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Making the boys stationed in New York rather than Detroit because... while Cloneclone lived in Detroit for a hot minute, I've lived in New York for YEEAAARRRSSSS. Anyway, have more words:
Amir couldn’t say paperwork was his least favorite part of this job. That spot was still firmly held by ‘dealing with coked up teenagers’. But by god, the particular legalese required of Cyberlife and the NYPD when semi-sentient property was involved really pushed the line of what made most reports tolerable over morning coffee.
It was cup number three that came out of the work machine, blistering and sitting woefully untouched on his desk to dissipate to a more bearable ‘really fucking hot’. It’s amazing what the precinct prioritizes funding for. Over-sized calculators that stuck shit in their mouths rather than a small improvement of human life for a machine that would stop burning the coffee to a palatable crisp. Amir drummed the pads of his fingers lightly over keyboard keys, nostalgic for the mechanical click sacrificed in newer screen keyboard models. He found himself glazing over the words on the report, doubling back to find where the words had lost their meaning and lamenting the mental lubricant his caffeine would have provided.
“Hey, how hot is that?”
“The cups surface temperature reads at 143 degrees Fahrenheit with an internal liquid temperature estimated between 163 and 169 degrees Fahrenheit. The coffee would cause minor burns leading to discomfort estimated at 36 to 48 hours, but is now safe enough to drink without major dermatologic injury.” The android chirps helpfully.
“Mm.” Amir grunted softly in response, still trudging over big lawyer words and proofreading the android’s report from yesterday to give his sign off and confirmation. He was sure Elliott already cross referenced the terms of service and eliminated erroneous information but, a thorough cop is always thorough. Amir didn’t like leaving everything to the robots, it left the old dog too unoccupied in his post. He’d always prefer working together with these living tools; where humans can error, machines can error, and thorough work between both eliminated error where possible.
Amir realized once again the words he’d been skating over no longer strung together meaningfully and he sighed again to double back. Elliott sat content next to the captain’s desk, patient as the human’s insistence keeps the report from being finalized. Eventually, the cop decided 36-48 hours was a reasonable enough price for the caffeine necessary to get this over and done with, wincing an unpleasant noise at the taste and, just as he’d been warned, the burn of his taste buds replaced one awful stimulus with another.
“Wish it didn’t taste like ass though.” he comments idly. Elliott analyzed the human’s behavior of willingly subjecting oneself to damage and discomfort for the benefits of a drug.
“Does ass taste hot? Bad?” It asked curiously, eager to fill in the information calculated as logical association. Amir snorts loudly into the plastic cup.
“Mark response as inappropriate for workplace.”
“Confirming.” It responded pleasantly, devoid of any fumbling human awkwardness.
Amir shook his head, bemused. Your great, grandfather was a floppy disk and now the robots are eating ass, incredible.
Amir + Writing © me
Elliott © Cloneclone
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Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1184 x 911px
File Size 933.8 kB
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