I: Cairo - Tumblr Posts
cvairo:
date & time : october 31st, 8:20pm location : masquerade ball; ballroom status : with @curiouscalculations
Once, Cairo would have taken to the ballroom floor and danced until her shoes felt every inch of the polished floor. She would have dressed in flowers — warm, approachable colors that brought out the roses in her cheeks — and smiled and drunken red wine late into the night. This, after all, was the way of her people. Seen and heard, glittering and loud, because they had wealth to boast and a lot to say. But Cairo was changed, and a little bit off. She could still fit in with these people, lithe and deceptively powerful, like a bouquet of fireplace matches in a neat, glass bottle. But she attracted a different kind of attention now, and Cairo could only take so many blue-blooded Synthetics sharing glances with her, smiling knowingly as if to say: we’re better than them all.
And so, Cairo did nothing to disguise the raging tempest behind in her eyes. She was black hole incarnate and it wasn’t safe to stare. Her dress full of stars was no longer charming, but horribly intimidating, like the feeling of gazing into the mouth of the cosmic unknown. Wisely, people turned away, and Cairo was left on her own to survey the throng of dancers and drinkers, all herded into one extravagant cage where their hands and bodies came together in stupid bliss. She was only waiting to leave.
Her gaze stopped suddenly on a pair of outlandishly decorated synthetics, thin-bodied, purple-eyed, and tall. They were talking very quickly amongst themselves and prodding the Concord’s young android with nosey fingers that Cairo suddenly fantasized ripping from their sockets. One of them grabbed DATA’s arm painfully and lifted it to show their companion the mechanism of his elbow. “It’s so fluid,” she heard them say. “I’ve never seen such an efficient joint system, notice its rotation.”
Cairo was upon them in an instant. “Fascinating,” she said, “How exciting it can be to play with things that don’t belong to you.”
Their eyes met hers sheepishly, and DATA was released. They didn’t deserve her thanks, so she offered them none, only nodded and ushered Theon’s pet to her side before walking away. At a safe distance, she spoke to DATA. This time her voice was soft. “Don’t feel as though you have to please strangers, alright? You’re made for more important things than that.”
It unnerved him to be surrounded by so many strangers.
Separated from the comfort of his creator and the reassuring presence of a close friend, both distracted by various patrons attending the party – DATA was left on his own. In a sea of strangers whose only credibility was tied to that of the Benefactor, being alone was the last thing the android wished to be. However, he did not want to bother Theon with his uneasy, and Eretria was no doubt off to find the fellow crewmember that had stolen her affection – a scene his presence would be unwelcome in. Still unfamiliar with independence, DATA did his best to blend in with the crowd. When people sent skeptical gazes and curious glances his way, he met them with a learned smile filled with polite friendliness. It did not take long for one of those he had made awkward eye contact with to approach him, a woman trailing in the wake of a confident gate of a synthetic man. Panic shot through his frame, but DATA could not find the courage to move under the watchful gaze of the decorated synthetics approaching him.
“My, my, my,” the woman said, her gaze roving over his tense form. “He really wasn’t lying when he said you looked so… organic. Not something you typically expect from an android made in a shut-in’s basement.”
Confusion overtook his expression at the stranger’s intimate knowledge of his creation. What had the Benefactor told them – and how did he know such information in the first place? Before he could voice any inquiries or attempt an introduction, their cold hands were prodding his form. Unwilling to cause a commotion with his own discomfort, DATA allowed them to maneuver his limbs as they gleefully awed over the pristine condition he appeared to be in.
“It’s so fluid,” the man exclaimed as he lifted DATA’s arm to demonstrate the elbow joint Theon had only repaired days ago. A painful wince brought clenched teeth and a sharp glare over his features. Quickly swallowing the sour expression under the persuasion of an unwillingness to appear rude, DATA allowed the pair to bend his arm in various directions as their excitement grew. “I’ve never seen such an efficient joint system, notice its rotation.”
Before the synthetics could continue their invasion, a savior in the form of the ship’s cook appeared. He fled to her like a lost child, eager for the comfort and safety of her strong embrace. Unable to look back at the grumbling pair with anything short of shame, DATA simply shifted closer to Cairo and allowed her to lead him away from the still growing crowd inhabiting the ballroom. Although he refused to meet her eyes – too ashamed at his own helplessness – DATA nodded along with her words.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t – I don’t understand these people.”
Waking after what was assumed death was terribly similar to waking after creation; but unlike the lab his first fluttering eyelids opened to, the scientist inhabiting the lab he suddenly found himself in were not soothing in touch nor words. Where Theon’s voice had been soft in the lyrics of his reassurance, the scientists currently looming over him spoke with a cool calculation, eager for discovery and ignorant of the consequences experienced by that which they were discovering.
Sharp edges cut synthetic skin, flinching away from the surprising presence of something eerily similar to blood; but neither shock nor consideration was enough for the scientists to cease their search of a control panel necessary for every android’s ability to function. Instead, the scientists continued their intimate exploration of the intricate wiring system present beneath his skin. Whispered praise accompanied every new instance of pain, yet DATA remained still in the binds that held him to the table. He did not wish for them to know that such sensations were possible by something they held no concern for.
It was not until the persistent hum of electricity joined the careful procedures that DATA allowed himself to reveal the emotions he had learned. Fear was something he rarely experienced, pain less so. However, the sudden shock of electricity overwhelming his systems broke the impassive mask placed over his features until a gasping grimace was all that was left. The writhing of his limbs only resulted in tighter bindings as they continued their task of finding a way to manually reset his code to match those of the countless other mindless droids they employed.
