This Iron Heart (Actual RP)

"What do you mean, 'if something happens'? Most AIs here work together, as was set by Cerebrum. We don't have currency, either, as set by Cerebrum, but we will gladly take the scrap, as we can always use more to create more AIs... as set by Cerebrum."


"I can print up a map." said the female. "And I'm a medic."


((Think of their society s communism, but if it actually worked out in practice as it did in theory.))
 
Spectre Is Not Used To The Ways Of This City, "Hm This Place Isnt Like Home...Oh And Heres The Scrap"


Spectre Gives The AI A Bag Of Scrap And Says "I Hope This Help's You Out, So About The My Medical Condition, Is There Any Way You Can Help With My Amnesia?"
 
The white-plated medic blinked. "Um... well, we haven't had a case of amnesia so far. But if you would be so kind as to come with me, we might be able to learn something about the condition, bringing us closer to the solution." she straightened up, approaching him.
 
"Ok..." Spectre Follows The medic "So... Never Had A Case Of amnesia here yet... i guess thats good"
 
She nodded. "All of the humans here are well taken care of. There's only one who's troublesome, health-wise. But he's under good watch. We've only had to restrain him to feed him his medication seven times." she gave Spectre a mouthless smile.
 
He Shrugs It Off And Says "So how many visitors you get?" as he continues walking with the medic to there destination.
 
"Not many. We have AIs visit other cities, but not often. If we're lucky, we can rescue a human from the Outside, and we search for the right caretaker, often sending them to the corresponding city." they pass by a robot of the exact same model, who had light pink eyes and wore a dress.
 
Spectre Just Stares At The Robot while walking past "Hm, Ever wondered whats out side the limit's? ive been out there its the last thing i remember besides home..."
 
"The Collective Intelligence provides plenty of information on the Outside. We have had many scouts sent out and we have photos, videos and descriptions of it." she blinked a few times. "So we have no real need for curiosity. If something is uploaded to the CI, then everybody has access to it. Except for humans, of course."
 
"Ah I See, Ive tried getting farther...but i think something knocked me out... or someone, i dont know, Got Payed To Do A Job And Ha I Sure As Hell Tried But I Sure As Hell Failed But It Payed Well... I Think..."


He Mumbles To Himself "Hope it was worth it vec...."
 
"Well, I'm afraid whatever you were given was completely useless. Currency isn't a thing here! Every AI does their own part, and every AI is entitled to maintenance. Cerebrum gave us the building blocks for the society, and it works well. Everyone's an equal here!" she gave him another smile.
 
"When I Get My Memory Back I'll Probably be chased out in a month tops,


im not know for beeing to friendly arouned unrelated faces"


"I Collect Scrap..but i dont know why anymore... all i know is mostly all the smaller city's hate me, ive destroyed machines, man handled humans, broke rules, went out limits for creature killing, and destroyed lives, i probably dont deserve my memory's back..."
 
She blinked a few times. "Well, I hope that isn't true. Then Cerebrum would most definitely have you restrained. Not killed, as you are an endangered species, but studied. Perhaps genetic material would be harvested." the medic pondered out loud.
 
"Well Then Lets Hope There Isnt Anyone That Will Get On My Nerves To Much.."


"So We Gonna Do Anything About My Amnesia? Study It? Treat It? Something?"


Spectre Crosses His Arms And Waits For A Response
 
"We are going to study it, and I will search the CI for any information on it. Here's my office." she stopped in front of a glass door, which slid open. She stepped inside, walking through a small arch into another room. There was a cot there, and she motioned to it. "Lie down. I doubt there'll be much information out in the open, so it might take a minute." she sat on a chair next to it, her eyes dimming.
 
Spectre Lays Down And Says "I Know Your Just Studying It But Please Tell Me If There Will Be Needles"


((G2g to bed))
 
"Most likely not." she paused for half a minute before sighing. "...no treatments found in the CI, searching again." After a minute, her optics narrowed. "It seems there isn't a treatment in our Intelligence. However, to your luck, we have a human doctor. I will call him up now."


