Safety Off, Weapon Hot: No More Masters (Deciever)

It must have been a few hours since the nanites had taken their toll on Paragon's complex systems. The tiny robots themselves were like a disease that had flooded his veins and affected his mind, rendering him paralyzed and eventually unconscious at the base of the statue of liberty, were the machine-man from before had deposited him upon its banks for safe keeping. Paragon had since fallen inert, appearing to be in a state of sleep. However, Paragon did something that only one other special unit he was made aware of could do while his main systems were offline. Paragon could dream. It was one reason his superiors were weary of him. It was also the reason they offered him no education beyond his assigned purpose of elimination.

Not that Paragon was aware of the oddity of dreaming. While he understood that it was rare for a synthetic creature to experience dreams, he failed to understand that in the opinions of some it was inconvenient for weapons to think. His 'mother' had designed him to grow against the Military's orders and without their knowledge, so when he showed signs of advanced cognitive thought they were very concerned by Paragon's existence, even more so by his brother unit Prodigy. For this reason Paragon was the one they field tested. Without his knowledge, they were monitoring him even as his systems acclimated to the nanities coursing through his body. While Paragon was in a state of sleep, his brother was undergoing rather inhumane modifications.

Paragon and Prodigy's creator had built them as a set. They were identical on a molecular level, sharing the same synthetic DNA, made from the same materials, and wielded the same powers. They also had a psychological link, so when Prodigy cried out in agony miles away Paragon parroted the noise out in a loud, pained screech as his systems came online quickly but in a violent manner. He twisted and contorted, screaming in an unending torrent of misery before falling silent and staring up emotionless into the sky. The android did not understand what had just transpired, but he felt as though a memory had been corrupted. He had been sent to New York. He had a task to complete. But the task was absent, leaving behind only a black, hungry void in his memory. A space that demanded to be filled with purpose.

The android rose to his feet, an unassuming human appearance offset by his strange, tattered skin-tight suit. The back of the suit had been burned away but no injuries could be found upon his bare skin. His shoulder-length black hair cascaded over his face and he did not bother to part it, instead approaching the shore of the island he was on. He cast his emerald gaze over the bay and noted the other side. He was there, on that street just a short while ago it seemed. But what had transpired? Yet another blank, as if his memory had been targeted by something rather than corrupted by a transparent or damaged file. He turned behind his body and glimpsed the ruins of what was once a rather large statue that had been corroded by the sea's salty air. Disregarding it, he turned back towards the city and contemplated it, pondering what his objective had been, and what a suitable alternative for it may be.

Paragon had been staring out over the water for sometime. He was not thinking at all in actuality, though he kept up a facade of being deep in thought. He was simply observing the ebb and flow of the tide, and the watching the clouds pass in the reflection of the marine liquid that lapped at the cement walls forming the base of the ruined statue's island. The wind was still, as a predator holding its breath while waiting to strike and Paragon tensed up when he heard the beating of metal wings overhead. In the water's riposte he could make out a transport vessel of undetermined origin, gazing first into its unstable reflection before lulling his head up curiously to stare at what lie above his form.

Indeed, it was coming here, to this island. Paragon could understand that much from the way it came off of the mainland, and headed either here or somewhere farther overseas. It could have in truth come from anywhere with the amount of attention he paid to the object prior, but from its direction he had assumed it had come from somewhere beyond or within the city limits. It touched down just a hairs width away from him in relative terms, on the opposite end of the small, wrecked island. He titled his head, a twinge in his mind as he processed his situation. He was unsure of the origin or make of the craft, but wasn't it possible his masters had come to readjust his programming and correct his corrupted programming? They would return purpose to him. They would give him a proper objective.

He started off, turning about-face upon his heels and making his way towards what he would assume was a staging area for some kind of mission. He would attempt to make contact with the individuals that were present in the area to reach some kind of consensus with them on his 'new' mission. He would stroll up to the nearest person who appeared to be in charge, damaged suit and proper posture with his feet together and his arms behind his back. He would introduce himself thusly, "I am Special-Unit-Seventeen-Beta of the United States Government. Identify your affiliation." The sentence would be in a commanding monotone, with his empty gaze settled upon the one he spoke to.