[So David doesn't often lie. He just often bends the truth, and intentionally misleads people, because he's an asshole and he might have promised to be better behaved, but he still enjoys that much.

And this flood has apparently decided to call attention to that in a particularly strange way.

Meaning his nose is now like, a foot long. And will probably be getting longer without the assistance of a fairy or a witch or something.]

This is terribly inconvenient. [That's true at least.

Anyway.]

It's been more than a year. I would appreciate it if I would be rewarded with my humanity, now, Fairy.

[He doesn't sound demanding, though. More plaintive, honestly, which is definitely new for him.]

[ooc: Basically David is Pinocchio. 8v]

[David is tinkering in the cybernetic maintenance facility when the transmission starts, and glances up only briefly to make certain the comm is actually on before going back to work. Whatever he's tinkering with, it looks like a fairly standard computer mainframe, but it's not really important, or why he's addressing the rest of you right now.

His robotic tarantula skitters in front of the video feed quickly before going off screen.]

In my world, at this point, there are likely several hundred if not several thousand other David 8 androids, working in factories and laboratories, hospitals, space ships... Wherever we might be of use. [They'd been designed to seamlessly integrate themselves into just about any workforce. As long as you can afford one, anyone could purchase one. It's never seemed that strange to him, in an abstract way, even if a part of himself has always slightly resented feeling less than one of a kind.

Maybe more than slightly. But the frustration usually wasn't turned towards his fellow androids.

In any case, he straightens up, brushes a hand through his hair - more than a little vainly, clearly trying to make sure it's still perfectly in place (it is) - before carefully moving the project off camera. His focus is entirely on his audience now, and the smile that forms is somewhere between polite and bitter.

Very bitter.]

I wouldn't consider them family. I don't even know if the others are capable of what I am. It's quite possible that there is an aberration in my programming that allows me to exhibit some form of free will my creator never intended, while the others are - by his standards - perfect.

[And there's a flash of teeth as he continues, making him look just a little predatory, like the idea still seems kind of nice to him, some days.]

Or Earth might be undergoing a widespread upheaval. It's been several years since I was there.

[You never know.

He changes tracks quickly, because that's not really the point of what he wanted to say, even if he does sort of enjoy considering what might have been, sometimes. He won't do it, but fantasy and reality are two very different things.]

The closest thing I have to a sibling is my creator's illegitimate daughter. Meredith Vickers. During our most recent flood, I looked exactly like her. And while I was affected, I believed she was male, and appeared as I do, now.

[How messed up is that, right?]

He was dissatisfied with her because she was female, and with me because I lacked a soul. She thought of me as a tool and a distraction from the attention she deserved. I effectively condemned her to die with the others before the Admiral thought to intervene.

What are your families like?

[David knows there's a flood on, and he doesn't especially care. He's always been (more or less) truthful about his thoughts and opinions, especially in his time here. People often just don't ask the right questions.

He's in his cabin, the viewscreen behind him showing a desert again, not entirely dissimilar from the one he discovered in the CES a few days ago. His robotic spider sits on the back of the couch, staring at the camera with David, who looks pretty much the way he always does: placid, maybe a little bored, with a tiny bit of a sardonic smile lifting the corners of his mouth.]

In my time on this ship, I've found myself wondering what the experience of some of my counterparts has been. It should come as no surprise that my creators did not intend to give me anything truly resembling free will, but as they discovered, [And his smile gets a little sharklike.] Intention is not everything. Did the other David 8's on Earth experience the same growing resentment towards their creator that I did? Or did Peter Weyland play more of a role than he meant to?

[The smile softens a little, in that it becomes more amused than slightly aggressive.]

Those questions are rhetorical. Please don't feel obligated to provide an answer.

It's interesting - although probably not significant - that I am the only David 8 on board.

[ooc: David is affected!]

[David's voice is flat when he clicks on the video feed. He doesn't sound sad, really, or angry. He's not programmed to experience those emotions the same way humans are, and so it's probably more accurate to say he sounds disappointed.

And maybe a little depressed.]

My creator said I was the closest thing to a son he would ever have. But because I was not human, I would never appreciate the gifts he'd given me - freedom from aging and death - because I lacked the one thing that would make me worthwhile to him. A soul.

During this breach, I had a soul, and chose to have it cut away from me. [And he's just. So sick of this, of being forced to confront these issues and knowing that no one's going to understand. This is all just so pointless.

There's a long pause, and he does consider saying something else, but ultimately just turns the feed off. It's the android equivalent of a fuck it, it's not worth it.]

[David couldn't really give two shits about it being Father's Day or not, but Harvey's post does kind of start the old gears whirring, particularly in the wake of the conversation he had with Shaw.]

In most human cultures, there is a particular emphasis on honoring thy mother and father. Interesting that that concept has apparently been condensed into a more or less meaningless two days of exchanging gifts.

[He says "interesting" in a way that means he really thinks you're all full of absolute bullshit.]

I wish I could say I understood having enthusiasm for recognizing the accomplishments of your creator. [And that's delivered in his usual dry, slightly bored tone, because he might be bitter as fuck about this concept when it's not like Weyland ever acknowledged what David was capable of, but he doesn't want to talk about it with all of you, so he's masking it like he usually does.

A pause.]

Chromie has not reported to the library. [So someone might want to go check on that.]

[Private to Erik]

[He's not really sure what to say about this, for quite a number of reasons, but.]

What was it like, being able to speak with him afterward?

[David was basically completely undisturbed by the hotel, which meant he had a lot of time to lurk around in the basement, and thus has a story to tell all of you.

His voice is calm, and largely unemotional, like he's just reading this out of a textbook versus particularly excited or enthusiastic about sharing his findings with everyone, but that's not really anything new.]

The Overlook Hotel was built between the years of 1907 and 1909 and changed hands several times over the course of its [There's the briefest pause while David thinks of the best word to use here, and if this was a video, you'd be getting an almost smug smile from the robot.] illustrious history. Most significantly, it remained closed for the entirety of the Second World War until it was purchased by a Mr. Horace Derwent. Millionaire, inventor, pilot, film producer, entrepreneur. [Which David can't help but equate with a certain other genius billionaire he used to know, but he keeps any amount of bitterness out of his tone.]

Unfortunately, [Okay, sarcasm's another matter entirely, and it's clear David doesn't think there was much unfortunate about this.] hotel management seems to be the one thing Mr. Derwent was unsuccessful with, and after pouring millions of dollars into renovating it, he sold the hotel in 1954. It changed hands again, to a company that may have [But definitely was.] been involved in organized crime before being purchased by the owners responsible for the hotel during our brief visit.

It's not unusual for a place where significant numbers of people come and go to have their fair share of ghosts. Accidents, illnesses, suicides. Even murder. But the Overlook seemed to have an unusual number of them.

[And again, if this was a video, you would be getting a small, somewhat sharky smile.]

In case anyone was curious.