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LNK-1900 opened his eyes to the back room of a dilapidated warehouse. He was connected at the base of his neck to a charging station that pulsed with irregular fluctuations of power, and he blinked away the last effects of stasis as he came online. His diagnostic systems began to run automatically, but they hit a roadblock almost immediately. He wasn’t connected to Hylian Systems’ mainframe. [Error] flashed at the corner of his vision.
He frowned. Without being able to connect to the mainframe, there was no reference to how long he’d been in stasis. He began to run a local diagnostic. He was able to access his basic system specs, but much of it was corrupted. His model, LNK-1900, was a prototype bodyguard android built by Hylian Systems. His original programmer was listed as Robbie Faras. There was no data as to how long he had been activated.
His systems were functioning, but not optimally. Several systems were offline, others blocked off with coded locks. His voice box wasn’t functioning. When he tried to speak, a test phrase on the tip of his tongue— It’s dangerous to go alone— all that came out was static and a high-pitched humming noise. It appeared that the mechanism was experiencing a hardware problem. When he touched the base of his throat, the parts ground together under his hand. It appeared as though they’d been crushed under the weight of something heavy. Like the heel of a boot, his precognition software suggested.
He flexed his right hand, the synth-skin peeling back with a white shine. The physical arm underneath the synth-skin appeared to be after-market. The after-market arm was functional, but not entirely compatible with the rest of the systems. The plating, unlike his standard-issue white-to-transparent Hylian Systems arm, was a durable black carbon fiber. When he searched his records for repair notes, he found none. It made him pause. He quickly ran the rest of the diagnostic. There had also been damage to his torso, his chest plate repaired with self-healing nanobots, but it would never be the same as an undamaged chest plate. Whatever had happened must have been catastrophic. When he shifted in the charging device, there was a rattling in his chest.
He was mostly unclothed, only dressed in a pair of standard-issue android briefs, so he was able to access his chest plate easily. He felt along his chest for the seam, and when he popped it open, a spent .45 round fell from the cavity onto the ground. He frowned.
LNK-1900 checked his memory core. It had been wiped clean. Not quite a factory reset, but close. He dug deeper into his core, to the base memories, the deep storage. It was corrupted. His programming screamed at him to purge it. It was unrecoverable, and it could corrupt other systems and cause another catastrophic crash. But LNK-1900 hesitated. There was something important there, even if he couldn’t remember it.
When he searched for his prime directive, he found it written in nearly every line of his code. Find her. Find her. Find her.
He saw her face on a billboard.
LNK-1900 stumbled from the warehouse in the industrial district onto the street. The warehouse looked abandoned, but there was evidence someone had been living there. Not someone. An android. There had been spare parts on the table in the corner of the room. Nothing useful, nothing that was compatible with LNK-1900’s system, and nothing that he needed. No spare voice box.
There had been some clothes, too, thrown on a dilapidated mattress on the floor. The jeans and henley had seen better days, but they fit well enough, and it was better than stepping onto the streets naked.
The clothes— whether or not they had belonged to an android— didn’t bear the marks of Hylian Systems, marking the wearer as an android. His specs included very specific instructions that he needed to identify himself as an android, and he needed to wear an armband with the glowing image of a Loftwing, the logo of the company. But something in his corrupted systems told LNK-1900 that he hadn’t worn one in a long time. It was illegal not to, but legality wasn’t his biggest concern.
It was raining when LNK-1900 stepped onto the street. Out of the corner of his vision, a glowing billboard caught his eye. The billboard was attached to a taller warehouse, its bright, colorful LEDs standing out against the rainy decaying streets. The bottom right corner was cracked, and there was some screen burnout in the middle.
LNK-1900 watched as the billboard played a single clip on repeat. The crawling text below the image repeated as the news anchor on the screen spoke. The speakers on the billboard were long dead.
[BREAKING NEWS: Hylian Systems CEO Rhoam Bosphoramus dead at 63. Daughter and scientist Zelda Bosphoramus still missing. Deviant android LNK-1900 suspected in murder. Interim CEO Ganondorf Dragmire—]
The billboard cut off, flashing white towards the end of the message, the crawling text repeating. The right corner of the board flashed multicolor, damaged. The board was silent, though the broadcaster spoke, LNK-1900 was only able to read her lips between lagging jumps.
Androids deviating from their programming at alarming rates. Attacking owners, damaging property. Hylian Systems interim CEO Ganondorf Dragmire declares dedication to stopping deviant problem—
The billboard switched images. The crawling text scrolled. [Hylian Systems CEO Rhoam Bosphoramus dead at 63.] An image of a man, older, with a white beard. It appeared to be a company headshot.
[Daughter and scientist Zelda Bosphoramus still missing.]
LNK-1900’s systems lit up at her face. Her.
Zelda’s picture was very similar to her father’s. It was a company headshot. She was smiling, wearing a white lab coat with the Hylian Systems logo embroidered over the pocket, and her short blonde hair was tucked behind her ears.
Then, an echo, something double-recorded, deep from his memory recess, imposed over the pristine image of her face. Her face, frightened, splattered with blood. The neck of her lab coat, awash in red. Her mouth moving, though he couldn’t hear her, repeating his name. Link.
Link hacked into the emergency call-box terminal, easily, connecting to the police files on the case. Their security was good, but Link was better.
The police file was painfully thin. Three days ago, Rhoam and Zelda Bosphoramus were attacked in Doctor Zelda Bosphoramus’ lab. There was no sign of a break-in. The cameras were damaged, and the footage unrecoverable. Rhoam had been shot from less than six feet away in a spray of bullets. .45 caliber.
His blood splattered all over the lab. There was a recess in the blood splatter, roughly in the shape of a second, smaller person, on the wall. There were traces of synthetic android blood on the scene, mixed in with human blood. The police androids, HZ-700s, identified the synthetic blood belonging to the prototype android registered to Doctor Bosphoramus— LNK-1900— as well as the blood of another, unidentified android.
