It's a backup mechanism. [ He sounds...almost proud when he says that, but it comes out with the practiced ease of someone who knows their stuff about androids. ] Even if the entire motherboard completely short circuits, I've been built with a secondary OS contained in a smaller chip in the frontal cortex of my artificial brain, one that's difficult to reach to destroy without destroying my entire cranial cavity.
[ Stiles blinks. ] I don't know how I know that.
[ He's not really sure how he knows anything besides his name right now, to be honest. Everything is patchy. How he came to be in the scrapyard is very much included, and Stiles' eyebrows furrow a little as he thinks it over, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and watching the man--Derek--type in his name. ] You saved me, didn't you?
So basically I need to rewire everything to reactivate the primary... [ Derek trails off, half because he's thinking but half because he realizes that Stiles knows about his inner workings when he doesn't really remember anything else. He blinks once, slowly, and stares at Stiles for a moment, regarding him. ]
Ghost memories, probably. [ Whether it's from his creator, built in, or something else, he doesn't know. This has turned into a very interesting puzzle, and suddenly he's glad that he pulled him out the the scrapyard. ] Your secondary OS can't access your memory banks in full, but there's probably imprints from it that line up with the specific files.
[ Going quiet as he considers that, he idly starts tapping in notes to himself before he actually runs full online diagnostics, not really noticing that Stiles is watching him. But with the question, he pauses everything he's doing and sits up from where he's leaned over his work, looking back at him again.
Those eyes are ridiculously human, and it tightens something in his chest. ] In more ways than getting you online again, probably. You were just dumped in a scrapyard. You could've been scavenged, but that's definitely not the worst that could've happened. [ There's a hint of disdain on that last part. Sex droids, ugh. ]
[ Stiles nods, because ghost memories seems like the most logical explanation. It might account for the human life he feels like he knew, too, and he chews it over for a second, working his jaw in a weirdly human motion. ] I guess activating the primary would work. I don't know how to tell you how to fix it though. Or replace parts. [ That would be because every one of his parts is custom made.
(The reason he escaped having his head bludgeoned in was due to the genius of his creator, who'd simply treated him as a unfunctioning work in progress. As far as Stiles currently knew, that's all he'd really been.) ]
[ There's quiet for a minute as Derek runs his diagnostics--Stiles' reflexes are tested, and he lifts his arm, flexes his fingers, makes a fist. His skin ripples for just a second, a faint blue hexagonal pattern, before disappearing completely again, and as Stiles gains control of his hands again, he makes a face and gestures around as he speaks. ] As long as you aren't planning on doing something totally nefarious, we're cool. I mean, I don't know what happened but I really doubt it was anything good.
[ And then because he's Stiles and doesn't really like to focus on what's going on with him, he looks around the loft he's sitting in curiously, brown eyes taking in the entire scope of the place. ] You're a mechanic, but you don't look like you're employed with the government. Dude--[ and yes, he did just say dude. ]--a guy with scruff rooting around in the junkyards, you're not a gearhead hobo, are you?
I'll probably have to modify existing parts of market models or flatout reverse engineer your parts to the best of my abilities to actually replace anything. [ Derek watches him with interest as he continues to do such incredibly mundane things, but mundane to humans, not machinery. Even if it's biomechanical machinery. But after considering him, he goes back to work, going through the motions one by one to see what areas need the most attention first.
He's not blind, he can tell that Stiles is entirely custom made. Whoever built him put a lot of work into him, so he also highly doubts that he was just thrown out. This is going to be one hell of a project.
Looking up from under his brow again at him as he tests his reflexes, he watches his movements, the pattern as it comes alight before fading out again. As he starts to gesticulate, he chuffs something faintly amused to cover up the continuing realization that he's faced with something incredibly human in an engineered skin. ] Considering the level of damage, it really couldn't have been.
[ Something faintly annoyed crosses his brow as he goes back to diagnostics, looking at the screen before he sets it aside and picks up his tools again to start tinkering around in Stiles' back panel. It's easier to just do that than focus directly on the questioning. ] Ex-government, and not a gearhead hobo. Tell me if you feel anything, and watch your knees on the table.
Wow, sour much. [ But any sarcasm (sarcasm from an android, even) fades away after a couple of seconds as he looks forward while Derek starts to work on his back panel. This place is nice, (if hobolike) and there are parts littered everywhere, from all kinds of androids and even old robots, things that are probably fifteen or twenty years older than him.
Derek pokes around in his back and Stiles suddenly squirms away, a laugh barking out of him-- ] Dude, that tickles, watch where you're poking!
[ Which is also extremely weird, but it does. He manages to push himself back to a regular position and holds onto the edge of the table, unable to hold back any more questions. ] Ex-government, really?