In the end, it was easier to pretend that they had been successful.
---
Jolted laughs of cruel humor, sharp slurs of half-bitten insults, and barbarous echoes of barked conversation reverberated through the hollow halls of the prison, creating a chaotic cacophony that invaded every sense with an unwanted, overwhelming welcome. Each cell brought a loathing leer or piercing glare from those that were confined by the cool, steel bars. The other androids, mindless in their existence, paid no mind to the din that surrounded them, staring ahead with empty eyes and unbroken gazes. DATA, in contrast, would still jump at the occasional unanticipated noise; however, such a motion had to be hidden from the watchful gaze of the prison guards.
The routine imposed upon the robots rarely allowed room for irregularity. DATA had grown used to the absent-minded state that was expected from him, following orders to gather at the prison dining hall without a curious query as to why. His gaze, inhumanly blank without the occupation of higher thought, did not divert to the raucous noise surrounding him lest the threat of reprogramming resurface upon the sight of his obvious discomfort. Androids were not meant to feel uneasiness- they were not meant to feel anything.
A slight stumble faltered his movement as his leg caught on the outstretched limb of an inmate, a man smiling with an innately animalistic brutality that accompanied the cruelty of finding amusement in others’ suffering. Although DATA had learned many emotions over the years since his creation, he had yet to master the skill of masking such emotions from playing out across his features. Fright, for what they would do to him for something as simple as a stumble, widened his eyes and tugged his lips in a downward motion. An apology, unwarranted and unwanted, was stopped at its beginnings by the influence of the corrupted code of the prison. Staring at the man for merely a moment more, DATA quickly turned to take his place among the other droids at the table.
An unanticipated touch to his shoulder resulted in a violent flinch, his body moving away from the perceived threat before his gaze could register the recognition that accompanied the sight of a friend. The pressure of a friendly touch, absent in the loneliness of his prison sentence, brought a shocked smile to his face. “Cairo?” he asked, unable to accept the reality that perhaps some of the crew had survived beyond himself. Shaky arms slowly found their way to the soft curves of her spine as he buried his nose in the familiar scent, washed out by the mandated products of the prison but still persistently present. For the first time since his arrival, DATA allowed himself to feel the first tendril of comfort.
date & time : november 16th, 4:58pm location : purgatory; the mess hall status : with @curiouscalculations
The last thing she remembered in the golden room was almost making it.
A dark-eyed man with the grin of a wolf stepped into her dreamland, but this time she recognized him. She locked eyes with Kit Beisel and all of the air left her lungs. She ran to meet him, but the cores of his pupils glowed red-hot. They became a flash of fire and light and Cairo was thrown painfully against a wall.
She woke up in handcuffs.
—
Their prison was an organized monster. Columns of rooms lined every wall, weaponed guards chaperoned the halls, but more imposing than the imagery was the noise. Chatter was an infernal dinn here, but at least the shouting meant there was life beyond her four walls. Most days were incomplete without the sounds of swearing and sobbing. It brought her home. Suddenly she was back in the chewed-out terrain of Brora F31. She was back in the death machine that was war. Because what was home, after all, if not the place you would know deaf and blind?
The familiarity was useful to her. She knew what horrors to expect here, and made no effort to postpone the inevitable. She knew that sniffling was futile, and it would only further her wardens’ irritation. So for the first few days, she was all ice. Her demeanor was completely still, completely numb. Brow together, brooding. She sat with her silence in the corner of her cell, with her arms wrapped tight against her chest, because maybe if she thought hard enough, maybe if she bit her tongue, losing Kit wouldn’t feel like a ripe gunshot inside and out. She tasted blood and tried to remember his voice. Tried to remember his rich cadence and any information that might bring him back to her. He couldn’t be dead for two reasons. One, because Kit Beisel would never do that to her. And two, because she didn’t know how she would live with herself if he did.
For the first few days, she walked stoic and slow. Her attention wavered constantly, but her soldier brain did manage to pick up a few details. It noted that the prison was short on kitchen staff — not desperate, but short. The prison was understaffed generally, or at least her section of the prison was. The only guard that patrolled her hall rarely checked on her, but when he did, he sucked his lip and stared. And that was the catch. Cairo let him.
In her state, she struggled to kick herself back to life. It helped that a day in, the officials put her in the kitchen. Being in front of a stove allowed her the privilege to show the prison how useful she could be for them. She cooked flavorless filth into something edible. For the first time in years, she was told, the prisoners didn’t gag when they ate. Being in front of a stove also reminded her of several things: that she was imprisoned, but not a prisoner; that she knew how to escape places like this; and that she was furious.
She stood behind the serving table, spooning thick syrup over a prisoner’s plate when another cook nudged her in the ribs. “Look,” Carmelo said and pointed at a troop of androids entering the room. His Mandarin was brightened by a thick Mantoda accent when he spoke. “Those are the robots I was telling you about. The ones the prison reprograms to work for them. They come from every star you can name, Cairo. I dare you to find two that look the same.”
Cairo brought her gaze up to Carmelo’s twinkling compound eyes, then to the droids — to the twelve speckled bodies made of metals and plastics, marching neatly to one of the tables and sitting there. Cairo saw one stumble slightly, glimpsed his face and everything stopped. Everything. “I have to go,” she breathed. “Take this.”
Carmelo started to protest, but Cairo had already handed him the ladle and was making her way to the androids. For the first time since she arrived, hope was in her step. Finally she reached out and touched the arm of the only frightened one at the table. She only knew one android who knew the meaning of fear. When his eyes met hers, Cairo exclaimed and pulled DATA into a crushing embrace.