#rk900 hurt comfort | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peskellence · 17 days ago

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

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Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

They arrived at Cedars Motel just after 9:30 a.m. The lobby was devoid of patrons, and its squalid conditions left little ambiguity as to why. It was the sort of establishment that would appeal only to the most desperate of passers-by—or those involved in illicit activities.

The owner was evidently aware of their target clientele. A digital touch display was mounted on a nearby wall, one of the few furnishings that appeared to have been purchased within the century. A roulette wheel spun on the screen, a blur of red and black, before transitioning into an image of two scantily clad women. They were locked in a provocative embrace, winking coyly at the camera.

The fluorescent pink of the advertisement clashed with the sallow yellows and browns that otherwise dominated the room. Nines muted the visual assault with a swift feedback adjustment, then turned his attention to the reception. Even the staff were reluctant to linger, with the front desk equally abandoned as the rest of the facility.

As he scanned the vicinity for a bell or buzzer, Reed wandered toward the digital display. With the urgency of a tourist on vacation, he dragged his fingers across a rack of magazines beneath it. This seemed an unlikely spot for their witness to hide, with it equally doubtful that any evidence would have been concealed there.

In a superficial attempt to 'inspect' something, the human pulled one of the publications from the shelf and brought it to his face. The calibre of material he had selected was no surprise.

While the cover wasn't entirely in focus from Nines' current vantage, the bare skin and scarlet lace were unmistakable.

"Our perp sure has some refined taste…" Reed punctuated the remark with a snort, flicking to the next page. "Classy digs, don't you think?"

Nines held his tongue, desperate to point out that the current behaviour hardly proved any more refined.

Then, his systems alerted him to something: an unusual detail concerning the models his partner was shamelessly gawking at. The faultless smoothness of their skin, despite minimal photo editing and subtle flares of light which traced the contours of their temples.

> ENHANCING OPTICAL UNIT MAGNIFICATION…

> SCANNING DOCUMENTATION.

> SCAN COMPLETED.

> PUBLICATION TITLE: ELECTRIC DREAMS — ISSUE NO. 226

> HEADLINE ARTICLE: 'Your girlfriend's jaw might get tired – but ours won't! - Why Android Sex Is Still The Best.'

It was curious that Reed had felt drawn to this particular publication, given the ample range of choice. One filled to the brim with artificial bodies—flawlessly manufactured to mimic intimacy, lust and satisfaction that was inherently false.

Yet here Reed was, completely engrossed. His fascination with a dark-haired HR400 proved particularly pronounced, their already sparse wardrobe dwindling with every swipe of his finger. This continued until he was revealed in full, legs spread, striking a shamelessly evocative pose.

The detective made a low noise, somewhere between a hiss and a whistle. His vitals spiked, barrelling wildly out of control:

> ALERT

> RAPID BIOPHYSICAL SHIFT DETECTED

> HEART RATE ESCALATION: 75 BPM → 115 BPM — TIME ELAPSED 2.7 SECONDS

It was clear that the admiration of his partner's physique had not been an isolated oddity. Reed found a certain allure—an excitement—in the temptation of something that should have repulsed him. Whether or not he consciously recognised this remained unclear.

What was clear, however, was the gross inappropriateness of indulging in such material whilst on duty. The RK900 sought to correct this—on the slim chance that a customer might present themselves, witnessing the uncouth display.

"I would advise that you close your mouth, Detective."

Reed's jaw, which had dropped a disconcerting distance from the rest of his face, promptly snapped shut. He glanced up at his partner, brows raised, protesting the interjection, "Are you seriously telling me to shut up? I hardly said anything."

"I wasn't suggesting that you 'shut up,' although it would certainly be a bonus if you chose to do so—I just fear you may have to pay for that item if you continue to soak it in your drool."

Irritation veered sharply into embarrassment. A faint flush crept up his cheeks as Reed hastily set the magazine aside, all but propelled from his hands. "Great. You've got jokes now. Just what I need."

Sarcasm thickened every word, though Nines detected the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Some part of him, however grudgingly, had found humour in the remark.

The enjoyment was fleeting, buried by discomfort. Reed rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he muttered, "Let's just find the owner of this dump and get the hell out of here…"

Nines tilted his head, a hum of consideration escaping him as he filed the response for future reference. Strategic flirtation could prove beneficial going forward—seeking to redirect wandering attention, keeping his partner in line...

Experimentation would have to wait. For now, Reed was correct. They had more pressing matters to attend to, not being helped by the owner's persisting absence.

The desk remained empty, with the staff door behind it tightly sealed. Nines doubted the flimsy plywood had muffled any part of their discussion; fledgling impatience exacerbated as it occurred just how unsavoury their current conditions were.