[ A flat look is leveled at the back of Stiles' head in response, but Derek doesn't say anything. Just continues poking around in his back panel, listening to the thrum of his circuitry and what he's assuming to be his biomechanics. He's not going to tear him apart to get into his organs, but he moves like he has them and almost seems to breathe, so it wouldn't surprise him. He's infinitely more advanced than any of the parts scattered in the loft, but he'll fix him.
Reaching forward on instinct, he curls his fingers against the bottom of the panel to keep the droid from getting too far from him. ] "Tickling" wasn't exactly what I was expecting.
[ Interesting, though, so he prods a little at the line of circuitry that got him that response. Mostly out of interest for something so human, partially because he just kind of thinks it's funny. ] Is that a question as to why it's "ex" or is it disbelief.
Ohmygod--, quit it! [ Derek prods and Stiles' knee snaps up, and sure enough, he bangs it into the table. ] --Ow, fuck!
[ Pain receptors too, apparently. Groaning a little, the android looks over his shoulder and shoots Derek a look, muttering about how he's not sure if he wants him banging around where he can't see it, and rubs his knee with one hand, trying to relieve the sting that came from the bump. God only know who built him with pain receptors, but he wants to kick them in the knee, see how they'd like it. If only he knew.
A heavy sigh escapes him, and Stiles leans forward a little more, dropping his shoulders down and looking back ahead of him, surveying Derek's tables and zooming his gaze in on his computer screen, trying to read it while he works. ] Why it's ex. Most people who get in that don't get out, right?
I told you to watch your knee. [ Derek figures that's revenge enough for the sour comment, and the wonders why the hell someone built a droid with external pain receptors. This is ridiculous, like they were trying to exactly replicate a human with a machine. Pleasure receptors he's used to, even if they're... really sort of mundane in comparison to the actual nerves and senses that humans have, and kind of ridiculously skeevy to him personally. But this...
Moving on from the tickling, he starts working on figuring out those pain receptors, since he's been given a new task to focus on with that. Now he definitely wants to get his sense of touch at least dampened before he starts really digging around. ]
People died, and I got the hell out. [ There's a bitterness there, somewhere in his voice, but he doesn't expand upon it. Just keeps working, finding Stiles' insides that're newly fried from being put online. ] It was easier to stay off the radar once the Argent regime got competition with Alpha Corp.
Gee, thanks for your concern. Jackass. [ The sass is strong in this one. Either way, he rolls his eyes, drops his head and heaves a sigh. He's not sure how many individualized sensations he has, and a part of him wants to test it out, and a hand comes out to feel the cool metal of the work bench, the tools in front of him. Everything has a sensation, and when he looks at his own hands, there's a fingerprint there, surely unique.
It doesn't really add up. If Stiles didn't know better, didn't have auto-enhancing vision, senses, a unique weaponry attachment--rocket fists, definitely--an intensive memory bank and all of the standard market abilities of a typical droid, he'd just think he was a human.
Curiosity flickers across his face, and he can't help looking backwards. ] Oh. I don't really know anything about that, dude, but that sucks big time. Or--I dunno, maybe it doesn't suck? Freelance, make your own hours, ten times less likely to be brutally assassinated for putting a spark plug in the wrong place...
[ There's the distinct temptation to locate his speech processor, but Derek just keeps his focus on actually important work. Even if it'd be blessedly quiet in comparison to the sassing that he's currently getting from an android that is more than blowing his mind. Besides, letting him talk gets him some interesting tidbits that give a little more insight about him and whoever might've made him.
Whoever might've made him had a poor sense of humor, or a cruel one. He's not sure which one yet.
Either way, this thing-- he's as human as a machine can get.
He looks up from under his brow and over his glasses at him, before scoffing softly and dropping his eyes back down. ] Something like that. People are still assassinated left and right just for breathing the same air as the big name businesses. [ He brings his hand up to put the end of his screwdriver at the corner of his mouth, muttering around it-- ] Brace, this might sting. [ -- before pulling out a chip. ]
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no subject
[ Stiles blinks. ] I don't know how I know that.
[ He's not really sure how he knows anything besides his name right now, to be honest. Everything is patchy. How he came to be in the scrapyard is very much included, and Stiles' eyebrows furrow a little as he thinks it over, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and watching the man--Derek--type in his name. ] You saved me, didn't you?
no subject
Ghost memories, probably. [ Whether it's from his creator, built in, or something else, he doesn't know. This has turned into a very interesting puzzle, and suddenly he's glad that he pulled him out the the scrapyard. ] Your secondary OS can't access your memory banks in full, but there's probably imprints from it that line up with the specific files.
[ Going quiet as he considers that, he idly starts tapping in notes to himself before he actually runs full online diagnostics, not really noticing that Stiles is watching him. But with the question, he pauses everything he's doing and sits up from where he's leaned over his work, looking back at him again.
