower? I'd like to be able to clean up a bit..."
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Date: 2018-08-20 12:48 am (UTC)"Fuck, you're not wrong," Kal laughs; it's a dry, awful, sardonic blip in his throat, not quite laughter, maybe something born out of a weird neglect for irony. He takes the right arm up and repeats the process. Start the drips soon, he reminds himself as he applies a similar care toward replacing the limb, administering a twist with just the right amount of pressure to make it pop.
He notes the way the arm is mangled, but he doesn't speak of it. Guy's got demons; he's got demons, fuck, even the cat has a demon or two. It just comes in different shades.
The moment he sees Kal staring at the LED, Kal looks away. Hats work. He has more beanies than he knows what to do with, and weathered ball caps a plenty - wait though. Holy shit. Holy shit.
The joke fails him. He tries to deadpan, but his brows soften and his head bobs, "Yeah, I do. Shower head's weak, but it's good enough to get the job done. I'll hit up the laundromat in the A.M., run a blanket and spare sheets through. Probably got shit you can change into."
With the right arm replaced, Kal holds the limb stable and waits for Kieren again. "Think you can manage your legs while I get the pumps going?"
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