A little ficlet for my DCA OC Bastion, who will not stop bullying me until I got this written out SOMEWHERE. And yes, this is partially inspired by/written in the setting of that Apartment Complex multi-OC dating game I posted about before ;3c
tldr: Bastion is a half-disembodied AI who uses it/they pronouns and, despite claiming that it doesn’t care at all about human values or companionship, seems to care an awful lot about YOU
“You have not eaten anything in exactly 6.3 hours.”
“I know, Bastion.”
“Your caloric intake has been below the recommended amount for the last three days,” the voice continues, echoing through the empty air of your room as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “You will eat something of your choosing within the next half-hour, or I will have to take measures in doing it for you.”
“I’m not hungry right now,” you mutter, trying to be quiet enough so that the quip wouldn’t be heard and you can continue your personal project in peace so—
“Why must you be combative about your own health?”
The words almost rumble through the air, echoing from the speakers dotting the corners of almost every single room and hallway of the building. You have to wonder what kind of mics are hooked up with them — or the nearly-microscopic security cameras — because even you barely heard yourself speak.
But before your mind can continue with the annoyed line of thoughts there is a sudden and abrupt grip on your shoulders that pull you back from the laptop and desk, chair wheels squeaking out from the sheer speed and force as Bastion’s tendril-like extensions snake out from the interface port somewhere near the room’s door leading into the hallway.
“Jesus fuck, Bastion I’m not—“
“You are eating,” the voice says, cold and firm, unwavering in a way that can only come from someone like it. It. Not him, it— though you know Bastion couldn’t find an atom of themself that truly cared how others regarded it anyway, but was always steadfast in referring to itself as ‘it’, and you had a feeling there was more nuance to the situation than that.
When you first met the AI construct, it had actually outlined all of the sole priorities that it had been ‘programmed to cared about’, and not one of them was ‘how humans regard my being’. Instead, you think that your health was near the top, followed by a laundry list of legal rules, regulations, and other things that came with Bastion taking on the role of being the apartment building’s literal internal network, firewall and pseudo-VPN.
Still, you’re not sure why YOU are a priority to the AI, and Bastion has not deigned the time to explain it to you either. It seems to rather avoid the topic with all the same stubbornness as you seem to avoid self-care.
“I will allow you the choice of food only once more, please designate something you have a preference for and I will obtain it.”
“God damn,” you murmur. “Just— cereal? I think I can stomach that right now.”
Around your waist and the chair both, the silver-smooth tendril squeezes for just a moment. Not a necessary motion, not in the slightest, but you can’t help but feel a sense of comfort in that little notion alone — a very human motion of affection that Bastion would otherwise deny if you’d brought it up to them.
“I will have a bowl of your favorite kind ready within the next five minutes. Are you able to walk to the kitchen?”
You think about it for a moment before nodding. It doesn’t need to hear your answer; Bastion is always watching.
“Good. I am satisfied with your answer.” Bastion’s tone is cold and calculated as always, nearly monotone from one word to the next, but you can hear something else lingering in the background.
The tendril lingers for a few moments more before finally— gently — letting you go.
“Please be in the kitchen in the next ten minutes,” the voice continues, and then, a brief flicker of humor as it adds, “…Or else the cereal will get soggy.”