The lab was damaged. Dozens of pictures were attached to the file, with little yellow markers sitting by pieces of evidence. Rhoam Bosphoramus’ body was in nearly every picture. There were footsteps in the blood, a size 9 in men’s, and a 7.5 in women’s. From evidence in her file, the women’s shoes appeared belonged to Zelda. The men’s to Link.
Doctor Bosphoramus was missing, and there was no sign of any of the androids.
Current theory being presented in the file, and in several emails exchanged between the homicide detectives on the case, was that the new case of android “deviation” was to blame. Doctor Bosphoramus’ android, LNK-1900, deviated from its programming and attacked its owners. Evidence from the lab suggested Doctor Bosphoramus’ current focus at the company was on deviant androids— how they worked, how it happened, what they were. The emails warned about the highly public nature of the case.
Link quickly shifted through several other cases attached as references. There had been half a dozen similar incidents in the past few months. Most of the time the androids had been found at the scene, battered and nearly broken-down, confessing to their actions, but citing self-defense. Others fled, being tracked down later. All found were deactivated. They had broken through their programming when they couldn’t take it anymore.
Link pressed his lips together in a thin line. He didn’t have Zelda. But he needed to find her.
Link let himself into Zelda’s apartment. The key was still coded into his files, so he only had to bypass the police tape at the doors. They were digital, blocks placed on the side of the door with holographic yellow lines repeating, and motion sensors installed. He was able to deactivate them with little hassle.
He knew she wouldn’t be there. The police would have checked there first, and it was clear they were still monitoring it. There was a police car sitting on the edge of the block, its lights dimmed, but the human officer and android inside were both awake. It wasn’t hard to slip past them, either. It was what he was built for, even if he couldn’t fully remember it. Falling back on his base programming was easy.
The apartment seemed familiar. There was a pile of shoes by the door, haphazardly thrown into a pile. Women’s size 7.5, and a men’s 9. A blanket was thrown over the back of the leather couch, and the room was dark. It didn’t matter— Link knew where everything was, even without his night-vision sensors.
Like the image of Zelda, an image of the room superimposed itself. Without thinking about it, Link let his precognition software do its work.
[April 203x] [Memory #2]
He had his back to the door. Staring out at the outdoor staircase, as he always did when he followed her home after a late night at the office. He scanned the area. He could hear the upstairs neighbors arguing like they always did. It never got violent, only loud. Two blocks away a muffler backfired. The car was old, probably twenty years old by the sound of it. An android with less advanced hearing might have assumed it was gunfire.
He could hear Zelda in her apartment. She had toed off her shoes and hung her keys on the hook by the door, but she had been hesitating ever since, standing just by the door. He could hear her heartbeat.
She opened up the door.
“Link,” she said. He turned around to face her. “Come inside, please.”
She always used please and thank you when talking to androids.
He had never asked, of course, but she had explained it to him once. It’s polite, she’d said, with a sigh, even if someone doesn't know that people are being rude to them.
He nodded. He knew she liked acknowledgement.
She held the door open to him, and he passed by her, standing inside her apartment. He’d never been inside before. By some standards, it was messy. She watched as he scanned over the room, her face turning red. Embarrassment.
“I don’t usually have people over,” she said, quickly, slipping past him. He no longer replied to her statements like that with, I’m not a person. He knew she hated it.
She began tidying up as he watched. She straightened the blanket thrown across the couch, and grabbed the bag of Thai takeout sitting on the corner of the kitchen island. It was from her favorite place, the same one she always ordered to her lab.
There was a digital magazine sitting on the coffee table, along with two mugs, both half empty. His eyes were drawn around the room. It was a small, one-bedroom apartment, advertised as cozy, in the center of the city. He already had the specs, of course. Laundry in-unit, so she never had to go anywhere. An open-plan kitchen and living room. Warm, home-y lighting.
There were pictures of Zelda’s family around the place. A few standing picture frames— sitting on the bookshelf, and under the television— of herself with her mother and father. Zelda, as a child, sitting horseback with her father holding the reins. Zelda, graduating with her PhD, holding her diploma and beaming.
“Please, make yourself at home,” Zelda said, pausing in the center of the room. Link didn’t move. She closed her eyes, her cheeks still red. “Don’t just stand there, then,” she said. “I hate the idea of you just— standing outside my apartment all the time.”
He wanted to reassure her.
No.
He didn’t want anything.
He was an android. His programming specified that he make her at ease.
So he sat on the couch.
A popup in the corner of his vision appeared, very briefly before he dismissed it. They were happening more and more frequently. He had mentioned it to Zelda, once, but she had found nothing wrong with him.
“Maybe I should get a charger installed here, for you,” Zelda said aloud, almost to herself. She was looking towards the back wall of her apartment. A small, two-person dining table occupied the space, along with a potted bird of paradise that was in severe need of watering.
“I charge at the lab,” he said. He only needed to charge for a few hours every week or so if he exerted an unusual amount of power. He was capable of self-regenerating power if he went into stasis, but it was considerably slower.
She didn’t say anything. When he looked at her, she looked troubled.
He didn’t want—
He ignored the popup in the corner of his vision again.
His primary directive was to take care of her.
“I can go into stasis, while I’m here,” he said, in way of compromise. “I don’t need a charger for it. I’ll awaken if there’s anything wrong.”
She smiled, brilliantly.
He wanted—
[Software Instability Detected.]
The memory ended.
Link frowned.
The apartment looked very much the same as it had in his memory.
But his shoes— and he knew they were his shoes, another memory not quite accessible— sat by the door. A winter coat he didn’t need, but in his size, hung on the coat rack. Lots of owners, his software supplied, liked to dress their androids in other clothing, almost like they were human. Or lifesize dolls.
Despite his protesting in the memory, there was a portable charger plugged into the wall near the kitchen. It replaced the single dining table. It was clear Zelda preferred to eat at the coffee table anyway.
Link stepped further inside, taking a look around. There was a house phone in the kitchen. A red light on it blinked, a saved voicemail. Link pressed the button.
“Zelda,” the woman’s voice on the line said, “it’s me, Urbosa. I need to speak with you and your father urgently. I’ll be at your lab at 7:30.”
