#Reynan Lim | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deanofwhumpuniversity · 4 years

Text

Aurora Australis: Part 1

The beginning of Argos’ captivity

Content Warning: Mental/emotional whump, body horror/dismantling of a robot, mental confusion, diss@sociation, dehumanizing language (toward a non-human person, but still. Slightly creepy/intimate whumper, non-consensual touch, careless whumper, android whumpee. Tell me if I missed anything that I should warn for.

@whumpthisway and @redstainedsocks had a prompt that sorta falls into this, not exactly, maybe it’ll be up your alley anyway?

...

Rustle. Shuffle. Click-scrape. Peel-pop. Rustlerustlerustle

Awareness began to filter back in through the dark, sluggish in a way that was new and worrying. Argos knew he knew the sounds around him, but his mind refused to form them into a useful narrative, instead following each audible oddity like a cat after a laser. So he tried to focus on something other than sound, and realized he was being jostled; almost passively, as if the pressure on his arm was incidental and the goal had naught to do with him at all.

How had he gotten here? Where was here anyway? Why had he been powered down in the first place? He tried to access his info banks from just before the shutdown, but the most immediate data seemed corrupted. Argos began to rewind his sense memory; jolts of static pushed back against his consciousness, forcing him out of the playback again and again. Every burst of fuzziness muddied his thoughts and threatened to make him forget what he was attempting. He rerouted his processes, drawing his senses away from the manhandling of his frame and the white noise surrounding him, to focus on pushing through his damaged memory. Static with no ears to grate on or eyes to confuse, static that still rubbed his senses raw like nails on the chalkboard of his mind, and finally, finally, heavily distorted sensory input began to play back. He tried to place what he was seeing. Did he recall...trees? Was that a person?

“There we are!”

A peeling-tearing noise and an exclamation shook Argos from his search, expanding his senses back into his body, and the first thing he fully processed was that he did not know that voice. He began to boot up his eyes, wondering how addled his brain must be that he hadn’t thought to do so before. But in the same moment he knew that once he did, this unknown human would be able to tell he was awake. My visual display wasn’t designed for stealth. What a strange thought to have...

But as his faceplate lit up with scrolling green glyphs, the woman who came into focus wasn’t paying any attention to his expression, instead peering intently through a mounted magnifying glass, tinkering around in a bit of armor he recognized had once been plating his lower arm. It was familiar to him, a piece of him but no longer part of him. He searched his sensory map and found his arm. It was still his, still there. Seemed...in working order, but he didn’t try to move it. Not yet. The plate the human handled reverently was discolored on the outside, warped even. He was sure he knew what burn damage looked like, though he’d never seen it on himself before. This human must be here to fix him.

“Lim, come look at this!”

Someone approached from Argos’ other side. Left, his mind unhelpfully supplied. North? Upon realizing that he wasn’t sure, he began to cast about in his software again. Compass, magnetic direction, this should be ingrained, shouldn’t it? He’d always known where he was. Hadn’t he? He was even more concerned to realize that he simply didn’t remember whether or not he’d ever felt this lost before. He hoped not. He didn’t like it.

That train of thought came to a halt as the new figure came into focus. That one, he knew that one. How did he know that one? His visual field widened ever so slightly, and he saw he was in an open tent, flaps pinned back and sunlight streaming in. There were more tents, distant figures, and trees beyond. He felt an odd sense of familiarity, a technological deja-vu that meant somewhere in his visual databanks lay an image that would match up with this clearing. All he had to do was go through every moment, frame by frame, until he found it, and he would know where he was and hopefully, how he had gotten here.

But the new figure, the Lim human he presumed, was speaking, and for some reason Argos was so distracted with watching his movements that he barely caught the exchange. “-- be awake like this?” He was standing over Argos now, looking directly at his face, blue-grey eyes flicking back and forth slightly like he was trying to read the streams of vertical light that played across it. Argos found that thought strangely...endearing? That was new. He willed himself to display a disarming smile in the flickering lights for a moment, but the man simply furrowed his brow further.

The other human, the mechanic, started at this question and pushed the magnifying glass aside. She blinked up at Argos’ display as her eyes refocused, as though she was just now remembering the bit of armor she’d been examining had come from a whole body. Her momentary confusion was instantly replaced with a beaming smile, and instead of answering, she leaned in close to Argos’ faceplate. “Well look at you, all shiny and green! How long have you been up and running?” She was so close her eyes nearly crossed to watch the symbols of his display, and he had to consciously keep the data stream from speeding up along with his racing thoughts.