Over the intercoms throughout the city, her voice was heard.


"Doctor Wilson Kraus, please come to the medical office stationed on floor 54 of the Hub. Doctor Wilson Kraus, please come to the medical office stationed on floor 54 of the Hub. Thank you."


She was silent for a moment. "...and now, we wait."
 
Waking up in a bed after years on stony ground or makeshift pallets was probably as near to heaven as Milo Christopherson believed a person could get. Every morning as the soft light turned on to wake him – an admittedly gentle ritual compared to waking at the scream of a hawk or the faintly-remembered burst of an alarm clock – he reveled in the five or so seconds of not entirely being aware of his situation. Then his eyes opened and he saw the sterile room, felt the dull ache of the stump of his arm where the neural connecters had been grafted into his flesh, and remembered the alien creatures that had found him in the wastes and brought him here. His robotic overlords, to quote someone he'd once thought of as a friend.


Milo dragged his feet sideways under the sheets and let them find the edge of the bed, then hauled himself to the floor. His arm was in its charging socket, drawing energy from the walls so it wouldn't have to take it from his own body. The doctor, if you could call it that, who had given him the prosthetic had explained that the arm was designed to be able to catalyze caloric energy into electric energy if it ran out of reserve power, but it was less of a strain on the body of the user – that was what it had called him, “the user” - if it was charged in a dedicated power source. Milo pulled the arm from the charger and fixed it to the connecters under his left elbow. He'd made certain after the first time that he wouldn't need help doing it ever again.


There was a blinding flash of pain as the nerves, still refusing to accept the loss of the original limb, suddenly received fresh input. Electric signals of searing sensation rocketed up his arm, but were quickly followed by a massive dose of endorphins. The doctor had insisted upon the hormonal implant as a way to encourage Milo's body to accept the prosthetic. Unfortunately it has the odd side effect of making almost any experience of physical pain intensely pleasurable, and Milo found that incredibly uncomfortable. Pain was the body's way of telling you something was wrong, and it was meant to stay that way. Yet as his pain subsided and the lingering hormonal cocktail faded, he picked himself up from his knees (though he couldn't remember having fallen to them) and pulled on a newly laundered white shirt with buttons.


Milo hated buttons. He'd learned in the wastes, after his arm had been taken, to fasten the rudimentary handmade buttons he could get out there with just his right hand, but these were small and precise facets of a pre-war garment, and his new-found left hand wanted to help. He still hadn't mastered the neural pathways, though, and his fingers were clumsy and slow. Eventually he got all but the top three buttons fastened. He was too frustrated to do more than that. The pants they'd given him were easier, sturdy jeans with a zipper and a large, simple button. There was no rough ground here to cut his feet, so Milo decided he'd go without shoes until one of the machines forced him to put them on. He hoped that wouldn't happen.


As Milo stepped out the door into the morning sun, he breathed in clean air and looked around at the settlement. There was a sinking in his gut, different from the empty rumbling of his belly. In this little slice of rebuilding humanity, watched over by the machines, he was beginning to understand something that the wastelands had driven out of him, a biological need crying from the pit of his very being. Milo needed a friend.
 
AIs of all different shapes and sizes could be seen from the uncovered section of the Housing Complex. He would often see several machines of the same model, with slight variations to each one, such as a paint job, a hat or different optics. There was the sound of a door closing, and a robot- one of the medic bots, he knew by now, but her once white plating was coloured a dark gray -approached. She called up an elevator before turning to look at him.


"Good morning. Have you been signed in this morning? I can easily do it for you." the lower shutters of her yellow optics lifted in a smile, as she had no mouth to do so.
 
Milo scowled a bit, though not necessarily at the creature that had addressed him. After all, it was just doing its job. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked around at the various machines, one eye closing in the light. It was quite exposed up here.


