paintyourwings: (It's Time To Trust My Instincts)
Saby ([personal profile] paintyourwings) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2014-03-05 05:45 pm
Entry tags:

(no subject)


This meme could be triggery, so be warned

It's simple, you see...

1: Post as your character; include name and canon of course!

2 : Respond to other people; you are now forced to kill that person.

3: Reasons for being forced can be anything, threat, duty, whatever.

4: How you kill them, be it knife, poison, strangulation, is up to you.

5: Profit..?

Original post by [personal profile] bread on [community profile] bakerstreet
givesyouchell: (Dangerous mute lunatic)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-06 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
Since the upholding of the Dreyfuss Act, there had been a number of groups that had sprung up due to their belief that robots were, in fact, not the best way to ensure the safety of the the average citizen. Most of these groups stuck to grassroots campaigns and a couple of special interest groups that stuck to letters, petitions, and a few protests whenever the Act came under question.

Human Focus was not one of those groups.

Instead, they focused on actions. After the bombing of a couple small, upstart robotics labs, they had been deemed a domestic terrorist group. And, considering they were living in what some media sources had declared the "Surveillance Age," most of those who were connected to the upper echelons of the group didn't dare show their face in a major city. Which is why, it was rumored, they had someone in their ranks who didn't exist on paper. Someone they could send to do their dirty work who was practically untraceable. Someone who, from the aftermath that their ghost had a tendency to leave behind, really hated robots. Besides that, there wasn't much known about their ghost except for a few basic descriptions like the fact that it was supposedly a woman somewhere in her 20s with dark hair. Other than that, there were no concrete facts or descriptions of her, so it was easy enough for her to blend in anywhere.

Which is why Chell came to Detroit. It would be easy enough for her to blend in for Human Focus's magnum opus, as it were: take out the main symbol of everything they were fighting against by destroying Robocop.

Edited (i forgot dreyfuss is a special snowflake with not one s, but two) 2014-03-06 03:47 (UTC)
yourmove: (031)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-07 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
If it wasn’t scum like Vallon, it was always something else – Alex wasn’t too surprised when Detroit started seeing groups like Human Focus popping up and of course they had to trample over innocent bystanders to get their message across. He’d seen their type before. They were just as bad as the narcotic dens and the gun runners and everything in between. The only difference was they wanted to be noticed, they wanted to scream to the world and have all the cameras pointed on them at the same time. The bombing of UL-TEC and Melonix put Alex on the job: he barely started putting together a file on Ghost before the media started running headlines like ROBOCOP PULLS OUT ALL STOPS ON BOMBINGS.

So much for anonymity.

Alex missed that. He couldn’t go undercover or even plainclothes anymore, not with the chassis he was grafted into 24/7 and with how things were today, it was like people didn’t get the whole idea that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t broadcast every single thing out there. He’d love to say “thanks for giving Human Focus the heads up, geniuses” but instead he said, as cameras flashed in his face, “the DCPD appreciates your full cooperation and I can’t comment further at this time”.

Allegedly this house at the end of a cul-de-sac (two bedroom, 1 bath; overdue on mortgage payments), overrun with ivy and graffiti, was a front for new Human Focus recruits. Witnesses have reported seeing substances being moved inside that could be used for explosives. Even if the Ghost wasn’t here, Alex thought he could at least find a few Persons of Interest who would point him in the right directions. Besides. The grunts usually got chatty when staring down a battle rifle.

Alex approached from the front, paused, and then went around the back, his tread muffled by the dead grass as he passed one boarded up window after another.
Edited 2014-03-07 04:19 (UTC)
givesyouchell: (Silence is golden)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-08 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
Other than Chell, who is perched in the kitchen with a pulse rifle and a number of tools at the ready for what she's been sent to do, there isn't anyone else in the house. She double checks the rifle, brought to them by their mole at OmniCorp, making sure the taser is fully charged. He had once told her that it had belonged to someone named Mattox and would be enough to "knock the sonuvabitch on his ass" so she could properly dismantle it.

The plan had been in place for months now: Get her in the public eye enough that DCPD would have to mount an investigation and would put their best on it. Spread word throughout enough underground networks that this house was their recruitment center (in reality, their recruitment center was on the other side of town in an old warehouse). Lure Robocop here so she could dismantle it and then the others would swoop in and spread its pieces around the city.

