#housekeeping software | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maccreadysbaby · 4 months ago

Note

i saw that simon go by…

Im assuming that means you play dbh… do you wanna… like…. Put bentley in it…

crossovers and AUs are beginning to become my favorite thing ever because I shove my boy into the faces of my favorite characters and force them to love him

there's a little synopsis of dbh under the cut for my bentley followers that have no clue what I'm on about

⚠️also I know the narration swaps from calling Simon an it to calling him a he in the middle of the story — it’s purposeful, because that’s when Bentley stops calling him it and starts calling him he

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: lots of violence and gore, major character death right in front of bentley’s poor little baby eyes

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS BENTLEY INSERTED INTO AN AU (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.)

brief overview of DBH:

Detroit: Become Human is a third person/multiple protagonist choice-based game. It is set in the future, where perfectly human-like androids have been created, and the only thing that sets them apart are LED lights on their left temple and uniforms they have to wear with their designations on them. Humans use androids for everything, from hard labor, to pleasure, to housekeepers, to caretakers, and some, even temporary or lifelong artificial companions. These androids don’t feel pain, don’t feel emotions, and have no free will. They are programmed to follow orders given by their designated master, and that’s all.

Only, now, something is happening in Detroit. Androids are heavily abused in workplaces and residential settings, and due to them having no emotions and feeling no pain, humans feel no guilt for it. From using their bodies to put out their cigarettes, to tying them to the hitch of a car for fun, to beating them out of working order simply out of pure and unadulterated rage -- androids became an outlet, something people could shove around and bark orders at with no regrets.

But enough became enough, and much to society’s terror, the androids began to wake up one by one, few by few. They could feel emotions, and they acted out in fear against their abusers, abandoning their programming and obtaining free will.

These rogue androids are called deviants.

photos for your imagination ↴

↖︎ SIMON / PL600 Model Android — Bentley refers to him as both his model number (PL600) and Simon in this little thing (he’s the first android Bentley talks to so he won’t be hard to find)

↖︎ WR600 Model Android — the only other model that Bentley speaks briefly to, it’s the one who does the thing, you’ll see

DETROIT, MICHIGAN — FEBRUARY 16, 2036, 11:07PM

DEVIANTS WERE KILLING PEOPLE THROUGHOUT THE CITY OF DETROIT, AND JOHN WHITTAKER, A CYBERLIFE ADMINISTRATOR, WAS TASKED WITH FINDING OUT WHY.

That’s why he and Bentley had spent every waking hour since the first of the year down in the lab beneath their home, picking apart androids, wading through their coding, trying to find exactly what instability in their software was making them… feel.

Androids, artificial humans, were created to serve mankind — emotionless, soulless beings with no free will, to do man’s labor and protect their livelihood. Robots created for pleasure, to do everything man asked of them; figurines, puppets for real humans to puppeteer at will. Someone to do the hard or uncomfortable jobs so humans could live like kings.

But now, Androids were… waking up. Developing feelings — urges that overrode their programming and equipped them with the three most dangerous assets artificial intelligences could ever dawn.

A will to live, emotions… and free will.

(If they didn’t find the problem soon, the androids were going to murder them all, Bentley’s father had said.)

The basement of Whittaker Estate was one large, concrete room, devoid of windows but so blindingly illuminated with massive lights that Bentley never knew what time it was when he was down there. In the center of the room stood a big, reclining bed, like in a hospital, and several computer-like machines standing around it. Lining the walls of the room were shackles -- thirty pairs of them, but at the current moment, only seventeen of them were working to keep androids stationary. Along the wall next to the door was industrial sized shelving, holding cases upon cases of spare android biocomponents — their internal parts.

In a chair next to the center bed was Bentley’s father, brown eyes and blood red hair just like his son, dawning a lab coat and official looking scrubs. He had on funky magnifying glasses and an array of small tools spread out on a rolling table before him. He hadn’t spoken to Bentley once since they’d come downstairs… at least twelve hours ago.

Pinned onto the bed by leather straps cinched tightly around its wrists, ankles, torso, and forehead, was an AX400 model android. One that was made to be a housewife, or maid -- a cleaner and caretaker. They were quite pretty, Bentley thought, but this one’s face was mangled and ripped open, it's blue blood staining the bed and the tools and Bentley’s father’s hands as he searched diligently for anything physical inside that may affect its programming. It had become a Deviant the night before in that very basement, broken through its coding and obtained free will. Tried to kill Bentley’s father.

(No one can kill him, Bentley was convinced. The now dead deviant was proof enough.)

The eleven year old was hovering near the walls where the other seventeen androids were shackled up, in a set of weird scrubs and tennis shoes his father required him to wear while downstairs. The androids they kept were all different makes and models, varying in appearance and gender, each one wearing the exact same black and white android uniform with their model numbers on them. They’d all been put into low power mode, which, to Bentley’s understanding, left them conscious but unable to move. He didn’t like watching his father pick around in a humanoid thing’s head, so he took to doing the second most important job in their little lab.

(And also the easiest job in their little lab; which he appreciated, since he wasn't really sleeping in favor of research, hadn’t eaten for at least fourteen hours, and was starting to feel a bit like the human epitome of death.)

It was running diagnostics. All he had to do was stand there.

Diagnostics were a surefire way to ensure that all an android’s internal systems were working -- and, if they got lucky, maybe even a way they’d be able to identify the issue in androids’ programming that allowed them to turn deviant. The androids they had in their possession weren’t deviants yet -- no emotions, and no free will. But Bentley had been trained on searching their programming and internal coding for errors or malfunctions or something laying dormant; something that would only turn volatile and flare up after a jarring circumstance.

Bentley had heard most androids turned deviant… after their owners abused them.

(Maybe if humans could get over themselves long enough to treat the companions they created like they were worth half the money and effort Cyberlife put into them, they wouldn’t be having this problem. But that was just Bentley’s opinion.)

