[ Oh. He knows the poem, or possibly used the network to find it; it still counts. But K's delighted smile is short-lived, fading at the mention of Tech Boy having been retired. What are the odds the human-coined term for executing androids could have a very similar context among gods, particularly for the god of technology? He can't know for certain, and Tech Boy's request makes him hesitant to ask for clarification, but... it's a chilling coincidence.
If he weren't so accustomed to suppressing his "problematic" reactions (read: likely to upset humans or draw unwanted attention to himself) he would have shuddered. The internal horror he feels is all the worse for the lack of physical expression.
After a long moment, his faintly shaking hands come to rest on either side of Tech Boy's face, thumbs lightly stroking his skin. K's eyes are closed as he concentrates on one of his memories of walking through downtown Los Angeles, his perfect recall recreating the details in flawless clarity for Tech Boy. For K, an unremarkable day. But for someone who's never experienced it—
It's a sea of neon and noise.
Behemoth skyscrapers several hundred storeys high are covered with projected holographic adverts, a shimmering holographic ballerina pirouetting between them. Loud speakers attached to aerial screens shill off-world tours for exorbitant prices. A caravan of flying cars zip overhead at breakneck speed through the perpetually overcast sky — in the memory, K's eyes briefly follow them as they disappear into the distance.
There are slow-moving, tankish street cleaners to detoxify the rain and snow that never cease, taxis, rickshaws; but the majority of people are on foot — hundreds crowding the streets, most armed with umbrellas. Because of this, there's an occasional snarled 'fucking skinjob' and the like from human passers-by, including his own human coworkers of the LAPD. The encounters are immediately followed by glimpses of the wet, snow-covered pavement from K averting his eyes to avoid conflict.
As he heads deeper into the market, he's greeted by walls of vending machines with animated screens. The market is subdivided by stalls, stations, shops, all under bright lights; the eclectic crowd of customers in a crush to purchase food and drink, entertainment, gadgets. And of course there's the Wallace Corporation's ubiquitous presence, offering synthetic food solutions, a variety of services, holographic companions (some can be seen walking and flirting with their human users), as well as K's own kind just like any other product being sold to the masses, with a lurid emphasis placed on the pleasure models that are available. They're all designed to be used in one way or another, as he'd said.
But the main takeaway he's hoping Tech Boy will have is that technology is everywhere, old, new, a blending of both, an integral part of the world. The humans of K's world are no longer able to survive without technology in a very literal sense — the ecosystems have collapsed. Without the technology that develops synthetic food sources, they would all starve. Without replicant slave labour to colonise other planets, they would all die on the one they've all but destroyed.
A grim future, perhaps, but technologically beautiful. ]
no subject
If he weren't so accustomed to suppressing his "problematic" reactions (read: likely to upset humans or draw unwanted attention to himself) he would have shuddered. The internal horror he feels is all the worse for the lack of physical expression.
After a long moment, his faintly shaking hands come to rest on either side of Tech Boy's face, thumbs lightly stroking his skin. K's eyes are closed as he concentrates on one of his memories of walking through downtown Los Angeles, his perfect recall recreating the details in flawless clarity for Tech Boy. For K, an unremarkable day. But for someone who's never experienced it—
It's a sea of neon and noise.
Behemoth skyscrapers several hundred storeys high are covered with projected holographic adverts, a shimmering holographic ballerina pirouetting between them. Loud speakers attached to aerial screens shill off-world tours for exorbitant prices. A caravan of flying cars zip overhead at breakneck speed through the perpetually overcast sky — in the memory, K's eyes briefly follow them as they disappear into the distance.
There are slow-moving, tankish street cleaners to detoxify the rain and snow that never cease, taxis, rickshaws; but the majority of people are on foot — hundreds crowding the streets, most armed with umbrellas. Because of this, there's an occasional snarled 'fucking skinjob' and the like from human passers-by, including his own human coworkers of the LAPD. The encounters are immediately followed by glimpses of the wet, snow-covered pavement from K averting his eyes to avoid conflict.
As he heads deeper into the market, he's greeted by walls of vending machines with animated screens. The market is subdivided by stalls, stations, shops, all under bright lights; the eclectic crowd of customers in a crush to purchase food and drink, entertainment, gadgets. And of course there's the Wallace Corporation's ubiquitous presence, offering synthetic food solutions, a variety of services, holographic companions (some can be seen walking and flirting with their human users), as well as K's own kind just like any other product being sold to the masses, with a lurid emphasis placed on the pleasure models that are available. They're all designed to be used in one way or another, as he'd said.
But the main takeaway he's hoping Tech Boy will have is that technology is everywhere, old, new, a blending of both, an integral part of the world. The humans of K's world are no longer able to survive without technology in a very literal sense — the ecosystems have collapsed. Without the technology that develops synthetic food sources, they would all starve. Without replicant slave labour to colonise other planets, they would all die on the one they've all but destroyed.
A grim future, perhaps, but technologically beautiful. ]