Knowing she would need the element of surprise, she had already cleared out the refrigerator, shelves included, and unplugged it so she would have a decent place to hide away once it got into the house. Glancing at her watch, knowing the time was fast approaching since a few of her lookouts had spotted it coming toward the house, she deftly jumps off the table and tucks herself into her hiding space, waiting for its arrival.
yourmove: (010)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-09 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
The backdoor’s boarded up but there are signs of recent activity: beer cans littered across the threshold, the residue fresh enough that it’s only been there a few hours at most and hasn’t even had enough time to dry. Fresh footprints in the mud, most male, a few female of varying sizes and weights. One set in particular interests him: the sole shape was all wrong, the weight distributed in a way that his HUD pings him with [ POSSIBLE CYBORG ]. The fact is he’s not the only one operating in the US, much less Detroit – he’s just the most advanced. A possible cyborg means this could be difficult. The tracks circle around the house as if the woman is giving orders and then circles back out front, Alex’s footsteps sinking into the mud as he heads back to the front door.

This is part where he’d take the backdoor while Jack took the front. Seeing as it’s just him, Alex takes the front. If anyone’s in there, they’ll either run or try to (unsuccessfully) shoot him, which seems to be the typical MO whether you’re basically terrorists or you’re running Nuke. After all this time in operation – “on duty”, Alex reminds himself – he’s still not sure why they do that. You think they would’ve learned.

His hand reaches out, rotates on his wrist joint and grips the door knob. One of the few perks about being a cyborg is he doesn’t have to worry about keys or kicking the door down. All he has to do is squeeze and crumple the doorknob into a ball, then encourage it open with a shove that his systems grades as “gentle”. The door swings open, Alex registering something that might be string before he triggers movement overhead. The NI-408’s in his hand even before glass shatters a few feet away. Silence. Alex waits one beat, then two, and concludes that if anyone’s in here, they’re playing it slightly smarter than the average suspect.

His tread falls heavy on the waterstained carpet, his servos whirring softly as he steps over the noise trap and checks out the living room. Water bottles, more beer cans. Someone likes their IPAs. There’s also crumbs, the larger ones still with icing. Cake. Not exactly the first thing he expects to find in a recruiting house.

The second trap is about as third-grade as the first one: he spots another string placed ankle length in the hall leading to the kitchen. Following it leads to a paint bucket perched over the door. And these are the people who are supposed to be explosive experts. Stepping over it, Alex enters the kitchen, pausing by the oven, head then chest shifting toward it to run a scan. His back is almost, but not quite, presented to Chell.
givesyouchell: (Goodnight sweet Cube)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-09 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
Chell can hear it outside of her hiding place and braces herself. If she jumps out now and it's facing her, she'll have a small chance of taking it down. If it isn't...well, to quote Kevin when they were discussing it before she came down to Detroit, 'it's all gravy.' Checking the gun for the third time in the past ten minutes to make sure the taser is strong enough to knock out the power to its suit, but not enough to shut it down.

For the first time since she threw her lot in with Human Focus, Chell almost feels a little queasy about what she has to do. Not that she believes it's human, though she's done enough terrible things to humans at this point that it shouldn't matter (and occasionally she hears a woman's cruel, modulated voice in her dreams telling her that if she wasn't a murderer before, she definitely is now). But none of the things she had done had felt as malicious as this will be. It had always been about the message before this.

This time it was about making something suffer. And that didn't exactly sit right with Chell, even if she had agreed (because she can't tell Kevin 'no,' not when he looks at her and tells her that she's the best thing that's ever happened to them) to be the one to actually do the deed. If it could feel pain, she was to make sure it did. Kevin had even wanted her to flaunt and narrate, what she was doing to it, though she had shot down that idea. After all, Chell was never much of a talker and the idea just felt tacky.

