lostsymmetry | IC Contact: Reverie Terminal

[Like most of the things Arid says, this message is brief, direct, and purposeful—if spoken a little less sharply than Arid’s usual terse cadence.]

Hank-Morely. I wish to inquire about the range and scope of your camera access on the station.

And hello to you too, Arid.

[Amused and appreciative. He's just poking fun.]

I've got eyes at the ends of each corridor and a decent view of the public-use rooms. Crew quarters and sealed areas are a no-go.

What are you after?

[She addressed him by name before stating her request. Arid counts that as an adequate greeting and the fact that he returned the acknowledgement will only confirm this notion in her mind. As for her request...]

Two human residents recorded the broadcast of a brief, possibly automated message in one of their residential quarters. I wish to know if cameras recorded the same broadcast occurring elsewhere on the station.

[She sends over a link to the network post that contains the recording in question for Hank-Morely’s examination. It is inconvenient that he does not also have camera access in the station's other residential quarters but knowing if the broadcast played in any public areas could also constitute useful data.]

Oh, I caught that broadcast. No problem.

<Processing...>

[Hank suspects if it were transmitted elsewhere, someone would have noticed, but it doesn't hurt to skim through the logs. It does, however, take a little while.]

So. You're making friends?

[There are times when Hank-Morely speaks that Arid isn’t sure whether he is making an earnest query or merely emulating some obscure human nicety. This is one such instance.]

I am seeking to learn more about an anomalous message, [she responds, in case he is actually asking.] How the human residents perceive me for this inquiry is not my primary concern.

[Though one of the humans had said something that implies a positive view of her actions—or rather, their actions. She considers a moment before adding,]

The female human wished me to express her appreciation for your assistance.

Hello again. Regarding your announcement of people disappearing. Do you think you could check up on someone for me?

Edited (phrasing...) 2018-06-16 13:16 (UTC)

[Oh, he's asking. And not even a little disappointed by the results.]

Right. Secondary, then.

[Probably tertiary or quaternary or... well, a lot further down the list. But hope springs eternal. Or at least dry humor does.]

Nice of her. [A pause, tone musing.] There's a lot of that going around. You've noticed too, right?

Absolutely. What do you need?

[Admittedly, it is on the list somewhere, but Arid has never been adept at recognizing anything other than her primary objective at any given time. She nods at Hank-Morely’s observation.]

The organics here are very… courteous.

[She isn’t sure how else to put it. She cannot yet say if they are truly sympathetic to AI or just outwardly friendlier. But the behaviors she has experienced from them—sincere expressions of gratitude, inquiring as to her preferences, even anticipating that she has a name—are certainly not what she expected.]

Not all of them seem accustomed to interacting with AI.

I have not heard of a friend of mine in a few days. Wally West. ( he attaches wally's network id. )

Not at all.

[Expressions of gratitude. Friendly overtures. Introductions, instead of demands. These might not be qualified technicians, but this level of ignorance?]

...It's a nice change. In, more than one way.

Processing...

[And, almost immediately after.]

I'm not finding a communicator, but that might not mean much. Where would he usually be?

He is very fast and has trouble staying still for long periods of time. The mess hall, frequently.

It is convenient, [Arid agrees. Without a doubt, it has made existing as a deviant AI far less dangerous than it would have been in their universe of origin.

And yet, even with that knowledge, Arid has resisted letting her guard down. Humans are not as consistent as AI and she has made the mistake of misjudging their intentions before. Perhaps there could be value in forming connections with them—but there are also obvious risks.]

You have more experience interacting directly with humans than I have, [Arid states.] Do you believe their expressions of camaraderie to be genuine?

[Arid always does choose the hard questions. He doesn't hesitate, but there's a wistful note to his voice.]

...They mean it. Most of them, anyway.

They don't have any reason not to.

Hey Alex said you could tap into the security footage on this station. Wanna help me find someone?

Got it.

[And, half a minute or so later...]

Match found.

[The ID's familiar. Not one Hank's spoken with, but if he has any doubts, they don't make it to his text.]

Sure. Who are you looking for?

Kovacs. Just over 6 foot, brown hair, green eyes. He lives in 3.11 but he isn't there or responding to his comm.

[Another day, another clipped, to-the-point message from Arid. However, though the words are as direct as one might expect, her tone is different from the last time. More urgent—perhaps even anxious.]

Hank-Morely. I again require your assistance searching the station’s camera logs.

Processing...

[The reply is automated. The network scan that follows, nearly as much so. Hank's been asked to look up more than a few missing persons since the disappearances became public, and every time, the most he's been able to do is offer a view of when they melted away.

So when a camera pings him with an immediate, present view? He's relieved. Excited, even.]

Match found.

Hey! Looks

[...at first.]

uh

A corridor off the mess hall. [Coordinates ping to Miller's device even as the words appear—one line rapidly flitting up after the next.]

Bring backup if you go.

He's

There's a body

Send me the video I'm already on my way there.

[And Miller receives a live film.]

[He's heard that voice before. Albeit not usually from Arid. It's concerning enough for him to run a sweep of the hall cameras—trying to catch a glimpse of her as he replies.]

Sure, Arid. What are we after?

[He’ll find her in the corridor outside of the Deck 6 barracks, using her communicator to place the call. There is nothing to suggest immediate distress or danger. Just Arid, standing at attention as usual.]

Are you familiar with the droid who calls himself One? He is a humanoid combat model with green indicator lights. I am attempting to locate him.

Thanks friendo. I'm sure you'll know before I do how this falls out.

A little bit. We talked over the network.

[Not for long, but enough to know he's Arid's ally. And if she's asking rather than calling him herself...

Hank's tone stays carefully level.]