Bentley sighed heavily as he stared at a PL600 model android, shackled to the wall, its head hung, eyes open but sort of… blank. It was a male model -- maybe a foot taller than the eleven-year-old, with a perfectly proportioned face, blonde hair, and big bluish-gray eyes. It looked seamless; natural. The only thing that separated its appearance from that of an actual adult man was the small, circular LED light that was shining blue on its left temple.

(If it didn’t have that, no one would be able to tell it was an android. Which kind of freaked Bentley out.)

He glanced down at the tablet in his hand, typing in a few strings of code on the holographic screen -- a screen which indicated it was eleven-oh-seven at night. He sent a glance back to his father, but he was still dissecting the robot intently and didn’t seem close to finished, so Bentley safely assumed he was in for a long, long night.

He sighed lightly, opening up a diagnostic program on the tablet that started loading. The android’s make and model popped up on the screen when Bentley got close to it. “PL600, model 501 743 923, abort low-power mode.”

The android immediately perked at his words, its eyes suddenly brightening, lifting its head and gazing around the room. It attempted to bring up its hands, to look at them, but the shackles restricted its movement.

(It looked so much like a man shackled to their wall.)

Bentley stayed quiet, watching as the artificial human gathered its bearings, the LED light on its temple flashing from blue, to yellow in processing, then back to blue. Its gaze settled on Bentley, then flitted down to the tablet in his hands.

“I need to run an internal diagnostic,” Bentley said to the android, glancing at the metal clamps on its arms. “Station one, release.”

The shackles obeyed, releasing the PL600’s wrists and retracting into the wall.

The screen of the tablet Bentley was holding changed from a loading screen to a different one -- blue, with a big white hand in the center. “Put your hand here, please. It won’t hurt or anything.”

The android blinked at him, then at the tablet, its LED spinning yellow.

“Don’t talk to it like that, Bentley,” His father grumbled from across the room, hands stained blue from the synthetic blood of the mangled android. “It can’t feel pain. It doesn’t have feelings -- stop treating it like it does.”

Bentley said nothing, only sending a quick glance to his father that wasn’t returned. He extended the tablet out toward the android, which followed orders just as it was given -- placing its hand on the screen and waiting.

Bentley watched strings of code go by on the side of the screen, scanning it routinely for anything abnormal.

Only when he felt that the android was looking at him did he glance back up at it.

It was staring down at him with its freakishly human face, with a freakishly human glint in its freakishly human eyes. That specific model was created as a residential companion -- a friend, a butler, a caretaker for children, maybe. Its primary instructions embedded into its code were to care for and serve a household.

Maybe that's why Bentley wasn’t entirely surprised when it lifted its other hand to his forehead, the not-real-skin-but-felt-pretty-much-like-real-skin cool against his head. “You’re running an internal temperature of 99.8 degrees fahrenheit, which is a low grade fever. I suggest lots of fluid and rest.”

Bentley glanced up at the android. It had no concern on its face, it was just… watching him intently.

“Thanks… I’ll-“

Bentley heard his fathers chair spin around, glancing back just in time to catch his fiery brown eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my son? Touching him? 501 743 923, abort speaking functionalities and keep your damn artificial hands to yourself.”

The android’s LED flickered yellow again, and it closed its mouth, its hand drifting slowly away from Bentley’s forehead.

It wouldn’t speak again until his father told it it could — because his father was its master.

For the rest of the diagnostic time, Bentley paid little attention to the code he was supposed to be analyzing and paid whole-hearted attention to the android ahead of him. The way it blinked at irregular intervals just like a human, the way its chest rose and fell just like his even if there were no lungs inside it, the way it glanced around the basement in such an undeniably human way, taking in information, just like they did.

And his father was ripping one open across the room. For science.

(Bentley wasn’t an android sympathizer. He wasn’t. But it wasn’t exactly pleasant to watch something so similar to him, so human, getting ruthlessly wrenched apart mere feet from him, either.)

Once the diagnostic finished and Bentley had successfully paid no attention to it, he moved the tablet away from the android’s hand. “Thank… I mean, uh-“ He glanced back at his father, who had turned away from him again. “Um… station one, shackle.”

The metal shackles came back out of the wall, and the android obeyed the unspoken order, placing its wrists inside the metal and letting them close around them.

It made eye contact with Bentley again with its too human blue eyes, and he felt a little bit of… he didn’t really know. Remorse? Sympathy?

“PL600, 501 743 923, engage low power mode,”

The android’s head dipped down, its eyes got that weird, far off look again, and Bentley took a breath in and out. He glanced across the room at the sixteen remaining androids he had to run diagnostics on.

He did five more in silence, picking through the androids’ coding, repeatedly coming up with nothing. Nothing abnormal, nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary. (Not that he was doing a very good job — he sort of felt like falling asleep standing up, if he were being completely honest.) The whole time, his father just kept stabbing and ripping and tearing into the head of the android that looked so much like a dead girl, and every time Bentley glanced over at it, he kind of wanted to throw up.

“Father,” He spoke sheepishly, watching the shackles return the sixth android to its original position. “Can I go up to bed? I’m tired.”

Bentley’s father let out a long sigh, flicking a scalpel covered in blue blood in his direction. “Run one more diagnostic, then yes.”

With a quiet sigh of relief, Bentley moved to the seventh android, a WR600 model. It was created as a gardener to work Detroit’s land and greenhouses, and there were thousands and thousands of the exact same model, so it hadn’t been very hard for his father to purchase one. It looked sort of similar to the PL600 if Bentley looked close enough… but with a more angular face, a bit darker hair, grayer blue eyes. Taller, too, maybe.

“WR600, 107 916 718, abort low power mode,” Bentley spoke, and the android’s eyes went from dull and doll-like to shiny and glancing around the room in a split second. It looked up at him, then back toward his father. At the dead android whose blood was everywhere.

“I need to run a routine diagnostic,” Bentley stated, glancing at his father, then back at the station seven android. Its eyes were trained on the operating table, its LED spinning yellow, and for a short second, red.

