For as long as he remembers, Aaron has always been an adventurer, always ready and willing to embrace a certain risk and enter unpleasant or dangerous situations to achieve a goal. He had traded his home in Vermont for a vague future in Washington and a plan to go into politics, and once he had finished his studies, he had signed up for a project supporting the war-ridden villages in Liberia and the Niger River Delta, bargaining with warlords and trying to protect the convoys with medical supplies and food they were supposed to be distributing. A hands-on approach rather than arguing and hoping that the world would miraculously become a better place.
But although the apocalypse had sharpened his instincts and skills to survive life-threatening situations that have become the new normal now, risking his life is no longer as easy a task as it had been for his idealistic younger self. Truth be told, having Gracie and being her only parent has put quite a damper on his willingness to go all-in blindly. No matter how much the gateway is tempting him, without really knowing whether it is possible to control it and return to his homeworld safely Aaron would most certainly decline an offer to visit futuristic LA.
But in the not quite so distant future and maybe with the right incentive? Well. His shopping list for technical and medical equipment is longer than his arm – mostly storage battery packs of all varieties, spare and wear parts for the generators, solar panels, and all the lab utensils Siddiq and Eugene need to start their antibiotics project. Rare items in his world that may be a little more common in K’s? If there’s only the slightest chance to get his hands on some of the much needed spare parts while exploring the gateway, Aaron would be the first to go (and would welcome the small break from the horrors haunting his world with open arms and a huge smile).
“Good thinking.” In response to the lacking silencer, because he knows K is absolutely right. The Alexandrians must have been more than lucky at the beginning of the outbreak, Aaron thinks, when there still had been plenty of ammo available and they all had been relying on their guns to take down the walkers without really second-guessing their actions, no matter if they were out in the open or inside a house. But then again, buildings with walls as solid as the walls of the gateway aren’t the norm.
And talking about norms, sanitising sadly isn't part of it either, and so K's comment spurrs a small laugh. Man, you should have seen the tent where Enid had amputated his mangled arm, or the dirty shirt Daryl had used for a bandage, to make sure that Aaron wouldn’t bleed dry before they would get back to camp. The disinfectants are for the medics only – and these days ‘disinfectant’ means the distilled ethanol that’s not only used to sanitise Siddiq’s practice and instruments but also to keep the generators and tractors running. “At the beginning we tried to burn all the bodies. Pile them up and… well, there are just too many.” Sorry, his gaze says – and he really is. He wishes matters were different, that he could take K with him and guarantee for his health the same way that he can promise safety.
All right. No sense in avoiding the inevitable. “I-- I'll use my left arm to hold the door in place and not let them push in all at once. If we're lucky, I should be able to take the first one down. Which would be good. Walkers are slow and uncoordinated. A half open door with a body blocking the way will likely cause the rest of the gang to trip and go down so that we can kick in their skulls.” Which is certainly not a way to reduce the splattering, but it should do the trick and keep K’s hands and face free of blood and gore. Taking a quick look at K’s black boots, Aaron nods with approval. Yeah, should work.
Ready? Because the undead guys waiting behind the door sure as hell are. Aaron's gaze flickers back to K briefly before he reaches with his right hand to finally open the door for the biters and proceed as planned. Using his mechanical arm to prevent the door from being pushed wide open and trying to block the entrance for a few minutes so that the walkers won’t be able to push in all at the same time, he leans back as far as he can to escape the blindly searching hands that are instantly trying to get a hold of him, grabbing at his shirt, his shoulders. It’s only when the first disfigured head appears in the small space between door and doorframe, all clacking teeth and angry grunts, that Aaron’s lifts his right hand, brings the hammer up for one well-aimed hit to the forehead. The clawed end of the hammer breaks through the softened bone and sinks into the brain easily, and Aaron quickly retreats a step to let the now dead walker slip to the ground.
“Okay. Okay—one down.”