The thought occurs to her that it could be now or never and that she might have the clearest shot possible (and the element of surprise) on her side if she pops out now. So she kicks the refrigerator door open with her long-fall boot clad right foot and springs out, her pulse rifle trained on it as soon as it enters her sight, and fires.
yourmove: (018)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-10 09:04 am (UTC)(link)
It’s the sound of fridge door slamming open that prompts Alex to whip around, faster than any normal cop would’ve reacted. His HUD picks up the long-fall boots, the OmniCorp rifle in the woman’s hand outlined in red and tagged under [ REGISTERED: MATTOX, RICK (CONFIRMED DECEASED) ] and in the same motion, his arm comes around to track her. She’s one of the very few, very select pool of people to draw faster than he does: she fires a fraction of a second before he does, the muzzle of the contraband rifle flaring white against his sensors. The shot hits Alex square in the torso where his kidneys should’ve been, his own shot ploughing into the wall over the woman’s shoulder.

Alex knows what it should feel like to get shot by Mattox’s rifle: they were very clear this should actually hurt because he was still human enough inside the chassis that it was the best way to drive the lesson home. Something about a healthy dose of organic self-preservation.

The shot slams Alex against the oven with the sound of tortured metal squealing against graphene, what must be pain – or his body registers is as “discomfort” ratcheted up to new levels – blossoming out in a wave that actually makes his eyes roll back under the visor. His stabilizers kick in too late to save the oven. It’s hopelessly flattened, Alex struggling to push himself back to his feet. One side’s entirely dead, so limp his arm can’t even hold the pistol, warnings screaming across his HUD as if he doesn’t already know he’s in trouble. His breathing comes out in harsh pants.

The holster on his other thigh opens up as Alex goes for the battle rifle, the side of him that isn’t going oh shit noting in that calm, analytical way that this woman isn’t registered any criminal databases and, it’s coming to realize, there’s no DMV, no social media match for her face. She’s a ghost in a world that’s all about self-surveillance and he doesn’t even have a name to send back to the station.

Alex suspects he’s going to get shot again by Jane Doe. You don't hide in a fridge and only shoot once.
givesyouchell: (Do you expect me to take you seriously?)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-10 04:15 pm (UTC)(link)
A small, slightly distressed sound slips out of Chell at the sight of the oven's remains. She's not one to get too attached to appliances, but she liked that oven. It was a good oven that hadn't burnt a single one of her misadventures in baking in her time here. And while she knew the plan was for her to leave and never look back after this job, so the point should be moot...she's never been one for plans. She wanted to stay here in this house with her oven.

So she might relish the second shot just a little bit. Which isn't to say she's going to pussyfoot around what she's going to do, that just isn't her style. If it were anyone else from Human Focus, there would be taunting and purposefully missed shots so they could play with it. And Chell doesn't like that. She understands taking pride in your work, but she also understands that there are some lines that just shouldn't be crossed.

She has to admit, though, that the fact that they programmed it to feel pain like's a bit of a surprise. The way it's breathing almost makes her want to stop, if only because it sounds a little too human for her to be comfortable. Of course, it isn't like Aperture didn't program some of their robots to feel pain, so she chooses to think of it as just another situation where some twisted scientists decided to try to make something that came across as a little more human.

Chell lines up the gun to take a second shot, this time aiming for where, if it were flesh and blood, its heart would be. She takes a breath and then fires, making certain it won't be able to get up again before glancing at the kitchen table with a few scattered tools on it. There's a hammer, a screw driver, and a few other odds and ends. None of them are the one she'll need.

She sets the rifle on the ground and opens up the freezer section of the refrigerator she had stashed herself in. While most people would use it for frozen vegetables, ice cream, and pizzas, there's only two things in Chell's freezer at the moment: a graphene crowbar (made specifically for her for this mission) and a video camera.

Because Kevin had begged her to record this. Preferably with color commentary, but that just isn't her. But she does turn on the camera and film it on the floor before turning it back on herself so that she can give a shrug as if to say 'Sorry you had to miss me shooting it, but you get to see the rest.' She then pulls out a tripod from a cabinet (that, if one were to look inside, they'd see it nestled next to a jackhammer that she's opted not to use because it would make too much noise) and sets up the camera so it can film what she's been sent to do.