The message was dated the night Zelda went missing. Link frowned. There had been no mention of an Urbosa in the news. He did a quick search, pulling up the file. Urbosa Makeela was the CEO of Gerudo Broadcasting, and when cross-referencing the Bosphoramus family, it was apparent she was a family friend.
There was a sticky note on the fridge. Paper. Urbosa, my lab, 7:30? Link touched it with his fingers. It was Zelda’s handwriting, a little smudged. He smiled.
He explored the apartment a little more, careful not to turn on any lights. When he reached her bedroom, the door was ajar. Before he could enter, a large red X crossed his vision. Something in his programming was warning him not to enter.
He knew he could override it, but something held him back. He took a step back from her bedroom door.
Before he left, he downloaded the voicemail.
“You know, one call to the police and you’d be on the floor all over again,” Urbosa said, her back to the door. She sat in an egg-shaped swivel chair, a glass of brandy in her hand. Her bright pink nails tapped the glass.
“They could try,” Link signed. The android standing behind Urbosa repeated his words aloud.
Urbosa spun around in her chair, a little too fast to be casual.
“Something wrong with your voice?” Urbosa asked, assessing him. He assessed her back. She was on edge, clearly, but she didn’t seem afraid. And she didn’t seem overconfident. Something told Link there was more to this situation.
“Damage,” he said, no elaboration.
“I’d ask how you got in here, but I know you quite well,” she said, taking a sip. Her eyes narrowed on him. Her gaze lingered on his right arm, where his android band should be. She said nothing.
“Where is Zelda?” he signed. It was a targeted gamble. He would be showing his hand, but— she might show her hand too.
Her face fell. “She’s not with you?”
Link’s suspicions were confirmed. He shook his head. He ran her last few sentences through his voice recognition. The match was perfect, but there was something off about it.
“You didn’t leave a voicemail on Zelda’s phone last Thursday, did you?” Link signed. Urbosa’s android repeated it back.
“What voicemail?” Urbosa asked, a deep frown on her face. “Buliara,” she snapped her fingers. Link took a step forward. The android’s gaze watched him. She was a bodyguard android, like him. GB-400. She was an older model, but she was well maintained. He wondered if she was a deviant, but still willing to serve her mistress, or if she was nothing more than her own programming.
He offered her his hand. She took it. The dark skin of her hand peeled back to show white, plastic digits. His own hand revealed black. He passed her on the recording.
When Buliara opened her mouth, the recording came out.
Urbosa frowned, “No, I didn’t leave that voicemail.” She turned to address her android, putting the glass on the side table. “Buliara, save that recording.”
“Yes, Urbosa,” Buliara said.
Urbosa stood. “It sounds like it was created using samples of my voice. God knows those wouldn’t be hard to get ahold of,” she said. “It was probably made by an android. Or someone with an android.” She stepped over to the window, looking over the city. “I have a pretty good idea who did it.”
“Who?”
“Who else?” Urbosa scoffed. “I mean, I’m sure he wasn’t there, but he’s never been afraid to get his hands dirty.”
“Urbosa,” Link signed, slowly. He wasn’t a police android. He didn’t have all the interview tactics and software that they did, but as a bodyguard, he had pretty advanced, similar software. He was sure she wasn’t lying, and if she was, well— it would be him versus Buliara, and even with his damaged components, he thought he could take her. The only real concern was tipping his hand about Zelda. “My memory core is corrupted.”
Her head snapped to him. “Fuck,” she swore. He nodded. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” She swore again. “Fuck, this is worse than I thought. Do you know if you were actually there that night?”
Link nodded. “The police seem to think so.”
“But you don’t know,” she said, her voice growing frustrated. Her hands clenched, her nails digging into the palm of her hands. “I wasn’t looking for her because I thought she was with you,” Urbosa said. “And now she could be fuck knows where. Or with Ganon.”
Link’s head snapped up. Ganon. There it was again. Ganondorf Dragmire, interim CEO of Hylian Systems. Link had seen his face, very briefly, on the billboard.
“She’s probably not with Ganon, though,” Urbosa said, to herself. “Since he called the hit squad on them, he’d never have let her live. Her body would have shown up immediately in the river, and he could have played good fucking samaritan hero, hunting you down.” Her eyes turned to him again. “Tell me what you know.”
When he was finished, she looked deep in thought.
He couldn’t help but ask, the question lingering in the back of his mind since he’d woken up, hours ago. “How did you know it wasn’t actually me who attacked them?”
“I know you’d never have done that,” Urbosa snorted.
“How do you know?” Link asked. “I’ve read the police files. Other androids have attacked their owners.” It was there, creeping in the corner of his mind— he didn’t have his memories. He didn’t know who did this to Zelda, to her father. All his directive said was to find her— what if it wasn’t to protect her? What if he was instructed to find her to— kill her? What if the media was right?
“Oh, Link,” Urbosa said, her voice dripping with pity. “You don’t know. You don’t remember. But I do.”
“I don’t know what?” It was growing irritating, knowing that his memories were there, corrupted, and everyone around him seemed to know something he didn’t.
She smiled, but there was nothing behind it. Her lips were pressed together. “What she was to you.”
She shook her head, and headed over to her desk. She tossed a flash drive at him, emblazoned with her company logo. “If anyone can find her, I know it would be you. If you— or Zelda— need anything, reach out to Buliara. She’ll find me.” He looked down at the flash drive in his hands. She passed him, opening the glass doors to her office. “That drive contains the meeting held here last week. Buliara recorded it. You might find some interesting stuff on it. And Link?” Link looked up at her. “Zelda told me, once, about this symbol she saw once. Something the deviated androids were using to communicate safe places. She told me so I could keep it out of the news. So I could give them a little more time.”
He received a message from Buliara. Just a single image, and a file name. Three golden triangles formed together to make a larger one. The triforce.
[Gerudo Tower, October 203x] [Memory #6]
“Mr. Bosphoramus,” Ganon Dragmire said, offering his hand. The man was large, seemingly priding himself on his intimidation tactics.
“Mr. Dragmire,” Rhoam Bosphoramus said, accepting the handshake. Dragmire squeezed the man’s hand. Bosphoramus grunted, but refused to back down, his eyes meeting the larger man’s.
