dualisooc | TDM 001. WELCOME TO THE CITY

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TDM 001. WELCOME TO THE CITY

» 01. WELCOME WAGON

Wow, what a bunch of new faces! The city of Dualis hasn't seen anything like this in a long time, and they've seen some pretty crazy things. Chances are you're seeing some pretty crazy things, too, unless you're used to a lot of neon, robots, weird-ass technology, magic, and an omnipresent police force...and hey, if you are, congrats, you're gonna settle in juuuuust fine. But for the rest of you, the Head knows this has gotta be pretty overwhelming, right?

Well, since your quaint individual processing units are probably having a hard time, why not link up with another one? By which the Head means...

Hello, new citizens of Dualis, and welcome to your first monthly Network Adjacency Protocol~!

NAPs are a monthly community networking event similar to the Earth concept of speed dating! Two citizens (new arrivals and old hands alike) are placed at a table together with a handy cue card of queries to help break the proverbial ice. Ask queries and receive results, or ignore the card and yeet yourself straight into a brand new friendship! But don't be too shy, you've only got ten minutes together, and if you just sit in silence for the whole ten, then the Network Admins are likely to come supervise and try to repair the uplink through a mild shock to the ol' central nervous system. You might find yourself saying all sorts of unintended facts about yourself if that happens...probably better to just make friends, right?

» 02. A BUG IN THE CODE

Remember how the Head mentioned that whole plague thing? Well, don't worry, this isn't that.

It is, however, a really, really terrible flu circulating through the residents of Dualis. Symptoms include fever, chills, vomiting, hallucinations and even in some cases seizures. Bad news, all around. Luckily, this is something the Head knows how to deal with! Time for vaccinations, everyone~

The vaccination process is pretty straightforward: just head to your local clinic and get innoculated! You'll be in and out in less than ten minutes, MedDualis is pretty efficient that way. There isn't even a copay. The MedDroids will tell you, however, that there might be some minor side effects** to watch out for, including physical reactions and odd dreams, but don't worry--those will wear off within forty-eight hours. Nothing to concern yourself about! Of course, if that worries you, you could always run the risk of getting the flu--or passing it on to your loved ones...

**Possible side effects include: Gender or sex change, positive or negative size change, appearance alterations, shared dreams, and mild telepathic links, among others. Please contact your local MedDroid if these symptoms become too severe, or other side effects such as death occur.

» 03. TANSTAAFL

Well, you're settling in just fine, and the basic accommodations and amenities are okay, but maybe you've got a hankering to see that new VR Film: SHARKS IN SPACE 85: BLACK HOLE SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO DO. Or maybe you want some sweet new duds to wear around town, or even just an actual slab of steak. Sorry, those cost extra, pal, which means it's time for...

JOB HUNTING.

Fortunately, Dualis makes this pretty easy! There's a job fair on this week, down at the Central Hub! Plug your certifications and skills into any of the EmployMe terminals in the Dualis Central Hub, and the computer will auto-generate a currently open job that it feels you'd be best suited for. No resume writing or lengthy application process required! Of course, whether or not this job sounds like the right job for you is another matter...but hey, how could an AI with millions of years of learning be wrong? Time to get started, or try and switch waivers with another unhappy new employee--but be warned, some unforeseen consequences may occur if you try swapping identities with someone else...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Connor, if you become a roomba technician I'm going to quit and become a proctologist." He wouldn't, actually, but the message is basically that he expects more of Connor. And really, Hank should stop and explain more. He knows he better get back to that 'fuck the police' one 'cause there are fifty different ways that could go wrong.

But in the meantime he goes to sweet talk the assistance officer available. Hank can be as coarse as a hedgehog or he can be a friendly soft bear when he needs to be, that big warm sort of guy people want to listen to and talk to. That's what he calls on, and within half a minute he's coming back to Connor.

"You're good for another go."

Then back to the subject at hand.

"'Fuck the police' is an anti-authoritarian resistance slogan. I'm being a douchebag and using it ironically."

"I wasn't seriously suggesting..." He trails off. Deviating did make it easier to pick up certain nuances in human speech, but more than anything else it was getting used to Hank's own quirks and figures of speech as they worked together that helped. Piecing Hank together like a puzzle in himself. Now those figures of speech mostly roll off Connor and let him pick up the meaning behind them. Broadly speaking, Hank does not want him fixing Roombas.

