*UNFILTERED

MEET IAN. A CyberLife-approved android social worker with a sardonic approach to casework. 

While all CyberLife Androids came equipped with AIs that accorded them basic understanding of verbal commands, their personalities left much more to be desired. CyberLife began to remaster its existing AI software to be able to construe the most complex human emotion: sarcasm. 

The stranger’s hand comes quickly, a sporadic movement that rivals even Zeus’ lightning streaks. Ian always prided himself to be quick on the uptake, but even machines have lag times. The slap crackles like a whip across his face: it’s a public flogging, it’s shame. 

Ian staggers backwards gracelessly, suddenly ten pounds heavier. The smack is so profound that the android’s thrown into another dimension where he can actually hear pain; it wails like a fire alarm. Despite the literal instability warnings mobbing his mind, the android’s face remains flawlessly expressionless. The mask he has on is deadpan— he’s not even angry. It doesn’t hurt, but should he pretend to be? 

@smolcuriouskitten 

CyberLife must’ve ran a pâtisserie somewhere. Their androids builds look almost too good to merely play with. Enter, Ian. Light bounces off his skin almost a little too perfectly, like sweetened glacé. His body probably moulded out of marzipan by the hands of the finest sweet makers. Even his skin exuded the scent of burnt cinnamon. If someone were to, God forbid, slice Ian clean in half, he’d probably be 100% dark chocolate inside. 

@thiriumboy @bruisedconscience

“You’re asking me?” The android whips around quickly from his temporary hibernation, LED flashing a vivd yellow, clearly processing Harvie’s request. And in one hot nanosecond, Ian’s got it. A list of ‘extra curricular activities’ flood his digital consciousness, from the likes of boring badminton to the fantastic farming club. Ian briefly wonders if Harvie can ever play a competitive sport without it culminating in a fight, or entertain the thought of digging around some dirt and soil. 

No, what Harvie needs is a touch of adventure, something to bring him out of his own shell when he’s ready for it. Something a little more... ‘out there’; to warm those ruddy cheeks and pump a bit more woodland spirit into him. Whatever that is. Ian steps forward confidently, armed with his extensive knowledge of how a surly teenager might chose to spend their last vestiges of childhood. 

Send “Hold me.” for my muse’s reaction / @lonewandered

The late afternoon sun yawned drearily, humidity radiating off the walls. In their dingy shared apartment, the ceiling fan circles lazily; the pages of the calendar and opened cookbooks semi-translucent ghosts that rise and fall. 

Hold me. Violet says it in an exhalation, tone heavy like a weighted balloon on the brink of bursting. So Ian takes her hands first, as though assessing if they’re warm and supple, before taking her into his arms tenderly. He rests his head atop Violet’s copper curls lightly, the cusp of his palm patting her back— a doting gesture he’d seen both parents and lovers do to soothe a loved one.