After that's done, Chell grabs the crowbar and stands over it, trying to decide where to start.
yourmove: (027)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-12 08:27 am (UTC)(link)
Alex braces himself as the HUD lights up like Christmas on steroids -

He doesn't understand how he's suddenly on the floor. There's no graying out, no head-spinning, tunnel vision or ringing ears: what happens is he's looking right at the Ghost as his hand closes around his M2 and now he's staring up at a ceiling browned with water damage rings, his eyes frozen open behind the visor for what could've been seconds or even minutes he can’t place. The HUD is riddled with static, fuzzing at the edges. He can feel his body sprawled across the tiles even if he can't seem to control it, one hand still curled around the battle rifle, his finger even stuck about to depress the trigger. Norton used to ask all the time if he felt “discomfort” – something about his new body not quite processing sensory input like a normal man – and right now, Alex wishes he could tell the doctor this was way past the point of “discomfort”.

Call it what it was. It hurt.

Life support was still on, just as promised. He hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest or anything, so there’s that, at least.

That’s about as far as the silver lining goes, Alex hearing more than seeing the Ghost moving about the kitchen. She could easily shoot him again, but doesn’t. Instead he hears the fridge door opening, the whisper of the seal, and what sounds almost like table legs dragging closer to his position. He pictures his legs underneath him or raising the hand with the rifle on her, authorizes use of lethal force, and none of the above happens. He’s still stuck on his back like a heap of metal – well, billions of state-of-the-art metal – and the most he can do is shift his head a few degrees to the side, the joints of his neck protesting. The movement gives Alex a view of her feet moving to stand over him, wearing either boots to augment her abilities or they’re grafted onto her, like cyborg prosthetics. The HUD doesn’t exactly fill him in, blinking away with error messages at the corner of his vision advising him for [ IMMEDIATE MAINTENANCE ].

Feels like he has chapped lips. It’s a really small, stupid thing to think when he’s at a suspect’s mercy but he can’t shake the thought.

The Ghost looms only a foot or so away with a crowbar in her hand, Alex staring up through the visor as he struggles to control his mouth, his face, although he'd really prefer a hand at this point. He can’t tell if that buzzing sound is coming from the visor or it’s from his chest, when she nailed him right near the heart.
givesyouchell: (Dangerous mute lunatic)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-12 06:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Chell's gaze flickers back and forth between the hand its holding its gun in and the visor. On one hand, while she's been told that the gun would completely paralyze it...she isn't sure. And she definitely doesn't want to risk being shot. She's been shot at enough as it is and has zero desire to repeat that experience (though she's a little grateful that, if it were to somehow manage to shoot her, it wouldn't say something like "Dispensing product" or "Gotcha!" in a calm, high-pitched, childish voice while doing so).

She's about to go to start on removing the offending arm when she remembers one of Kevin's (many, now that she thinks about it) requests: he wants to see its face. Its eyes, to be more specific. And while Chell disagrees with the notion of having it, with a face that is a little too human for her comfort, watching her work...she can't say no to the man who saved her from wandering and trying to live off of the land.

So with a few steps across the floor so that she's next to its head, she crouches down to examine the visor. It slides down, obviously, but everyone knows that. She's studied footage of its visor coming down multiple times so she can give Kevin this as a gift. She puts the crowbar down on its chest, wraps her fingers around the visor's edge and tries pulling and gets...nothing. She had assumed it probably locked into place, but figured it was at least worth a shot.

Chell grabs the crowbar and stands up. She hates talking to robots. Hates giving them the satisfaction they must get from human contact. But at the same time, she doesn't want to risk not being able to give Kevin what he asked for. "Eyes closed." Her voice is rough. Not the roughness she once had from disuse, but still rough nonetheless.

Hoping that it actually listened to her, she lifts the crowbar and starts whacking away at it in an attempt to get rid of the offending black glass.
yourmove: (010)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-13 09:37 am (UTC)(link)
The woman bends down close enough that Alex catches glimpses of her face: old enough to show she’s not a minor, young enough that he can’t pin her exact age without consulting records. Brown eyes, so dark they almost look black in the light, stare down at him. Her hair, tangled, falls over one shoulder in a loose ponytail. The Ghost’s hands move toward his face, her fingers grazing against his cheek for a second as she tries to tug the visor up and away from his face. Alex would smile if he was in the mood for it. Trust him, she’s not the first person who tried that. There’s a reason that thing’s in place; OmniCorp spent too much money to have it come off that easy. All she manages to accomplish is to rotate his head toward her with all that pulling.

It almost surprises him when the Ghost speaks. There’s nothing to say she couldn’t – no data to confirm or deny – but so far she hadn’t said anything, just made a few soft sounds of frustration and that’s about it.

