[ K's only experiences with physical contact have been either impersonal â technicians ensuring he's fit for service, treating him like any other useful but disposable tool â or characterised by violence and violation, without his consent ever being a factor. Because consent doesn't exist for those like him.
And it's that, Aaron seeking his permission, more than the request itself that has him hesitating, at a loss for how to react. He's being asked, not ordered. It forces him to consider something he never has before... whether or not he even wants to be touched. He doesn't know. His lived experience dictates that he should expect it to hurt. But, ultimately, his own curiosity also wins out.
At length he cautiously reaches out and offers his hands for inspection, both held palm-up and with his fingers outstretched. He'll feel remarkably similar to if not indistinguishable from a human: warm, pliant skin, hints of calluses on his fingers, a thin fading scar on one wrist, networks of veins, tendons and bone; bone that's denser than the human equivalent, made to absorb greater impact without being damaged, but that won't be immediately apparent.
And a discernible pulse, steady and strong, should Aaron think to check for it. ]
Everything about me was designed to meet the specifications of the client who ordered me. I imagine some of my physical features may have been left to chance, because I'm not a pleasure model. [ Which are unfortunately exactly what they sound like, because a society that condones slavery is hardly going to draw the line at manual labour. K relays that information impassively. ] My appearance is less important than my function.
We're given implanted memories. False memories, of a childhood and life that none of us actually experience. For greater mental stability, I've been told, correcting a problem in earlier models. Maybe earlier models weren't aware of what they are. I've always known what I am. And what I'm not.
Obedience isn't a choice. I can't choose my life.
[ All the while, he's been observing Aaron's face and the emotions that play out so freely there, attempting to decipher their meaning. It's strange, that this human feels so strongly about the (mis)treatment of androids. That he â genuinely seems to think K himself is a person, in some capacity. A misguided assumption, but understandable, given his unfamiliarity with this technology. K's expression softens with sympathy. ]
I've never met a human like you. I'm sorry this causes you distress. Why... does it? Why do you feel it's fundamentally wrong? [ There's already an inkling of why, the seed of an idea that was planted when Aaron specified how his daughter isn't biologically his, and yet his devotion to her remains obvious. If the biology of one's origins doesn't matter to him, perhaps that explains his unusual sentimentality about K's lot in life. ]
no subject
And it's that, Aaron seeking his permission, more than the request itself that has him hesitating, at a loss for how to react. He's being asked, not ordered. It forces him to consider something he never has before... whether or not he even wants to be touched. He doesn't know. His lived experience dictates that he should expect it to hurt. But, ultimately, his own curiosity also wins out.
At length he cautiously reaches out and offers his hands for inspection, both held palm-up and with his fingers outstretched. He'll feel remarkably similar to if not indistinguishable from a human: warm, pliant skin, hints of calluses on his fingers, a thin fading scar on one wrist, networks of veins, tendons and bone; bone that's denser than the human equivalent, made to absorb greater impact without being damaged, but that won't be immediately apparent.
And a discernible pulse, steady and strong, should Aaron think to check for it. ]
Everything about me was designed to meet the specifications of the client who ordered me. I imagine some of my physical features may have been left to chance, because I'm not a pleasure model. [ Which are unfortunately exactly what they sound like, because a society that condones slavery is hardly going to draw the line at manual labour. K relays that information impassively. ] My appearance is less important than my function.
We're given implanted memories. False memories, of a childhood and life that none of us actually experience. For greater mental stability, I've been told, correcting a problem in earlier models. Maybe earlier models weren't aware of what they are. I've always known what I am. And what I'm not.
Obedience isn't a choice. I can't choose my life.
[ All the while, he's been observing Aaron's face and the emotions that play out so freely there, attempting to decipher their meaning. It's strange, that this human feels so strongly about the (mis)treatment of androids. That he â genuinely seems to think K himself is a person, in some capacity. A misguided assumption, but understandable, given his unfamiliarity with this technology. K's expression softens with sympathy. ]
I've never met a human like you. I'm sorry this causes you distress. Why... does it? Why do you feel it's fundamentally wrong? [ There's already an inkling of why, the seed of an idea that was planted when Aaron specified how his daughter isn't biologically his, and yet his devotion to her remains obvious. If the biology of one's origins doesn't matter to him, perhaps that explains his unusual sentimentality about K's lot in life. ]