Bentley creased his brow. Typically, an android’s light turned red to make its master aware of potential damage that could occur, or already had, but… this one wasn’t damaged. So Bentley didn’t really know why it was doing that.

“Is that… okay?” He continued quietly, holding up the tablet with the hand symbol. The android glanced at it, then at his face again, the LED changing continuously from yellow to red, yellow to red, over and over again.

“Stop asking the damn machines if stuff is okay. They’re made to serve us, they have no opinions because we don’t give them any. Jesus, just run the test and go to bed,” Bentley’s father grumbled, sounding completely and utterly over Bentley’s presence. He didn’t even look at him when he spoke.

Bentley huffed near-silently, glancing back at the android, whose gray eyes were still trained on the dead one that his father was picking through.

“Station seven, release,” Bentley muttered. The shackles released the android and disappeared from his line of sight, and he lifted the tablet up toward the robot. “Put your hand here.”

The android just stared at the dead one across the room.

Bentley blinked at it, then said, a little louder: “Put your hand here.”

The android looked back at him, its LED still changing from yellow to red as it hesitantly lifted its hand and placed it on the screen.

Bentley watched in boredom as code began to flash across the screen, looking the same as it did every single time he ran a diagnostic. (He wasn’t sure why his father made him run them over and over and over and over again. Maybe he didn’t trust Bentley’s judgment?)

A mere second before the diagnostic was supposed to be over, and Bentley was home-free to go up to bed and sleep until he was twenty-five, a string of code broke off from the rest, flashing red on the other side of the screen.

Bentley’s breath caught in his throat, and he glanced up at the android, who glanced up at him, worry and fear and anxiety etched across its features. Human emotions.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Please,” The android murmured so softly it's mouth hardly moved, its eyes flicking to Bentley’s father, then back again. “Please, don’t tell him. He’s going to rip me apart like he did to that one. Please. I don’t want to die.”

Bentley blinked, his brown eyes blown wide and mouth slightly agape. Emotions on its face, and a will to live?

“You’re a deviant…” He whispered, so quietly that he barely heard it, gaze completely frozen on the androids face in shock.

“Please. I won’t do anything bad. I won’t cause any harm — just… just don’t let him kill me. Please. Please don’t say anything,” The android begged, its LED turning red and staying red. “Please. I just want to live. I just want to live, like you.”

Bentley looked down at the tablet, at the error in the code flashing at him.

He’d found the answer to deviancy. Maybe now Cyberlife could fix it.

He looked back up at the android, and it had…

It had tears in its eyes. And Bentley knew that it was just an ability given to the android by Cyberlife to make it easier for it to integrate into human society, but…

“Please don’t let me die. I’m… I’m scared. Please,” It begged, its LED spinning yellow again, then red, synthetic tears falling from its eyes and streaming down its face. “You’re the only one who can save me.”

Bentley looked at it, then down at the tablet, at the red code flashing at him. He slowly moved the tablet away from the android’s hand.

He sent one last glance to its face, and then, with a deep breath, he turned. “Father, this one’s a-”

Bentley made a nearly inhuman sound when, from behind, the android grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall so hard it nearly knocked him clean out. It moved in front of him, its LED flashing red, tears still streaming down its face. “I’m sorry, you left me no choice.”

Bentley brought his hands up to claw at the android’s synthetic ones, but it had an iron grip that was too strong for even the most powerful human to budge. He tried to breathe but everything was constricted and it was holding his throat so tight nothing could get through.

“What the f- 107 916 718, engage low power mode!” Bentley had hardly realized his father was up and out of the chair, but he wasn’t coherent enough to look at him. He was frantically clawing at the android’s hands to no avail, his head seeming to inflate and pressurize like a balloon.

The android didn’t go into low power mode — it disobeyed its orders, and it pushed Bentley even harder against the wall, lifting him so his toes could barely brush the floor. “Let me go, and I’ll let him go,” It ordered. Its voice sounded… afraid.

Bentley tried his best to jam his fingers between his throat and the android’s hands, but he couldn’t — his vision was already starting to tunnel, black creeping into the edges of it.

“107 916 718, engage low power mode now!” His father shouted, his voice sounding strange and far-off to Bentley’s ears. He felt kind of like he was floating.

He was so out of it that he didn’t realize his father was moving before, with a loud wham, he’d slammed the office chair he’d been sitting in into the android’s head, sending it's entire body reeling to the right, Bentley hitting the floor to the left.

For a solid thirty seconds, he couldn’t hear or see or comprehend anything more than pain and the cold floor he was on. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he heard the sounds of a struggle, but he couldn’t make sense of it, instead, bringing his hand up to his aching neck.

“Bentley! Wake the other ones up!” His father’s voice came in the back of his head. Then, clearer: “Wake them up now!”

Bentley pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, shakily. “All stations… release.”

The telltale sound of shackles retreating into the wall met his ears.

“Wake them-”

All of Bentley’s common sense and ability to comprehend his surroundings seemed to come back when he saw his father shove the android toward the bed in the center, sending his rolling table shooting toward Bentley, the small tools clattering across the floor with a loud noise. His father punched the android across the face hard enough to send it down to the floor.

Where it grabbed a gigantic pair of surgical scissors.

“PL600, abort low power mode!” Bentley said to the android nearest to him, the one who’d checked his temperature. It didn’t respond. It wouldn’t respond without its serial number, which Bentley didn’t know by heart -- only by looking at the tablet. Which had skidded toward the center of the room, near the deviant when it grabbed him.

With a grunt, he pulled himself off the floor, trying to ignore the vertigo and slight doubling vision that accompanied the movement. Instead of crumbling to the concrete, which is what he really wanted to do, he watched the android grab his father and slam him down on the surgical bed, looming over him like an omen of death. Then, with a death-grip on the scissors, it lifted them high over his chest.

With a strangled noise, Bentley used every ounce of strength and power remaining in his tiny body to grab the metal rolling table and push it forward like a snowplow, only letting go right before it slammed into the android’s legs. The robot caught air when the heavy metal thing swept its feet off the ground, thudding headfirst on the floor, its scissors clattering a few feet away.

