bakerstreet | my blood is boiling; my brain's IBM

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[meme] shipping

my blood is boiling; my brain's IBM

NOT just A ROBOT
shipping meme

There's always a right tool for the job, be it as simple as a hammer for a nail or on up to the much, much more complex. In this, the near future, the new tool for the abstract, post-modern job is no longer from the humble tool box - it's robots. Robots have taken over most sectors, such as assembly, law enforcement, and even health care. Things run so much smoother when they're automated. Yet the most impressive factor is that robots have just recently begun to enter a sector previously believed to require human touch: the personal sector. From personal assistants to robo bodyguards to pleasurebots, most anyone who's anyone has a personal robot these days. Of course, humanity being the narcissistic charmers we are, all "companion" sector robots are made in our own beautiful image, or close to it.

But you know this. You have a personal robot, after all...or you are one.

Whether owner or robot, it's important to remember one key rule: robots, no matter how human they appear, cannot feel emotions. Any appearances thereof are programming in the AI.

Robots certainly, absolutely, cannot fall in love. Again, any appearances thereof are programming in the AI. If that's not the case, and "love" still seems present...

...well, a toll that no longer functions correctly may not be right for the job.

HOW TO PLAY ➟

Comment with your character, preference, and whether you want to play a human or a robot.
Reply to others.
Use the RNG to choose a prompt or pick one yourself.

OWNER ➟

Long Time Owner → You and your robot are a well-oiled machine, no pun intended.
New Purchase → Congratulations, you have your brand new personal bot!
Second Hand → Someone else owned this robot before you, but it can't be too damaged. There's no way you could afford a brand new one, anyway.
For Science! → Your interests in robots are purely scientific. No matter how yours begins to act towards you, honest!
Rescue → Whether you took them from the dump or from a bad owner, you brought this robot from the jaws of deletion.
Reluctant → You never wanted a robot, but you've got one thrust on you anyway.
Cruel → They're just a fancy computer, so you'll treat them however you like.
See the Humanity → Even if you know it's all machinery and programming, you can't help but see the human side of your robot. They shouldn't have to be a servant.
What's Real and What's Not → The lines are beginning to blur between real people and their emotions and your robot.
Incompatible → You can't be with a machine, either romantically or sexually. You're simply not compatible.
Too Engrossed → They say you've created a fantasy world. You're forgetting reality, or choosing to ignore it.
Don't Care → You won't listen to what the others say; you know how you feel.
Have to Pull Away → The close relationship you had with your robot has to be put aside for your own good.
Live a Normal Life → As much as you can, you and your robot live like a normal couple.
Bad End → Your robot is taken away, reprogrammed, or destroyed.

ROBOT ➟

The Perfect Robot → You know what you and exactly what you were made to do. You will not stray.
More Human than Human → Whoever programmed you made you to be just like a human.
Conflicted → There is no way you could have what they call "feelings." But what is this stirring in your circuitry?
Confused → Why do people treat you like a robot? You're a living thing, damn it!
Damaged → Somehow, you've been corrupted. You're a blank slate and have to be cared for, though it should be the opposite. Or it could be that you're showing erratic behavior that no robot should...
Shown Kindness → When you're treated kindly by a human, you are unsure how to process it. It makes you feel - content.
No Longer Just a Program → Your "love" and "affection" may have been shades and imitations at first, but that's not the case any longer.
Obsolete Model → You know you're old. Will you be forced to leave your master's side?
Jealousy → A robot should not feel jealous. Still, you envy those close to your master.
Job is Personal → You were programmed to protect or to serve, though you also do it because you...care
Second Chance → Your old master tossed you aside and now you are wary. But you've been given another chance instead of being used for scrap.
Rogue → There is no way you will be tied to the oppressive system. You refuse to serve the Living Things. Somehow, though, you've become aligned with one.
One of a Kind → There are no other robots like you, and perhaps you are intended for a sinister fate. Rather than face your true duty, you have escaped to take refuge with a human.
Specialty → You were created specifically for this one special person.
Reprogrammed → Because of previous defects, you were taken back to factory settings before. However, that treacherous virus, "love," is bubbling back up.
Android → You can't just forget the part of you that was - still is - organic.
Learn to Be Human → Despite the odds and the prejudices you both will face, you have decided to live as a free, living person with the one you care for most.
Bad End → You're to be junked, impacted, wiped clean, or taken away from your owner.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