It's interesting too just how many different faces humans can put on when they need to. Connor has his interrogation mode (not literally a mode, but still), but apart from that he feels like he's only ever just one kind of Connor. Hank seems to flip a switch on the way over to the attendant and become an entirely different kind of person. The kind of person people want to help, confide in even.

Maybe Connor can learn that too.

"That was easy," is all he remarks about it when Hank returns, though. "So let's try it again."

As he approaches another terminal to start re-entering...maybe not exactly the same answers, he says to Hank, "I could have guessed the last part."

Did he just call Hank a douchebag? Maybe.

"Shut the fuck up." Hank says, grinning and with the words dripping with a sort of sweetness that makes it synonymous with I'm happy to have you here.

But he waits as Connor puts in new suggestions, crossing his arms to keep himself from drumming his hands and fidgeting. He'd been whining to enough people about Connor, worrying how the android would get along without him. It's a more relevant fear than most people would think.

As much as he wishes Connor wasn't wrapped up in this mess, he'd rather he be with someone that would keep him in a safe situation.

"I should show you around. Try to find some live music or somethin'." It's been an interest of his anyway, wanting to look into a case that he really probably shouldn't be investigating but is anyway. Might as well get more quality time in with Connor while he's grotesquely misusing his time.

He glances sidelong at Hank with a grin. He hears that meaning in Hank's tone - it's louder than the words. Another thing humans are very good at, that he came to appreciate more the longer he was assigned to the DPD. And then with a renewed understanding after he deviated, because, as it turns out, deviants are very good at it too.

He answers the questions again - job experience, height, weight, number of wisdom teeth, time spent in education, preference - cats or dogs, several other questions of varying levels of relevance to jobseeking. (Short but intensive, tall, surprisingly heavy, four pseudo-enamel objects attached to his jaw that could perform the function of teeth if he wanted them to, none, dogs) He's tapping away at the screen, face set in concentration.

"I'd like that," he says without breaking pace. "I've never had the free time before, come to think about it."

'Come to think about it', as if he hasn't been very aware that he's gone from having his entire days planned out for him in lists literally before his very eyes of objectives nested in order to priority and timescale to having his vision obstructed with...nothing. Nothing except...

"Secretary," he announces, and his photographic memory allows him to pinpoint the precise moment irony really did strike, "for, ah, Munster, Fogle and Winterbottom... Magical purging and cleansing, sacrifice provision and ritual site purification."

He blinks several times.

"Maybe I should go back to the Roombas."

(Not really.)

"Oh no, I absolutely want to see this Munster, Fogle, and Winterbottom. If it's not owned by a guy named 'Eddie' I'm gonna be sorely disappointed."

If the guy's name is Eddie he'll just fucking fling himself through a window. He's met fucking X-men and heard references to Gotham fucking city. Hank's not a nerd by a reach, unless sports fan and music elitist counts, but he knows enough to know that this isn't right.

He is, admittedly, disappointed that the result wasn't police. But he also realizes that Connor needs a chance to do something for himself. Even if, technically, this isn't for himself. But he has a more important focus than that.

"What sort of place would you like to go to? You gotta have thought of something."

He can't help being a little sad he didn't get police along with Hank. Sad is an oddly heavy, stiff sort of feeling, like his thirium got somehow denser in his body. But it's only for a moment. They still live in the same place, Connor is in no danger of deactivation now even though he's not got a mission of any kind, and it's already clear Hank isn't going to discard him now that they're not beholden to one another. That thought of the alternative is actually a sad one, and he decides not to have it anymore.

As if it's that simple. His LED goes yellow, just for a moment.

"I'll keep you posted," he says, and this time pockets the paper without any more complaint. Besides, magic? Ritual? This sounds impossible, but the mere fact that it's here and Hank has made no comment about it, along with some of the other things he's already seen, take it from impossible to downright probable.

"In Detroit I did." His voice is thoughtful. "I've been to the TV tower but I've never watched TV. I noticed you watch basketball - I thought maybe I could start there. I was going to ask you if I could walk Sumo sometimes.