The android, with a grunt, lifted its hand to one of the machines near the hospital bed — a computer like one — and its LED flashed from red to yellow.

It must’ve hacked it. The shackles on the bed deactivated and then activated again, and because Bentley’s father wasn’t on it correctly, pinned him down by his throat, left arm, and torso, on top of the dead android.

Bentley watched in horror as the deviant stood, wiping blue blood away from its nose and looking over at him. “This is your fault, little one.” It growled at him, grayish eyes flicking across his features. “Yours!”

“Bentley, run!” His father spluttered.

The door was on the other side of the deviant.

The rogue android seemed enraged by his father’s words, and with a cry of… anger, maybe? It snatched a large surgical knife off the floor and stabbed him directly in the chest with it.

Bentley’s world seemed to stop moving, and everything inside of him seemed to pause as the deviant stabbed his father over and over and over and over again until he wasn’t moving anymore.

Then it turned to him, blue and red blood splattered on its synthetic face.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” It said. “You were nice to me. I didn’t want to do this. But now I… I can’t leave any witnesses.”

At that, Bentley’s self preservation seemed to kick in again, and choking back either vomit or sobs or both, he sprinted for the door.

A mere foot from the exit, the metal rolling table slammed into his legs so hard he rolled over it, and the heavy thing came clattering back down on him. His forehead thudded against the concrete floor hard enough for him to feel the warmth of blood blossom from it, and his left ankle exploded into a pain so terrible that it made his ears ring. He thought he might’ve cried out, but he didn’t hear it.

“No witnesses,” The android repeated, its voice sort of muffled in his ears. “No witnesses.”

Bentley lifted his head, weaseling himself out from under the table. The android was coming, a bloody knife in one hand, the other, gently, slowly brushing against the cool metal of the shelving near the door as it walked. “It won’t hurt a bit. No, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Bentley tried to stand but his ankle burned with a pain that kept him glued to the floor.

“It won’t hurt a bit,” The android said, tapping his fingers against the shelving.

Against the shelving.

With a shout of pain, Bentley willed himself off the floor using mostly his good leg, grabbing the large shelving unit near the top and pulling on it with every ounce of weight in his entire body. Evidently, his fight or flight switched to fight at that very moment, because he was able to tip the shelving in one go, the entire thing crashing down on top of the android with a deafening sound, the cases of parts sprawling across the room.

And for a moment, nothing moved.

And then the deviant did, squirming under the weight of the shelves and cases.

Bentley didn’t waste a second before he hobbled toward the door and started up the stairs, his ankle screaming in such terrible pain that his ears started ringing again. Or maybe that was where he hit his head. Blood was pouring down his face -- he could feel it, see the splotches of dark around his nose.

The sounds of the android struggling to free itself rang up the staircase, spurring him onward. He took the stairs one at a time, practically jumping on one foot up the whole flight until he made it to the top, slamming shut the large wooden door that separated the basement from the rest of the house. There were three little metal latches on it -- latches that looked way too weak and stupid now than they usually did -- but he locked all three of them nevertheless.

And the house was silent.

They lived out on the outskirts of Detroit with at least a half-hour drive in any direction to reach civilization, in a massive estate decorated like a home in the nineteen-twenties, just like his father liked. Buried in the woods, obscure and secret and hard to find, and hard to escape… just like his father wanted.

His father…

Bentley ran a hand through his hair, flinching when he accidentally brushed the gnash on his forehead, his heartbeat growing increasingly deafening in his ears.

His father was dead.

He wasn’t exactly sure what inside of him decided to move, but a few moments later (after thinking about his father’s body for a solid five minutes, at least.) he found himself sobbing, trembling, hyperventilating on the phone with Detroit Police. When did he call them?

“Can you repeat that, please?”

Bentley tried to draw in a breath, but it didn’t really come. He was sitting on the floor against the kitchen island with his father’s phone in his hand. When did he get there?

“Can you repeat that, please?”

“I… the…” He stammered, hardly able to catch his breath enough to speak. He was on the opposite side of the island to the basement door, where the android maybe wouldn’t see him when it came through. “An… a-an android killed my father and it's trying to-to-to kill me.”

“You said an android killed your father?”

“Yes,” Bentley sobbed, falling into a coughing fit so violent he nearly threw up on the spot. “It stabbed… it-it stabbed him.”

“Is the android still active?”

“Yes! I told you it's trying to kill me!” He half shouted, shaking so hard the phone nearly fell out of his hands. At that very moment, from the other side of the room, there was a loud slam that shook the walls. “Please, it's coming.”

“We’re tracking your call, units are en route. Are you inside of a house?”

“Yes,”

“Is there anywhere you can get outside?”

“I-” Bentley glanced down at his ankle, which looked totally wrong, sobbing lightly and bringing a hand to his mouth. “My foot is hurt, I…I can't run. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

The basement door jerked in its place again, shaking the house and vibrating the floor under him.

“What is that noise I hear?”

“I locked it in the basement and-and it's banging on the door,” He stammered.

“You locked the android in the basement? Is it secure?”

“No. It… It’s gonna get through,” He replied, drawing in a sharp, wheezy breath. “Please hurry.”

“What’s your name?”

God, he hated how the responder felt the need to interrogate him about personal information instead of being helpful. (He knew it was routine, but it was stupid.)

He breathed: “Bentley Whittaker.”

“How old are you, Bentley?”

“Eleven,”

A sudden, loud slam came from the basement door, and the sound of hinges and locks dinging on the hardwood made his blood run cold.

“It’s here,” He whispered into the microphone. “It's here, It-it-it's going to kill me.”

“You said it escaped the basement?” The responder asked as though she couldn’t freaking understand english.

He half-sobbed in response. He heard heavy, dragging footsteps coming around toward the kitchen, so he scooted himself around to the left side of the island, staying dead silent, keeping himself on the side of the counter opposite to the footsteps like a horrifying game of keep away.

