Futuristic Beyond [Closed]

[Fable]

uninvited trashcan ( Hopefully this gives you enough to work with. )

Today Ophelia was meeting someone. She had inquired specifics about who she was meeting, such as age, gender, and so forth. However they continually denied her this information so that her reaction would be unbiased. They didn't want to influence her or give her any preconceived judgments based on what they told her. Ophelia would not have to wait too long to meet this mysterious person since it was scheduled later for that day. She was to go through her normal schedule for most of the day and then would attend this meeting.

She was certain this was done on purpose, everything here was done with purpose. She was not sure what it was, but she found herself less focused on her tasks as her thoughts at times curiously continued to question who it was she was meeting. That didn't really affect her assignments, she could multitask since - as her handler put it - she was a machine. That didn't mean there went some traces of deviant focus as she was observed.

It was six hours after she was informed of her scheduled meeting that she was brought to the 'theatre.' It was a room that was usually used for specialized android construction, repairs, maintenance, and so forth. The room was large, white, and circular with a level above it separated by glass where people could look down into the room. Ophelia had awoken here in this android body when they had transferred her from the server. It was strange to have a body at first as she had been unable to interact with the real world and simply provided with data and tasks.

Her eyes scanned the room before looking upwards where there were already many people in pristine white lab coats looking back down at her. A few of the faces were familiar and others were not. Though she could recognize their facial features, that was simply because she had observed them before at some point. She didn't know their names or anything else about them, only their faces and what they wore.

She was directed to stand at attention in the center of the room which she complied without question, staring straight forward at one of the white walls. There was the sound of a door opening behind her and of steps, but there was not the familiar sounds of breathing, of a human heartbeat. Her mind quickly processed the limited information and assumed it was some sort of android unit though she was facing away from it.

Ophelia would have liked to be able to turn around to face whatever was in the room with her, but she stayed at attention as ordered and stayed staring at the wall.

 

[uninvited trashcan]

Fable (Sorry for the delay; I hope it lives up to your beautiful opening)

Hamlet knew that whomever he was meeting today, something about them was different; they weren't some run of the mill researcher, nor even military personnel. Otherwise, why withhold so many details? Unless they were someone so high-ranking their very movements were classified, they were to be kept a secret for some other reason. Why, Hamlet did not yet know.

Though he didn't voice it, he was excited to find out.

The procession towards the theatre came with an escort that was especially intriguing; the Commissioner led the way, flanking off to the observation deck before they entered, and the project's lead cyberpsychologist marched behind Hamlet's left shoulder. With such an illustrious audience, the mystery stranger must be expected to provoke... something. The CP's presence indicated that whatever was happening, Hamlet was the one on trial.

Given their recent disappointment with his performance, this realisation knotted something where his stomach would be were he human. Nothing had been said as to the consequences of his sub-ideal standards, but his analytics of microexpressions and subtexual speech implications were enough to imply danger. His self-preservation programming kicked in; he was nervous, whether you considered it merely a calculated survival response or not.

The CP held the door for him. He was brought in and ordered to stand directly behind the individual already present. Though their back was to him, he could pick up more than enough in those first few seconds: female-presenting body, no heartbeat, no breathing– an android. Hamlet had encountered androids before, several involved in monitoring him, but with all this pomp and circumstance, hints he'd picked up from eavesdropping on staff conversation suddenly dropped into place:

She was like him. Unregulated.

A surge of a sense of kinship shot through him, swelling in his chest and shoulders and compelling his muscles to act compulsively; he reached out and touched her, fingers brushing light against her shoulder. Wordless save for a short, almost-wounded sound in the back of his throat, he tried to turn her, to see her.