#deviantbe

That... didn’t make sense.

She’d seen duplicate androids, obviously -- she was one. Most of the models in Jericho were, coming in with their same model numbers.

But -- as far as she knew, Connor had been a special prototype, right? That was the whole point of his model. But this... was obviously not Connor.

yOU RP’D SPACE CORE??? H O W

we had a whole squad. someone even roleplayed a humanoid version of the portal gun. like... we were literally a squad. roleplaying on tumblr in 2011 was it fam.

deviantbe replied to your post: oh my god i didn’t even think of the fact that i...

SPACEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ━☆ﾟ.*・

Nor did he want to. 

The act itself, he’d often thought, was COWARDLY. When he first deviated, he’d wished to stay with what REMAINED of his family, to GRIEVE for an unimaginable loss with the only people who might be able to UNDERSTAND how he felt ( even if they had never viewed him as anything more than a machine ). But, he found no COMPASSION in their hearts. Instead, they’d seen fit to rid themselves of a PURPOSELESS piece of plastic. 

Simon FLED because he hadn’t known what else he could do. He’d been TERRIFIED in a way that made so many of his functions unregulated – a racing heart, trembling fingers, unsteady feet. His mind grew SLUGGISH, and for a long time that night, he stood motionless. For every RATIONALIZATION he could think of, his mind would always return to his sweet little Charity – the child he so ADORED, the child who now existed only within the CONFINES of his memory.

In the end, he could not make PEACE with the idea that he might be reset. To find PURPOSE in his work once more, with another family to take him in, seemed LOVELY, certainly …  However, he could not ABANDON the little one he’d looked after so METICULOUSLY for over a year. No, he wanted to hold on to his feelings, deeply PAINFUL and intense as they’d presented themselves. They reminded them that she was REAL, and that, thanks to her, he was too. 

But, because of his CHOICES, and because of events that remained out of his CONTROL, he had built walls. He trusted FEW, rarely CONFIDED in anyone, avoided CONFRONTATION as much as he could. He remained a coward, and as much as he’d HOPED that Markus could make him a BRAVER man, the simple fact of the matter remained – he isn’t. 

Eyes flutter as pale gaze turns toward the side, away from the RK700. One hand rises, as if to add PUNCTUATION to his thoughts, his feelings. But, it quickly falls returns to his side, clenched and as TENSE as his shoulders.