More grunting and growling as the remaining biters stumble forwards, clearly drawn by the scent of human flesh and the sound of Aaron’s voice, stoically bumping into the barrier at their feet, and when the first walker trips sideways, crashing into the second and toppling him over in the process, Aaron pulls his mechanical arm back so that the door can open all the way.
The new room they are about to enter is in an even sadder state than the one they are currently in. From the look of it, it could have been the entrance of an old factory once, but years of dust and dirt combined with mould-darkened brick walls and nailed up windows have turned it into just another ghost house. But at least it's an almost empty ghost house. No more walkers, not as far as Aaron can tell. “Looks like it’s really just these two…”
One walker must have been a middle-aged woman in her former life, the other one is barely recognizable and probably (un)dead and rotting away for an even longer amount of time. Aaron needs a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness of the room and he blinks against the bright light filtering in left and right of a huge entrance door that seems to be barely holding onto its hinges. Their way out, finally.
Another growl, the scratching of blunt nails on concrete as one of the walkers, the female one, starts moving again, crawling towards the body still blocking the doorway - blocking the route that would lead her to Aaron and K. The other walker is still lying on its side, decomposed legs twisted and bend at an unnatural angle, twitching and struggling. If you want to have a first go at zombie killing, K, this is your chance to risk a closer look without being forced to attack straight away.
Aaron cracks the door open enough to allow those rotting, grasping hands through, and when they begin ineffectually grabbing at him and pulling at his clothes, K has to consciously quell the impulse to move in to protect him. They have a plan and Aaron clearly knows what he's doing, acting now would likely only put them both at risk. And so he waits, anxiously, watching the practised way Aaron dispatches that first walker without hesitation. Judging by how easily the hammer penetrates the rotting mess of its skull, these creatures must be deceptively fragile. But he's no fool; he isn't going to underestimate the threat they pose.
The semi-darkness doesn't appear to hinder K in any way, nor the stark contrast between it and the bright flares of light that are filtering in. He takes in their new surroundings with a glance, noting what he assumes will be their ultimate exit, but his focus largely remains on the walkers and Aaron, still taking his cues from the other man. So far, so good.
"I'm sure," he confirms as his gaze falls on the pair of walkers, and he takes advantage of having time enough to really get a good look at them and size them up.
He couldn't have anticipated the way pity would twist in his gut at the sight of the creatures feebly struggling, straining to reach for them. He can tell they used to be human. Probably had their own families, friends, people they cared about and who cared about them. What an ignoble end to a life — being stripped of all dignity, of everything that made them a person, and reduced to a mindless base instinct to feed on living flesh. And how strange it is, feeling this sense of empathy for beings who, in life, may have likely held as little regard for him as the humans in his own world do. The humans who claim androids are incapable of experiencing genuine emotions...
Putting walkers down seems like a kindness, more than anything, and that thought is what makes him deviate from Aaron's advice, opting to use the hammer instead of crushing the walkers' skulls beneath his boot. It just seems — better, in a way that's difficult to define right now.
The strikes delivered from his own hammer are as neatly precise as he can manage while keeping the splatter to a minimum, without prolonging the final death process any more than it needs to be, and he obliges Aaron's warning by shielding his face with his free arm. It's enough. He remains mostly free of gore, and the walkers have ceased their terrible noises and struggling, lying still now. K rises from his crouch and stands unmoving for several moments, staring at the creatures, then finally lifts his widened eyes to Aaron's face and offers him a vaguely apologetic look, hoping he won't be angry. There's also a degree of wariness in the subtle way K's bracing himself, as though expecting to have to weather that anger. But it isn't personal. It's simply the result of being conditioned to expect being treated a certain way by humans, particularly when he's failed to satisfy them in any way.