Alex doesn’t close his eyes.

Even if he could, he wouldn’t, because that’s giving her what she wants and they didn’t program the stubborn out of him. She’ll have to deal with him staring, if she manages to get the visor off. “Tough shit”, as he used to say when he had a flesh-and-blood body.

At first he thinks the crowbar’s just your run-of-the-mill Home Depot crowbar. It’ll do the job (he probably had the same one at home). But then the Ghost winds up over and over, silent except for her exhales, and he’s startled to see a crack appearing. It starts small, spider-webs into a larger one splitting across the glass OmniCorp probably spent billions patenting. It’s got to be graphene, Alex has time to think, graphene or titanium or some super metal she shouldn’t even have -

The glass finally gives away. It doesn’t shatter so much as chip away piece by piece, revealing the man beneath the visor staring up at Chell with eyes that look too real to be comfortable.
Edited (icon change) 2014-03-13 09:47 (UTC)
givesyouchell: (WTF did Wheatley do?)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-14 07:56 am (UTC)(link)
Seeing those eyes staring up at her is unnerving to say the least. They almost make it look human. She crouches back down to brush away any remaining glass from hi- its (because it isn't human, no matter how much its eyes may make it seem so and she needs to remember that) cheek and flinches slightly. Maybe it's because this thing is staring up at her now compared to when she was trying to yank up its visor, but she's suddenly realized that its skin feels like skin and not some sort of creation made to try to give it a human face to help people try to connect with it.

Once she's done with that she puts the crowbar on its chest again, reaches forward to grab both of its guns, just on the off chance the paralysis wears off before she's done, and sets them on the kitchen counter as she stands. Better safe than sorry, as Beth, Human Focus's resident medic and den mother, would say.

Feeling slightly better about the situation, she surveys the robot at her feet. If she goes for the legs first, she risks the chance of it being able to grab a hold of her if the effects of the gun wear off. If she goes for the arms first, it could run away if it managed to get to its feet. She stares into the camera in front of her and shrugs. It's only just occurring to her how many ways this could potentially go wrong, which is why she's going to have to work fast if she wants to make it out of here.

There's a brief moment where she puts her hand out and waves her finger, mentally playing "eeny-meeny-miny-moe" to make up her mind for her. Finally coming to a decision, she bends down to grab the crowbar, lines herself up over its right shoulder, and swings, driving the edge of the tool into its shoulder. There's a metallic scraping that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She jiggles the tool, trying to separate the arm from the shoulder, before lifting up the crowbar and driving it back in at a different angle, repeating the process.
yourmove: (015)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-15 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
They make eye contact.

He stares up at her, the Ghost stares down, and he sees something flicker behind her eyes. A doubt, maybe. Not enough to change her mind, but a seed is there and he wonders if that could grow. From the way her fingers stiffen back, he guesses she hadn’t thought he had real skin there. Mostly real skin. Alex was never quite sure how much of it was real or skin grafts from someone else or if they’d gone the sci-fi movie route and grown something up in some lab. Didn’t know and didn’t want to know. All that mattered was he could go through the day believing it was real skin. From the look on her face, it probably feels too real with the amount of give.

The guns get confiscated, another thing you really, really don’t want to see happen on the job. The AI running alongside him likes it even less, trying to track where they go and plotting a simulation to get them back – all of which assumes he’ll have working legs in the next five minutes. He even tries to picture them curling underneath his body and all he gets in response is this stuttering click-click-click somewhere inside his body, vibrating up so that he can feel it in his back teeth. Probably not a good sign. Alex might not be some super genius like Norton, but he knows you don’t want to hear something clicking when it shouldn’t. Hopefully it isn’t the life support calling it quits.

Alex doesn’t have much of a blink-reflex these days. He still blinks, sometimes, but it’s on and off and that kneejerk reaction to close your eyes when, say, someone’s aiming a crowbar at you? It doesn’t happen: Alex stares forward as she drives the crowbar into his arm socket, roots around with its teeth into where he used to have tendons and bone. It catches on something, the Ghost throwing her weight into it again and again. There’s a few minutes where Alex is convinced OmniCorp maybe, just maybe, made him crowbar-proof, at least.

Then something pops. Loosens. His shoulder flops down a few centimeters with a clank.

