Despite his newfound infinite knowledge, Taejoon learned a lot of things in his first week at the Silva household. About himself, mostly.

Firstly, it had been nearly a year since he had "died". Irina kept a whiteboard detailing everyone's duties in the staff room, and on it she wrote the date for each day. It had been an ambiguous "December x" for a couple of days, but on January first she wrote "Happy 2730!", which meant he had died eight months ago. It was a little bit of a relief—he still didn't know exactly what was happening, but he would have broken down if it had been, like, fifty years since his death, because that would mean the people he knew when he was alive would be dead by now.

Secondly, he had little to no free will unless commanded to. He was unable to avoid doing things he didn't want to do, and even things he thought he wanted to do often seemed to be prompted by the program Irina had installed into him—because under no circumstances would he have ever told Octavio "don't eat that ramen, it's bad for your health" had he not been under some personal orders to do so.

These urges to say things paid off in some way, however—Octavio had responded to him with "fuck off", which Taejoon forced himself to interpret as a command, and he was suddenly able to move freely.

He spent this time exploring the house, searching for any computer he could use, but the only ones he knew of were in Silva's study and Octavio's room. Octavio's computer was so overloaded with games he didn't think he could achieve anything on it, but when he tried using Silva's computer, he couldn't even touch the keyboard. His fingers froze over it, limbs locked, and he realized he was forbidden—programmed—to not touch it.

For three days he had feared that he was unable to touch any technology at all, until Octavio found him, whining something-or-other about "hey you're an AI, so you're really smart, and I need you to play this game for me so I can win this tournament" and thankfully, he had been able to do it. He wasn't sure if it was because it was a command or if maybe it was just Silva's personal computer he was forbidden from touching, but in any case, it was a relief nonetheless that he could do this.

Now, Taejoon just needed more free time, which was easy to come by, what with Octavio being his charge and all.

Octavio Silva, twenty years old, five feet five inches, of Latino and Asian and Native descent, diagnosed with ADHD, high school graduate, lactose intolerant and allergic to shellfish...All of this information he had been loaded with at the beginning of his new life, and none of it could have prepared him for how difficult the young heir was.

Octavio did not want him around, that was evident, unless it directly benefited him in some way, such as using Taejoon's knowledge on motorbikes (provided by his databases) to fix his bike's master cylinder or cheating at game tournaments by using Taejoon. As such, all Taejoon had to do was follow some of his more naggy programming to annoy Octavio, who would in turn tell him to go away, and Taejoon could interpret this command as an allowance of free time.

Taejoon did this at night, mostly—urged Octavio to go to bed (because being his 'bodyguard' was more like being his over-glorified babysitter), suggested that he get off his video games because it was bad for his eyes (god this programming was annoying, Taejoon missed being able to play video games) and Octavio never failed to say something along the lines of, "You're so boring. Go away, leave me alone."

Since the rest of the house would be asleep at this time, Taejoon was able to explore without fear of getting caught. He didn't know what exactly he was yet, but he couldn't imagine that him looking around like this would be handled well. He wasn't even sure if he was supposed to have his own consciousness. Nobody treated him like he should—he was always an object. An 'it'.

Maybe it would have bothered him more if he was allowed to feel his own emotions. Because that was the third thing Taejoon discovered about himself—his feelings were not entirely his own, either.

One week passed into two, and Octavio wanted to go out. Taejoon was aware that Octavio had been kidnapped once in his life and almost kidnapped three times more, which didn't seem to bother him that much. Rich people seemed to live in a world completely different from Taejoon's own, in which kidnapping children was normal because it was expected that their parents would pay any price to have them back. It was unsettling to think about, but that was what Taejoon was here for. To protect Octavio.

He wasn't quite sure how far this would extend—how he was programmed to protect the other, if he was at all equipped with some sort of weapon or had martial arts knowledge that would reveal itself in danger. He didn't have to wonder much, though, because no sooner had Octavio emerged from the shop he had wanted to go into did a gun fire.

It was instant—Taejoon's body moved in front of Octavio's, metal torso positioned to block any oncoming bullets from hitting his charge, hand moving to press the other close to him while he scanned the area for threats. He was instantly connected to the network in the area—a lady two blocks down was calling the police, sobbing that her boyfriend had gotten shot in an altercation with a pickpocket. Another lady, less than fifty feet away from the first woman, was texting her mother that there was a shooter in the area.

There were security cameras in the area, located on every streetlight and outside of major shops, and with them Taejoon was able to instantly locate the perpetrator—it was almost like a beacon was shining on the thief even if he couldn't actually see them. The thief was heading in he and Octavio's direction, and Taejoon was overcome with the urge that he must protect Octavio, first and foremost. So he shoved Octavio's head down, which was met with an indignant squawk from him as he crouched along the pavement, trying to make their way back to the car, which he knew was bulletproof.

