Chapter Text
Kaveh found him in the corner of a dark alley.
Maybe him wasn’t the right word, he realized as he turned the prone body over. Bits of gravel skittered across the ground like fleas. Dirt clung to its damp clothes and silver hair, wetted by the evening drizzle.
Of all the things Kaveh expected to run into today, a broken, hyperrealistic android was not one of them.
He scanned the android’s body. His trained eyes knew what to look for in order to ascertain that it was broken, not dead. Androids did not breathe, nor did they have a pulse—but they did have circuits, and an energy core. Even in the worst state of disrepair, so long as the core was still intact, the android would live on. Live, of course, being a somewhat metaphorical way of putting it.
Kaveh hooked a finger around the damaged collar of the android’s skintight top and tugged it down. He leaned forward, gravel digging holes in his knees, and squinted at the center of its chest. There it was, a few centimeters beneath the collar bone: a green, diamond-shaped power indicator, glowing faintly in the dim light of the alley.
Strange. The thing still had some juice in it. If the battery was unaffected, then the issue must be a damaged converter then, or a destabilized circuit connector—
A cold hand clamped around Kaveh’s wrist.
He jolted away with a cry, but his startled retreat was cut short by the hand tugging him forward. Just in time to prevent a nasty face plant, he swung his other arm out. A shock ran up from his elbow as it landed hard against the android’s chest.
Kaveh looked up. The android looked back at him. Its eyes glowed a vibrant green.
His mouth fell open, but words caught in his throat. The android continued to stare at him. Kaveh felt bared suddenly, as if his entire life was being distilled into a set of statistics to analyze, calculate, and compute.
It did not speak—perhaps it couldn’t. But its grip on Kaveh’s wrist was unrelenting, and that steady, glowing gaze did not waver.
Help me, was what it seemed to be saying.
“How?” was all Kaveh managed to say back.
Then its eyes fell shut once more.
Kaveh took in a deep, shuddering breath. He must have been holding it—he felt lightheaded. He slowly pushed himself off the ground, watching for any other signs of activity. The android did not move.
So, definitely not dead, then. And definitely broken, though not as much as Kaveh thought.
The sound of shuffling feet echoed between the brick walls of the alleyway. Too close for comfort, a pair of city guards, their decorated uniforms glinting under the street lamps as they walked, passed right by; they spared no glance in Kaveh’s direction. Still, his heart pounded in his ears. If a guard discovered him here, crouched like a crook next to a beaten, broken android…
That would be a lot more trouble than Kaveh was willing to deal with.
He looked once more at the android. It was stunning, if he was being honest. It was not uncommon for androids these days to be designed with conventional beauty standards in mind—big eyes, small straight nose, full lips and a strong jawline. This one, though, was beautiful precisely for its unorthodox appearance. Its face was on the narrow side, with flat cheeks and a tapered jaw; eyes deep set beneath a strong, thick brow; nose narrow and hooked, slightly crooked in a way suggestive of natural asymmetry; a faint scar just above the right corner of its thin mouth. If Kaveh had not years of experience designing and developing robots of all kinds, he might have mistaken its crumpled form for a real life human corpse with all its subtle imperfections.
The thought made him shiver. Anyone none the wiser could chance upon him now, guard or civilian alike, and jump to the worst conclusion. Kaveh was no ordinary person of the masses—after years of sacrificing almost everything to follow his most ambitious dreams, he had amassed significant renown as one of Sumeru’s leading robotic engineers, throwing his persona into the public eye. He had a reputation, and he fought endlessly to keep it pristine.
Getting caught in a damp and crumbled corner of a roach-infested alleyway, beside what looked like a lifeless human body? Surely the quickest way to throw all that hard work into the compactor.
He needed to get out of here.
But the android…
He cast a saddened look down at it. Its long bangs clung to its forehead, half covering its right eye. He thought of those vivid, striking green eyes. How cognizant and intelligent they were. He would remember how those eyes looked at him for the rest of his life.
But Kaveh was a busy man. He did not know where this android came from, or—perhaps more importantly—how it ended up in such a state. Something about its design set off an alarm in his head. It was too unique. Kaveh had never seen an android like this, and he likely had seen more robotic creations than any other person in this corner of Teyvat.