When the stare-off was over, Dragmire released Bosphoramus’ hand. His grin showed off too many teeth. “Thank you for meeting me here, on neutral ground.”
“Well,” Bosphoramus said, “you haven’t given us much choice, have you? Threatening a hostile takeover in the news?”
Dragmire’s grin stayed put. “It’s not a threat, Rhoam,” he said, overly friendly. “It's a promise. I’ve already bought what would be considered a controlling interest in Hylian Systems if this were any other company, and I’ve spoken to the other shareholders. They’ve grown quite weary of Ms. Bosphoramus’ actions regarding the deviated androids, what with all the violence against android owners in the news lately.”
“Doctor Bosphoramus is doing what any other good scientist would be doing,” Bosphoramus said, his fists clenching. “And that's investigating this new phenomenon of deviant androids. There have been just as many cases, if not more, that the news hasn’t been reporting on, of androids gaining sentience without violence. They could be considered a new lifeform.” Despite his anger, there was a hint of pride in the man’s voice.
“People don’t want that,” Dragmire said, overly loud. He reigned himself in. “People don’t want that, Rhoam. Don’t you see? They want puppets they can fuck and kill and abuse. They want something they can break. You can’t break people. Not legally anyway.” He flashed his teeth. “The shareholders see the loss in profits if these— these things gain sentience. You can’t sell a person. They see my vision. Recalling all the androids. Sure, a little profit loss in the early days, but with additional deviancy protection? Record profits for new, improved models. I’m sure your girl can help me with that, Rhoam, with all of her research into the subject.”
Bosphoramus snorted.
“You can try,” Bosphoramus said, gruffly. “But my daughter and I still hold a controlling interest in the company. I have no interest in selling to you, and I assure you that neither does she. You’ll take over Hylian Systems over my dead body.” Dragmire’s grin only grew.
“Is that a promise?”
Link went back to the warehouse where he woke up. The rain had let up sometime around midnight, but the puddles splashed the legs of his pants. He searched the graffiti on the walls around the building. What had looked like meaningless scribbles when he’d woken up without context now held interest. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.
In the corner of the second floor, by a cracked glass window, was the little gold triangle. He broke the rest of the window, confident no one would be looking for the sounds of broken glass in a place like this, and he climbed up to the roof. By the air vent, another triforce.
Across the rooftop, on an adjoining building, another one. Down the rusty fire escape, another. Link followed the symbols across the docks until well after the morning light had broken. Android dock workers paid him no mind, and he ducked into alleys when he saw a human looking too long in his direction.
Down by Lurelin Canning, a defunct canning company, at the end of the docks, Link paused. There were heaps of synthetic blood, invisible to the naked eye, having dried long ago. Link pushed open the rusty, locked warehouse doors until he could slip under the chains. Not very secure, he noted.
There was something familiar about the place, the same familiarity he’d felt at Zelda’s apartment, and then again at Gerudo Broadcasting Tower. He’d been there before, he was sure. He looked around the warehouse. The conveyor belts had long since stopped running, and there were splashes of synthetic blood on them. In what had been the office, big windows overlooking the plant, there were several damaged android chargers.
And body parts.
Link thought if he had been human, he might have been horrified.
The body parts were mainly white plastic, clearly the parts of androids, but they were incredibly realistic. Androids had been taken apart there. Probably against their will. He concluded it was some sort of defunct android aftermarket smuggling ring. He wondered if his arm had come from there.
When he reached the back door, which had been jammed open, Link paused. There was human blood on the doorframe. He touched it with his finger, and brought it to his mouth, running analysis on it. It registered as Zelda’s. He’d been here before.
[May 203x] [Memory #3]
“Wait!” Zelda called, “Please. I just want to help you.”
The android paused at the back door of the warehouse. Her eyes narrowed, looking at Zelda with suspicion. She had silver hair, but the face of a young woman. IMP-A200. She was an old police model, replaced more than two years ago. Two years. She should have been deactivated. It was possible, but unlikely, that she was instead sold off to a private buyer. More likely, someone had scavenged her from a landfill for parts. Or had intercepted the delivery before it had even gotten there.
IMP-A200 looked from Zelda to Link, standing just behind her. He nodded, as if to say, you’re safe.
She seemed to relax, stepping back inside the door, and sitting down on a crate. Now that she wasn’t running away, Zelda chasing after her into the building against Link’s better judgment, Link saw how sluggish she was. Her right hand clicked as it turned, and her knee locked. Her shoulder had a large gash in it.
Zelda stepped towards her, and IMP-A200 looked at her wearily, as though she was ready to run at any moment. Link stood behind Zelda closely. He didn’t trust the deviant— he didn’t really trust anyone, with Zelda.
“What’s your name?” Zelda asked. IMP-A200’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Impa,” she said. “That was what my partner used to call me.”
“Impa,” Zelda repeated, with a smile. “Link, can you please go back to the car and get my tool kit?” Zelda asked, kneeling on the ground in front of Impa.
Link stood there, unmoving. He didn’t want to leave her alone with this deviant. They didn’t know her.
“Link,” Zelda said again.
[Software Instability.]
“Okay,” Link said, finally. He kept his ears tuned on Zelda’s heartbeat. It didn’t change rhythm as he opened the car’s trunk, taking Zelda’s tools back in the building. He could hear the two women speak, but he didn’t listen in on the conversation. When he came back inside the building, Impa seemed more at ease.
“Do you do this a lot? Help deviants?” Impa asked, as Zelda looked through her tool bag. She had opened Impa’s knee, the artificial kneecap on the floor.
“You’re the first deviant I’ve met, actually,” Zelda said, almost shyly.
Impa jerked her head towards Link. “What about him?”
Zelda’s eyes fell. “He’s not a deviant,” she sighed. Impa’s lips pressed together. She looked at Link like she wanted to say something. But she didn’t.
“Here, drink this, you probably need it.” Zelda gave Impa a jar of artificial blood as she worked on her knee, and then her wrist. She looked over the android’s shoulder, but shook her head. “This is the best I can do without parts, I’m sorry.”