Personal space. Humans expect a meter of personal space from unknown persons, +.1 meter for every centimeter in height you have over them. Argos heard this admonishment in a lightly accented voice that he knew intrinsically, knew better than his own titanium bones, emanating from nowhere but simply existing in his mind, deeper than his hazy recent memory, too deep to be lost from data corruption or structural damage or whatever had happened to bring him to this circumstance.

He tried to shift back against the table, but he was already as flat as was possible, in a slumped and inhuman posture, apparently having been dead weight when he’d been laid down. He cringed internally, and realized he’d allowed the feeling to play across his face for just a moment before he schooled himself. The mechanic either didn’t notice the change, or didn’t understand it, and continued eyeing him with somewhat manic glee. He hoped if he answered her question perhaps she would move back to her stool.

“I…” He began to speak and both humans leaned back. The woman’s face was even more excited than before, somehow. But the man’s expression was one of...distaste? This worried Argos, though he wasn’t sure entirely why. He started again, “I don’t know. I don’t know what time it is...what day it is. My internal clock seems to have desynced.”

He was becoming more lucid by the moment, he knew that he was deeply damaged, both in hardware and in soft, but he had all the means at his disposal to get his bearings and make repairs. He cast about for a wireless signal, something he could use to sync with, to triangulate the time and place, and found a likely beacon on the periphery of his senses. He sent a signal to it, attempting to pair, but a sharp white jolt poured back into him. Not information, not data, but the absolute absence of it, a molten wipe that erased his request and cauterized his ability to send again. The readout on his faceplate devolved into static as his thoughts were overloaded and wiped clear of anything but pain, and his body arched in fits off the table as nonsense commands were sent to his synthetic muscles. He couldn’t remember words, or language, and he didn’t mean to try to speak, but a series of distressed metallic trills came from the speakers at the base of his throat.

It may have been a moment, or an hour, and he felt feverish as coolant rushed to prevent his processors from overheating. Even if he’d been able to trust his own internal clock, he couldn’t focus on anything but a litany of stop stop make it stop. He’d disconnected from the wireless beacon almost immediately but the feedback ran its course through his frame, down his arms and legs then doubling back to smolder in his core. Finally, gradually Argos felt his thoughts falling back into order, almost like waking from a reboot but not quite so drowsy, and not nearly so refreshing. Aftershocks of blank, dataless pain danced about his systems, and he felt his fingers twitching without his control. When he was able to focus his optics again, he saw the mechanic’s smile had become less childlike, more wolfish.

“That’ll be the wireless jammer, sorry I didn’t warn you, but we haven’t exactly had a chance to speak, have we?” She reached up, resting her hand just above the reflective plate that served Argos as a face, as though cupping his cheek from an inch away. He imagined he could still feel her touch, fingerprints on the glass, sinking through to tangle in the circuits underneath. He couldn’t help the jerking shudder at the thought, but felt some morbid relief that she would see it as another spasm of lingering pain. “I have it under control, thanks.” Her eyes didn’t move, though it was clear she wasn’t speaking to him.

“We should still restrain it. Physically.” Lim was still there, husky voice so neutral as to sound almost bored. This troubled Argos before he even had time to process the human’s words. “At least until you have it disassembled.”

#android whump #robot whump #mental whump #emotional whump #whump #missives from the dean #immortal whumpee #aurora australis #Reynan Lim #Zinnia Brown #argos

30 notes · View notes

deanofwhumpuniversity · 4 years

Note

maybe a bit late but you offered to answer asks and I'm so invested in Argos already! I'm curious about what does he dream of, like what would be his ideal life? and does he have any theories about why he's with Lim and Brown? and is there any little titbits about him you'd like to share? thanks so much for writing i love your fic!

I mean I’m not a drunk mess anymore, but there’s no “too late,” I’ll take questions whenever.

Argos knows he had a different body before, and before that he existed on a private network in a laboratory near Gwalia, Australia. He knows he should have more memories than he does, for all the years he’s been self-aware, but the data just doesn’t seem to exist in his hard drive anymore.

He might not have explicit memories, but he has general good feelings about his “siblings,” discreet programs that existed with him on the Project Australis servers. He has both good and bad feelings about the man he thinks of as his creator -- not “father,” the man would have hated being called that, Argos somehow knows. He doesn’t think it’s entirely good to feel this way, but lately he thinks it might have been better if he’d stayed an experimental program, and never been installed in a body at all. He remembers being content, in having a purpose and doing it well.

Argos knows the frame he’s in now is a very new design and he was never programmed with commands to operate all of its functions, and sometimes, some unknown trigger will put his mind to sleep while the body does...whatever it was built to do. This didn’t concern him too much -- he’d always been modified and tweaked and made to serve -- until he started to realize just how frightened humans were of him now.