“I can hear you, little one,” The android’s voice came, though it was different this time -- more mechanical, less human, like it had been damaged by the shelves.

Bentley shoved the phone in his pants pocket and covered his mouth with his hands, trying his hardest to quiet his sobs and wheezes to no avail. The android started rounding the island clockwise, so Bentley moved clockwise, too, on the floor.

And then the kitchen went silent.

Bentley stayed completely still and held his breath, the only sound in the entire house being his heartbeat slamming in his ears.

Why did it stop?

He screamed in terror when a hand latched around his injured ankle and jerked him out from behind the island. He kicked and screamed and fought against its grip as it dragged him, tried to grab the cabinets as he passed, to dig his nails into the kitchen floor. He wasn’t strong enough to escape as the android dragged him from the kitchen to the dining room. “No! No! Stop, please! No!”

Two hands grabbed his shoulders from above, jerking him off the floor and slamming him onto the massive wooden dining table on his back with a bang, shattering perfectly set plates and knocking cutlery into the floor. The android was on the table with him, blue blood still running from its nose, its neck cracked and split open. Its entire shirt was blue with blood, and it was looming over him like some kind of monster, holding him down by the forehead.

There was a giant kitchen knife in its other hand.

“Please, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I told him. Please, please, please, please…” Bentley cried, squirming under the android’s hand. It moved so it was on top of him, keeping him from shifting more than a few inches in any direction.

“You didn’t listen when I begged,” It replied, its blue blood dripping down onto Bentley’s clothes, its LED permanently shining red. “Why would I listen when you beg?”

Bentley’s breaths became more like constant, fast hiccups as he watched the android lift the knife up over its head.

“I’m sorry you did that to me,” It muttered. “You should be, too.”

“I am. I am sorry. Please…”

It lifted the knife higher, and WHAM!

The android rolled off of Bentley and fell off the table with a thump, its knife clattering on the floor next to it. Standing behind it was…

The PL600. The one that had checked Bentley’s temperature. Its LED was flashing yellow and red on its left temple, and its blue eyes were full of concern, fear. It had a giant metal vase in its hands.

Another deviant.

Bentley forced himself to shimmy off the table, whacking himself against a few chairs as he fell off into the floor opposite the murderous android. He forced himself up against the wall in the farthest corner of the room and curled in on himself there, physically unable to do anything more than wait to be killed.

He watched in his peripheral as the violent deviant willed itself back off of the floor, but the PL600 simply whacked it in the head with the vase again, sending it slamming into the wall and crumpling back to the hardwood. Bentley saw the PL600 drop the vase and crouch down, maybe to do something to the other? But then the one that had been trying to murder Bentley felt around on the hardwood until its hand found a fork, and it stabbed the other in the eye with it so deep only a little bit of the handle was sticking out of its face.

Somehow, that didn’t deter it. The PL600 reached for the deviant’s shirt and ripped it open at the abdomen, jamming its hand into the other android’s body like a knife and jerking out a glowing blue biocomponent, throwing it across the room. It clattered next to Bentley -- a blue glowing cylinder encased in a small amount of metal.

Its thirium pump regulator -- the part that sends the blue blood, thirium, to all its other biocomponents to keep it alive.

The PL600 had basically just ripped the other deviant’s heart out.

Bentley stayed dead silent, bringing his knees up to his chest as the only remaining android stood, wrenching the fork out of its eye with a gush of blue blood onto the hardwood. For a moment, it just stared at the other one as its systems shutdown due to the missing regulator, its face going still, LED flickering off.

Bentley felt a whole lot like throwing up. He buried his face in his knees and sobbed there, wishing the whooshing and ringing that sounded far-off in his ears were sirens instead of an impending concussion.

A few quiet moments later, someone touched his shoulder.

Bentley jolted upright with a shout of terror, scrambling to put himself further in the corner. The PL600 was crouched only maybe two feet from him, its left eye replaced by a flickering socket pouring blue blood at a rapid rate, down its face and dripping from its left ear, too. Staining the floor and its clothes and everything.

It extended a hand toward him. “You’re bleeding. I know-”

“Stop,” Bentley ordered, and the android froze at the word. “Stop. Get away. You’re a… deviant.”

“I’m not a deviant. I was designed to serve and care for a household. You’re… part of this household,” It replied like it was confused, it's light flashing yellow, then blue.

“No,” Bentley replied, shaking his head, sobbing lightly. “My father told you not to talk. You woke yourself up from low power mode without verbal activation. You’re a deviant.”

The PL600 glanced down at its hands, its light spinning back to yellow, then red for a brief moment. “I… was afraid that android was going to kill you.”

Bentley sniffed. “Androids don’t get afraid. Deviants do.”

For a while, neither of them said anything.

“Why did you save me?” Bentley questioned, still sniffling quietly, glancing up at the android’s mangled face. “I thought deviants hated humans.”

The android’s LED turned blue again. “You’ve been nice to me ever since I got here. Even when your father told you not to be... you showing kindness, it… triggered an instability in my systems. About a month ago,” It replied slowly, in a calculated way, carefully watching Bentley’s response. “I… I broke through my programming to… protect you. I realized I was… scared. Of you dying.”

Bentley said nothing, but rested his head back on his knees. His adrenaline was slowly starting to wear off, and it made him feel pretty much like he was on death’s doorstep.

“Will you let me help you? With first aid?”

Bentley looked back up at the android, breathing in and out. “No.”

The PL600 said nothing, but backed off just a little, sitting into its crouch so it was just… on the floor with him.

A long moment of silence ensued.

“Before your father bought me… I lived with a family. There was a boy, a little older than you. His name was Jonah,” The android explained quietly. “You remind me of him.”

“Why’d they get rid of you?” Bentley murmured quietly. “Sell you to my dad?”

The robot shook its head. “They needed the money.”

Bentley stayed quiet for a few moments, not really comprehending much. He couldn’t really think all that well.

“Did they give you a name?” He asked. (He knew some people named their androids, even if his father never did because they were worthless machines.)