Shaking off the clinging clumps and strings of gore from the hammer, he releases the breath he'd been holding with an inaudible sigh and looks down at himself. It's far from the first time he's extinguished a life, but... he's never done so of his own volition before. Death has only ever occurred while under direct orders, with the compulsion inherent in his programming leaving him no choice in the matter. A machine carrying out its duties. The experience of killing his first walkers has left him a bit off-kilter, but he doesn't want to dwell on it. Some fresh air would certainly be welcome right about now.
"I don't hear any others," he says, his voice seeming loud in the silence, and he uses the hammer to gesture toward the trio of walkers. "Are we going to leave them there?" Because he's willing to help arrange the corpses if need be.
Silence settles like a heavy blanket as Aaron remains at his spot by the door, eyes fixed on K, quietly watching and recognizing old patterns, familiar patterns. He had been that guy once, the man who would opt for a merciful solution or find a kinder way, try to apologize or rationalize his actions rather than go in for the kill without wasting another thought. Negan and his saviours changed it all, though. Forced them to shed their old skin and a bit of their humanity along with it. Transform rather than evolve, spiralling downwards on their DNA and bringing back instincts and tactics that matched their wild beards and sweaty shirts. Us or them – that’s what it all boils down to, and after losing Eric and Carl and Denise and Glenn and so many other friends, Aaron would no longer hesitate and make sure it would be ‘them’.
And hadn’t that been the hardest truth to accept? Harder than losing his arm. Amputating part of his beliefs, of what he deemed right and good, just to make sure that he and Gracie would stand a chance to survive the aftermath of Eric’s death. But after ten years of living in this world, of fighting and killing, after ten years of compartmentalizing and fragmenting, of disconnecting his emotions from the undead to protect the living, it’s almost impossible to see anything but monsters. Decaying corpses spreading death and causing more suffering. Taking more people away from him.
And yet, the old Aaron is still here, faded and tired and worn out over the years, suddenly all too aware of the heavy weight of his mechanical arm and the hammer in his right hand, and should K turn to look at Aaron’s face he may be able to spot a flickering of shame or guilt in the way Aaron looks away from the corpses to gather himself, regain his focus. Anger, though? Not in the slightest.
“Are you sure you’re not the human guy and I, you know…,” he lifts his mechanical arm as if to underline what he’s hinting at. Who’s the robot in this world? “When it all started,” he pauses to quietly clear his throat and tries to think of way to word what he would like to say, in a way that doesn’t sound completely barbaric. “The first couple of months after the outbreak, you would sometimes have to... take down kids, little kids, and teenagers. Those were the hardest. Now it’s only tough when it’s… “ ’when it’s a familiar face, someone you know’. Which thankfully doesn't happen all that often due to the undeads' tendency to form herds and roam. But whenever you run into a walker that resembles someone from your old life - or worse: when it actually is someone you know? Well, then it’s a nightmare, and yeah, he really doesn’t want to think abut that. Not now.
Pushing the hammer through a loop at the side of his pants, his now free hand goes up to give K’s shoulder a reassuring pat-pat. ’You did so well, you have no idea, man.’
Nodding in response to K's question, Aaron lifts his mechanical hand to gesture in the vague direction of the room they've just left. “Yeah. Yeah-- I'd definitely like to put something up to keep other travellers out.” Aaron's plan is to use one of the screw drivers and scratch a quick message into the surface of the doors - ‘DON'T OPEN, DEADLY VIRUS’ or something along the lines as a signal for visitors from other realities to stay away and try their luck elsewhere. But before he turns to drag the bodies all the way into the previous room, he shrugs off his backpack and tosses it in K’s direction, trusting that the other man won’t take off with his supplies and the spare bandages for his stump. “There are two leather straps under the top flap that I normally use to roll up and carry a blanket or sleeping bag. Feel free to use them for your coat, if you like.” One closer look at Aaron’s attire may give K a good idea about the climate of the world they’re about to enter and why Aaron is suggesting for K to consider taking off his coat. Inside this old factory building made of bricks and mortar it may be cool, but outside it’s too warm and far too humid for a jacket (or anything more than a Henley, really), and if it weren’t for his prosthetic (and his latent aversion to ticks), Aaron would have likely opted for a T-Shirt for the rest of the hike.