“I, um... Haven't. Honestly, I don't quite remember the sign-in process. I'm still a bit new.” Milo's voice was a bit hoarse from its first use of the morning, and he cleared his throat. “I've seen you before though, right? I'm sorry if that's, um... offensive... I just don't...” he trailed off, unsure of even the sentiment he was trying to express. The linguistic politics of dealing with machines was just about too much for him, even if he wasn't quite convinced they were capable of taking offense at anything he could say. His fingers, as they always did, found the scar on his forehead and he scrathed absently at it for a second. His mouth was moving, searching for the next words.


“Tell you what,” he said slowly. “You remind me who you are, and I'll... sign in with you. Is that good?” He tried to smile back at the seemingly female but nearly featureless robot, though the expression was disingenuous and pale. His stomach rumbled a bit and his cheeks flushed slightly at that. Damn body was always betraying him with its base needs.
 
"I am the Human Nurturing System #31, model 3, but I go by Cheryl." she gave another mouthless smile. "The sign-in process is simple. Do you recall having the code tattooed onto the back of your neck? I simply scan it and the system recognizes you. You are then signed in, Cerebrum knowing that you are alive and present." she paused after his stomach growled.


"Are you hungry? All Nurturing systems know how to cook, and I would be more than happy to feed you." she placed her hands behind her back, staring at him.
 
Milo's right hand rubbed absently at the back of his neck, feeling the slight bumps of the tattoo. He only vaguely recalled receiving the tattoo. Most of his memories of the first day or two in this elevated city were blurred by anesthesia and surgery. He let his hand dropped and looked into the eyes that weren't quite eyes. He shrugged.


“I suppose you had better scan me in, Cheryl. Then yes, food would be wonderful.” He pursed his lips for a moment, glancing around. “Do I, um...” His cheeks flushed a bit, frustrated by the social nature of the situation even if what he was talking to wasn't human. There was a reason he'd preferred being on his own. He finally choked out the words. “Do I invite you in, or are we going somewhere else?” He couldn't remember the last meal he had, and any sort of nourishment sounded good. For the past day or so he'd been distracted by his new arm, trying to make it work as well as he could, and had thus neglected to get himself fed. Now there was a robot offering to cook for him, as if his world couldn't get weirder.
 
"Anywhere you feel most comfortable!" she approached him, scanning the back of his neck. "There we are, signed in. How do you feel, by the way? Is the arm giving you trouble? Do you have a sore throat, cough, hives, rashes, diarrhea, blood leaking out of any orifices or a stuffy nose?" she took a step back, eying him. "You appear to be healthy, but you can never be too careful!"


Cheryl moved back in front of him, swaying a bit.
 
Milo stepped back when she did, a bit wary. He had no real reason to distrust the robot – Cheryl – but he didn't have a reason to trust her completely, either. He listened to her rattle off symptoms, then shook his head. He felt fine, except for the hunger and a very minor headache that it was causing, but he didn't tell her that. Instead he simply said, “I'm alright,” before glancing back at the door they'd given him. It was important to remember that everything he had here was the gift of the machines, and if they decided they didn't need him for whatever it was they were doing, they might get rid of him as suddenly as they'd scooped him up. He bit his lower lip for a moment then shook his head to refocus.


“Is there another facility we can use to eat? I think I want to see more of this place.” That wasn't a lie. Not really. But it also covered the fact that he didn't feel entirely comfortable inviting the machine into his home. He wondered if they had eyes where he couldn't see them, watching him at every moment. He wondered how much information those eyes could pick up. He remembered vaguely, from his childhood, that cameras had existed before the world collapsed that could see your heartbeat and the flow of your blood. Were these machines capable of that level of surveillance? Were they capable of more? And most importantly, did they use it?
 
She gave a nod. "There are some facilities that cater especially to humans. Since C-006 houses the most humans on Earth, we give them special privileges." she gave a nod, spinning to the elevator doors which slid open.


"If you would be so kind as to follow me, Milo, I can take you to the nearest food corner." Cheryl stepped inside, turning towards him and nodding to the spot next to her.
 
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