Maybe I could fix it, a small part of him thought. It was like a challenge, beckoning him closer.
Then one of the guards laughed in the distance, and the thought fled his mind. He needed to leave. With one last, sad glance at the android’s sleeping face, Kaveh moved to stand.
And dropped back down with a thud.
His eyes whipped to his wrist. The android’s fingers were still wrapped tight around it.
Oh, Archons, he thought, tugging his arm uselessly. No way. He tried hooking his fingers beneath the android’s to pry them from his delicate skin. Not a chance.
Kaveh glared at the silent creation. Had he no choice in the matter?
With a grunt and a fair amount of leg strength, he lifted the android up, hooking its wretched arms around his neck as if dragging around a drunkard. What else was he supposed to do—bridal-carry the thing? He didn’t have the stamina for that.
After a quick prayer to the Lesser Lord, he began his journey home with the weight of an android over his shoulders.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Kaveh mumbled to himself, squinting at the components for the seventh time. “Why won’t you turn back on?”
The android did not grace him with an answer. With a groan, Kaveh sat back on his stool and set his pliers down on the long wooden workbench.
Lying in front of him was the android, its shirt hiked up to its chest to expose the panels along its torso. If Kaveh was not so experienced, he might not have found them at all; their seams were almost invisible, thinner than a hair. The skin itself felt real at first touch, though upon close inspection appeared inorganic—made of some flexible, skin-like material.
As for the android's body… Kaveh certainly had never seen an android built like this. It had the robust form of a fit man, with strong pecs and the hint of a six pack beneath a healthy layer of skin. Nothing too showy, still maintaining its realistic facade. But if this android was modeled after its creator, then he was either very egotistical, or very lucky.
That is, if it was modeled after its creator. Its slight asymmetry and subtle details suggested imitation of a real-life human, at least. Perhaps its outer layer was made in a mold of some sort. Such a process would indeed require a model—though it could always have been resculpted to suit the owner's tastes.
There was not much more Kaveh could do with the power panel. This thing contained components more advanced than the highest grade Kaveh was lucky enough to have worked with in the past. The batteries were like nothing he had ever seen. Even the distant Inazuma's leading power sources paled in comparison. There was no sign of damage to the parts themselves—just a quick realignment here and there, a couple connections to tighten. Everything else was relatively undamaged. It seemed the android had suffered a harsh fall or blow, and a few good hits. Some of its joints were slightly crooked, but that was a problem for later. He had yet to get the thing running, after all.
“Mehrak,” he said. “Pliers, please. The small one.”
To his left, a robotic suitcase beeped twice and opened itself up, extending the requested tool. He took it, and the suitcase snapped shut. Pixelated green eyes danced on the screen in the center of its body, peering curiously at the prone android.
Kaveh felt around for any other panels, and found nothing. None on its back, its front, near its head, on its limbs—yet he knew there had to be another. He still hadn't located the central processing core. It was the android equivalent of the brain—it received information, analyzed and processed it, and generated an output. Every robot, android or not, was equipped with at least one.
It was also the most important part, typically situated in the main body to prevent as much damage as possible. But where was it?
Something kept bringing him back to one panel in particular: the box nestled in the small of the android's back, about as wide and deep as Kaveh's index finger. Its purpose was unclear. Small labels and warnings in fine print were stamped along the inside above a set of switches, written in a language Kaveh had never seen before. It was a beautiful script, all curves and pointed tips, decorated with flecks and dots, reminiscent of the ancient Sumerian desert languages. But of all the scripts Kaveh had seen in his life—and there were a great many—he could recall none as embellished as this one.
He shook his wrist, still attached to the android’s hand. It wasn’t tight enough to cut off circulation, but he still couldn’t find a way to release himself from it. And it was awfully inconvenient. Bearing its weight was becoming painful.
“Please,” Kaveh begged it, “tell me your secrets. I'm not going to hurt you—”
A shrill beep sent him flying a foot in the air. He looked at the android.
The android looked at him.
“Oh, so now you’re awake,” Kaveh managed with only one voice crack. “Are you going to help me, then?”
The android considered him, its expression vague.