"What gives?" Octavio yowled as Taejoon shoved him none too gently into the backseat. The gun fired once again, but he wasn't sure where. He flattened himself on top of the other man, because if the thief were to fire at them the bullet would simply ricochet off of Taejoon's torso, and—

A little voice screamed in his mind: what the hell are you doing?

Taejoon laid flat on top of Octavio as their chauffeur drove them out of the area as quickly as she could, and he didn't let up despite the other's kicking and yelling and hitting.

"I'm fine! Get off of me!" Octavio yelled at him, trying to shove him off, but failing due to Taejoon's heavy metal weight. "Chill!"

Taejoon did not relax, still connected to the shopping center's network, keeping an eye out for indications of the thief. Dispatch had been notified, sending the police, who were a couple of minutes away, and an ambulance would be following. The thief had been taken down by a passerby—someone was filming it on their phone, laughing. It was safe to let Octavio go.

Only when he had straightened up did he realize what he had done.

It was a little terrifying, the fact that he did not feel his own emotions. He didn't just feel prompted to protect Octavio—he felt an actual emotional response, a need, to protect Octavio, so much so that this programming literally overrode the rest, including the need to obey Octavio's commands.

And he realized that it ran deeper than this—he did not dislike Octavio. Taejoon knew that in his previous life, he would not have put up with Octavio's incessant whining, his kicking and his yells that he was fine. His loudness, his hyperactivity, his disregard for Taejoon as a human being (he wasn't one, though. He wasn't. But he was. He was a human. And yet he was not one)—Taejoon would have been annoyed, would have hated to be around him, wouldn't have even pretended to tolerate him.

But for some reason Taejoon was incapable of hating Octavio. He did not like him, either, but there was some sort of obligation within him that he must at least put Octavio's needs above himself, and Taejoon realized that he was literally programmed to tolerate the other's existence.

It was frustrating, and he was angry.

His anger was a good indicator that he did have some of his own emotions after all, but at the end of the day he still opened the door for Octavio and checked him for injuries, cupping his face to examine the tiny cut beneath his eye that definitely hadn't been there the day before, before eventually being commanded to 'leave him the fuck alone'.

So Taejoon's actions, his words, and even some of his feelings were not his own. He was basically just a slightly higher form of AI right now, programmed to protect and adhere to the needs of some rich spoiled brat, with no free will of his own unless commanded.

But, he thought to himself, eyes finding glinting silver in the darkness of the mansion—Irina's laptop, left out on the table in the staff room. I can change that.

-

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Hacking came easily to Taejoon, aided by the instant access he had to the servers surrounding him. His brain was somehow always connected to the internet, able to bypass certain security checkpoints with ease under the guise of protecting his charge, and when he ran into problems he couldn't easily get by he used Irina's laptop to force his way through.

He kept this up for several weeks, making his way through Hammond Robotics' files to find any information on himself, but the fact that this was an outsider computer often barred him from even attempting to hack certain things. They had good security, he'd give them that—but he had an even better idea.

He had his own databases within him, and those databases must have some entry point into HR servers if he was created by them. If he could get his hands on the hard-drive Irina had plugged into him, he could work his way through it and try to disable some of the commands inside it to give himself more free will. In fact, if he did it right, he could pull unlimited information from HR, so long as they didn't detect that he had gone rogue.

The problem was, he had no idea where that hard-drive was located.

In Silva's room, presumably, but he was barred entry from it, which he found out when his limbs locked in place when he got within a couple of feet from it. He tried every which way of entering, whether it be offering Irina or other maids help with cleaning or when Octavio told him to screw off, but nothing worked. It was frustrating that he wasn't making much progress, and still stuck on babysitting duty.

He glanced to where Octavio was putting on his shoes, wanting to go out again to meet up with a friend. He stretched his arms above his head, shirt lifting to expose a sliver of abs and a bandage placed on his hip, mostly covered by the waistband of his shorts. Taejoon grabbed his wrist, stopping him from lowering his arms again, as something was prompting him to interrogate the other about his injuries.

"What's this?" He asked quietly, gesturing to the bandage, and Octavio scoffed, pulling his wrist free from his grip.

"None of your business. C'mon, let's go. You're so slow."

Taejoon pressed his lips together, fighting back the urge to pursue the subject, and followed the younger man out to the car, where the chauffeur (Delilah Jackson, twenty-nine, North American descent, not a threat...) was waiting, leaned against the door. She gave them both a nod and held the door open for Octavio, but shot Taejoon a quick look before turning her back on him and walking away.