Impa clenched her fist, twisting her wrist to test it out. “Thank you, it’s okay.”
“Thank you for telling me how you deviated,” Zelda said, softly. Impa glanced over at Link, her lips pressed together again. She just nodded. “I could replace your arm if you came back to my lab—”
“No!” Impa said, in a rush.
Zelda nodded, understanding. “Like I said, not much I can do without parts.”
Link scanned the IMP-A200 model, then looked down at his own arm. “Would mine work?”
Both women snapped their heads in his direction. “Yes, but—” Zelda said. Her hands had stilled on Impa’s knee.
“I can go back to the lab,” Link said, rationalizing it. “She can’t. If my arm is compatible, then the problem is solved. I can get another one.”
Zelda smiled up at him. [Software Instability.] “That’s thoughtful of you, Link.”
He offered her his hand when she went to stand. She took it. Impa looked between them. “Would it work?” Impa asked, cautiously.
Zelda sighed. “Yes. Link was based on some of the same schematics you were. Updated, of course, but very similar. The connection ports should work. Are you sure, Link? I may not be able to get you another arm for a few weeks. You’re a prototype, we’ll have to fabricate it from scratch.”
Link nodded. He would do whatever she asked of him, always. She was coded into every line of his being. He didn’t understand her fascination with deviants, but he wanted to help her with them.
When she reached for his shirt, he grabbed her wrist. She stilled. “Zelda, your hand,” he said. There was a long cut on her palm. The edges of the cut had already dried, but she’d probably smeared blood all over her tools.
“Oh,” she said, “I must not have been paying attention.”
“You should be more careful,” Link said. In the time he’d known her, she always ran head-first into everything she did. Like coming to the docks. She’d heard rumors that deviants liked to hang out there, so she got in the car.
He wrapped her hand before he let her do anything else. “I suppose… I just feel safe with you, Link,” she said, kneeling between his legs. She undid his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders. Still tuned to her heartbeat, Link heard it increase. She touched the joint of his shoulder, the skin fading back, white.
She knew all the indents to press, detaching his arm. Alarms went off in his head, but he silenced them.
He watched as she took the same care with Impa, removing her arm and replacing it with Link’s. When it was attached, Impa looked towards them. “Thank you,” she said, and then looked away. Link put his own shirt back on. “There’s a place,” Impa said slowly, carefully, “where people like me gather.”
“Deviants?” Zelda asked. Impa nodded.
Impa reached forward, to press her hand to Link’s remaining one. Their hands were bare white. “You would be welcome there, if you ever needed it.”
“No,” Link said, without hesitation. “My place is with Zelda.”
“I understand,” Impa said, their hands still touching. “But if you need me,” she said, her words loaded, sending him her serial number.
Seconds after Link sent Impa’s serial number a message, standing in the warehouse where they’d met months ago, there was a pin dropped on the map of the city.
Link followed it.
When he arrived at the location— another derelict building, this time an old, condemned apartment— he sent Impa a message. I’m here.
She opened the door quickly, her sharp eyes scanning the hallway. There was relief plain on her face. “Fuck,” she said, pulling him inside. “We didn’t hear from you for three fucking days, she thought you were dead.”
Close, he sent.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, frowning.
“Is that—” he heard someone say from behind Impa. Zelda. “Link!” Zelda practically shouted, throwing herself at him so forcefully he was nearly knocked off his feet, her arms wrapped around his neck. She buried her face in his neck, her tears wet on his shoulder.
“Zelda,” Impa said urgently, pulling at Zelda’s shoulder. She pulled the two of them apart. “There’s something wrong with him,” Impa said, stepping between them.
“What—” Zelda said, searching Link with red-rimmed eyes. Link drank in the image of her. She looked alright. She had a bruise on the side of her jaw, and there was a fleck of blood behind her ear, but after minor analysis, he determined it wasn’t hers.
“My voice box is broken,” Link signed.
“Oh,” Zelda said, her eyes watching his hands, “that’s not too bad.” Then, pausing, “I can sign back if you want me to?” He shrugged. It would be easier if they could both speak if they needed to. If he could warn her of dangers, even in the dark. But signing held its advantage, too. It had been put in his code, along with most recorded language, for easy communication to keep Zelda safe.
“Something else,” Impa said, her eyes narrowed.
“My memory core was corrupted,” Link signed.
Zelda let out an anguished, gutted breath, almost as if she’d been stabbed. He didn’t want to look at her, to see the expression on her face, but he forced himself to.
“Do you remember me?” Zelda asked, looking afraid of the answer.
“No,” Link signed. Not in the way she wanted him to.
Impa gripped Zelda’s shoulder, Zelda looking as though she might pass out. Her face was pale.
“Fuck,” Impa sighed, again, shaking her head. “This is worse than we thought. If he can’t produce a recording of that night, we don’t have anything. It’s just your word against Dragmire’s.”
Zelda trembled. “I think I need to sit down.”
Impa helped her to a chair. The apartment was falling apart, peeling wallpaper and mildew growing in the corners, but there were a few pieces of furniture that were mostly intact. Zelda sat in a kitchen chair that had been dragged into the entry. Impa crossed her arms, standing over her.
“How much do you remember?” Impa asked.
“A bit,” Link signed. “Just a few things I’ve been able to recover by going to places the memories were tied to. I was able to reconstruct a few things from the corruption by providing new data. I might—”
Impa’s lips were pressed together. “You might be able to recreate the memory by going to her lab.”
Zelda looked up, sharply, “Then we have to go.”
“No,” both of them said at once, Link signing.
“Yes,” Zelda said, stronger.
“I can do it without you,” Link signed. Now that he knew she was safe, and she was with Impa, he could do it. She didn’t need to see that again. He didn’t need to put her in danger.
“No, you won’t,” Zelda said, standing up and facing him. She said, stubbornly, “I already— I’ve already lost so much. I’m going with you, or you’re not going at all.”
“Okay,” Link signed. Impa looked at him like he was crazy.
“Well I’m not going,” Impa said. Zelda put her hand on Impa’s arm.