“Oh, and while you’re at it, there’s an old wallet in the front pocket of my pack that I use for nails and screws and stuff.” It’s been a while since his last trip to the Hilltop and so most of the nails in his stash are used and not really in good shape, but there should be at least three or four of Earl’s handmade iron nails left. “We can use one of those old shelves to nail up the the door. Along with those black nails from my wallet. A blacksmith from another community makes them, the same guy who also made my prosthetic. If we match his nails with the right warning, it should be enough to keep my people out.” Because nails from the Hilltop mean that the warning not to enter the building was left by an ally. “Nothing about the virus, obviously. But maybe ‘Collapse! Floor I & II not safe! Don't enter.'” Or a similar message about parts of the gateway being an incalculable risk.
It will work, he decides. Has in the past. And there's not really much more he can do right now, not without butchering his deadline and risking an argument with Michonne -- which he would rather avoid, given the surprise guest he's intending to bring home.
The first door, the one that should serve as a barrier to keep other travellers out, is quickly turned into a man-sized warning sign, and then blocked with the dead biters piled up right behind it. Should anyone try to push it open, it would require quite a bit of force – and the position of the walker pile should also serve as an indicator as for how frequented this gateway actually is. No way into Aaron’s reality without moving the bodies. “All right. This will have to do for now.” Wiping a sticky hand on the side of his pants, he turns and marches all the way back to K, then nods to the battered exit/entrance door, ready to risk a glance? Yeah? Okay...
The comment is met with an almost startled look that quickly dissolves into K's customary guarded expression that doesn't give much away, though that forced neutrality is in itself a fair indication that a nerve may've been struck. He looks away a moment later, focusing on the tasks at hand instead and surveying the area that they'll be blocking off.
"Because androids are unfeeling machines, and only humans are capable of empathy?" That's what humans have always chosen to believe, anyway. And if there's any censure in his voice, it's at least well concealed beneath the dry sarcasm; playing it all off like a joke, as though the words can't hurt him (despite the fact they obviously had). After everything Aaron has said to him, and how he's treated him, he'd let himself believe that Aaron is truly different from every other human he's encountered in his life — and he clearly still is in some significant ways, but evidently even he might harbour some innate prejudice about androids, despite the technology not existing in his own world yet. Maybe it's just human nature to feel this way about them.
But the remark causes a subtle shift in K — he's a little more subdued afterward, and no longer meets Aaron's eyes. Attempting to protect himself against an emotional wound he can barely understand. He's endured exceptionally terrible treatment every day of his life simply for being what he is, why do a few insensitive words now bother him this much? It's irrational. He's also thinking about what Aaron followed it up with, about taking down little kids, and the implications of everything that was left unsaid... His world hasn't experienced an apocalypse of the zombie persuasion, but people there have already been similarly hardened, their humanity eroded to the point of embracing the slavery of sentient beings on a world-wide scale.
The pack is easily caught but he decides against removing his coat (nor the sweater or layers of undershirts he wears beneath it). Not only because extreme temperatures in either direction don't affect him as they would a human, but because he also feels safer keeping his few possessions on him. In case. He'd hate to have to leave behind his only coat if something happens and he's forced to escape on his own, if this community with supplies they'll freely give a stranger really is too good to be true. But he does fish out the nails as he's instructed to, and willingly assists with arranging and securing the barricade, knowing that, even on his own, he should be able to get back through when he needs to. In the meantime, their precautions should hopefully prevent any of the cross-world contamination that Aaron's concerned about.
And with that preliminary glance through the door at the world beyond, he isn't sure what he's seeing at first. He understands the concept of what a forest is, but they've long since gone extinct in his world, at least on Earth; reading about them couldn't have prepared him for the reality of experiencing one in person.
