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[Otherworlds] Android Diaries (Tag Mia)
Aug. 10th, 2019 11:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_abilitylostRedundant.
That was the word that kept recurring in Connor's mind until it permeated action he took in the day-to-day. Willfully filtering it out where unnecessary--something that should have been one-and-done--paradoxically made it call more attention to itself. The nagging aberrations in his consciousness had been steadily building for every time he neglected to perform a self-scan, which were in themselves redundant. The virtual landscapes he'd used for such things were inaccessible to him, even if the mysterious inn had the proper infrastructure to host them.
No, instead, Connor had turned to the novel. A plethora of tasks to perform had opened themselves up in the wake of the mass departure for him to take up for no other reason than he could. The 'redundant' label abated. He listened to the stories of whoever was in a talkative mood. He reflected on his brief time as a human almost endlessly. A memory that should have, at best, been filed away as a baffling but fleeting experience warped into a mystery meriting further investigation.
Connor was built for mysteries, even the most foolish.
'Redundant. Human. Android. Warmth. Taste.' He wrote where he lounged in the library. He'd taken to recording in a journal once a day. It was perhaps the most unnecessary feat he'd ever performed as a mechanical being with a sprawling internal database, but it was novel.
That was the word that kept recurring in Connor's mind until it permeated action he took in the day-to-day. Willfully filtering it out where unnecessary--something that should have been one-and-done--paradoxically made it call more attention to itself. The nagging aberrations in his consciousness had been steadily building for every time he neglected to perform a self-scan, which were in themselves redundant. The virtual landscapes he'd used for such things were inaccessible to him, even if the mysterious inn had the proper infrastructure to host them.
No, instead, Connor had turned to the novel. A plethora of tasks to perform had opened themselves up in the wake of the mass departure for him to take up for no other reason than he could. The 'redundant' label abated. He listened to the stories of whoever was in a talkative mood. He reflected on his brief time as a human almost endlessly. A memory that should have, at best, been filed away as a baffling but fleeting experience warped into a mystery meriting further investigation.
Connor was built for mysteries, even the most foolish.
'Redundant. Human. Android. Warmth. Taste.' He wrote where he lounged in the library. He'd taken to recording in a journal once a day. It was perhaps the most unnecessary feat he'd ever performed as a mechanical being with a sprawling internal database, but it was novel.
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