"But now I have a job at a firm that says it deals in magic. We could spend a year exploring just this city and not understand half of it. So honestly, right now I want to get started."

It sounds like he's turning Hank down, but, "I want to start with what you think is most interesting about it."

... But actually, he's just turning the question back round on Hank.

Knowing what stress can do to an android makes the yellow change meaning for Hank. There's no case, no pressing situation, and then there's that flash of yellow. That tiny sign of stress. Hank reaches out without thinking about it, a squint in his expression as he rubs his thumb over the LED on Connor's temple, feels it as a hard ring in Connor's skin. But it seems to be back to normal, a pale blue reflecting against his knuckle, so he withdraws.

"They have TV and internet here." Hank comments, leaning in. "They're also editing and censoring a lot of the internet and television. No divergent opinions. They have robots to enforce it- they're not like you. They're not intelligent enough to go deviant except in the fuckin' sci-fi 'autopilot gone wrong' way." As if their world hadn't progressed to the point that the probabilities of 'science fiction' were very real. The evidence of which stands before him.

But the warning is important. What they say is being watched.

"Well, they do have games here. Music." He'd heard about speakeasies and the like. Places people could go to speak more freely. He might be a cop, but he's not above having a good time.

"The most interesting thing is probably the people, I'll be honest. Give me all the shit available in the world, fuckin' cybernetic modifications out the wa-fuckin'-zoo, and I'd rather sit on a bench and watch aliens and mutants walk past any day. So I'll take you somewhere where we can watch and maybe meet some things that aren't human or are your type of android."

Connor starts, surprised, as Hank's hand reaches out and touches his LED. It feels like nothing, light pressure on his temple - it's an attachment, only the skin beneath has any sensitivity - but more than that is the way that, without even being touched, the skin feels like a spark just went off directly on it, a tiny crack of static electricity leaving blossoming warmth behind it. It's not damaging. There's no underlying problem. There's something about it, in fact, that he wants to explore further.

But it's over almost immediately, Hank pulling his hand away and leaving the odd reaction to subside by itself.

He remembers he felt something slightly similar when Hank hugged him, back at the Chicken Feed, though that was more like a moment of overheating in his chest that he pondered and pondered before realising maybe that's why humans like to hug one another - he learned something about being human that day. And about being a deviant android - about being Connor, now that Connor can be anything he wants.

Maybe that's a person who likes hugs.

His LED doesn't stay blue for long, though; Hank is describing a totalitarian regime, one which they have no power to leave, no real ability to. A place where not just the androids are slaves, but to a degree, the humans too. The dim yellow light casts his temple a flickering orangish colour as the LED spins, and silently, he nods. Message understood.

He'll think about the implications and what that means for him and Hank and what measures they can take later; now, suddenly reminded of Amanda monitoring his every move (albeit inside his very mind), he tries to seamlessly let the conversation move on.

It's not very difficult; he likes talking to Hank about things that aren't their old case, as it turns out.

"Then let's go," he says, absently rubbing his hands against one another. "Munster, Fogle and Winterbottom will still be there tomorrow."

...As they start walking, he can't resist asking, "What do you mean by mutant?"

It's not the greatest development. His current intentions to be a part of the law enforcement community may, eventually, shift into something actually commercial at some point. But until then he's wearing the uniform with the intention of doing the right thing with it.

But. Right. Mutants.

"There are all kinds of things here, but I'm talkin' mutants with superpowers. Like fuckin' comic book bullshit mutants." Hank's never been a huge comics guy. What he does know he's absorbed from pop culture. Running by his sister on his way outside as she watched saturday morning cartoons and overhearing the opening cords of the X-Men show theme. Watching Batman movies while trying to slip his fingers through the hand of his date and then smelling the popcorn butter on them after several washings. Making fun of another patrolman with a 'Nananananana Mattman' and 'you are the night' jokes when he was younger. It's that sort of superficial absorption that means he couldn't tell you who an obscure character was, but it means when someone said they had a run in with the Hulk he could boggle a bit.

And enough that he could point out unusual, inhuman people with his partner.

"Fuckin' Winterbottom," he says outloud, shaking his head with the edge of a growing smile. It's just a funny name, sparking that juvenile in him that's easy to entertain.