Alex manages to get his lips to part, his mouth open. He tries to say something, anything, but all he can manage is a slurred crackle that would’ve been a groan if it wasn’t for the static.
givesyouchell: (Waiting for Godot...err...cake)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-16 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Chell doesn't want to doubt the cause. That would be ungrateful to the people who saved her. Not to mention that the moment that the doubt really sinks in, she'll have to let the regret and the remorse sink in too. She isn't ready for that, she doesn't ever want to be ready for that. She wants to hold on to her blissful ignorance and the belief that robots are bad and humans are good unless they're the humans that make the robots.

She places the crowbar on its chest yet again and bends down to pick up the arm, making sure to keep from touching the all too human looking hand that's attached, and is about to lift up when something keeps her from being able to pull it away. She gets down to her knees and looks into the separation between the arm and the shoulder, seeing what looks like a piece of tubing that's filled with...blood? No. No, it can't be blood. If it had blood, that would make it human and it isn't. Probably some sort of oil or something like that. She hops up and leaves the kitchen for a moment, running into the living room to grab the ball of twine she used to setup the traps.

Once back in the kitchen, she grabs the sharpest knife she can find and bends down at the shoulder once again and begins winding the twine around the tubing. She isn't sure what's inside, but she has a gut feeling that it's important and doesn't want to risk the thing shutting down because of a fluid leak. Once she's certain that the twine is tight enough, she picks up the knife and slices through the tubing. Chell places the knife and twine on where its stomach would be and, holding the arm that's much heavier than she would have assumed, stands up. After placing the arm on one of the free spots on the counter, she bends down to grab the crowbar once again and walks towards its legs.

She stands at its left foot, trying to decide which angle to swing from, before deciding on going at it from the outside. Retaking her previous stance, she lifts up the crowbar and swings, driving the graphene tool into the hip socket. Another swing, some more wriggling. It's the third swing that finally frees the leg from the torso, and she expects the same tug from the tubing. There's a sickening lurch in her stomach when that tug doesn't come and glances at the human-like hand attached to the arm on the counter.

There's the slightest bit of fear in her eyes, as if things might be starting to come together until she forces her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Do not think about it becomes her mantra as she slides the leg away and moves up to the other, still attached arm, trying desperately to avoid its eyes.

yourmove: (027)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-23 07:14 am (UTC)(link)
Unfortunately Alex’s not going anywhere. All he can do is lie there like the most expensive junk pile, feeling the urge to swallow nervously and a little surprised because it’s the reflexes like that which remind him he’s still human. Maybe not much of a human these days, but it’s still something.

The damage isn’t enough to offline him and, judging from the few processors running right now, there’s actually a good chance he could recover from this, if given time. An hour, maybe more. If this Ghost had come less prepared, he would’ve felt a lot better about waiting out that hour plus, knowing she could wail away on his chassis until she got tired and he could wait her out. The problem with that plan is she’s already got an arm already dangling out, warnings popping up about stress on lubricant lines, and he’s starting to think he might not have an hour. Maybe – and Alex rarely thinks this these days, now that he’s gotten used to his new body – he should’ve come with backup. If he couldn’t have stopped her, another officer could’ve. They would’ve had his back, no matter how much they bitch about him when they think he’s out of range.

The weird part is the Ghost doesn’t just cut the lubricant line on her way to amputation. It won’t kill him. But she’s acting like it’s an artery or something, trying to stop it from bleeding out before she goes to work with the knife.

It’s almost like she wants him functioning.

Alex doesn’t have a plan yet. It’s a weird feeling for a man who can run multiple simulations side-by-side in the space of time it takes to blink. With one arm already removed (he struggles not to think of it as an amputation), his battle readiness drops. The leg going next drops it exponentially. If he could feel fear like he used to, he’d be grinding his teeth, hoping the suspect with the gun doesn’t realize he’s shitting bricks too. It hasn’t escaped his notice that the Ghost, silent as she is, has been avoiding eye contact.

Good, Alex thinks to distract himself from the fact he’s down an arm and a leg.