The Amazing Hawkeye, he was, and his costumes all in flavors of ridiculous purple. [ Tony'd made a few mockups of them for shits and giggles- and to prompt laughter from Barton when he got a little too scowly for anyone's peace of mind. Less and less as of late, life's been good. He might save this revelation for the next round of maudlin mood miasma that works it's way around the tower now and again.

Well adjusted they ain't. How it's fallen to him to mind the rest, fuck if he knows. He's not good at this shit- but he tries. Better to try than not give a fuck. ]

That could work- J, rig us a sim? Fast expanding Polyurethane foam preprogrammed to a specific shape upon deployment, sensor in the head- [ It looks and acts like any of the other arrowheads in the quiver rig and assembly shaft, but the actual balance is something Barton can compensate for; even if Tony shoots for uniformity. ]

[ He knows there's actual work he could be doing, he knows there's a designed purpose and functionality he could be following through with. He could be a terabyte or two deep in the seemingly never-ending expanse of Tony's data stores, or he could be testing the changes he made to the compiler.

But he's not. No, he's dragging a chair up to Tony's desk so he can watch the simulation play out with rapt attention, because for whatever stupid reason he's suddenly invested in making this stupid thing work.

How.
Why.
Who the hell knows?

Fortunately he's not a real person, so he can shift the blame for all his questionable decisionmaking onto Tony. This? This is why he shouldn't be allowed into the general public, look at him already caving on his principals. ]

[ There's a list of shit they could both be doing that's probably better worth their time- but Tony's invested in this ridiculous project, it's fun- and he's got someone collaborating with him that's got the right mind for physics and absurdity. Outside of Jarvis and Rhodey he can't think of anyone else that gets this particular flavor of focus along with him.

J lets the simulation play, a mock Hawkeye drawing, taking aim, firing- the arrow flying true because it's fucking Barton, of course it does- the sensor in the head popping the tip into what's for half a second an amorphous glob that solidifies into a squishy boxing glove just in time to impact with the target's face.

And then follow through with the shaft piercing the face because velocity is a thing, the head suddenly being soft doesn't keep the shaft from slowing down or being any less rigid. ]

...Yeah let's mark that one down as 'not an idea result' and see how we can rework this so we don't end up killing people.

[ Oh, crap. It's like he knows a split second before it happens what exactly the shaft is going to do, and there's no hiding the disappointment that spreads across his face when they wind up with an accidental lollipop situation.

He opens his mouth to ask why else would Barton be shooting people with a boxing glove arrow and doesn't even let his mouth get to the first syllable. Probably for the same reason they're doing this now: the sheer absurdity. In other words, because he can.

He settles back in his chair with one arm crossed across his chest and the other gently toying absently with his own lips. Thinking.

Some kind of firm plating to keep the shaft from penetrating the foam would ultimately just result in a broken nose for their would-be victim, which he imagines is also not the intention here. He's going to assume the ideal goal is for the victim to walk away with no serious injuries. Except, perhaps, a black eye which could be arguably attained by throwing anything a little too hard. Planning around something as stringent as that would be just ridiculous.

It needs to be rigid enough to prevent the shaft from penetrating, soft enough on the exterior to prevent broken cartilage, and malleable enough to fit into the head of an arrow.

That rules out making some kind of crumple zone probably.

He can't believe he's doing this. ]

This is why I'm in favor of the airbag design. Inflate and deflate to lower the velocity of the back end- since it's within range of the target we can probably rig the back end of the arrow shaft to either collapse or pop off to avoid face-kebabs. It'll need to be rigid to hold trajectory up to a point but- hmm.