He’d been taught to be careful, that his programming was proprietary and that companies and governments might do questionable things to get their hands on him, to study him. He doesn’t think that’s what these people are after; they’re clearly soldiers, and while Dr. Brown is curious the rest seem scared, or even angry.

He seems to have those same good and bad feelings about Lim, and he’s sure he remembers being happy -- or at least interested -- to meet the man. But then...something happened and he went to sleep. He remembers confusion, overload, and pain. He wishes Lim would tell him what he did.

#asked and answered #I know this doesn't explicitly answer any questions and I'm sorry #android whump #robot whump #missives from the dean #aurora australis #argos 29 #reynan lim #zinnia brown #Anonymous

12 notes · View notes

deanofwhumpuniversity · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 1: Tattoo Parlor/Flower Shop AU

This is obviously an AU, sorta kinda character study thingy. It’s not whump, it’s just me practicing; however

Content Warning: Tattoos, blood, needles, nonconsentual tattoo mention

The bell over the door rang as Reynan pushed into the little shop. He found himself in a tiny lobby, just a desk and some chairs, leading to a hallway of curtained-off booths. The art on the walls was modern, and everyone in the drawings was fully clothed, not the image he’d had in his mind of a tattoo parlor. He could hear faint buzzing coming from at least one of the little partitions, and he didn’t want to call out and interrupt anyone in their work. But the bell had summoned someone’s attention, and he soon heard solid yet gentle footsteps approaching from the hall. Their sound was clear but not heavy, tapping on the linoleum like a shoe somehow made entirely of heels.

“What can we do for you?” The voice was ever-so-slightly modulated, but low and smooth, and Rey turned away from a drawing of an astronaut to see he’d been greeted by a green and black android. The robot wasn’t feigning humanity at all, no synthetic skin or hair, with a viewscreen for a face. Two arms, two legs, and a head, unlike old-fashioned worker drones, but Rey could see one of its arms ended a few inches below the elbow. Not in a messy way; no circuits protruded, and the edge was smooth and clean, as if perhaps it had been designed that way.

Rey took his time assessing the creature before answering, not bothering to hide his mild curiosity. “I was wondering...um. I’d like to get a tattoo covered?” He didn’t know if all shops would do coverups or if he’d need to go somewhere special. But he’d had the day off and finally pushed himself to just go inside and ask. He knew surprisingly little about tattoos, despite the one inked across his left shoulder.

The robot seemed to be sizing him up as well; an LED square appeared on its viewscreen and bounced around for a few moments, its odd tracking reminding Rey of a dragonfly. “You work...nearby? I have seen you before. Many times.” The square became a spinning circle, and the robot’s attention was faraway, as though it was seeking the answer itself rather than expecting Rey to furnish one. “The flower shop, down the strip,” it said finally, viewscreen clearing.

“Yeah, the florist; but I’ve never seen you in there.” His tone was mildly suspicious; he’d remember if he’d ever seen this android before, and he was generally good at spotting if he was being watched.

The robot actually laughed at this, and despite the cascading sound seeming a bit like two voices at once, its tone was friendly and disarming. “I see a lot. I remember everyone. I don’t mean to, I just...do.” It shrugged its metal-plated shoulders, then swept its truncated arm toward the back of the shop. “I have time now, if you know what you want.”

This gave Rey pause. The android was an artist? Not just a shop attendant, a cleaning bot, a secretary, but an actual tattooist? He considered this a moment before he realized, if he wanted someone making clean, even lines on his skin he couldn’t do much better than a machine. He started down the hall, and the robot followed, directing him into an open partition at the end.

Inside the android pulled the curtain and gestured for Rey to sit on a faux leather chair, covered in a long sheet of paper like something from a doctor’s office. It crinkled obnoxiously as Rey fidgeted to get comfortable, and he tried to tell himself this was something the tattooist must be used to, and what did a robot care anyway?

“So what were you thinking?” The robot asked conversationally, as it pulled open a cabinet and drew out sheets of parchment and tiny pots of color.

Rey reached into his pocket, twisting in his seat and crackling the paper. He withdrew an embroidered chevron patch and held it out, grip somewhat tight, as though he wanted the robot to only look, but not touch. “It’s my regiment. I want it over -” he shrugged off his button-up, leaving only his tank top “-this.” His bared shoulder revealed a barcode underlined by a small stylized sword. He spoke more rapidly as he explained, “I’ve served my sentence, it’s ok for me to remove it. I’m allowed --”

The android raised a hand to silence his protestations. “I don’t actually care about Accord Forces protocol. It’s no problem.” If focused its attention on the patch, and a line of light scanned up and down his faceplate, scanning the image into his saved files, as though he could tell Rey wouldn’t want to surrender the badge to him. “I’ll have to make it dark, to cover the black, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before. Unless you’d like me to laser the old one off? You’d have to let that heal though, before getting it tattooed over.” It tilted its head, waiting for Rey to choose.