Those eyes are ridiculously human, and it tightens something in his chest. ] In more ways than getting you online again, probably. You were just dumped in a scrapyard. You could've been scavenged, but that's definitely not the worst that could've happened. [ There's a hint of disdain on that last part. Sex droids, ugh. ]
no subject
(The reason he escaped having his head bludgeoned in was due to the genius of his creator, who'd simply treated him as a unfunctioning work in progress. As far as Stiles currently knew, that's all he'd really been.) ]
[ There's quiet for a minute as Derek runs his diagnostics--Stiles' reflexes are tested, and he lifts his arm, flexes his fingers, makes a fist. His skin ripples for just a second, a faint blue hexagonal pattern, before disappearing completely again, and as Stiles gains control of his hands again, he makes a face and gestures around as he speaks. ] As long as you aren't planning on doing something totally nefarious, we're cool. I mean, I don't know what happened but I really doubt it was anything good.
[ And then because he's Stiles and doesn't really like to focus on what's going on with him, he looks around the loft he's sitting in curiously, brown eyes taking in the entire scope of the place. ] You're a mechanic, but you don't look like you're employed with the government. Dude--[ and yes, he did just say dude. ]--a guy with scruff rooting around in the junkyards, you're not a gearhead hobo, are you?
no subject
He's not blind, he can tell that Stiles is entirely custom made. Whoever built him put a lot of work into him, so he also highly doubts that he was just thrown out. This is going to be one hell of a project.
Looking up from under his brow again at him as he tests his reflexes, he watches his movements, the pattern as it comes alight before fading out again. As he starts to gesticulate, he chuffs something faintly amused to cover up the continuing realization that he's faced with something incredibly human in an engineered skin. ] Considering the level of damage, it really couldn't have been.
[ Something faintly annoyed crosses his brow as he goes back to diagnostics, looking at the screen before he sets it aside and picks up his tools again to start tinkering around in Stiles' back panel. It's easier to just do that than focus directly on the questioning. ] Ex-government, and not a gearhead hobo. Tell me if you feel anything, and watch your knees on the table.
no subject
Derek pokes around in his back and Stiles suddenly squirms away, a laugh barking out of him-- ] Dude, that tickles, watch where you're poking!
[ Which is also extremely weird, but it does. He manages to push himself back to a regular position and holds onto the edge of the table, unable to hold back any more questions. ] Ex-government, really?
no subject
Reaching forward on instinct, he curls his fingers against the bottom of the panel to keep the droid from getting too far from him. ] "Tickling" wasn't exactly what I was expecting.
[ Interesting, though, so he prods a little at the line of circuitry that got him that response. Mostly out of interest for something so human, partially because he just kind of thinks it's funny. ] Is that a question as to why it's "ex" or is it disbelief.
no subject
[ Pain receptors too, apparently. Groaning a little, the android looks over his shoulder and shoots Derek a look, muttering about how he's not sure if he wants him banging around where he can't see it, and rubs his knee with one hand, trying to relieve the sting that came from the bump. God only know who built him with pain receptors, but he wants to kick them in the knee, see how they'd like it.
If only he knew.A heavy sigh escapes him, and Stiles leans forward a little more, dropping his shoulders down and looking back ahead of him, surveying Derek's tables and zooming his gaze in on his computer screen, trying to read it while he works. ] Why it's ex. Most people who get in that don't get out, right?
no subject
Moving on from the tickling, he starts working on figuring out those pain receptors, since he's been given a new task to focus on with that. Now he definitely wants to get his sense of touch at least dampened before he starts really digging around. ]
People died, and I got the hell out. [ There's a bitterness there, somewhere in his voice, but he doesn't expand upon it. Just keeps working, finding Stiles' insides that're newly fried from being put online. ] It was easier to stay off the radar once the Argent regime got competition with Alpha Corp.
no subject
It doesn't really add up. If Stiles didn't know better, didn't have auto-enhancing vision, senses, a unique weaponry attachment--rocket fists, definitely--an intensive memory bank and all of the standard market abilities of a typical droid, he'd just think he was a human.
Curiosity flickers across his face, and he can't help looking backwards. ] Oh. I don't really know anything about that, dude, but that sucks big time. Or--I dunno, maybe it doesn't suck? Freelance, make your own hours, ten times less likely to be brutally assassinated for putting a spark plug in the wrong place...
no subject
Whoever might've made him had a poor sense of humor, or a cruel one. He's not sure which one yet.
Either way, this thing-- he's as human as a machine can get.
He looks up from under his brow and over his glasses at him, before scoffing softly and dropping his eyes back down. ] Something like that. People are still assassinated left and right just for breathing the same air as the big name businesses. [ He brings his hand up to put the end of his screwdriver at the corner of his mouth, muttering around it-- ] Brace, this might sting. [ -- before pulling out a chip. ]