I'm not spotting him on any current feeds. When did you last see him?

I spoke to him in his quarters four days prior. He did not appear to be in any distress.

[She should have attempted to locate him earlier. One was given to isolation and she had not assessed his lack of further communication as strange. Perhaps if she should have been more consistent with status checks, she would have noticed his absence sooner.]

Has he appeared in any logged camera footage since that time?

<Processing...>

[Four days, and a fixed origin point. This search doesn't take long at all.]

<Match found.>

...sorry, Arid.

[Not the match she was hoping for.]

[Arid feels a rush of dread at Hank-Morely’s apology. Roused by her fear, the virus within her stirs like a creature woken from long slumber.]

You are unable to locate him?

Well... yeah.

[He'd told her that from the beginning. The why, though?]

He disappeared yesterday.

[Disappeared? Does he mean…?]

Show me the last recorded footage you have of him.

...

Over here.

[The voice comes from a nearby console: a wide display screen near the end of the hall. Hank's face flickers on the view as Arid approaches, before replacing with the camera log. It shows One, striding confidently down the hall outside his quarters.

Until he form blurs, shimmers, and melts away. Gone, just like the rest.]

[Arid walks stiffly towards the screen at the end of the hall. Part of her already knows what she’ll see, even as she stubbornly clings to the possibility that it may be something different. But as the screen flickers onto the station camera logs, even that adamant hope is extinguished. One walks, unsuspecting, and then just like the others, shimmers, fragments, and disappears.

Arid is silent for several moments, trying to process what she’s just seen. When she speaks, her normally monotone voice is shaken.]

He has been… He was… [Destroyed. It is the most likely explanation. No one, organic or synthetic could survive being unmade like that. Failure hits harder than grief, the once resolute support of her rule now a condemnation.] I could not protect—

[The words cut off as the virus within her surges out of its dormancy. Awareness doesn’t help. Shadows swim at the edges of Arid’s vision, a vise-grip closing around her processes until all other emotions are subsumed by a terrified need to force the situation to be otherwise.]

N̡͘ò͜ [The words come out in a snarl.] H̕e̶̶͜ ̛c̡a̸nņ̛o͞t͝ ̵͟͟b̡͟e ͏l̴͝ǫ̛͞s̢̕ţ̷̕.̶

[The video proves nothing. This would not be the first time the station has deceived them, nor would it be the first time it allowed survival even in the most unlikely of circumstances. Another explanation must be possible.

Her next words are a command, harsh and impatient.]

S҉h̀o͢w̡͏ ͠͡m̸e̢͜ ̴t̸h̴͜e̶͢͠ ́͞o̶̷th̨͠è͏r͢s̀͝ ̵̡w̴͏h͠o͜͢ d͜͏iśáp̢p̶e̸͏a̧re͢҉ḑ̛͘.͝͏̵

Arid—

[He's speaking already. Words of reassurance, queuing up to anchor the fragile trembling of Arid's own. He knew One was a friend of hers.

But the snarl that knots itself through Arid's voice is in a different register entirely. Different, and painfully familiar—for all that Hank's only heard it once before.]

Arid.

[Sharp with concern. The screen flickers slightly, Domesticon's warped logo replacing the blank hall, but makes no move to comply with her command.]

He'll be okay!

[Neither instance of Arid’s name seems to reach her, provoking no response or even acknowledgment. Her frame remains locked in place, faceplate fixed to the screen in stubborn, rigid apprehension, only faltering slightly when Hank-Morely offers his reassurance.]

H̶͏o̷͝w̵ ̵̧͜d̡̡͝o̴ you ͝k͏no̶w? [The words are sharp, this time with desperation. She wants to believe him. If there’s any way for One to be whole and functioning, for her rule to be intact, for this crushing fear to be once again become isolated and contained, she wants it more than anything. Her words are almost a plea.]

Ţell҉ ̷mè.

[Amplifying fear. The specific mechanisms of Arid's virus might be unknown—and something Hank is definitely going to inquire more into later. But the desperation in that request is painfully clear. Especially considering the source.]

A couple days ago, a human turned up in the hangar bay.

[Alex. He'd posted about it. Those details aren't crucial, though, and his response comes quick and simple: a soothing patter of reassuring fact.]

Same view on the cameras. He vanished just like your friend, and came back fine.

It's transport, Arid.

[Not destruction. Not for any of them.]

[Arid listens, world reduced for those few moments to the steady cascade of data Hank-Morely provides. One is alive and it takes a few moments simply to process that fact, every repetition eroding the virus’s hold on her until the shadows at the edge of her vision finally recede.]

He is elsewhere on the station.

[The words are still apprehensive, but that desperate, faulty terror is absent, replaced by a fragile hope.]

You do not know where he might have been taken?

...No idea. [It's regretful, but honest.] Here, or planetside, or somewhere else completely.

[Back where he came from, Hank nearly says. Considering how they'd all come here, it seems like one of the more likely options. But he doesn't know if that would be a reassurance, and he's not going to say anything that might crush that fragile hope right now.]

But he's alive.

[Arid says nothing for a few moments, giving the data time to process and her sub-objectives to realign. The panicked tumult of the viral attack gradually fades and chaos falls back to order. Her rule reasserts itself with the reassuring certainty of a lock snapping shut.]

Finding where One and the others have been taken must be my priority in exploration moving forward. [Her voice is calm and resolute now, focused by the presence of a new goal. If One is indeed on the station, then the logical next step must be to concentrate on accessing those areas that are still locked to them. If he is elsewhere, then the information gleaned from new areas might still shed light on his true location.] Will you keep me informed of similar disappearances you detect on the station?

IC Contact: Reverie Terminal

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