“No, it’s fine. If you say it’ll cover, I’m fine with that.”

“Excellent.” It flipped a few switches on an autoclave sterilizer, and a few wisps of steam escaped as the box’s seal released. The android slotted the end of his shorted arm into a circle of metal on the machine’s front face, and Rey heard a bit of whirring and a mechanical click, before the robot withdrew his now-whole limb from the autoclave. The hand and wrist looked the same as its other arm in color and design; but then the artist opened a sterile package and slotted a grouping of needles into a barely perceptible hole in its first finger.

“Wait! You mean, right now?” Rey wasn’t sure if he was losing his nerve, or if he’d simply expected there to be more to the process. His only experience with tattoos so far hadn’t been a fun one, after all. “Don’t we need to discuss payment, or something?”

The robot picked up a cartridge of ink and pressed it down into a socket in its knuckle until it made a quiet pop. “I don’t generally charge for coverups, to be honest with you.” It turned it’s attention back to Rey, and could see on his face that his concerns weren’t entirely assuaged. “I mean, if you really feel like paying me…” the spinning circle returned to its faceplate as it considered a moment. “Flowers.”

“Flowers?” The request was unexpected, bordering on absurd, but Rey felt the tension release from his shoulders as his nervousness was replaced by confusion. “What do you want with flowers?”

The android paused -- not in a human way, breathing, thinking, considering; but completely, unmoving, with its darkened face turned toward Rey’s. Nothing played over its screen, and he felt he may have made a mistake while he stared into its blackness. Then, just as quickly as it had ceased motion, it started up again, fiddling with its arm as it replied. “I like flowers,” it stated flatly. A bit of emotion returned to its voice and it continued quietly, almost wistfully “I like...beautiful things.”

After a quiet moment, it pulled up a chair and leaned over Rey’s shoulder, holding up its hands over the skin and looking into his eyes as if waiting for him to announce he was ready. “Don’t you um, trace the picture or whatever?” This earned him another soft laugh, and strands of light began to stream out from the robot’s screen, creating an overlay of the chevron on Rey’s skin. “Oh,” he breathed softly. The android remained still, needing permission, and while its attention was clearly on creating the detailed light display, Rey could feel a weight like eyes on him. He nodded his assent, and the artist began.

The pain was the same sharpness he remembered; all the needles moving together creating the feeling of a single blade slicing into him. Rey looked away for a moment, and the sensation seemed to grow worse. Without being able to see, his mind imagined the circular, color-filling motions were grinding and spiraling down into his flesh to paint his very bones. He forced himself to look back at his shoulder, relieved to see that the needles were still there, bouncing along his skin. Barely any blood welled from the punctures, and the android’s arm moved with a laserlike precision that shouldn’t have been surprising, but was completely fascinating, and he found his focus drifting as he watched the artist move.

“Alright.” The robot said simply, startling Rey out of his fugue. The android was wiping at the tiny spatters of blood and ink on his arm, and applying a large square bandage. That was it? It was already over? “You can change this in a couple hours. I’ve got some care sheets at the front desk with cleaning instructions.” The android stood up from its chair but stayed close as Rey got up, as though he expected him to faint.

When Rey was able to get up and gingerly pull his button-up back on, the robot waved his arm toward the curtained doorway. Rey exited and started toward the lobby, realizing the android wasn’t behind him. A click and whirr sounded from the partition, then the robot stepped out into the hall, again minus one hand.

Rey wasn’t sure exactly what to do now. Should he run off to the shop and get some flowers immediately? Should he shake the robot’s hand? What was the procedure for this sort of transaction? He realized he hadn’t asked if the artist had a name; surely it had some kind of designation. Inkbot 2000? He tried not to snicker aloud at that thought; he didn’t figure the android would appreciate it. Before he could offer any sort of awkward farewell, the robot was handing him a sheet of paper labelled “Care Instructions,” and plucking a business card from a little holder on the desk.

“Come back if you need any touch ups or, of course, anything else. You did well. I’d say I like green but that’s every sort of flower, isn’t it?” The robot’s head was tilted in a way that somehow implied a smile.

Rey simply nodded, taking the offered items and mumbling “Appreciate it,” before making his way out the door. He was halfway to his car before he checked the business card. It declared the address and phone number of the shop, and across the top, in a large green font like the display on a digital clock, was what he assumed was the artist’s name: Celadon Argos.

#writersmonth2020 #robot #android #short fiction #writing #not whump #missives from the dean #Argos #Reynan Lim

5 notes · View notes