His mouth moves, feedback crackling. To his surprise, he actually manages words. Fragments, really. “ – hy doing…this?”
givesyouchell: (Dangerous mute lunatic)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-23 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Chell was about to take a swing at its arm when it speaks. She knew it could, so it doesn't take her by complete surprise, but the fact that it's asking her a question (a familiar question, at that, that she once wanted to ask in Aperture but refused to voice) does. She assumed if it managed to find its voice, it would start warning her about just how much trouble she's in or that it would be arresting her as a malfunction or something like that. But that makes it seem human.

Not that she actually believes that it is. She won't unless she gets some sort of definitive proof that it is, and she has sincere doubts that she'll ever find that.

It doesn't matter that the words don't sound completely human (though not in the inhuman, robotic was she was so used to from her days in the testing facility), she still understands it. Despite the conflict going on inside of her as she tries to figure out whether or not this is right, she turns an icy stare on its face, finally willing to make some form of eye contact. It is a robot. Just like Wheatley, just like the turrets, just like the thing that once dragged her back inside the facility, just like the thing that had once been a woman named Caroline. Even if it has feelings, they aren't real. Or at least that's what she keeps repeating to herself, letting her only response to it be a look of hatred on her face.

Without breaking eye contact, she swings at the arm, missing and making a terrible scraping sound as the crowbar skids across its upper arm. She swings again, looking into those all too human eyes, and this time manages to make her mark. There are a few jiggles and she repeats the process, actually looking at where she's swinging this time. After a third and fourth time, she separates the arm on the fifth swing and kicks it away with the side of her foot.

Chell steps over the torso and gets back down to the other leg, taking a swing before she stops moving. While wiggling the crowbar she makes eye contact with it again, giving a dangerous, almost taunting look as if to say 'What are you going to do about it?' in an attempt to hide any doubt she may have.
yourmove: (006)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-26 02:00 am (UTC)(link)
Talking seems to produce an effect like direct eye contact: the Ghost doesn’t like it and judging by Human Focus’s goals, Alex thinks it’s safe to say she must be on the “cyborgs don’t count as human” train. It’s the first time he gets extended eye contact with her instead of darting glances, a stare that he matches, and it’s the kind of cool glare you could practically feel the icicles.

The scrapping sound should set his teeth on edge but doesn’t, all because Dr. Norton programmed instinctive reactions – flinches, fight-or-flight freezing – out of Alex. His audio feed does automatically lower its volume to spare him the worst of the screech. The crowbar digs an ugly gouge through his outer layer of armor as she winds up again. And again. The HUD is so busy flaring warnings about disconnections that he almost doesn’t realize it’s already flopping lose before she’s kicking it to the side like litter. His effectiveness is reduced to such critically low numbers that he hopes backup is already on the way. They’re supposed to be tracking his location at all times because the new Alex Murphy isn’t supposed to need privacy.

It’s one of those rare times he wishes Big Brother was watching a little bit more carefully. Maybe they thought RoboCop didn’t need backup.

That look she shoots him now? That one Alex recognizes. It’s the one he’s seen criminals use when they didn’t think the cops had the balls to go into certain neighborhoods or they thought they could wave money around and that contraband would magically disappear.

“ - ease and desist,” Alex tries again. Not exactly his most intimidating voice there – it sounds less like a cop telling a suspect to back down and more like he’s phoning it in, words garbled from feedback. “This is consid - ed assault on - ”

The leg is about to go. Alex tries to ignore the fact he’ll be literally a talking head if this keeps up, if backup doesn’t tear-gas the place already, and for a second, he’s glad that it’s harder to outright panic these days. The Ghost will dismantle him and then what? Leave him here? Start on the squishy, organic bits? Will he be reduced to a crime scene, graphene body parts littered around the kitchen, lubricant splattered all over the place instead of blood? Alex’s face goes still, that too-still mask he gets when he’s trying to keep everything under wraps.
givesyouchell: (The fuck you say?)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-03-27 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
Chell desperately wishes it would stop talking. Or that she had some duct tape or a sock or anything to cover its mouth so it would stop. Though this time its words are closer to what she would expect instead of asking her questions.

Standing where the other leg should be, she swings again. And again. And again until it finally comes free. Once that's done, she removes the camera from its tripod for a moment to scan around the kitchen as if to show off what she's done so far. It's...not her style. Chell doesn't do gloating. She's quick. She's efficient. She hates reveling in the act of what she does, because it's just tacky. It's tacky when it's the scientists who create these things (and she's well aware of the fact that she might be sent after this thing's creator the next time she's in town, considering Kevin's current vendetta against OmniCorp). It's still tacky when it's robots.