He understood, somewhat, this type of treatment—to them, he was not a human being. He was an android who must obey all orders, who must protect Octavio Silva, and nothing more than that. They didn't know he was sentient, that he had been a person before all of this, and something prevented him from saying so. A lock on his words, some sort of failsafe that HR must have put on him before turning him into...whatever this was. A new torture method, no doubt.

There was no use getting upset about it, so he climbed into the backseat, sitting beside Octavio, who had scooted himself as far away from Taejoon as possible and was messing with the window, sliding it up and down. They began their drive to some restaurant Octavio wanted to go to, Taejoon skipping ahead in their route with his network and accessing all security cameras within a mile ahead of them, searching for threats.

It came naturally to him at this point—one month into guarding the other, there were no longer any hang-ups about his programming. At least, not like there had been before. So long as he complied with most of his programming, he would have more free time, and more time to figure out how to disable it all.

The restaurant was fancier than anything Taejoon had ever been in, but he at least looked like he belonged with his suit jacket and slacks. Octavio, in a pair of basketball shorts and a ripped band tee probably found on his floor, looked very out of place. Taejoon watched him from the corner, talking to a dark-skinned girl with bright pink hair in buns. She looked equally as out of place, but at least put more effort into her appearance than Octavio did.

The lunch lasted a half hour, enough to make Taejoon feel tinges of jealousy as he watched everyone around him eat. Steak, he missed steak, and he never thought he would miss cup noodles so much in his life...he didn't feel hunger, but he could smell, and could probably taste as well, but hadn't been given the chance to. Maybe he could try the next time Octavio ordered him away.

("Wanna share some mandu?" Mila asked, looking through an order menu online. "Mandu and kimchi, how does that sound?"

"Bulgogi too?" He asked hopefully, barely glancing up from his sketchbook.

"But we had bulgogi last time."

"No we didn't. We had crab cakes."

Mila rolled her eyes and added bulgogi to their order, and when she thought he wasn't looking, added a crab cake for herself too. He wouldn't mind a crab cake, now.)

The lunch didn't last very long—Octavio stood up before he had even finished his food, storming away, and Taejoon followed, sparing a glance to the girl he was leaving behind, and the database within him recognized her. Ajay Che, twenty-one, Octavio's best friend from high school...though the conversation didn't seem to end very well.

He had questions, but wasn't able to ask them. Delilah pulled to the curb carefully while Octavio fumed beside him, angrier than Taejoon had ever seen him. In the month he had been assigned to Octavio, he'd rarely seen him in a mood like this. Octavio got annoyed frequently, a result of being cooped up inside too long, but had never been angry, not even when telling Taejoon to go away. The anger continued in the car, Octavio sliding down in his seat and pressing his feet against the glass dividing them and Delilah, pushing against it so hard Taejoon was almost worried it would break.

About halfway to the house, Octavio started mumbling to himself, clearly unable to stay silent for longer than a couple of minutes.

"She's fucking leaving me...all by my self..." He kicked the glass harder, his shirt riding up against his seatbelt to reveal that bandage on his hip once again. "Everyone just fucking leaves, huh."

Taejoon stared at him, prompted to respond to the other's clear emotional distress, but not really wanting to hear about his problems.

"War profiteers and blah blah blah...who gives a shit?" Octavio gave the glass another kick and Delilah glanced at him from the rearview, but didn't tell him to stop, so he kicked again. "She can't just leave, anyways. She doesn't have any money. She'll come back."

"What's the matter?" Taejoon finally asked, and Octavio's head jerked towards him, almost like he had forgotten he was there. He sneered at Taejoon, returning his attention to the window and messing with the button once again.

"You wouldn't get it," Octavio said, and Taejoon didn't know if he meant it because he didn't know the two's personal history or if this was once again a slight against him not being human.

They got to the house and Octavio slammed the door in his face, and Taejoon wished once again that he was able to dislike him—but he went up to check on him anyways, because he was programmed to do so.

-

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It seemed that Taejoon's need to protect Octavio under all circumstances wasn't actually true. He did not need to protect Octavio from every bit of danger—in fact, he was apparently strictly forbidden from interfering when his father was beating the shit out of him.

Because that was what was happening right now.

His limbs were locked in place as he watched the scene unfold. Kishou Silva had been drunk when he got home for the first time in weeks, back from his business trip in Solace and apparently angry enough to start a fight.

Taejoon had been assisting a MRVN in repairing the boiler, something Irina had commanded him to do since he had nothing else going on, but once he heard Octavio's cries of pain he immediately dashed across the house to the source of the noises, being driven by his programming.

His body froze when he saw what exactly was going on—Silva had evidently thrown something at Octavio, and was shouting at him about sneaking out of the house. Octavio was crouched on the floor, covering his head in case anything else got thrown his way. Programming aside, it was making Taejoon uncomfortable, and he wanted to raise a hand to stop Silva, but he couldn't move at all. Just stood and watched as Silva threw some expensive china display piece at his son.

