patchworking

He should be waking up soon.

If he's being honest with himself, he's ... still not entirely sure why he did it. All he wanted was the coat. Maybe see if there were any useful or interesting items in pockets, weapons that could potentially come in handy. That was what he told himself, while watching the situation unfold from his hiding spot behind alley dumpsters. He's just waiting for it to be over, so he can scrounge through the remains on the ground for trinkets and baubles. That's what he told himself, a few hours ago.

The fight was unfair, he thinks to himself. He knows the advantages to a well practiced sneak attack - which he knows is also technically unfair - but being outnumbered and then taken out from behind, that felt in bad taste. Even though the man had been rather impressively holding off the brunt of them, it figures that there would be one hanging out in the back and waiting for the opportunity, and even the most proficient of warriors can be caught off guard. The group had been quick to take off after - snipers in the area most likely, they tend to frequent these areas in case some unfortunate passerby with gold lining their pockets decides they want to be target practice. Attacks are always quick. Get in, take what you need, get out if you're lucky.

He's usually lucky, himself. He can keep coming back, at least.

And maybe that's why he did it. Maybe that's why, after crawling low on the ground to avoid a potential sniper himself and investigating the wounded and unconscious man on the ground, it felt ... inappropriate, perhaps, to be stealing from him. He was sporting a rather unpleasant-looking head injury, thanks to that sneak attack, among various other scrapes and bruises from the scuffle before being knocked out cold. Not so lucky, this one. But he could've been. Closer investigation and scanning reveals what he'd suspected from observing the fight - not a human. Someone who's been around for a long time. Someone who could've easily handled the situation on their own had it not been for the actions of a coward. Someone who, after the scan had revealed some very curious information, could be more beneficial to him that simply rummaging through his coat pockets for trinkets. But above all that, there was something more. Something sympathetic, perhaps. It's always so much easier to steal from humans, after all.

He's watching from above now. Perched atop the outside of the oversized metal pipe in a largely abandoned junkyard, peering over the edge at the man resting and recovering inside. It's ... cozy, to an extent. The bed isn't really a bed, per se - mismatched couch cushions and an oversized plush St. Bernard for a pillow isn't anything luxurious, but it's not wholly uncomfortable. There's an assortment of power generators scattered about (only one of them working at the moment and rumbling a steady hum,) a flickering but still functional electric heater, and beside the makeshift bed is a makeshift bedside table in the form of a cement block and old digital magazines. Atop said magazines are the man's personal items and weapons - his way of saying that he would be in no danger here upon waking up, with his affects within arm's reach rather than stolen and used against him.

The inner walls of the pipe are modestly decorated, no real theme to it but he's found some interesting art pieces in the junkyards over the years, and his favourites are hung up or leaning against the walls whenever he's out of nails to hang them with. Nearby is a mess of a half-collapsed book shelf storing various digital tablets - some of them still work, others are old and ancient but too fascinating to discard - and the only lighting in the pipe is a set of white holiday string lights that have more than a few dead bulbs, lining the pipe walls above the art pieces and all plugged into the generator near the back.

All in all it's pretty likely that this is not the sort of place the man's expecting to wake up to, but he's fairly certain it's several steps above face down in the dirt and rain in the city. For now, all he can do is wait. And watch. The man's also fascinating, but not in a decades-old digital tablet way. He watches, quietly, the soft blue of his LED and the warm orange glow of his eyes the only visible light outside the pipe-home's entrance. He wonders what sort of person this man he'd dragged all the way from the city is like. He wonders if it'll be worth the effort. He wonders if the torn sheets and old tee shirts that he'd scrounged up and used as bandages for the more serious injuries are enough, or if they're soaked through by now.

For now, he's erring on the side of caution. He can notice the man beginning to stir, slowly but surely. Best to not rush in and try to fuss over him now - that'd just be weird. He doesn't want to be weird.

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That neatly confirms his assumptions about the patchwork android being a runaway. And it is a bit surprising that he shares the information so readily after how circumspect he's been previously, but K has no doubt there's ulterior motives at play. His relationships and interactions with others have been of a purely transactional nature since his inception date, with almost no exceptions; it's simply what he expects now. What he understands.

"That won't do," K replies pragmatically, tilting his head to one side in a resigned sort of 'it can't be helped' gesture. "You'll have to ride with me to get out of here, anyway. Might as well walk with me first. Maybe tell me more about your grievances with my mark." Which doubles as an indirect request to share more about his time spent on the run, spent searching. But K knows appearing too curious about any of it may just come across as suspicious to the other android, so he attempts to downplay his interest.