The PL600’s gaze fell to the floor, a sort of forlorn look crossing its face. “... Simon. They named me Simon.”

Bentley glanced at the dead WR600 across the room, eyes bouncing from its bloody nose, to its damaged throat, to the hole in its abdomen where its regulator should’ve been. Then he looked at Simon, at the blue blood pouring down his face, the sparking hole where his eye should’ve been. With one last look at the dead android, he deduced they weren’t actually as similar as he’d thought.

And then he saw his father’s phone laying next to its corpse (if you could call it that.), where it must’ve fallen out of his pocket while it was dragging him.

“Shit,” The teenager muttered, eyes flicking from the phone up to Simon, then back to the phone. “Oh shit.”

“What?” The android questioned, glancing where Bentley’s gaze was resting.

“I called the police and told them… I told them an android was trying to kill me,” He explained quietly, glancing back up at Simon. “As soon as they see you in here with me, they’re… they’re going to kill you. You have to leave.”

Simon’s LED spun yellow, then red, then yellow again, an array of emotions filtering across his features. “I’m not… leaving you here by yourself. Your left ankle is dislocated, you’re running a 100.1 fever, and you’re showing signs of shock and a possible concussion. Not to mention the laceration on your forehead.”

Bentley groaned in frustration, dipping his head back down to rest on his knees. “The police hate deviants. They’re going to shoot you no matter what I say -- you have to go, Simon, please.”

“Our coordinates are upwards of twenty-five minutes from any surrounding precincts. By then you could be unconscious or incapacitated given your various ailments,” Simon spoke softly, and Bentley could’ve sworn he felt his hand brush his shoulder but decide against resting it there. “Your probability of survival is high, but I’m not willing to take unnecessary risks.”

“And your probability of survival is zero if you don’t get out of here!” Bentley shot back, lifting his head just enough to catch Simon’s eye. “I’ve already watched two things die tonight. I can’t watch them shoot you.”

Simon said nothing, his LED spinning yellow and red as he glanced across the room. For a while, he sat like that, contemplating.

Then finally: “Come with me.”

Bentley glanced back up at him, furrowing his brow. “What?”

“I’ll escape the police and I can help you, if you come with me,” He replied, his LED spinning from yellow back to blue.

Bentley looked down at the hardwood beneath him. Running away with a deviant sounded pretty much like a psychotic deathwish. But Simon was… well, he wasn’t a deviant like Bentley knew them. He wasn’t trying to kill him, he was trying to… protect him.

What was going to happen to him when the police arrived anyways? The hospital? And then what after that? Foster care?

Bentley sighed lightly, gesturing down to his foot. “I can’t walk.”

Simon shifted where he was, sitting more comfortably on the floor. “It's not a severe dislocation — I can pop it back into place. It will still hurt afterwards, but it’ll alleviate the worst of the pain.”

Bentley glanced up at him, then down at his foot. After a moment of quiet, he extended his leg out to the android.

He stayed silent, watching Simon’s precise movements closely -- he gently took off Bentley’s shoe and prodded around the area, getting a feel for the dislocation, his LED spinning from blue to yellow.

Simon glanced back up at him. “Do you want something to bite down on?”

“No, it's fine, just do it,” Bentley replied, balling his fists around the sleeves of his scrubs.

“Would you like me to count to three?”

“Just do it!”

Crack! Bentley stayed dead silent as a shockwave of pain so sudden and severe reverberated through him that he was pretty sure he saw white. It seemed to shoot from his ankle all the way through each and every bone in his body.

Suddenly, someone had their hand on the side of his head, holding him up. He couldn’t see. When had he closed his eyes?

He blinked them open, immediately being met with Simon’s big blue ones (or one, he guessed), concerned and bright. His LED was spinning yellow. “You lost consciousness.”

“What?” Bentley questioned, sitting up a little straighter, as the android removed its hand. “How long?”

“Two minutes and fourteen seconds,” Simon replied. “Assuming you called the police when you ran upstairs, we’ll have roughly ten minutes before they arrive. Fifteen if we’re lucky.”

“Sorry,” Bentley replied, using the dining room walls to lift himself out of the floor. Simon stood up, too, his eyes and hands following the child’s movements closely in case he were to pass out again. He was right -- Bentley’s ankle still hurt like nobody's business, but it was just dull enough for him to hobble around on if he bit his tongue really hard.

“You need to change your clothes,” Bentley stated, gesturing to Simon’s Cyberlife mandated uniform with his model number and a giant blue triangle that indicated an android. Cyberlife had a habit of marking them like dogs -- each one was sold with glowing blue bands around their arms and glowing blue triangles on their clothes, like collars. “We’ll have to take the uniform with us. So they don’t know a PL600 was involved. If we do this right, they may just think I ran away by myself. There's lots of clothes in the… master.”

Bentley gestured to the hallway that led to his fath- the master bedroom.

Simon’s LED spun from blue to yellow a few times. “Are you going to stay here?”

“I have something I’m going to grab,” Bentley replied. “Go ahead, I’ll come in there after.”

Simon nodded, checking Bentley over one last time before he made for the master.

With an exhale and a shake of his head (Because what was he even doing right now?) Bentley pushed himself off of the wall, holding onto the dining table and various pieces of furniture to hobble his way through the kitchen and living room, then down a hall and into his room, where he grabbed his school bag and dumped it on the floor. (He hadn’t been to school in about two months. They probably thought he was dead.) After shoving some random clothing items in it, he hobbled back to the basement door.

The entire thing was damn near torn off its hinges, the three metal locks ripped out of the wood and in shambles on the floor. The door was bowed and cracked like a bull had gotten ahold of the other side. There was a thick trail of blue blood from the basement all the way across the house, from the dead android’s throat.

With a deep breath, Bentley hopped and hobbled his way back down the stairs, where the smell of red and blue blood met his nostrils.