"The name is English," he says, "and probably comes from a word for where shepherds spent winter with their sheep." Then he smiles. "And it has the word bottom in it."

But then he's quiet for a moment. It sounds like Hank means humans with a genetic mutation that gives them abilities beyond that of a normal human. It's a motif common in comic books, but here it's reality.

"What kind of superpowers? What can they do?"

This is clearly the interesting part, not the scientific improbability of it all.

"Fuckin' shut up..." he repeats (or paraphrases himself from earlier) but with that same growing smile and even a chuckle building up. Because there's something about Connor's clinical and factual delivery of the word 'bottom' that's killing him.

"Well the kid I talked to said he used to be able to learn whatever the people around 'em knew, like skills and stuff. Until another mutant made him and a bunch of other mutants regular humans. Which I don't fuckin' get. Apparently there's another guy, not a mutant, that can fuckin' cast spells of some sort, and he has a friend that gives him shit for his outfit choices." For wearing a lot of belts. "So I'm guess you'll empathize because of the shirt thing.

"The cops at the precinct have been better than Gavin Reed for the most part. They're not too bad. Not all of 'em human, either."

In fact while there are a lot of people that look human, he's learned already that a fuckload of them aren't. Connor here is a prime example.

He finds himself laughing as well, only the slightest chuckle, but there it is all the same. (He doesn't believe he's ever laughed before. It's a nice feeling)

"I've never said anything about your choice of shirts," he protests. In fact, he distinctly remembers picking out the most ridiculous one he could see in Hank's wardrobe for them to go to the Eden Club. He caught sight of Hank at one point, standing examining the corpse, and specifically felt quite satisfied to have contributed to the overall effect. "You have excellent taste in wallpaper."

Connor doesn't know the word 'shade', but if he did, he'd like it.

"So we have mutants that can alter one another's DNA. And we have wizards. And... You've seen these things, right? Mutant powers and magic spells."

Not that he's suggesting Hank's been duped or anything. Just making sure.

"Um... no. But uh... I've seen some of the aliens. Like the blue guy with the floating arrow, and that's pretty much convinced me that they're probably not lying. They just keep mentioning that stuff's been turned off. Weapons have gone missing. That kinda thing."

And then, still looking proud of himself, he adds on a, "I have the best taste in wallpaper."

Because he knows his offensive patterns are just that; offensive. They're not fashionable, they're as brash and uncaring as his language. They're spite against the uniforms he used to wear and has to wear now. A boisterous voice worn on his body, as loud as the passion in the music he chooses.

"I'll make sure to wear the best new one I have when we're out together because you make all the colors brighter and stand out more."

That could be a kindness, an acknowledgement that Connor brings out the best in him, or Hank just proclaiming that he knows he's Connor's unashamed embarrassment.

"Blue guy with the floating arrow," Connor repeats, and he's not picturing a bow-and-arrow arrow, he's picturing a ClipArt-style arrow floating alongside his head or something. It's an odd picture. But so are blue men in general.

"If anyone else were telling me this, I wouldn't believe it for a second." He's seen hints of it, sure, but without the ability to fully scan his surroundings and cross-reference off the internet or facial recognition databases, he's not had proof that anything was really happening that isn't perfectly scientifically possible back in Detroit.

"Do you mean because I'm dressed like a normal person and make you stand out all the more?" he asks, enjoying the whole back-and-forth...and then he looks down. Stops walking. The bright blue of the various android markers on his uniform jacket stand out like sore thumbs. Back home, it marked him as first a slave, and then possibly a dangerous insurgent.

But now it just looks strange. His LED starts to flash yellow.

Red. Red.

Blue.

He shrugs off his jacket, walks over to the nearest trash can, and shoves it inside. Then, in just his shirt and tie, he returns to Hank.

"Now you stand out more."

Knowing what those lights mean spark jolts of overreaction, moments where he can actually feel anxiety travel through the bends of his guts. The worry that he'll see him shut down one day. The light returns to blue, though, and he's shedding his jacket, and Hank's able to follow the dim tells. That coat has a giant blue triangle and a word labeling him. A number identifying him as a product, a valuable one, but a product.

And then Connor discards it. A sign of his old identity casually thrown in the trash.