[ He takes the current sim and makes a duplicate, tossing it in the archives as a version 1.0 before moving on to manipulate the data for corrections and evolution. This is why he has so much shit backlogged; he tends to save projects at every stage and possible deviation of inspiration just in case he wants to go back and take path B to get to point Zed. So. Pop off back end is trial 1.2 A, collapsible 1.2 B, Airbag deployment being 1.21 A&B-

There are a lot of variables for punching people in the face across the span of a few football fields. Fuck Barton for being extra and bless him for being this kind of ridiculous. It's starting to get a little whacky with the physics- and that's where the fun shit starts. ]

I think this is a good place to start to run another sim. Thoughts?

[ He tilts his head in acquiesce, his biggest issue with the airbag idea was the fact that those suckers can hit with a ton of force, but if Tony can give it a controlled deflation... That might work, and- ]

If you can get the shaft to detach before impact, I don't see why that wouldn't work.

[ He agrees. The last couple of inches of accuracy might suffer as a result, but- ]

I don't think the trajectory will be much of an issue- you're not looking for precision anymore, as long as the thing hits in, like, a four-inch radius of the target the effect will be the same. Boxing glove's got pretty big surface area.

[ If it drops a little it won't really impact the presentation which is really what the whole thing's about, right? ]

I say give it a shot.

[ A beat. ]

No pun intended.

[ Four sims total for versions 1.2 A&B, 1.21 A&B. Tony brings them up in a four way split screen style projection so they can compare notes on what works and what ends up with a dead mook. They try to avoid dead mooks, sometimes people take whatever work's available without thinking about the consequences of said work. Tony can't really blame them, he's kind of been there after a fashion. ]

And if he knows ahead of time about a potential spread of impact Barton can usually compensate so it'll land where he wants it anyway. I asked him about the calculations he has to run to make it happen and he looks at me like I'm an idiot, says he never took calculus, and wanders off to, I don't know. Feed pizza to dogs or some shit. [ He may or may not be trolling Tony- who can say? Barton sure as shit isn't and Natasha is oddly tight-lipped about the whole affair.

With a gesture the sims play out, Tony only laughing a little at the unintentional Pun. ]

[ He can't help the way his nose wrinkles in bemusement, and the gentle muttering under his breath of: ]

Pizza's actually really bad for dogs... the garlic... terrible dog owner...

[ And he trails off mumbling quietly to himself before he can finish because it's completely irrelevant and nobody cares.

Bigger picture, Bruce. More important things happening. Boxing glove things.

One thing's for sure, they're all a hell of a lot more viable than version 1.0. Not a single one of them gets unintentionally impaled, but the accuracy seems to suffer as predicted and one of them still seems like the wrong angle might drive nose cartilage into the brain, causing him to murmur: ]

...That looks unpleasant.

That's exactly what I said but- no one listens to me about pet care. [ Mostly because he's never really had them. Pets need people around all the time, need stability and routine and- Tony's not terribly good at either of those things. Any of those things. But he knows that feeding dogs pizza is a shit idea. Still. An aside where they agree Barton is carnie garbage RE dogs is a nice distraction from the failure of one of their options. ]

Say goodbye to version 1.2 b. [ Tony marks that option as 'possibly lethal' and sends it to the archives alongside version 1.0. So. They're getting closer to something they could probably send to fabrication for building and testing, and three options to work with is better than four. ] Yeah, That can't happen to you. Benefits of being a- what should we call it. Synthetic American?

Conversational toaster.

[ He corrects mildly, a touch of that self-deprecation coming back. Still, it gets his attention. He shifts, turns his head to get a look at Tony where they sit shoulder-to-shoulder before his workstation. ]

Oh, you used something with a stronger density than bone, didn't you?

[ He guesses; he's been so focused on his internal structure he actually... didn't take the time to look into the physical one. Deciding whether or not he liked the body got shifted to the backburner in favor of making sure he could actually handle sentience.

Quickly, he checks his archives for what his structural composite consists of. Eyes flicker up to the ceiling like he's thinking instead of downloading. ]

...huh.

[ He remarks, sounding the tiniest bit impressed. Guess that makes sense. Why go weak when you could go durable? ]

That puts you on breakfast bagel duty. Hope you're up to the challenge.