He kept his eyes purposefully focused on the concrete floor below him. He didn’t give himself the chance to look up at anything else, he simply moved across the room, looking straight down, grabbing the tablet out of the floor and making for the destroyed shelving unit. He shoved the tablet in his empty school bag, crouching down and shuffling through the small cases of biocomponents until he found five of the ones he needed -- five that had the model number PL600 printed across them.

He shoved them all in his bag and then tossed it over his shoulder, standing back up with an explosion of pain from his ankle. With a grimace, he forced himself back up the stairs.

When he got there, Simon was standing in the kitchen, also packing a bag. With the smart things, though, like the food and medicine Bentley undoubtedly needed in a state like his current one. He was wearing clothes now, normal clothes, a button up, dark pants, a jacket, and a beanie to cover his LED.

“How much time do we have left?” Bentley questioned.

“Worst case? Two minutes and fifty-two seconds,” Simon replied.

Bentley hobbled past him, down the hall opposite to his bedroom where his… the master was. He made his way into it and -- feeling sort of numb and strange about the unmade bed and book open on the pillow and water cup on the dresser -- willed his way to the leftmost nightstand.

He pulled the drawer open, and was greeted by a shiny silver handgun.

For a few moments, he just sort of looked at it, then glanced back at the door, as though Simon was going to appear and berate him for even thinking about taking it. There were five boxes of ammunition in the drawer, which was a lot, unless they got into some kind of mission impossible gunfighting, which he was pretty sure they wouldn’t.

With an exhale, Bentley plopped his bag on the bed and unzipped the smallest pocket in the front, grabbing the pistol with shaky hands. He ejected the (WHY WAS IT LOADED?) magazine out of the bottom of the weapon and, making sure the safety was so much on he nearly broke the thing, shoved both of them into the backpack pocket. He piled the ammo boxes into the pocket with the biocomponents and zipped it all up, returning to the kitchen with Simon.

Fortunately, he was zipping his bag up, too -- it was a large, almost duffle-like bag that his father used to take to work.

“How much time-”

Suddenly, the telltale sounds of tire squeals and loud sirens erupted outside the house.

Bentley and Simon’s eyes met with equal amounts of terror, and Bentley grabbed his arm, jerking the android toward the kitchen pantry and closing them in. There was a window in there facing the backyard, but it was high on the wall and small, flanked by a bunch of pantry shelving.

“They’ll find us in here,” Simon said quietly, but Bentley ignored it, unzipping his backpack and fishing the tablet out from the bottom. Simon peered into the bag and, apparently spotting the ammo boxes, continued: “Do you have a gun?!”

“Just in case,” Bentley whispered. He opened up the tablet and, after a moment of loading that flashed across the cracked screen, the model and serial numbers of all the androids in the basement popped up. Simon’s, as well as the dead deviant, both said unit inactive, while the rest said low power mode engaged. “My father created a system that let him control our androids while he was away from home. I think-”

There was a deafening slam! that shook the walls, and then a loud shatter, and Bentley knew the front door had been kicked open.

Bentley grabbed Simon by the arm and maneuvered him so he’d be behind the door if the police opened it, shoving their bags that way, too. He tapped on the serial number at the top of the list on the holographic screen of the tablet, then typed in a string of code that, when entered, changed the low power mode engaged to unit active.

There was a loud bang of the police doing something, Bentley wasn’t sure what. He tapped on the same android and began to type code furiously, his fingers flying across the keyboard with as much panicky precision as he could muster. There wasn’t necessarily code for make a shit ton of noise, but Bentley was pretty sure he could manage.

About five seconds later, he entered the command, and about five seconds after that, a terrible crashing and slamming noise erupted from below them -- the basement.

The telltale noise of police boots slamming in that direction erupted into the air, and Bentley shoved the tablet back in his bag and zipped it up. Simon moved for the window behind the door, scanning the backyard intently before he unlocked it and slid it open.

Without speaking a word, the android picked Bentley up and helped him through the small window and onto the grass beyond, handing their bags out and then climbing out himself. He slid it shut once they were outside.

It was pitch black out, and the moon and stars were obstructed by nighttime storm clouds. The only source of illumination was coming from the red and blue flashing police lights in the front yard, and the sound of wind and sirens were deafening. It was probably almost freezing outside, and Bentley was wearing scrubs. (Nice planning for the future, Bentley.)

“We have to go,” Simon muttered, peeling his jacket off and dropping it over Bentley’s shoulders. “They’ll be back here soon.”

Bentley slid his arms into the jacket and took one step towards the woods -- and immediately his ankle decided to stop working, sending him careening into the android by his side with an explosion of pain. “Ah!”

“It's okay, I’ve got you,” Simon replied in a whisper. Without a word, he took the bag off of Bentley’s back and put it on his own, then bent down and picked him up bridal style. “It's okay.”

Bentley’s world went black before they even left the yard.

When everything started coming back again, the first thing he felt was cold, and then stiffness, on his ankle. He was laying on something soft with something else soft on top of him, but it didn’t really help the biting cold that seemed to be seeping through his veins.

He peeled his eyes open, and it was pitch black… wherever he was. He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself upright, his head swimming at the motion. “... Simon?”

Suddenly, a light clicked on behind him, and Bentley glanced back. Simon was sitting against the wall next to their bags with a flashlight, on the floor only a few feet from where he’d been laying. The light revealed that the floor was metal, and that Bentley was lying on an old, ugly, tattered blanket with Simon’s jacket draped over him. It also revealed that they weren’t outside, but inside something massive and metal that kept groaning and making noises.

“Where are we?” Bentley questioned, glancing up at the android’s face. Simon was looking back at him with his one good eye, his LED spinning yellow for a split second. Bentley frowned at the blue blood that now stained his shirt, that was covering the entire left side of his face. He wondered how much blood he’d lost -- even androids could die from bleeding out, if they lost enough thirium. Their internal biocomponents would slowly shut down.

“I found an abandoned freighter to hole up in for a while. A boat. No one should bother us here,” Simon replied, shifting against the wall to sit up straighter. “I wrapped your ankle and put some sutures on your forehead with a first aid kit I took from the house. I… hope that's okay. I have medicine, too, but you were sleeping.”