Pushing past the door, he can't help but stare in open — almost uncomprehending — wonder at the natural, living world around them. He never knew that many shades of green could even exist. Craning back his head, his eyes trail up the trunks of trees, and he spends a long moment contemplating the glimpses through the canopy of a clear blue sky that he's never seen before. Dense pollution combined with nuclear winter keep the sky of his world's Los Angeles shrouded in a perpetual gloomy haze that the sun can never fully penetrate. This new world is remarkable to him, and it's nearly too much to take in all at once, though he seems to be trying to as he slowly turns in a full circle, still staring in fascination at everything. When he finally comes back to himself a bit, he realises he's still holding the pack and promptly offers it back. Then, recalling how Aaron had appeared to struggle with it before, stows his hammer and holds the pack by both straps instead, making it easier for Aaron to just slip his arms through them and shrug it back on. A small gesture, but it feels good being able to offer help.
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Date: 2020-10-10 11:16 am (UTC)But although the apocalypse had sharpened his instincts and skills to survive life-threatening situations that have become the new normal now, risking his life is no longer as easy a task as it had been for his idealistic younger self. Truth be told, having Gracie and being her only parent has put quite a damper on his willingness to go all-in blindly. No matter how much the gateway is tempting him, without really knowing whether it is possible to control it and return to his homeworld safely Aaron would most certainly decline an offer to visit futuristic LA.
But in the not quite so distant future and maybe with the right incentive? Well. His shopping list for technical and medical equipment is longer than his arm – mostly storage battery packs of all varieties, spare and wear parts for the generators, solar panels, and all the lab utensils Siddiq and Eugene need to start their antibiotics project. Rare items in his world that may be a little more common in K’s? If there’s only the slightest chance to get his hands on some of the much needed spare parts while exploring the gateway, Aaron would be the first to go (and would welcome the small break from the horrors haunting his world with open arms and a huge smile).
“Good thinking.” In response to the lacking silencer, because he knows K is absolutely right. The Alexandrians must have been more than lucky at the beginning of the outbreak, Aaron thinks, when there still had been plenty of ammo available and they all had been relying on their guns to take down the walkers without really second-guessing their actions, no matter if they were out in the open or inside a house. But then again, buildings with walls as solid as the walls of the gateway aren’t the norm.
And talking about norms, sanitising sadly isn't part of it either, and so K's comment spurrs a small laugh. Man, you should have seen the tent where Enid had amputated his mangled arm, or the dirty shirt Daryl had used for a bandage, to make sure that Aaron wouldn’t bleed dry before they would get back to camp. The disinfectants are for the medics only – and these days ‘disinfectant’ means the distilled ethanol that’s not only used to sanitise Siddiq’s practice and instruments but also to keep the generators and tractors running. “At the beginning we tried to burn all the bodies. Pile them up and… well, there are just too many.” Sorry, his gaze says – and he really is. He wishes matters were different, that he could take K with him and guarantee for his health the same way that he can promise safety.
All right. No sense in avoiding the inevitable. “I-- I'll use my left arm to hold the door in place and not let them push in all at once. If we're lucky, I should be able to take the first one down. Which would be good. Walkers are slow and uncoordinated. A half open door with a body blocking the way will likely cause the rest of the gang to trip and go down so that we can kick in their skulls.” Which is certainly not a way to reduce the splattering, but it should do the trick and keep K’s hands and face free of blood and gore. Taking a quick look at K’s black boots, Aaron nods with approval. Yeah, should work.
Ready? Because the undead guys waiting behind the door sure as hell are. Aaron's gaze flickers back to K briefly before he reaches with his right hand to finally open the door for the biters and proceed as planned. Using his mechanical arm to prevent the door from being pushed wide open and trying to block the entrance for a few minutes so that the walkers won’t be able to push in all at the same time, he leans back as far as he can to escape the blindly searching hands that are instantly trying to get a hold of him, grabbing at his shirt, his shoulders. It’s only when the first disfigured head appears in the small space between door and doorframe, all clacking teeth and angry grunts, that Aaron’s lifts his right hand, brings the hammer up for one well-aimed hit to the forehead. The clawed end of the hammer breaks through the softened bone and sinks into the brain easily, and Aaron quickly retreats a step to let the now dead walker slip to the ground.