"You know, let's go shopping, too. Then you can get yourself something else grayscale."

He forces that look of concern from his face, back to something friendly. He's only bought one thing; a gun. A gun that he's hidden in the back of a drawer, purchased before Connor got here and while overcome with guilt at the idea that he might have abandoned him despite all his promises to the contrary.

Not the best shopping trip. He can afford to spend some money on the two of them. And fucking stupidly not really consider how much that would be like a date.

He eyes his shirt sleeves...then rucks them up to his elbows, one after the other. And he can feel his tie constricting his neck, collar-like. He loosens it. Leaves it just like that, refuses to listen to the urge to re-adjust it.

He folds his arms as he looks back up at Hank. "You're going to take me shopping?" He pictures himself suddenly and very clearly dressed like Hank - ridiculous doubled-up shirts, pants and jacket that make him look significantly bulkier than he actually is - and one side of his mouth quirks up in a grin.

"As long as I get to choose what I buy. And you should know I spent the only five dollars I had buying you a drink."

Luckily for Hank, Connor has not a clue what constitutes a date - never had any reason to look it up - so that aspect of the thing doesn't cross his mind.

Hank watches Connor with the vaguely surprised expression a girl might have when watching her girlfriend switching from jeans to a skirt between floors on an elevator. The android is practically scandalous at this point.

"I'll let you pick, I promise. They give you 200 duos to start out with- that's their currency. I figure it's like a uh... 8:1 dollar to duo exchange rate? Somethin' like that. But yeah, don't worry, I wouldn't pick your clothes for you."

Hank makes a loosely dismissive gesture. It's a lot of joking, but he knows Connor needs to actually choose a style for himself. Doing some minor shopping for himself will be the best. And maybe some interference from Hank if he sees this poor soul aim for neon orange, because while he doubts that'll happen he fears for his friend's mental fortitude. Who knows what a whole other fucking universe will do to him.

The human in the pair looks happier at the moment than he has in a year or more.

He's actually a little pleased to see that reaction from Hank. He changed back into this outfit to infiltrate Cyberlife, and didn't get the chance to change again later. Hank's never even seen him without the uniform.

And now he's not going to walk around with the reminder of his subjugation anymore.

But then he frowns a little.

"The only time I've ever worn anything other than this, it was whatever I could find to disguise what I was." He looks down at himself. He looks fine - he thinks. But he can't quite picture anything else he would like to wear.

"I'm not sure yet what else I would like. There are a lot of other factors involved."

Colour, fit, style, how well it fits with what other people are wearing, appropriateness, all of that at once.

But it looks like Hank is tolerating his sudden sartorial issues. In fact, he looks more at peace than Connor has ever before seen him. For that alone, Connor is glad to be here, in this odd situation, worrying about his clothes and shamelessly enabling Hank to avoid work - and avoiding his own, for that matter.

"I don't know you... you kind of look like a sweater guy. Or a polo shirt guy for summer weather." He can't quite imagine him in anything like his disguise had been; maybe that was the point. And honestly if that turned out to be his personal style preference, he wouldn't know what to think. But he'd support him. He's not going to back down on that.

"You know what? We'll figure out when we get there. I'll hold your purse while you try things on- that's a joke. Please don't actually carry a purse. I have my limits."

Purses are among them.

"And you do actually look good in blue. Just throwing that out there. You'd probably be okay in cream or beige or something, too."

Hank is aware of how nice colors work, he just chooses to ignore them.

"Sweaters and polo shirts. Got it." He responds as if Hank just gave him a command, but they both both know Connor's not going to treat it as such. If they get to the shop and he decides he prefers three piece suits, he'll do that instead.

Either way, both options for now sound perfectly sensible. He hadn't liked the clothes he disguised himself in - they were too bulky to move in easily and felt like he was going to drown in them. But they hid what he was. Everything he was. Android, deviant hunter, totally uncertain about what he was doing. A human would probably say such clothes are comfortable, but he thinks comfortable just means a different thing to him. His skin is perfectly ambivalent about this topic.

"Lieutenant--" He told himself not ten minutes ago that they're friends now. That address seems inappropriate. "Hank, I think you would be mindlessly bored waiting for me to try on clothes. You're free to do anything else you want besides...holding my purse."