[ Not at all serious but- he's not pushing any one way or another. Sentience is difficult and Bruce is more or less having to handle this shit on hard mode. Handling things gently in a social situation isn't exactly Tony's strongest suit but- he tries? He tries.

Just as he tries to predict the rather unfortunate likelihood of harm coming to Bruce. By way of developing a proprietary composite similar in weight and density to bone with a higher tolerance for blunt force trauma. Since the skeletal structure is for structure and not the formation of blood cells it gave him a little leeway in the development stages. ]

People have the unfortunate habit of trying to kidnap those in my inner circle. Or steal my tech. You're a two for one deal on that count, as much as I intend to keep your existence on the down low until such a time comes you feel like you want to change that. If a time comes, be a homebody, zero judgement from me. But- long story short? You're hard to break.

[ He snorts at bagel duty in a way that suggests he might just be up for the task.

This entire venture has actually done wonders for one of his set tasks, form an opinion of Tony Stark. It's only been a day- and Christ, almost a full day at that, does the man ever sleep?- but he feels like he's developed a strong and intuitive foundation off of which to build. This is not Stark before the media and the press, or Stark leading a team and convincing them of a plan.

This is just Tony being Tony in his natural environment, thinking about things for a hundred people other than himself, focusing on the minute details that people take for granted in a compassionate and considerate way.

And in a narcissistic egotistical way, but somehow he manages to make that kind of endearing.

Bruce is starting to wonder if he really was meant to be used as boots on the ground for Jarvis, or if it's because all of the people he's constantly worrying about are out there somewhere unable to relate to him on this level. The level wherein he feels most like himself.

Must be lonely.

Then again, what does he know? He's not human and he's been building an empathy foundation on old dead guys.

He'll keep his thought process to himself on this as well, and instead, he seems to ponder over just how durable Tony apparently made him.

Idly, he muses: ]

...Guess that means I can handle a hell of a lot of bagels.

Approximately two liters. [ A beat, a sheepish grin and shrug. ] All the plumbing works, to a point, so if you wanted to experience the wonders of- everything? You can turn them on, take them for a spin, be quietly horrified at the minutiae of the human experience and never ever use them again.

[ Because sitting back to design a synthetic digestive system had been a hell of a ride and brought Tony to several realizations RE being a meatbag flying around in a fancy soda can, none of which are terribly favorable to the simplicity and sanctity of human life. The human form is inefficient as fuck and he maintains he probably should've built Bruce- differently?

Sentiment might've been clouding his judgement but he is not, nor has he ever been, nor will he ever be, sentimental. He's just. Not. ]

I mean you can probably cram about four litres in before you get uncomfortable but I wouldn't recommend it.

[ That gets his eyebrows shooting up, because- ]

Seriously? You're joking.

[ He feels it's pretty justified to be incredulous over the fact that Stark designed a robot with the capacity to eat. What the hell is the functional purpose in that? Where's the practical application? What sort of boots on the ground would Jarvis possibly need, what kind of archival assistant would require the ability to eat a bagel? ]

What the hell else did you stuff in here, huh?

[ He glances down at himself, barks out a dry: ]

Go go gadget rollerskates.

[ Almost seems relieved when nothing happens. In all seriousness, he wouldn't be shocked if it turns out Tony gave him artificial high cholesterol and a collapsible tail or something, and he'd spit out a dozen uses for it like it's the most natural thing in the world. ]

[ Tony can't quite help the reflexive hunch and crossing of his arms- sure it might not make sense to anyone but him but- it made sense to him, shouldn't that count? ]

There's that judgy tone again. [ What use would Bruce have for it? Not much of one, probably. But when given the opportunity to create a synthetic version of a rather vital biological process, make it more efficient, and make it compatible with human biology? He kind of feels an obligation to do the thing. ] I was already building a body and I wanted to test a few theories on a more effective and efficient system that I could send over to our medical branch for people that need replacement organs. 3d printing them works but it takes a long time to grow the tissue. This? Faster, cheaper, less chance of implant rejection.

[ Which makes perfect sense to him. Bruce might never need to use the systems made available to him, but they're there. They function.

