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You closed the door behind yourself carefully, doing your best to not bother your boss any further.

Connor was idly standing beside the window, eyes scanning the chirping birds that skipped from branch to branch. His LED blinked with yellow, then faded into a calm blue. Although it took you quite an amount of mental strength to do it, you ignored Connor and made your way inside the storage room.

A few dozen Androids stood in the room with their arms glued to their sides, eyes closed, in perfectly symmetrical rows. One copy of every single model you and Kamski had created so far. Androids were made for mass production after all, so keeping every single model produced in your small workshop would have created a huge problem.

Thus, the collaboration between your workshop and multiple warehouses and factories spread all across the country. You and Elijah came up with concepts and poured your time into creating new models before sending the construction information to the factories, for mass production.

You began browsing the multiple standing silhouettes, studying their familiar faces, and weighing out the options in your head. You couldn't afford sending another android as advanced as the RK800 back to the battlefield (although you didn't exactly have one except for the RK800 itself), especially now that the situation of the troops in Normandy was still unknown. In this case, it was quantity over quality.

You selected a PL600, an AC700, and a ST300. You took out your small notebook from your bag and ripped off three small slips of paper, and pinned each one of them to the chest of the models you had selected. On the PL600's note, you wrote 1200, 1050 on the AC700's and 750 on the ST300. Those were the amounts you'd request the crew at the depot to send to France.

A total of 3000 must have been enough, considering that 12000 of the ones you had sent along with Connor hadn't returned and a good percentage weren't reported as damaged either.

You gathered the needed androids in the center of the room, cheerfully humming to yourself. Now all there was left to do was cleaning up, and then you were free to go.

"Are these the models you're planning on sending to Normandy, assistant?"

You jumped at the soft, clear voice, which obviously belonged to Connor.

"Yeah." You nodded your head. "Why?"

"I thought it might be of use to me if I learned about my predecessors."

"Oh, really? Are you having existential questions, Connor?" You snickered to yourself.

"No. I'm afraid I lack abilities in the domain of philosophy, assistant."

"Well, I don't think philosophy could prove as useful on the battlefield, so you get a pass." Connor continued watching you with a slightly dumbfounded look on his face and yellow blinking led. "Alright, let's make a deal. I'll show you the androids under one condition."

"Which is?"

"You help me with the cleanups."

He stopped for a second, weighing out the compromise, then nodded in approval.

You gestured for the Android to follow you, stopping by the nearest PL600.

"Now, this bad boy right here," You placed your hand on the 'sleeping' machine's shoulder. The RK800 analyzed the move with interest, and figured that it might be a gesture to show some form of attachment to it. "It's one of the earliest models. Kamski came up with it a week after hiring me, so I got to make a few minor adjustments on it, but nothing too big. I fixed its voice: made it more ear-pleasing and less machine-like. And I think I made some adjustments on its hairstyle too, although I don't exactly remember what."

Connor nodded and followed you over to the next model. It was slightly shorter than him, but presented similarly dark hair. It had a soft jawline and sharp nose, which Connor assumed had the purpose of making it seem both stern and approachable.

"This is the AC700. It's is not the strongest guy out there, but it can outlast about anyone, well, maybe except for you." You readjusted the machine's suit in the slightest, then glanced at Connor. "It can lose up to 70% of its blood and still function seamlessly. But, it's not the fastest thinker out there, since we decided to decrease its intelligence in order to allow it to use up less energy, and thus, less blood."

"My blood loss limit is-"

"50%, I know." You interrupted the android. It scanned you, LED flashing yellow for a second before returning to blue.

"Yes." He nodded his head, eyebrows slightly raised in what you thought to be...surprise?

Smiling to yourself, you continued with the last model. "The ST300 is fast, strong, and a strategic genius."

Connor let his gaze skip over the android's sharp features and cleanly groomed, almost bald head, as well as its scowl. Not exactly what most humans would identify as aesthetically pleasing, the RK800 concluded.

"Problem is, it can't deal with blood loss that well, and it's completely clueless when it comes to social interactions." You shrugged your shoulders and turned around to face Connor. Eyebrows raised and head tilted, he processed the information before speaking up.

"I must be the only RK800 so far, then?"

"Exactly. These Androids," You gestured to the ones you had just presented to Connor. "are, first of all, made for mass production. You, however, took about four years to design and create. So far, we couldn't find a way to make mass production possible for your model. Normandy was your first mission, although something seemed to have gone wrong."

"An explosion, correct?"

"How did you..."

"I figured it out by the damage on my body." You couldn't hide the fact that you were slightly impressed by his conclusion. The RK800 had been equipped with minor deduction abilities, still came as a surprise. Connor looked away, LED blinking with neon red. Why the sudden change in mood?

"Something wrong?"

"No, I-...It's unpleasant to know that I failed my creators is all." He looked at you with stifled...sadness? Was a machine even capable of that?

"You didn't fail us. Who knows what even happened back there, maybe you heroically saved someone from a bomb or something." You pat Connor's shoulder softly, as he glanced at you with both confusion and sadness. "Besides, you can't change the past. There's no use in overthinking it. Come on."

His LED switched to a thoughtful yellow, then faded back into the usual, calm blue.

Smiling to yourself, although you had no idea why, you fetched a mop and a feather duster from the bathroom. You then returned to the storage room, finding Connor thoughtfully staring at a PL600.

"Connor, catch!" You chirped threw the feather duster at him, in an attempt to lift the mood. In the last second, he caught the handle in his fist, right above his head. That was unnaturally fast and precise.

"What can I assist you with?"

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