He wondered what kind of fucked up ruling allowed this to happen, that he was supposed to protect Octavio but couldn't even step in when he was actively in harm's way.

("Fuck off," he remembered Octavio's voice shouting on Taejoon's very first day of conciousness. It had been while he was still in the garage, repairing that motorbike on Octavio's orders. He remembered hearing a thud from upstairs, had wondered what it had been, but was too deep in his own panic to truly care. He wondered now if his programming knew that something had happened with his father and had prevented him from shifting into that protective mode he got when Octavio was in danger.)

"This is what you've been doing? Sneaking out when you should be studying?" Silva roared, throwing what looked like the crushed remains of a motorcycle helmet, and it smashed against the wall, breaking apart even more.

"I'm a grown-ass man!" Octavio yelled back, and was hit again. His eyes found Taejoon's across the room, wide and intense, angry and upset at the same time. An almost pleading sort of look, but Taejoon couldn't move from this position, couldn't help the other when he actually needed it, and he hated it.

Taejoon tried reaching his network to contact the police, but he was unable to notify them. Something inside him forcibly shut him out, and he lost all connection as Octavio was hit one last time. Silva stumbled out of the room, barking orders at Irina to come clean up the mess. She hurried inside, keeping her head bent low to avoid making eye contact with Octavio, who was still on the floor, curled up to protect himself from getting hit.

When he could no longer hear Silva's footsteps, Taejoon's limbs unlocked themselves and he rushed forward on instinct, back online as he ran through every best way to patch up cuts and bruises like this. He placed his hands on the other's face and tilted his head up to see if he had been hit there. There was a scar on the left side of his cheek, new, but not that new. It looked like it had been there for an hour at least, not quite as fresh as the rest on his body.

He tried getting Octavio to stand, but he remained on the floor, poking at the shards on the fur rug and purposely cutting up his own fingers, staining the pure white with red. Feeling a little frustrated, Taejoon scooped him up into his arms, which was much easier to do than he thought it would be. He was stronger in this form, it seemed. He carried his charge up the stairs, bypassing the many bathrooms on the first floor so he could use Octavio's personal one.

He sat the other down on the edge of his bathtub, taking note of the bruises already forming on his face and arms, the cuts on his elbows and fingers from where he had made contact with the glass. He moved to lift the other's shirt for him, but Octavio shoved his hands away once, twice, three times before Taejoon's programming got the memo that it was a silent order and stopped him from trying again.

Octavio watched him search beneath his sink for gauze and disinfectant, anger still blazing in his eyes, but posture slumped, unusually still.

"Do you feel pain?" Octavio asked, voice loud in the silence of the room. Taejoon wanted to pause and give that question some thought—because he hadn't really figured out the answer to that himself yet—but he was prompted to say,

"No."

He turned around and was immediately shoved off-balance; Octavio had punched him right where his stomach used to be with enough force to make him sway. He didn't necessarily feel it—just had a little voice inside him telling him someone had hit him there. Octavio shook his hand, staring at his split knuckles and cut fingers, anger fading away into something else.

"I wish you did," he said.

Taejoon stared at the other, waiting for him to hit him again or do something else, but he just sat there, so Taejoon knelt down to patch him up. A quick scan told him that he didn't need the hospital, that this would all heal in a couple of days. He wanted to ask what had prompted his father to begin hitting him, if this was a regular occurence or not, but his mouth refused to open and ask the question, and Octavio gave him no answers.

His hand moved to the other's hip, wanting to check what was under the bandage and give him a fresh one, but Octavio stood up suddenly, and told him to go away. So Taejoon put away his things and used this free time to go downstairs, planning on using Irina's laptop again.

He didn't like the conflicting orders inside of him. He didn't like that he felt so obligated to protect Octavio, didn't like that he couldn't tell where the obligation started and where his true emotions began. Even if he was incapable of feeling any negative emotions towards Octavio, he still pitied him somewhat, and most of all he hated himself for being unable to stop Silva from hitting the other. He had vague memories of one of his foster parents slapping Mila—he felt just as helpless now as he felt back then.

Taejoon suddenly paused, foot hovering over something that he had almost stepped on in the middle of the hallway. It was right in front of the laundry room, where he heard Irina and one of the other maids washing Silva's clothes. Bending down, he picked the object up, taking in the bold white letters printed on one side.

HR. Hammond Robotics.

Irina must have accidentally dropped it when unpacking Kishou's things.

Taejoon couldn't smile, but knew that if he was able to, he would be grinning from ear-to-ear. This careless little mistake would soon be his way to freedom—he just needed a little more free time, a little more unnecessary concern towards Octavio, and then he could escape.