Which isn't to say Bruce's incredulity is unwarranted or his wry commentary isn't appreciated. ]

Uh- [ And here he actually has to sit and think for a moment, mumbling under his breath. ] I don't think I gave you a lighter in your fingers, that felt like a bad hour forty six kind of idea- you do have a built in GPS tracking signal and panic button to activate it, built in tazer and/or defibrillator, and a hardwire to link to closed circuit systems if you really need to- but for the most part I just...made you a synthetic person.

[ You know what, he got all judgemental but now all he's thinking about is tasting stuff. As shocking as that brief pat to his arm had been, he imagines tasting something's going to be as big of a deal to his system, if not more.

And, frankly, he's starting to wonder about, you know. Other anatomical stuff he didn't imagine actually functioned; although what sense did it make to have an organ for purely aesthetic purposes? Oh, Jesus. He rubs absently at his lips again, a gesture that's quickly becoming a subconscious habit.

He's not going to ask. He's just going to look it up later, or... try something out or something. Every new discovery pushes him farther and farther away from the utilitarian method of existence he'd sort of been braced for and found a subtle comfort in. Tony's really edging him out of the robonest like a mother bird trying to get him to flap his human wings and fly.

Actually, a sudden sort of curiosity settles in and he eyes Tony's desk, the mug he's always clutching like a lifeline. He'd rather ask forgiveness than permission, apparently because he swipes it and knocks back a mouth full. Flap flap.]

[ He's too busy trying to comb back over what he'd thought about putting into this build versus what he actually included to notice Bruce's sudden contemplative silence or lazerlike focus on his mug of cold coffee. Cold, black tar, bitter as hell, meant to keep him running for at least another three hours coffee. It's only when Bruce snatches it that Tony jolts out of his fugue, hand raised like it'll stop him but- ]

Oh shit- don't do that to yourself!

[ That- yeah. Not an ideal first taste to have. ]

That is for advanced burnt tongue levels of flavor absorption, buddy.

[ Well, if Tony was looking to have him spew cold coffee everywhere out of pure fear with his reaction, he's successful. It's a lovely fine mist and startled wide-eyes like he's afraid he's just gone and completely poisoned himself, tentatively touching his lips as he asks: ]

What- what- why-

[ And then the taste hits, and his brow furrows contemplatively, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to figure out what... in the hell... that is. ]

[ Okay he probably earned the face full of coffee and it's only knowing there is no possible way for Bruce to be carrying any kind of bacteria that keeps Tony from freaking out about getting caught in the spray. Dutiful boys that they are, Dum-E and U wheel over to clean up the mess, Dum-E dabbing Tony's face with a towel. ]

Because it's bitter as hell? You don't do anything in small steps, do you? God. [ He takes the rag from Dum-E and finishes wiping off his face, his shirt, his workstation, motioning for Bruce to sit. ] Baby steps, Bruce. Take a few of them. The running before walking thing is for like- some shit. Not things that you've got no frame of reference for processing.

[ Yeah, he'd apologize for it, except he's so caught up in trying to figure out exactly he feels about... whatever it was he just drank. Logically he's aware that it's coffee, but for the first thing that he's ever tasted he's... not actually sure if he likes it or not.

He thinks.... maybe no.

He's completely ignoring the baby steps thing, one hundred percent not heeding that advice or filing it away for future reference, nope. He's a scientist in his own right, happy to thrust himself into the experiment regardless of the consequences which, in this case, have turned out not great. ]

Wow, which one of us is the robot really.

[ He comments, lips curling down in distaste, disgruntled by the whole ordeal really. ]

Do you drink that on purpose? Are you okay? Do you need help? Is there someone with a gun hanging around making sure you chug that? Are you broken? Am I broken?

