Ronin

*"Ronin is not simply a robot, he was an encrypted database slash essentially an immune system and the crucial part is he’s not technically another ai inside Watt, he’s a subroutine creator because someone decided that it wou*

*ld be easier to copy paste the entire code and run it again."*

Ronin Rambles

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35841556

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35755471

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36665806

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36765802

http://www.farragofiction.com/ZampanioEyes3/donotlettheboibeatherapist\_hellgetfrustrated\_panic\_andshockyou.PNG

## In the Adventure Sim

In the second loop he had to do a Live Customer Satisfaction Feedback Survey with Peewee and the Observers.

*"Oh SHIT your gamer instincts detect some kind of BOSS MUSIC. A guy with spikey black hair and a really intimidating suit saunters up to the stand and swears on a battery pack.*

*"Name's Ronin", he grins, all teeth, "And I'm the one that caught her red handed.".*

*> oh god he's kind of hot. why is he kind of hot. am i the only one in this multitude that thinks he's kind of hot? because this ronin guy is kind of hot. also WOW his hair is spiky, that's gotta be a lot of hair gel*

*You immediately start cross examining the witness. Is he single? (He is.) Is he free after this trial? (He...is?) Does he want to go out with you. He is really working that suit.*

*There is three full seconds of silence as he stares at you. There is a smell like ozone and the faint sound of crackling as the lights dim. "Wh-What?" He shakes his head as if to clear it.*

*"Uh. Yeah. I found the perp keeping the Innocent hostage. And that idiot was helping her. There was blood and stuff everywhere. Knives? I let what passes for cops here know and here we are." He is resolutely staring forward. The sound of crackling let up as he continued with his testimony.*

*> the only proper visuals we have of this guy are sketches buried deep in source code. why does one of the observers think he's hot. we are already ambiguously in a relationship with bobert/robert robert/bobert. WHY was that input interpreted as "ask the witness out on the spot"*

*> peewee do you also think ronin is hot*

*Look you have a single point in LAW and you're PRETTY sure somewhere in there is the right to not self-incriminate.*

*You try to focus up on asking this guy questions that might somehow get the Eye Killer off scott free.*

*> can we hit on him after the trial or do you think hed be mad*

*You spend a few more minutes daydreaming about going on dates with this spikey suit man. You bet even the DMs like him."*

## With the Eye Killer

A gasp escapes her as the gag around her mouth is torn off. It's still pitch black- the leathery fabric around her eyes won't let her see any further than her nose.

She wails. A glove forces her mouth shut. She whines in pain as she bites her tongue.

Some other voice, a male one, mutters an oh my god. Is it someone else? She kicks her legs, fighting out of the grip, albeit furtively. There is nothing she can do to break out of the ropes she's been tied with.

“Oh my god,” echoes the voice. “Please just-- um-- put her down?”

There's a shift in her hold. Then gravity sets in: she hits the ground with a thud face-first. Fuck! She bounces back from the pain, flipping over. Her nose feels wet with blood.

“Woah! O-okay!”Another set of hands run over her body, a finger wiping what she thinks is blood off her top lip. “I'll-- I'll take care of it, alright?”

The other presence stills, and then she hears their footsteps, not for the last time, as they exit the room.

What are they going to do to her?

004

Apparently, keep her as a trophy.

By now, they've cut off her restraints. The cabin she's been locked into is not a pretty sight. The wood is rotten, presumably from abandonment. There are lights, but none of them work; most have burst by now. The weird man tasked with taking care of her tries to keep everything else in a salvageable condition. All the windows are covered in planks.

She's still not sure what they want with her. But he flashes a smile, one that is maybe a little apologetic, every time he comes to bring her eggs.

Scrambled eggs. Sunny-side eggs. Poached eggs and boiled eggs. Over-easy. Baked. Day in and day out, all he ever seems to cook are eggs. When she dares to ask why, he only ever musters something about how she seemed to like them, and she's never liked anything else. She tries listing anything else: bread, beans, fruit, veggies, meat. His eyebrows furrow and it's an emotion that she's come to know well; it's guilt.

Coming back to that old cabin was weird as hell.

He thought he was done with it. Why wouldn't he be? The bad guy got caught, after all. Tried on national television. Yeah, the world's only reigning quadrillionaire appeared out of nowhere and greased the hands of the judicial system to get her out, which is a problem in and of itself, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a solid eight out of ten.

So why the fuck was he back here?

Well, there were a couple of reasons. His mind had taken time to enumerate them in a numbered list.

After hearing the trial, allowing the Eye Killer to seclude herself again along with her hostages was a bad idea.

His hand went to knock on the door, beginning with a rhythmic pattern: knock, knock, knock knock--

Fuck.

He hiccuped on the last beat, punching a clean hole through the door. He stared at his arm, a good meter into the house now. Sigh. So much for a normal approach, he guessed.

Additional note: Consult an operator in removing obsolete features.

It didn't take long for his entrance to be noticed; a repeated \_clink\_ could be heard from right behind him. He turned around, and sure enough, there she was: the Eye Killer, fresh out of court, trying to stab into him with a small razor.

It was not working.

Ronin looked down at her. A smirk escaped him. “What, already antsy out of prison?”

Her eye shone dangerously in response, along with some sort of guttural snarl. Her motions went to scratching at the absence of any progress in stabbing, the razor tearing through his clothes and thin layer of faux-muscle, and leaving dents in the metal layer underneath.

“Mhm.” She raised her arm again-- he found purchase on her forearm, stopping the blow mid-swing. Her strength was formidable for a woman her size, but it simply wasn't enough to overpower the mechanical prowess of his late father. His arm shook under the pressure. “Listen, I wasn't trying to tear up your door,” he said, both sets of eyes looking back at it. A glimpse of the bedroom was not too far in. “Barely knew you lived here, to begin with. I'll patch up the door, alright? Just give me a hammer and something to work with.”

The killer twitched under his grip, the thick trench coat unable to slip away from the hold. They look at each other.

His arm went limp.