"Or not," he adds, sounding tired, and also expecting his invitation to be rejected much like his prior attempts at banter. "I already have all the information I need to get the job done. You need anything, you'd better get it now so we can get going." Because he still intends to leave as soon as possible.

"Got any clothes?" he wonders, giving him a once-over. "If not we'll need to make a stop to find you some." Some kind of cloak at the very least, so he won't stand out quite so blatantly in any of the crowded places they'll be passing through. He's practically a walking advertisement for expensive body armour to steal, and that's a liability.

He's not entirely certain if he's fond of the idea of sharing a cramped space with a stranger. Cramped spaces in general can be fine, depending on the situation, but being in such close contact with few means of escape can be ... stressful, to say the least. The few times he can remember being so compromised, it didn't end well - for the other party. Certain impulses are hard to ignore.

So, while he can't exactly say he's thrilled at the prospect ... logically, he has to admit that it would be the most efficient means of travel. As fast as he is on his own legs, the land distance traveled wouldn't compare to road or air, and exhausting his systems like that only results in the need for more frequent recharging, negating distance gained. It would be the better option, all things considered. Perhaps he just needs to get over his own uncomfortable feelings about it. If it means finally getting to achieve the one goal he's had for as far back as his memory allows him to remember, maybe having someone to air those grievances with might actually help.

He tries his best not to look like a sullen, stubborn toddler at the thought of it (which the stranger has clearly caught on to,) reluctant but ready to agree to the idea, before that next line of thought grants him pause. His brows furrow, and his head angles in a confused tilt to one side. So we can get going? Already?

"We're not leaving anytime soon." The mention of clothes - or his lack thereof, something he hasn't thought about in much longer - doesn't get much of a reaction from him, since there's a more pressing matter at hand. "We're going back. You still need to rest and recover first. Especially if you're considering operating a motor vehicle."

After a pause, he adds, "... you can think about what to dress me up in along the way, but I can't guarantee my full cooperation."

Rest and recover? Perish the thought. It's a luxury K can't afford right now. But the continued insistence on it — the unusual concern for his well-being — gives him pause. All of his lived experience leads him to only one conclusion: this is a test. It must be, nothing else makes sense to him. And he can't know what the correct response is, but based on what he's learnt about the other android thus far, he can hazard a guess. And that would be the option that gets them to Zlatko the soonest. Understandably so. This has obviously been a long time coming, and K isn't so far gone that he can't appreciate the role he's playing in delivering some truly karmic justice. Against a human oppressor of androidkind, no less, and that's frankly a satisfying bonus in his book.

"You haven't known many of my kind, I can tell." Or possibly any. "Not surprising. There are few enough of us left now." And as biorobotic beings, they're incapable of reproducing, and the designs and technology needed to manufacture them were lost a very long time ago. But he isn't quite so delicate or weak as the patchwork android seems to believe; he doesn't possess human limitations. He may lack the same ornate, reinforced body armour, but he is no less durable and strong where it counts, even if the circumstances of their meeting don't at all accurately reflect his capabilities — except for the fact he survived the attack to begin with. This stranger has no idea of what he can 'handle', and he almost makes another quip to that effect, but decides against it at the last moment. His prior attempt at banter had fallen so flat he feels it just made him appear foolish, a mistake he doesn't care to repeat. If this is to be strictly business between them, he'll act accordingly.

Then there's the comment about dressing up the patchwork android, which throws him for a bit of a loop and in his hazy state all he can do is stare for a moment, mentally dissecting the ways it could have been intended. Still wary of making a fool of himself, he decides that not responding is probably the best course of action for now. But it's a subject they'll have to come back to eventually, because the patchwork android really needs something to help him look less conspicuous. It has nothing to do with modesty. Fighting off crazed junkrat scavengers who'll want to tear him apart the second they lay cybernetically-enhanced eyes on him is an unnecessary complication to their plans.

"You go make what preparations you need to," he says as he turns back. "I'll be back to pick you up shortly."

And unless he's physically stopped in some manner, he'll continue stubbornly making his way to where he'd hidden his spinner. But he also intends to keep his word and return for his would-be partner in this venture, assuming he will let himself be found again. Despite all of the inherent and potential risks, K finds himself strangely hoping to have the company.

...o1

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