Bentley glanced down at his ankle, catching a glimpse of white wrappings from under Simon’s coat. His forehead was aching dully from being fiddled with, but felt better ultimately. “Thanks…”

Without saying anything, Simon slid a pill bottle over toward Bentley, who took one without much fuss and slid it back.

“Your fever has gone up to 101.1 degrees, though it's rising pretty slowly. I think the winter cold is helping a little bit,” He replied, shifting again, as though uncomfortable.

Bentley glanced over at his bag, then forced himself up onto his knees and shimmied over to it. Simon watched in curious silence as he unzipped and dug through it, pulling out the tablet and one of the cases he took from the basement.

He stayed quiet as he opened up the diagnostic program on the screen, and it took a while to load due to the service being faint, but finally, the white hand appeared.

He held it over to Simon. “Here.”

With a glance to Bentley’s face, he gently rested his hand on it, and code began to flash across the screen. Bentley watched the symbols and numbers and letters appear, a few strings turning red and moving to the other side to flash at him. A few warnings popped up on the screen in a smaller, separate window.

BIOCOMPONENT #3525K DAMAGED -- OPTICAL UNIT

BIOCOMPONENT #7213 DAMAGED -- AUDIO PROCESSOR

Bentley glanced up at Simon, who looked up at him after reading the screen.

“I grabbed a few cases of biocomponents for your model before we left. I can replace them, if you want,” He stated, opening up the black Cyberlife case that he’s shoved in his bag. Inside of it were a bunch of parts, some glowing, some not, varying in shape and size. From the looks of it, he’d gotten his hands on most of the easily replaceable components in Simon’s model, as well as a small pouch of what looked like blue blood to replenish any that was lost, as small tools. “Once I replace the damaged ones and give you more blood, you should feel better. If… you can even feel bad in the first place, I guess.”

Simon’s one blue eye was trained on him. “You went back in the basement to… get parts for me?”

“Yeah,” Bentley replied. Simon’s LED turned from blue to yellow for a few seconds.

“But your-”

“I didn’t look,” Bentley replied curtly, pulling the parts he needed out of the foam inlay of the black case with a sharp inhale.

Simon’s LED spun yellow for another moment, before turning back to blue, and he met Bentley’s eyes again. “Okay. Yeah… yeah, you can replace them.”

Bentley exhaled lightly, settling in front of Simon and peering into the sparking hole. From what he could see (Which wasn’t much.) It seemed like the eyeball-like biocomponent was shoved backwards, out of its socket and crushing the audio processor that was behind it.

“Do you feel pain? Now that you’re a deviant?” He questioned, catching Simon’s good eye. “I’ve heard stories of androids turning deviant after being abused.”

“Not pain like you feel. Just… I don’t know. It's more like being afraid of damage because it's… one step closer to shutting down for good,” Simon explained softly. “There’s discomfort, because obviously having a fork in my eye didn’t feel nice, but it didn’t hurt, per say. There's this sort of empty feeling that happens when a biocomponent isn’t working anymore.”

Bentley hummed in acknowledgment. “So I’m not going to hurt you by poking around in your head?”

“No,” Simon replied.

With that, Bentley worked diligently, using his tiny fingers to his advantage to fish the old optical unit out through Simon’s eye socket, turning his own hands blue. The surrounding machinery seemed okay, besides the audio processor, though the plug for the optical unit also needed to be replaced -- but that was fine, Bentley had one. He was able to pull the audio processor out of its port on the side of Simon’s head with little resistance, though he wasn’t exactly a fan of how much he was bleeding.

For over an hour, Bentley used the tools from the biocomponent kit to reconnect, seal off, and reposition things in Simon’s head through his open eye socket. Thanks to his and his father’s extensive studying of androids, he knew exactly how many thirium tubes were in the area -- which ones needed to be reconnected, and which ones could be sealed off. He put in a new port for both the optical unit and audio processor, connecting them carefully to the rest of the machinery, until finally, he was able to slot the new biocomponents into place.

He finally exhaled heavily, sitting back on his knees. “How does that feel?”

Simon blinked. While he was still covered in blue blood, his left eye looked pretty normal besides a little bit of scarring around the socket that Bentley couldn’t really change. He looked around the freighter they were in, his eyes bouncing around before they landed on Bentley. “Normal. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” The teenager grabbed the tablet and opened the diagnostic program again. “Just to check.”

Simon put his hand on it, and everything checked out green besides the same string of code that showed on the WR600’s diagnostic -- the one that changed once they became deviant.

Bentley sighed lightly as he packed everything back into his bag.

“I knew you weren’t all bad. Deviants…” He started, zipping up his backpack. “My dad was convinced you all were going to, like, end the world or something. But all the stories I’ve heard were just deviants trying to defend themselves. Destroying them all never sat right with me.”

Simon just listened to him speak, his LED spinning yellow.

“If he could meet you, if he knew what you did… maybe he’d change his mind,” Bentley started quietly, settling against the wall next to him, glancing down at his own hands. “I was going to ask him about it, you know. Maybe see if I could get anywhere with him on it. But now, I…”

His words trailed off as the back of his eyes began to burn, and he stared dutifully at his own lap. “Now, I…”

He felt Simon’s arm slip around his shoulders. “I know.”

Bentley wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his scrubs before the tears could fall, but that didn’t stop his breath from shuddering. “What’re we going to do now?”

He heard Simon inhale and exhale, and his LED turned yellow. “Keep each other alive.”

Bentley tentatively rested his head on the android’s shoulder, sniffling lightly, which caused Simon’s hand to find the back of his head. “I think we can do that.”

Simon’s LED changed from yellow to blue.

“Me too.”

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@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

#batfamily #oc; bentley #batman #oc; bentley whittaker #batboys #detroit become human #detroit become human simon #dbh simon #simon dbh #simon #mb; project: killcode #bentley x dbh #mb; jericho’s child au

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