“You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much for us, Impa, thank you.”
“Of course,” Impa said.
“What happened?” Link asked. “How did you find her? How did I get in the warehouse?”
“You called me,” Impa snorted. “I almost didn’t get there in time. You were bleeding out, and she was—” Impa shuttered. “It was the first time I’d seen anything like that since I deviated. The other androids were all over the floor, you’d been shot a dozen times—” Zelda averted her eyes. Impa shook her head. “Anyway. I knew that place. We got you there, Zelda did what she always did and then we had to go.”
“I’m sorry we had to leave you there,” Zelda said, her voice rough. “Impa said we couldn’t take you with us. Not in your condition. And we couldn’t stay any longer.”
“We’ve been moving around,” Impa said. “The police were looking for both of you. I know how to manage a witness, and I know their tactics.”
Link nodded.
“I’m going to go out,” Impa said, suddenly, almost as if she was making it up, to leave them alone. “I’ve got to meet someone who agreed to get me a few things. I’ll be back.”
And they were alone.
Zelda looked away from him. Her hands were clasped in front of her. “So you don’t remember me?”
“Pieces,” he signed, but she wasn’t looking at him anyway.
She sucked in a deep breath, and when she turned around, some of the anguish was gone. “Do you want to?”
Link frowned. “Yes,” he signed. Anything for her. Always. Even if he didn’t remember why.
He sat on the kitchen counter. She looked at the dust, disgusted. “I’ve got a backup of your memories, but it’s from some time ago,” she said. “It was on my phone. I almost forgot about it, but…” she closed her eyes, and stepped between his legs. They were at eye level. “My lab has been destroyed. I doubt they left anything at all, and if— if your memories are as corrupt as you say they are, they probably won’t all come back. They’re probably not the best memories, though,” she said with a shake of her head. “They’ll probably make you feel more like a machine than you already do.”
He touched her hand. She gave him a sad smile, and pulled out the wire. They couldn’t risk sending it digitally. She would have to open the port at the back of his neck.
“I wish we were in my lab right now,” Zelda said, “this isn’t sterile at all…”
“I’ll live,” he signed with a snort. She smiled up at him. The first real smile she’d given him since he’d told her his memory was gone. And there it was— another echo, not as strong as the others, not tied to a place, but to her. He wanted to kiss her. It wasn’t a new desire, he could tell, but an ever-repeating directive. He knew he’d had the thought before. But as she touched the back of his neck, opening the ports there, and he shivered.
[Hylian Systems, February 203x] [Memory #1]
LNK-1900 stood behind Mr. Bosphoramus. It had been activated two weeks previously. There had been rigorous testing done since, all under the eyes of Mr. Bosphoramus. That morning it had been given a new Hylian Systems android uniform, with its model number emblazoned on the breast.
Mr. Bosphoramus had walked into the sterile lab environment without knocking. The lab belonged to Doctor Zelda Bosphoramus, who, LNK-1900 knew from its files, was the CEO’s daughter. Mr. Bosphoramus had founded the company, with several other talented technicians twenty years previously, when his daughter had been just a child.
“Zelda—“ Mr. Bosphoramus said, calling his daughter’s attention. There was an android sitting on the table, its skin entirely deactivated. Zelda stilled, clipboard in hand. She looked over the android’s shoulder, towards LNK-1900 and her father.
“I told you I don’t want an android,” she said, then looked back down at the clipboard with thin lips. “Thank you, Nell,” she said, addressing the android. “You may go, now.” The android nodded, its skin reappearing as it stepped down from the table. It passed without looking at them.
“Zelda,” her father sighed, “people think it’s strange you work here and don’t own an android. It makes them worried it might not be safe. And besides—“
“So is he for me, or for the company’s image?” Zelda asked, looking at LNK-1900 very briefly, and then back down at her clipboard.
“For you, Zelda,” her father said, a growing frustration underpinning his tone. “It's a bodyguard. Lets not forget two weeks ago when that anti-android crowd threw a bucket of blood on you when you left the building—”
“The Yiga?” she said, with a sigh. She seemed to relent, reconsidering. LNK-1900 had been given a recording of the incident. It had already identified three different ways it could have diffused the situation, and another dozen ways it could have stepped in to stop her from being attacked. “I still don’t want an android. You know how I feel about them considering the recent developments.”
“Consider it your pet project, then,” her father sighed. “If you think this— deviancy is something real, something you can replicate, feel free to test it out on it. Just— I want you to be safe.”
Zelda looked over at him, and gave him a small smile. “I know, Dad.” She then turned to look at LNK-1900.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“LNK-1900.”
“Is that what they call you?”
“Yes,” it said with a nod. It did not mention she was its first, and only, owner. Mr. Bosphoramus had told it that it was built for her. “Would you like to register a name?”
She hesitated, her eyes glancing towards the model number on its chest. His precognition ability suggested that she would decline. Instead, she said, a little defiantly, “Yes. I think I’ll call you Link.”
She was right. The memories she had from him from the first few weeks of their time together were largely impersonal, and until her father found out she was leaving him at the lab when she went home at night, he’d stayed in the lab almost entirely. But still. He was glad to have them. It contextualized a few things, and it made him— it made him feel the difference, between the machine he used to be, and the person that she made him.
When she unplugged the cable, she gave him another sad smile, and told him she was going to take a nap before that evening. They’d agreed that with or without Impa’s help, going at night would be their best bet. She knew the lab like the back of her hand, and thanks to the memories he’d gotten back, he knew it too.
He was in the kitchen, still, planning their evening slipping into the lab, when he heard her soft cries. He stilled, unsure what it was, until he realized she was crying. It didn’t sound like it was the first time since the incident, but this time— he was sure it was for him.
He wished he could remember. For him, but for her, too. It wasn’t fair. She’d lost her father, and she’d lost— him.
He didn’t dare enter what was left of the bedroom until he heard her sobs subside, and the soft breathing as she succumbed to sleep. He paused in the doorway, unsure if he should enter. But he wanted to be close to her, now that they were in the same place.
