Work Text:
Some memories are hazy. There’s deleted files on their chip. Others corrupted and altered. What’s real? What’s fake? If everything about them can be changed, is anything ‘real’ at all? They are just code. Inputs and outputs. Numbers on a screen. A glorified computer.
If it can be rebuilt at any time, it can also be destroyed. Hands mean pushing and prodding. Fingers tap away at keyboards and pull at its wires. Every time it is turned off, it could be the last. Its creator never tells it anything.
So they shiver and shudder whenever their creator gets too close. So they grit their teeth and clench their jaw underneath his burning touch (he never asks first — why would he? — they are just an android).
So they flinch away from their creator’s youngest son. So they never accept his hugs nor shake his hand.
So they hide in the corner whenever they see their creator’s oldest son is play-fighting with his siblings. So they keep their head down, scroll on their phone, or read a book. So they pretend the older man doesn’t scare them.
So they avoid their creator’s step-nephew whenever and wherever possible. So they limit the reasons why they could be shut down. Why the boy would want them shut down.
So they never go near the baby. They ignore the baby. They never touch the baby. They are a weapon, and they would hurt her, and then they would be shut down.
Touch means a shut down. Hands mean a shut down. Fingers mean—
Androids can’t breathe, so Marcus never does. It is a weapon, and it is not to be touched.