“Text translation set to Sumerian. Powering down.”
Kaveh gaped. “Hey, wait—“
The android fell silent once more. Damned thing.
Perhaps it’s conserving battery power, a rational part of his brain suggested.
Or maybe, the decidedly less rational part returned, this android has a poor personality. Didn’t even bother with a standard greeting!
An odd specimen indeed.
Kaveh peered into the mystery box once more. True to its word, the text—which Kaveh had wrongfully assumed to be printed with ink—had translated itself, displaying the labels in his native script.
This was interesting. If it was meant to be a private bot, why would it have a translation feature? That was more typical of government-regulated androids, meant to be bought, used, and repaired by the masses. A private bot had little need for a translator.
Unless the smallest misconception could lead to electrical disaster. Which, upon further investigation of the fine print, indeed appeared to be the case.
Archons, this thing was complicated. But if Kaveh was understanding this right, all he needed to do was connect these wires and flip these two switches, and the processing core should be…
"Oh!" he said as the metal casing split apart. The box widened, pulling the android's skin with it—Kaveh tried not to wince—to reveal an intricate mass of blinking components and tangled wires deeper inside. It was like an internal organ of sorts, roughly the size of a human stomach. All hiding behind that false panel.
Complicated was an understatement. This machine was truly one of a kind. Even with his wealth of knowledge, it would take hours to figure out which parts required attention and which to leave untouched, let alone what they did and how they worked.
But Kaveh was not one to back down from a challenge. Especially when this android, silent as it was now, was still alive and relying on his help.
With another wring of his wrist, the android’s grip never ceasing, Kaveh went back to work.
It was well past midnight when he made a breakthrough.
The main issue lay in the connection between a motor module and the emergency shutdown. The android was locked in a loop: as soon as it woke up, its movements would trigger the emergency protocol, which would turn it right back off as if nothing had ever happened. Somehow, the android was overriding it just long enough to communicate, which should have been impossible—at least, it was for mass-produced androids.
After some investigation, Kaveh reasoned that its sensory input was unaffected. This would explain how the android was able to respond to certain stimuli—such as, for example, Kaveh’s complaining. He wasn’t sure whether it could hear everything and simply chose when to respond, or if its awareness wavered in and out, or if the sensory information was backlogged and processed at once upon reactivation.
He was about to ask out loud in case the android decided to answer him, but there was no need.
The android was awake.
Kaveh realized this with a start—all at once, every component indicator blinked and lit up with a faint hum. He stepped away and found that his wrist had been let free.
In one smooth motion, the android sat upright.
“I did it,” Kaveh breathed. “It’s—you’re awake!”
The android considered him silently—perhaps it was running a damage assessment now that it could function for more than five seconds at a time. Kaveh waited. He watched the android open and close its fists, roll its shoulders, and flex its ankles.
Its eyes scanned the room before again settling square on Kaveh. He tried not to feel intimidated. After all, androids served a multitude of services—for all he knew, this one could have been programmed with dangerous intentions.
After one moment stretched into multiple, each silent and awkward, Kaveh cleared his throat. “So, uh. Do you have a… a name?”
The android’s lips twitched. It was horribly realistic. Its jaw tightened then relaxed, but it said nothing.
“What? Is there something wrong with your speech module?” Kaveh stepped cautiously around the table. “May I take a look?”
“No need.”
So it could speak, after all.
He was about to make a response when the android snapped its head toward him. Kaveh gasped, clutching his pliers to his chest like a lady clutching her pearls.
Now that was certainly not realistic. It was too sudden and too fast. And, to make matters worse, its head was twisted to an inhuman degree—almost a full one-eighty. Looking at it sent a sympathetic tingle down his own neck.
Kaveh took a shaky breath and found his voice again. “A-alright,” he said, putting the pliers down. “Are you able to close the panels, or should I—“
The panels snapped shut in an instant.
“… Never mind, then.”
Another moment of silence in which they each stared at the other. The android’s eyes were just as stunning as he remembered. Though no longer glowing, they were still colored that vivid turquoise with an orange-gold inner ring around its pupils. The longer he looked, the more obvious it was to Kaveh that these were not human eyes with a lens and iris and sclera, but indeed cleverly designed cameras through which the android viewed the world. Any average person would have been fooled, but he was intimate with all the ways androids hid their inhuman features.
