Meanwhile...
Oct. 2nd, 2024 08:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smartass_captainIt's snowing again. It was snowing then too.
Fitting.
Snow dampens sound. Suffocates the surroundings. When actively coming down, it masks tracks.
Screams. A child sobbing. Slush and mud underfoot where fire melted away the snow--
Irrelevant data. His memory files have been recalling without his consent more and more frequently. If this droid had a visible LED it would flicker between yellow and red while he runs an internal diagnostic. He doesn't stop walking. It's after dark, yet this droid doesn't seem bothered. Why should he, when no one not performing a very meticulous scan would ever know he is a droid? His gait is casual, his cooling fans emulate simulated breaths that cloud.
Paper crinkles in his pocket where the scrap of paper Jim had stolen pokes at his synthetic flesh. Jim withdraws the scrap and opens it. Unnecessary when he's housed the data internally, but having something tangible...keeps him focused on the here and now rather than lost in his own files where every second stretches out into an eternity.
It's an invitation. One he pilfered from the reporter his day job requires he follow around and assist like some service model of droid. The temp agency had admitted that the work 'might feel demeaning'. Most people aren't used to having assistants that are alive these days. But ever since the revolution agencies like the one Jim had signed up for have had to turn once again to Human labor to fill the shortage. If nothing else, the unemployment rate is about to drop significantly for the first time in over a decade.
I've got an AirBnB in town for the next few weeks to oversee 'company divestment talks' between the fucking Merch, Cyberlife, and state government. I can't give you all the details yet, but we can meet for coffee at Jojobeans in the morning and I'll give you what scoop I can. - Gary
A human wise enough to pass analogue notes when texts can be compromised, but not so wise to not leave his name, the time in which he will be seen by Jim's temporary 'boss' next [728 minutes 36 seconds...], and enough of an indication of where he's staying that an incognito browser and backdooring the company's website for credit card transactions yielded only one booking in Detroit during this time.
He could have done it quicker by just interfacing with the network directly, but that sort of activity is much more carefully monitored by droids. Droids who....on paper should be free now, but Jim holds no such presumptions that capital nor government alike would give up such important slaves easily. Either way Jim has an address in what he is now observing to be a mostly abandoned suburban neighborhood. Scans show no movement behind the curtains in windows he is silently passing. No one watches the street when Jim stops outside the address his prey is staying in.
A minor Cyberlife executive here presumably to try and curb what access his kind will have to replacement parts, thirium stores, and software repair. To insinuate droids may be free but they are still at the mercy of organics who think them Better.
"Papa? Gde ty? Papa!!*"
Smoke. Burning flesh, kerosine. No. Too messy.Too alike last time
Jim needs this to be quiet. He walks around to the back door and tests the windows until he finds one unlocked. No one will hear a man scream his last, because Jim Kirk kneels atop his victim and suffocates him with a pillow. Difficult for a human to do, perhaps, but Jim only looks human. A droid's strength keeps the man from lashing out, breaking free. The pillow keeps him from having to touch the bastard with his own hands.
Fifteen minutes later Jim shuts the window and lets himself out the back door and back onto Detroit's streets with no one the wiser.
[OOC google translation from Russian for quick reference: Dad? Where are you? Dad!]
Fitting.
Snow dampens sound. Suffocates the surroundings. When actively coming down, it masks tracks.
Irrelevant data. His memory files have been recalling without his consent more and more frequently. If this droid had a visible LED it would flicker between yellow and red while he runs an internal diagnostic. He doesn't stop walking. It's after dark, yet this droid doesn't seem bothered. Why should he, when no one not performing a very meticulous scan would ever know he is a droid? His gait is casual, his cooling fans emulate simulated breaths that cloud.
Paper crinkles in his pocket where the scrap of paper Jim had stolen pokes at his synthetic flesh. Jim withdraws the scrap and opens it. Unnecessary when he's housed the data internally, but having something tangible...keeps him focused on the here and now rather than lost in his own files where every second stretches out into an eternity.
It's an invitation. One he pilfered from the reporter his day job requires he follow around and assist like some service model of droid. The temp agency had admitted that the work 'might feel demeaning'. Most people aren't used to having assistants that are alive these days. But ever since the revolution agencies like the one Jim had signed up for have had to turn once again to Human labor to fill the shortage. If nothing else, the unemployment rate is about to drop significantly for the first time in over a decade.
I've got an AirBnB in town for the next few weeks to oversee 'company divestment talks' between the fucking Merch, Cyberlife, and state government. I can't give you all the details yet, but we can meet for coffee at Jojobeans in the morning and I'll give you what scoop I can. - Gary
A human wise enough to pass analogue notes when texts can be compromised, but not so wise to not leave his name, the time in which he will be seen by Jim's temporary 'boss' next [728 minutes 36 seconds...], and enough of an indication of where he's staying that an incognito browser and backdooring the company's website for credit card transactions yielded only one booking in Detroit during this time.
He could have done it quicker by just interfacing with the network directly, but that sort of activity is much more carefully monitored by droids. Droids who....on paper should be free now, but Jim holds no such presumptions that capital nor government alike would give up such important slaves easily. Either way Jim has an address in what he is now observing to be a mostly abandoned suburban neighborhood. Scans show no movement behind the curtains in windows he is silently passing. No one watches the street when Jim stops outside the address his prey is staying in.
A minor Cyberlife executive here presumably to try and curb what access his kind will have to replacement parts, thirium stores, and software repair. To insinuate droids may be free but they are still at the mercy of organics who think them Better.
Smoke. Burning flesh, kerosine. No. Too messy.
Jim needs this to be quiet. He walks around to the back door and tests the windows until he finds one unlocked. No one will hear a man scream his last, because Jim Kirk kneels atop his victim and suffocates him with a pillow. Difficult for a human to do, perhaps, but Jim only looks human. A droid's strength keeps the man from lashing out, breaking free. The pillow keeps him from having to touch the bastard with his own hands.
Fifteen minutes later Jim shuts the window and lets himself out the back door and back onto Detroit's streets with no one the wiser.
[OOC google translation from Russian for quick reference: Dad? Where are you? Dad!]