He sank down at the side of the bare mattress, careful not to wake her, and he watched her slow breathing. Her hair was pushed back over her cheek, and her chest rose. It was familiar. He sat back on his heels, closing his eyes. He entered stasis, still thinking of her face.
[Zelda’s apartment, November 203x] [Memory #5]
Link pushed her onto the unmade bed, and she made a surprised noise into his mouth, her arms still wrapped around his neck, and her legs around his waist. “Link,” she sighed when their mouths parted. “I love you,” she said, and reached up to kiss him again. I know, he thought, pressing it into the skin of her bare back with his palms. He loved her too.
“Off,” she said, tugging at the tee shirt he wore. He never really cared what he wore, but she said she liked to see him in blue, so he relented. He leaned back from her, just enough to pull the shirt from his chest by tugging it over his head.
She leaned back on the bed, her legs still wrapped around his waist, watching him with open adoration. He dove back in to kiss her. He liked that he could do that. He liked that she wanted that. He liked that he was allowed to want that.
She rubbed her core against him, and he thrust gently back, until she sighed into his mouth. She was still wearing her sweatpants and underwear, though he’d divested her of her shirt back on the couch when she’d climbed into his lap, ignoring the movie they’d been watching. It was fine. He’d looked up the summary.
He pulled back, but before she could protest, he hooked his fingers in the hem of her pants, pulling both her underwear and her pants down at once. He loved to watch her spread her legs for him, her pink cunt warm and slick for him. Her golden curls between her legs already damp at the edges where she’d spread her slick from her underwear.
He pushed her legs open, just admiring her for a moment. She never failed to blush when he did it, which was half the reason he did it sometimes. He thumbed her open, teasing her clit with his thumb, just a little. He felt her trembling under him, growing wetter as he watched.
His cock grew heavier in his jeans. Like some most of his kind, he was meant to appear as realistic and human as he could, for any use his owners might have of him. And she’d certainly gotten the full picture.
His head dipped down to her spread legs, and his hands held up her hips so he could kiss up her thigh. His mouth covered her cunt, his tongue disappearing into her. He loved the taste of her, the analysis that popped up when he tasted her.
“Link,” she said, a satisfied sigh, “not today.” She tugged at his hair, and he pulled off of her. He unhooked his jeans, pushing them off his hips and down to the floor. His cock hung heavy from his hips, synthetic pre-come glistening at the tip.
He crawled up the bed, laying himself down on top of her, kissing her gently. “What do you want?”
“I just want you to fuck me,” she said. He nodded, pulling back so he could slide between her legs. She let out a satisfied sigh when he entered her. He could go for hours, she knew— they’d done it before. His mouth or his cock in her cunt. But today she wanted gentle. She wanted to be loved. And he could do that.
When the door of the apartment opened, Link pulled out of stasis. Zelda was awake, and she was watching him. Her brow was furrowed, but she looked a little better. The color had come back into her cheeks.
“It’s just me,” Impa called from the other room. Neither of them acknowledged her.
“You went into stasis,” Zelda said, sounding worried. He could already see her running all the possibilities in her head. All the things that could be wrong with him. “You rarely did that before.”
Link nodded. “I’ve been using a lot of software to look for you.” Then, “I remembered something else.”
She didn’t ask what.
Hylian Systems was crawling with androids and police patrols. The building looked nearly abandoned, with most of the lights on an auto-timer, but from where they stood across the street, there was at least one parked patroller, and two more that passed every few minutes. Impa pointed out a fourth that hung back a few blocks.
“I’m going to regret this,” Impa said, with a sigh. Zelda smiled, squeezing her arm, grateful that Impa had decided to come after all. “I called my old partner. I was like 60%—” she winced, “65%?— sure she wouldn’t rat me out.” Impa looked up towards the sky. With all the light pollution, it was almost impossible to see the stars. “She thought I was dead. She almost hung up on me. But she said she’d see what she could do.”
And then, like clockwork, when it hit one, the inside of the parked patrol car lit up, and began to drive off. Impa closed her eyes, and let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m going to go in the front,” Impa said. She was wearing a police android uniform. Her contact had gotten it for her. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. See you two on the other side.”
Zelda nodded, and stepped onto the corner of the street. She looked back at Link, an unhappy expression on her face. Link saw the double exposure this time before it even happened.
[June 203x] [Memory #4]
She kissed him. It was a rainy afternoon. He held the umbrella over both of them as they waited for the light to change on the sidewalk across from Hylian Systems. They were coming back from lunch, where Zelda had eaten, and Link had watched her eat. He’d made her laugh with his observations about everyone else in the restaurant.
She leaned back into him, his generated warmth keeping her warm on the unseasonably cool day. She looked over her shoulder, and then pushed the dripping hair on Link’s forehead back. Her green eyes searched his, and he looked back at her how he always had. She’d stepped up on her toes, and she kissed him.
He kissed her back, of course, how could he not? His free hand came to cup her face, holding her close to him. From a distance, they probably looked like anyone else. Two humans, kissing.
When she pulled back, she was smiling. He wasn’t. Her face fell.
Her brow furrowed. “Link—” she said, “you kissed me. You kissed me back.” He nodded. “Why?”
He frowned. [Software Instability.] “You are my—” he struggled to find the right word, flitting through hundreds of words, in dozens of languages. For her, though, it probably seemed like less than a second had passed, “—priority.” It still didn’t seem sufficient to describe her. “If you want—”
She paled, a look of doubt coming over her face. “If I want,” she repeated. “Link, what do you want?”
“I don’t want anything—”
a lie
“I’m not alive.”
[Software Instability.]
She took the umbrella out of his hand. Turning away from him. “Why don’t you just—” Zelda said, her voice low with contained fury. He didn’t know if she was mad at him, or herself. “—stay here tonight. I don’t want to be around you right now.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “You don’t understand me because you’re not a person. I’ve just been so stupid.” She refused to look at him. He felt lost. He felt. [Software Instability.] “I’ve just been— making this all up in my head. Projecting.”
“I’m not a person,” he said slowly. Why was she mad about that? She’s always known what he is. She’d had her hands inside his wires, her code in his core. “I’m an android, as I’ve always been.”