[ Jesus Christ. ]

That was a batch of 'I'm on hour thirty six and need to make it to hour forty two' coffee. It is black, bitter, and highly caffeinated. You want hour one coffee that actually tastes likes something besides tar. Probably with sugar- I think developmentally we've got a sensitivity to all things bitter or sour for a little bit? I have no idea how that'll play with you but- Dum-E? Affogatto- wait why am I having you do that, you can't scoop gelato-

[ Tony heaves himself up from his seat, stealing back his mug and wandering back over to the coffee maker where half a pot of the 'hour thirty six' brew awaits him settled next to a very fancy, very fine espresso machine. By route Tony pours himself a fresh mug of pure liquid hate and starts up the machine for something lighter, easier on Bruce's delicate taste buds. ]

I've got a system, it works. Rhodey can keep up with me till we hit pot 'I'm on hour twenty nine going to thirty four'- [ From the cooler beneath the machines he pulls a small container of vanilla gelato, half full. Scraping up a scoop into a transparent demitasse fills the time between the heat and the initial pour of the shot of light, creamy espresso into it's own small carafe. Mug in one hand, Affogatto service in the other, Tony wanders back. ] And I generally don't recommend anyone try even that much, let alone what I'm drinking now. Here. This should be more your speed.

[ Espresso meets gelato in a dreamy swirl, and the cup's smaller, sure, but it ought to be sweeter, more caramel and cream than burnt black and bitter. ]

You realize that you could just- you know- sleep.

[ He's one hundred percent sure that's probably come up from a number of people who know Stark better and whose opinion he cares far more about than Bruce's, but he feels the need to recommend it anyway. Just for posterity, just to have his concern on some sort of vocal record.

Even as he criticizes he finds himself staring, clinically watching the whole process Tony's going through. He's got a keen interest in why it is Tony's using fucking ice cream in whatever it is he's doing. He's trying not to be ye of little faith over here, but...

Jesus, that shit he just put in his mouth. God, why?

He takes the cup tentatively, eyes Tony skeptically.

Once bitten, twice shy. ]

Too much to do, too little time. [ Too many ideas rattling around in his brain, too many things to worry about, projects he hasn't finished, ways he hasn't left enough behind to keep the planet safe, keep the people he cares about protected for the inevitable moment he gets killed in action. Too many ways he's so sure he hasn't done enough.

It haunts him. So. Work until he's exhausted. Sleep maybe. Jolt awake because of nightmares vol 1 - 38 and get back up to tinker again. Rinse, repeat.

That's it, that's life, and he's trying to get himself together. He is.

He still thinks rewiring his brain ought to be a viable option.

As it stands he's...standing here, trying to coax Bruce into trying something that'll actually be palatable, if not enjoyable. Because this is what he does to keep himself from falling back into memories of the wormhole, of the Cave. ]

This'll be much sweeter, I promise. You might like it.

[ Tony's looking at him in that same way that he did when he found out Bruce was initially averse to the aesthetic of his body, like he's incredibly concerned with his opinion on something and he's willing to scrap the whole thing and start over to please him.

That's what ultimately gets him to drink, a slow and sort of tentative thing with clear skepticism etched into his brow the whole motion through.

Right up until he gets a mouthful.

He keeps his expression carefully blank. Completely, totally inscrutable.

He's learned a few things about Tony Stark in his short time on Earth. He knows Tony Stark is infinitely giving and utterly thoughtful in his own way. He knows Stark cares about the things he makes, from boxing glove arrows to humanoids to coffee. He knows Stark is utterly obsessive about it.

And he makes really interesting faces when he's trying to figure something out.

Is he a bad person for dragging this out? Is he? Is he a person at all? Is there sort of a wry tilt to his otherwise neutral mouth?

Is he fucking with Tony?

Who, him? Nah, he's just a toaster. ]

Edited 2018-08-17 05:16 (UTC)

[ There is a particular face journey Tony undergoes when faced with code compiling before a satisfactory result, a particularly stubborn equation, Dum-E having jammed something soft and hilarious in the fabrication units for the umpteenth time, or waiting on some kind of validation in very select instances, usually in this lab, usually connected to Pepper, Rhodey, or-

That's about it, really. No one else gets him this pared down and concerned, the trip from trepidation to bracing for disappointment, swinging back to intense curiosity, all sloping brow and wide eyes flaring or narrowing, bottom lip drawn into his mouth as he just. Stands. Waits.

And when the waiting becomes ungodly difficult? Rambles. ]

Look I-

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