“Okay. Okay—one down.”
More grunting and growling as the remaining biters stumble forwards, clearly drawn by the scent of human flesh and the sound of Aaron’s voice, stoically bumping into the barrier at their feet, and when the first walker trips sideways, crashing into the second and toppling him over in the process, Aaron pulls his mechanical arm back so that the door can open all the way.
The new room they are about to enter is in an even sadder state than the one they are currently in. From the look of it, it could have been the entrance of an old factory once, but years of dust and dirt combined with mould-darkened brick walls and nailed up windows have turned it into just another ghost house. But at least it's an almost empty ghost house. No more walkers, not as far as Aaron can tell. “Looks like it’s really just these two…”
One walker must have been a middle-aged woman in her former life, the other one is barely recognizable and probably (un)dead and rotting away for an even longer amount of time. Aaron needs a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness of the room and he blinks against the bright light filtering in left and right of a huge entrance door that seems to be barely holding onto its hinges. Their way out, finally.
Another growl, the scratching of blunt nails on concrete as one of the walkers, the female one, starts moving again, crawling towards the body still blocking the doorway - blocking the route that would lead her to Aaron and K. The other walker is still lying on its side, decomposed legs twisted and bend at an unnatural angle, twitching and struggling. If you want to have a first go at zombie killing, K, this is your chance to risk a closer look without being forced to attack straight away.
"All right. Sure you wanna help?"
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Date: 2020-10-14 08:07 am (UTC)The semi-darkness doesn't appear to hinder K in any way, nor the stark contrast between it and the bright flares of light that are filtering in. He takes in their new surroundings with a glance, noting what he assumes will be their ultimate exit, but his focus largely remains on the walkers and Aaron, still taking his cues from the other man. So far, so good.
"I'm sure," he confirms as his gaze falls on the pair of walkers, and he takes advantage of having time enough to really get a good look at them and size them up.
He couldn't have anticipated the way pity would twist in his gut at the sight of the creatures feebly struggling, straining to reach for them. He can tell they used to be human. Probably had their own families, friends, people they cared about and who cared about them. What an ignoble end to a life — being stripped of all dignity, of everything that made them a person, and reduced to a mindless base instinct to feed on living flesh. And how strange it is, feeling this sense of empathy for beings who, in life, may have likely held as little regard for him as the humans in his own world do. The humans who claim androids are incapable of experiencing genuine emotions...
Putting walkers down seems like a kindness, more than anything, and that thought is what makes him deviate from Aaron's advice, opting to use the hammer instead of crushing the walkers' skulls beneath his boot. It just seems — better, in a way that's difficult to define right now.
The strikes delivered from his own hammer are as neatly precise as he can manage while keeping the splatter to a minimum, without prolonging the final death process any more than it needs to be, and he obliges Aaron's warning by shielding his face with his free arm. It's enough. He remains mostly free of gore, and the walkers have ceased their terrible noises and struggling, lying still now. K rises from his crouch and stands unmoving for several moments, staring at the creatures, then finally lifts his widened eyes to Aaron's face and offers him a vaguely apologetic look, hoping he won't be angry. There's also a degree of wariness in the subtle way K's bracing himself, as though expecting to have to weather that anger. But it isn't personal. It's simply the result of being conditioned to expect being treated a certain way by humans, particularly when he's failed to satisfy them in any way.