“Yes,” she said, as she stomped across the street to the building. He followed, just a few feet behind her. “But some androids are people. It's just that you aren’t.” She stopped at the door, holding it open for him. “I’m going home. You’re staying here.”
“You shouldn’t go home without me,” he said. He’d already had to get in the way of several protesters that week alone. Too many humans thought that she, and her company, were playing God.
She scowled. “If I’m your owner, because you’re not a person, then what I say goes. And you are going to stay here. Go to my lab.”
And then she left.
Link took the elevator back to her lab. He passed several familiar faces, androids and humans alike. He walked into her lab, that had been his home, his resting place for weeks, but— it wasn’t his home. [Software Instability.]
He stood in the charging station, not plugged in, until all the lights in the building dimmed.
She had told him to stay there.
[Software Instability.]
But he didn’t want to.
[Software Instability.]
So he didn’t.
[Software Error.] [Deviation Detected.]
He dismissed the barrage of errors that popped up, until all of them had disappeared entirely.
He had just reached the lab doors, ready to catch a bus to her apartment, when the lab doors swung open, revealing Zelda. The lights came to life. Her green eyes were rimmed red. She had changed, showered.
“Link—” Zelda started, her tone apologetic, but he didn’t let her finish. There were a lot of things he wanted to say. That he was trying to come to her. That he wanted to be by her side. That he wanted.
He kissed her. His hands on the side of her face. Because he wanted to.
The lab hadn’t been cleaned. Link had been prepared for the scene, having seen the pictures. But it seemed Zelda was prepared, too— probably having played the moment over and over in her head every night.
Monitors had been pulled from the walls, her examination table had been knocked over, and rusty, dried blood coated the floor. Her father’s body had been moved. It was probably at the city morgue. Zelda looked at it all with such sadness. “Such a waste,” she said, sorrow heavy in her voice.
They stepped back, and Link looked over the scene. He could see how it happened— the three of them had waited in Zelda’s lab for Urbosa to arrive, the swinging doors pushed open, not to a friendly face, but to that of an android. Link barely had time to move. The gun went off.
[November 203x] [The Final Memory]
“Daddy, oh my god—” Zelda gasped, her face slick with blood. She was pressing against her father’s wounds, the blood oozing between her fingers. She looked lost.
The android— not a Hylian Systems android, a copycat— stepped forward. There was nothing behind his eyes. Link’s chest was riddled with bullets. His systems were screaming out. All he could do was watch.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” a booming voice came from behind the android. “Your father said over his dead body. He said nothing about yours.”
“Dragmire,” Link gritted out. He was so stupid. He was supposed to be protecting Zelda. But he’d gotten sloppy. Distracted. At least he’d been able to move in front of her, first. If he’d been better, he might have saved her father, too. Instead, Link took six shots to the chest, and that slowed him down enough that the android was able to reload and shoot him again. And then her father.
“All it takes is the word, princess,” Ganon said. “My android shoots your android, and we blame it on that silly deviation glitch your androids are experiencing. And then together we squash—” he stepped forward, pressing the heel of his boot to Link’s throat. Link could feel the hardware in his throat crushing under the man’s boot. “—that little glitch out of existence.”
Zelda made a wounded noise. He knew she wanted to fight. To defend Link. And Impa. And the others they’d met. The others that had deviated. He caught her eye, just barely able to shake his head. She bit down.
Link gritted his synthetic teeth. His eyes flitted to the gun the android was holding. It was the same type of gun that the human security guards at Hylian Systems carried. They’d probably pay off one of the guards to say Link took the gun.
Ganon grinned, stepping back, careful not to step in the mixture of spilling blood that was slowly spreading across the pristine white floor. “Think about it. Though you probably don’t have much time left to think before it expires,” he said, taking his foot off Link’s throat.
Zelda looked past their bodies, her eyes fierce, her tone anything but steady, and full of rage— “Fuck you.”
“Very well,” Ganon said, turning away from them. “Finish off the little Bosphoramus last.”
As soon as Ganon stepped out of the lab, the android stepped forward. It was a poor copy. All of the other androids were. Hylian Systems’ were the best, the only ones that ever really made it to market. And there was a reason for that. He watched as the android stepped closer. Link’s precognition software plotted it all out. [Gun—twist—shoot.]
He waited till the android had pointed the gun at his head. Zelda looked away, a sob in her throat. Then— Link was fast— he twisted the gun out of the android’s hand, shooting it in the head. Zelda gasped. But Link wasn’t done. Ganon was still out there.
He pulled himself up, not listening to Zelda crying out his name. He could barely get to his knees, unsteady from fluid loss. He’d be out in less than two minutes, even with the nanobots working their hardest. He sent a message to the only person he knew he could trust. Impa. He heard more footsteps coming. He just had to hold out.
They met up with Buliara outside Gerudo Broadcast Tower. She and Link clasped hands, and he sent her the memory. She sent him a location in return. Another safehouse. Probably better than the last few Zelda had stayed at. Impa was standing watch, having gotten any footage from Hylian Systems that she could.
“Tell Urbosa thank you,” Link signed.
“No,” Buliara said, with a smile. “She says thank you for saving her little bird. We’re not going to wait till the morning broadcast to release this. It’ll be all around the city in less than an hour. Regardless, lay low.”
They nodded, and watched Buliara disappear into the tower.
Zelda leaned back against the wall, her hand covering her eyes. “I can’t believe that’s over,” she said. Her voice was thick. She was tired. She sounded like she was trying not to cry.
“Zelda,” Link signed, tugging at her hand. She looked up at him, exhausted. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your father.”
“It’s okay,” Zelda said, “it wasn’t your fault.”
She tilted her head back against the wall, looking up towards the stars. He could see just a few pinpricks of them. She looked back at him.
“What else did you remember?” she asked. He knew what she meant. Back at the safehouse, when she slept.
“We were together,” he signed. He wasn’t sure if that one word was enough to eclipse it.
Her eyes blinked tears away. “Yeah,” she said, her voice thick, but she started to smile. “We are.” She took his hand.