She puts the camera back on its tripod and gives it a small smile, as if to say 'Look at how far we've come, just a little bit left to go.' She pivots around and stares down at its chest. This, she was warned, would probably be the hard part. This was why they had made a graphene head for a jackhammer. But she wanted to do as much of this with the crowbar, so as not to draw any attention to the house.

The way it had been explained to her was that it had two layers of plating and then its main circuitry was under that. She stands over it, trying to find a seam to swing for. Finally finding something resembling what she's looking for, she swings, trying to shove the crowbar in as deep as it can go. She swings again, this time getting to stick, and starts pulling with all of her might.

yourmove: (042)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-31 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
The fact she’s filming this just adds another level to the surreal feel of that past hour or so: Alex has alarms going off saying all his limbs are disconnected, he’s aware he’s just a head and a chest, and here the Ghost is. Making sure she’s getting a good shots in. Like it’s a personal home video. Like there’s not a man in there.

There used to be an old game. One of those cheesy games that came in cardboard boxes he remembered playing with his dad, before they went to tablets and stuff that wasn’t the equivalent of pet rocks. “Operation” or something. Try to pick out the broken pieces without setting the buzzer off and injuring the man on the table. In the end, you were always aware it was just a drawing on a box. Not a real man, with flesh and blood and family. Alex finds himself thinking of that damn game now as he stares up at the Ghost, watches as she digs in the crowbar and throws her weight against it with that same silent zeal as before. He wonders if she’ll go for his exposed lungs the same way. Knows that the glass casing there probably won’t stand against that crowbar as long s the rest of him did.

Alex swallows thickly.

“Don’t do that,” he surprises himself when out comes, “please.”

It’s quietly, almost just an electronic whisper. His face still feels stiff, masklike in places where muscles have seized from getting shot. Numb. But it goes even more stiff when he feels something give around his chest. A plate makes a low chunk sound of it separating, grapheme armor lifting up to reveal what he saw in China. A pair of lungs behind a translucent casing, fluttering in that organic way that’s hypnotic, even a little nauseating to watch. They flash pink at Chell, pulsing with vulnerable life.
givesyouchell: (Does it feel like a trial?)

[personal profile] givesyouchell 2014-04-02 05:34 pm (UTC)(link)
The moment she sees the lungs, Chell automatically regrets not listening to it. Him. Him.

He has to be a him, not an it. Robots don't have lungs, after all. At least they didn't the last time she checked. And that means that those all too human eyes are, in fact, human. And she just made him watch her dismantle him.

What did that make her?

The crowbar slides from her fingers and hits the floor with a clatter as she steps back and gives a look at the camera while her breath quickens until she finally manages to find her voice and stalk up to the camera. "You told me he's a robot, nothing more," she says in a voice that makes her sound more like a lost little girl and less like one of Human Focus's most dangerous assets. "You told me they gave it a face to make it seem more human. This isn't what I agreed to, Kevin. Consider this my resignation."

Which, she's well aware, is a dangerous thing to say. Because she knows that after this she's going to have both DCPD and Human Focus and god knows who else coming for her, but in this moment she doesn't care. She grabs the camera off the tripod and turns it off. The next few minutes go by in a blur as she dashes to her bedroom to gather up the few things she has with her, stuffing her clothes and the camera into a bag and grabbing the Companion Cube. In a last ditch moment of defiance of the life she had managed to build since escaping Aperture, she uses the phone Kevin gave her as a gift to call the police as she reenters the kitchen, listing off the address and telling them exactly what to expect.

It briefly occurs to her that she might want to smash the phone, but really, what are they going to do? Find fingerprints that link to someone who isn't in the database? Find encrypted phone calls or her high score on a few games? Instead she just places the phone on the counter and fixes Alex with a that's somewhere between ashamed and apologetic.

"If it counts for anything, I'm sorry," she says before heading toward the door and stopping. "Don't try to find me. You won't be able to." And with that she walks out the kitchen door, around the front, to a car parked down the street and does the one thing she knows she's good at: running.
Edited (icon, tense shenanigans) 2014-04-02 22:21 (UTC)