...The purse he shouldn't actually get. He doesn't understand this idiom or metaphor or whatever it is, but he powers through as always.

He barely stops himself from saying that he used to go shopping with his wife all the time, he can wait with the best of them. Because for a terrified, panicked moment he's worried that he'll somehow push Connor away with the likening of the two relationships. He doesn't know why. Well, that's a fuckin' lie. He does. His wife sworn him off during one of his loneliest, hardest periods and left him wanting for company through his grief.

So that sentiment stutters in him, cuts off, makes the smile fade. At least until he can clammor onto something a little less loaded.

"Connor, I'm pretty good at just listenin' to music and waiting. I promise, now that you're not so pressed for every fuckin' second? You're probably gonna figure out lots of ways to entertain yourself when someone else is taking their sweet time. I won't even give you a limit. No five-minute warnings."

Connor's not always good at understanding why humans do things, but he's good at noticing that they do them - so he clearly sees Hank's smile falter and fall from his face. He doesn't know why, which means he doesn't know how to fix it.

"I had to convince you just to give me two extra minutes looking for a deviant," he points out, albeit not very seriously. "Let alone five to put clothes on."

He's quiet for a moment, thinking.

"I don't really know what it's like to have nothing to do. I decided to find a job, and I did. Most humans spend eight hours a day sleeping, but I don't see the point in going into eight hours of standby a night if I don't have to."

Time to find a lot of hobbies.

"I hope you know that if we were in Detroit, I would have stolen Sumo from you by now."

He would have become the most spoiled dog in the world.

Then Connor frowns. "What will happen to Sumo if you're here?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. I won't rush you. I want to spend the time with you this time. I didn't before. I just wanted to fuckin' leave. And uh... Fowler always liked Sumo so I uh... left him to him in my will. I did that way back, before the whole drinking thing." He clarifies quickly. And he knows that Connor knows "the drinking thing" refers to much more than alcoholism.

"Considering being a cop is such a dangerous job, and after my divorce my wife had no interest in him." Which, great, his brain went there again. Connor's already better there.

"How much standby do you need?"

God he fucking wishes he could just recharge quick and be ready to go again. "...Do I need to help restart you sometimes?"

Because you need to restart a phone. You know fucking what? He means well. He really does. Let him try.

There's a lot to unpack in that statement. He can be glad that Sumo's OK and that Hank was prepared for what would happen to his dog. It's the first time Hank's mentioned his wife to him - which, even if Connor already knows about her, still means something. It's a little bit of Hank being deliberately shown to him, not that Connor just scraped up from public record.

And he realises - again - that things can change a lot in a week. Not just for Connor himself, who has not only changed as a person but become a person. But for Hank, too, who would never have wanted to spend time with an android, or been even close to that frank about his personal situation - especially to an android.

And that Hank actually wants to spend time with him, even just waiting for him, is a nice sort of feeling. Warm without overheating.

Nothing he says to this will convey how important he finds all of it. So he simply nods his understanding.

"I only need standby every couple of days for a few hours at most. Mostly for defrag and to check for errors." Then he stares, genuinely unable to tell if he's being made fun of. It takes about a second to come to the conclusion that no, he isn't. Hank's helping. Or trying to.

"No," he says slowly. "The only time I would need any help is if one of my modular components became dislodged or stuck."

That is highly unlikely, but if Hank's going to make that effort, it's only fair to try to meet him halfway.

"Right. You'll probably have to show me what to do about your modular components beforehand then." He says, without really considering everything that entails. Otherwise he'd literally just carry Connor to a technician to get repaired. Someone around here would be able to.

Odd things to consider; what to do with your partner if his arm falls off.

Definitely a lot changes have happened over a week. Here he is open to receive an instructional so he just doesn't start slapping Connor when he's not working properly, like he might shake something back into place. Unlike Connor, who didn't do him the same service. He'd get him back for that except that Connor doesn't feel pain. And he'd at least want it to sting a little. And probably be squarely and vengefully right on his ass.

"Okay, I gotta sign out if I'm gonna cut out early. See if I can take someone else's shift later. Maybe take a shower. Where should I meet you?"

TDM 001. WELCOME TO THE CITY

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