Shaking off the clinging clumps and strings of gore from the hammer, he releases the breath he'd been holding with an inaudible sigh and looks down at himself. It's far from the first time he's extinguished a life, but... he's never done so of his own volition before. Death has only ever occurred while under direct orders, with the compulsion inherent in his programming leaving him no choice in the matter. A machine carrying out its duties. The experience of killing his first walkers has left him a bit off-kilter, but he doesn't want to dwell on it. Some fresh air would certainly be welcome right about now.
"I don't hear any others," he says, his voice seeming loud in the silence, and he uses the hammer to gesture toward the trio of walkers. "Are we going to leave them there?" Because he's willing to help arrange the corpses if need be.
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Date: 2020-10-21 07:30 pm (UTC)And hadn’t that been the hardest truth to accept? Harder than losing his arm. Amputating part of his beliefs, of what he deemed right and good, just to make sure that he and Gracie would stand a chance to survive the aftermath of Eric’s death. But after ten years of living in this world, of fighting and killing, after ten years of compartmentalizing and fragmenting, of disconnecting his emotions from the undead to protect the living, it’s almost impossible to see anything but monsters. Decaying corpses spreading death and causing more suffering. Taking more people away from him.
And yet, the old Aaron is still here, faded and tired and worn out over the years, suddenly all too aware of the heavy weight of his mechanical arm and the hammer in his right hand, and should K turn to look at Aaron’s face he may be able to spot a flickering of shame or guilt in the way Aaron looks away from the corpses to gather himself, regain his focus. Anger, though? Not in the slightest.
“Are you sure you’re not the human guy and I, you know…,” he lifts his mechanical arm as if to underline what he’s hinting at. Who’s the robot in this world? “When it all started,” he pauses to quietly clear his throat and tries to think of way to word what he would like to say, in a way that doesn’t sound completely barbaric. “The first couple of months after the outbreak, you would sometimes have to... take down kids, little kids, and teenagers. Those were the hardest. Now it’s only tough when it’s… “ ’when it’s a familiar face, someone you know’. Which thankfully doesn't happen all that often due to the undeads' tendency to form herds and roam. But whenever you run into a walker that resembles someone from your old life - or worse: when it actually is someone you know? Well, then it’s a nightmare, and yeah, he really doesn’t want to think abut that. Not now.
Pushing the hammer through a loop at the side of his pants, his now free hand goes up to give K’s shoulder a reassuring pat-pat. ’You did so well, you have no idea, man.’
Nodding in response to K's question, Aaron lifts his mechanical hand to gesture in the vague direction of the room they've just left. “Yeah. Yeah-- I'd definitely like to put something up to keep other travellers out.” Aaron's plan is to use one of the screw drivers and scratch a quick message into the surface of the doors - ‘DON'T OPEN, DEADLY VIRUS’ or something along the lines as a signal for visitors from other realities to stay away and try their luck elsewhere. But before he turns to drag the bodies all the way into the previous room, he shrugs off his backpack and tosses it in K’s direction, trusting that the other man won’t take off with his supplies and the spare bandages for his stump. “There are two leather straps under the top flap that I normally use to roll up and carry a blanket or sleeping bag. Feel free to use them for your coat, if you like.” One closer look at Aaron’s attire may give K a good idea about the climate of the world they’re about to enter and why Aaron is suggesting for K to consider taking off his coat. Inside this old factory building made of bricks and mortar it may be cool, but outside it’s too warm and far too humid for a jacket (or anything more than a Henley, really), and if it weren’t for his prosthetic (and his latent aversion to ticks), Aaron would have likely opted for a T-Shirt for the rest of the hike.
“Oh, and while you’re at it, there’s an old wallet in the front pocket of my pack that I use for nails and screws and stuff.” It’s been a while since his last trip to the Hilltop and so most of the nails in his stash are used and not really in good shape, but there should be at least three or four of Earl’s handmade iron nails left. “We can use one of those old shelves to nail up the the door. Along with those black nails from my wallet. A blacksmith from another community makes them, the same guy who also made my prosthetic. If we match his nails with the right warning, it should be enough to keep my people out.” Because nails from the Hilltop mean that the warning not to enter the building was left by an ally. “Nothing about the virus, obviously. But maybe ‘Collapse! Floor I & II not safe! Don't enter.'” Or a similar message about parts of the gateway being an incalculable risk.