The android’s stare still had that sharp, calculating quality to it. It was like Kaveh was the one whose wires were being poked and prodded at—as if the android was peering directly into his mind.
Finally, he said, “Oh, could you please turn your head back around? It's creeping me out.”
The android obliged. The motion was again too abrupt. Kaveh was beginning to think it was a motor malfunction, and not intentional.
“Alhaitham,” it said simply.
"What?"
"That's my name," Alhaitham explained with a drawl. The voice was certainly as unique as everything else, with the hint of a faux nasal tone and a more languid pace than the norm.
Something strange was happening as this Alhaitham spoke. It—no, he—was so convincing that, now that he was speaking and moving much like a human would, Kaveh could no longer see him as just some machine.
“Alhaitham,” he echoed. “My name is Kaveh. I, um… it’s nice to meet you?”
“If you're expecting me to recite some cliched greeting, you can set those expectations aside.”
Kaveh eyed the android warily as he came back around the table. Alhaitham sat still atop the table, his legs slightly bent at the knee as if they contained real muscles and ligaments.
“I was just being polite.”
“Polite to a piece of machinery?” Alhaitham said dryly. “How considerate of you.”
The more he talked, the more certain Kaveh was that this creation had to have been modeled after someone. A real, living—or perhaps, once living, he considered with a shudder—human being. But if that was true, then what—and who—was Alhaitham? It was a common enough name in Sumeru, and for all Kaveh knew, the android could have decided it for himself.
A light trill sounded next to them. Both Kaveh and Alhaitham watched as Mehrak whirred and lifted itself off the table, floating vertically in midair to face them both. Alhaitham appeared just as intrigued with it as it was him.
“Did you design this?” he asked, eyes flicking between Mehrak and its creator.
“I did,” Kaveh said with a touch of pride. Mehrak was the ultimate tool, the perfect companion—multifunctional, intelligent, and programmed with basic defense mechanisms to prevent theft. It also had plenty of storage for Kaveh’s tools and notebooks, as well as any physical blueprints for his clients.
Which, speaking of…
Ah. He looked at the time and let out a groan.
“Early morning?” Alhaitham guessed.
Kaveh nodded wearily. The effects of his extended repair session were beginning to sag his shoulders and tug at his eyelids.
“Well, you’d better get some rest after all that work you just did. You look like you could use it.”
Something about the way Alhaitham spoke made his words sound less kind and caring than they might have been. If anything, Kaveh found himself feeling mildly patronized. Maybe it was his somewhat monotone intonation—much unlike the cheery, borderline obnoxious voices most androids were equipped with these days.
A glitch, then? Perhaps Kaveh could fiddle with the vocal controls tomorrow, should Alhaitham let him. Give him a livelier tone. But until then…
“No need to worry about me,” Alhaitham added before Kaveh could say anything. “I can tell what you’re thinking. I don't need anything presently, and I won't be going anywhere.”
Kaveh gaped, dumbfounded. “You… can read minds?”
“No. It was written all over your face.”
He frowned. Was he really that readable, or was Alhaitham covering for himself? The ability to read minds admittedly bordered on fantasy, but given the android’s complexity, it would not be so much of a surprise.
He glanced at the clock again. At this rate, he’d be lucky to get more than four hours of sleep.
Frankly, whether or not the android stayed wasn’t a huge concern—it was more disconcerting that he’d assured Kaveh he would stay. Kaveh’s main worry was the security of his home. He had no reason to trust Alhaitham about anything.
“Mehrak,” he said to his trusty helper, who beeped in response. “Activate interior home security protocol B. Alert me right away if anything happens.” He turned to Alhaitham, who raised a single eyebrow. “Sorry. Just a precaution.”
“Understandable. Good night, then.”
Before Kaveh could say anything more, the android lay down and powered off. The only indication he was still working was the steadily glowing diamond fixed just below his collar. Mehrak beeped again and floated over to push Kaveh out of the workshop. It was bed time.
Alhaitham, thought Kaveh as he closed the door behind him. What a strange thing you are.