It will work, he decides. Has in the past. And there's not really much more he can do right now, not without butchering his deadline and risking an argument with Michonne -- which he would rather avoid, given the surprise guest he's intending to bring home.
The first door, the one that should serve as a barrier to keep other travellers out, is quickly turned into a man-sized warning sign, and then blocked with the dead biters piled up right behind it. Should anyone try to push it open, it would require quite a bit of force – and the position of the walker pile should also serve as an indicator as for how frequented this gateway actually is. No way into Aaron’s reality without moving the bodies. “All right. This will have to do for now.” Wiping a sticky hand on the side of his pants, he turns and marches all the way back to K, then nods to the battered exit/entrance door, ready to risk a glance? Yeah? Okay...
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Date: 2020-11-04 01:25 am (UTC)"Because androids are unfeeling machines, and only humans are capable of empathy?" That's what humans have always chosen to believe, anyway. And if there's any censure in his voice, it's at least well concealed beneath the dry sarcasm; playing it all off like a joke, as though the words can't hurt him (despite the fact they obviously had). After everything Aaron has said to him, and how he's treated him, he'd let himself believe that Aaron is truly different from every other human he's encountered in his life — and he clearly still is in some significant ways, but evidently even he might harbour some innate prejudice about androids, despite the technology not existing in his own world yet. Maybe it's just human nature to feel this way about them.
But the remark causes a subtle shift in K — he's a little more subdued afterward, and no longer meets Aaron's eyes. Attempting to protect himself against an emotional wound he can barely understand. He's endured exceptionally terrible treatment every day of his life simply for being what he is, why do a few insensitive words now bother him this much? It's irrational. He's also thinking about what Aaron followed it up with, about taking down little kids, and the implications of everything that was left unsaid... His world hasn't experienced an apocalypse of the zombie persuasion, but people there have already been similarly hardened, their humanity eroded to the point of embracing the slavery of sentient beings on a world-wide scale.
The pack is easily caught but he decides against removing his coat (nor the sweater or layers of undershirts he wears beneath it). Not only because extreme temperatures in either direction don't affect him as they would a human, but because he also feels safer keeping his few possessions on him. In case. He'd hate to have to leave behind his only coat if something happens and he's forced to escape on his own, if this community with supplies they'll freely give a stranger really is too good to be true. But he does fish out the nails as he's instructed to, and willingly assists with arranging and securing the barricade, knowing that, even on his own, he should be able to get back through when he needs to. In the meantime, their precautions should hopefully prevent any of the cross-world contamination that Aaron's concerned about.
And with that preliminary glance through the door at the world beyond, he isn't sure what he's seeing at first. He understands the concept of what a forest is, but they've long since gone extinct in his world, at least on Earth; reading about them couldn't have prepared him for the reality of experiencing one in person.
Pushing past the door, he can't help but stare in open — almost uncomprehending — wonder at the natural, living world around them. He never knew that many shades of green could even exist. Craning back his head, his eyes trail up the trunks of trees, and he spends a long moment contemplating the glimpses through the canopy of a clear blue sky that he's never seen before. Dense pollution combined with nuclear winter keep the sky of his world's Los Angeles shrouded in a perpetual gloomy haze that the sun can never fully penetrate. This new world is remarkable to him, and it's nearly too much to take in all at once, though he seems to be trying to as he slowly turns in a full circle, still staring in fascination at everything. When he finally comes back to himself a bit, he realises he's still holding the pack and promptly offers it back. Then, recalling how Aaron had appeared to struggle with it before, stows his hammer and holds the pack by both straps instead, making it easier for Aaron to just slip his arms through them and shrug it back on. A small gesture, but it feels good being able to offer help.