Beyond the unsightly furnishings, mildew and rot crept up the aged plastered walls. Running a finger across one, the surface crumbled, falling apart like rotten pastry.

"I agree it would be best to limit your exposure to our current surroundings. There is a dangerous concentration of fungal spores in this room; it could be hazardous to your health."

Reed clicked his tongue. It was clear that he'd wanted to say something—perhaps relating to the myriad of toxins he routinely invited into his body—but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he directed his focus towards the reception. A hand emerged from his pocket, encouraging Nines to take the lead.

The android was unsure if the intention behind this had been affability or idleness. Nevertheless, he accepted, his primary objective taking precedence on his HUD:

> LOCATE CEDARS MOTEL OWNER.

He made his approach, studying the desk more attentively. Overturning abandoned letters and leaflets, clearing a path through the expansive debris, until the dull yellow flicker of an overheard bulb caught against something metallic. Partially obscured beneath a pile of unpaid bills, a tarnished call bell caught his attention. It was so heavily weathered that Nines was surprised it produced any sound at all when pressed.

A shrill chime sliced through the air, utterly useless in achieving its intended purpose. There was no sign of movement, and Nines might have considered the possibility that the proprietor had expired—if it hadn't been for the vital signs detectable through the wall.

He pressed the bell again, this time with greater force, in line with a firm verbal address. The RK900 hoped this might inspire a greater incentive to respond—while simultaneously assuring that they were not debt collectors:

"Detroit Police Department."

"Whoever's hiding back there, they're deaf," Reed complained. He reeled from the unpleasant sound, hands pressed to his ears. "That thing is loud as fuck."

As though responding to the criticism, the unseen figure stirred. Biophysical mapping tracked their movement to the closed passageway. A silence descended between the partners until, at last, the soft creak of the door revealed their witness.

An elderly man emerged, ambling aimlessly toward the desk. It soon became apparent that his arrival was coincidental—he seemed completely unaware of the officers idling mere feet away.

SCANNING SUBJECT…

SCAN COMPLETE.

ANDREWS, WALTER.

BORN: 05/11/1965 // REGISTERED BUSINESS OWNER — CEDARS MOTEL LTD.

CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

Andrews hummed absently under his breath, eyes scanning the cluttered desk without any clear direction. He shuffled around, brow furrowed in mild confusion, until he appeared to find what he was looking for—an empty mug, half-adhered to one of the many scattered documents.

As he tilted forward, Nines detected weak feedback pulses emanating from his ears. Upon closer inspection, the source was identified as twin devices nestled beneath tufts of overgrown hair:

HEARING AID(S).

COMPONENT BATTERY LOW — FUNCTIONALITY IMPAIRED.

As spindly fingers reached for the cup, Reed cleared his throat. His fist was brought dramatically to his mouth, with his elbow pointed outward. Sunken eyes lazily tracked the motion, their ashen grey magnified by a pair of thick glasses.

Andrews responded as though the officers had materialised out of thin air. He jerked back, clutching his chest in alarm before fumbling to regain his composure. Readjusting the collar of his moth-eaten pullover, his thin lips pulled into a wiry grin.

"Apologies for the wait, sirs." His attention flitted meekly between Nines and Reed as he offered them each a cordial nod. "I must have dozed off…Are you looking for a room? I have a King Size left—great rates."

"Detroit Police Department," Nines repeated coldly, hoping the man would hear this time. "Officer RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 87, and Detective Gavin Reed."

Andrews seemed put out by the forcefulness of his tone. He blinked slowly, bleary gaze absent of comprehension. There was a twitch of movement in his mouth, calling attention to the deep-set wrinkles in the corners.

Then he hummed as though to indicate he understood the situation.

"Oh, right, of course. Are you looking for a room...officers?"

He did not, still labouring under the assumption that he and his partner were prospective customers.

The assumption was brazen, bordering on insulting, and Reed appeared equally stunned. His eyes widened, belatedly grasping the full implication of what was happening.

Nines might have teased him—suggesting that they consider the offer later, should he feel so inclined—but the required humour promptly deserted him. He leaned across the desk, inches from the perspex security visor that bordered the counter. His badge was pulled from his pocket and pressed to the barrier with an authoritative thud.

"Mr. Walter Andrews, your assessment of this situation is deeply misguided. We have no interest in a room. We are here on professional matters."

The hotelier's strained smile vanished, wiped cleanly from his face as his sallow complexion deepened. Desperately, he scrambled to mitigate the fallout of his mistake.

"I-I'm very sorry to have caused offence! I thought perhaps you were doing a role-play and wanted me to go along with it. It happens more often than you'd—I didn't actually think you were—"

Fortunately, the android was not made to interrupt the blathering. It was unclear how much more scrutiny the man's weak constitution could bear. His partner took charge, stepping forward with a huff of exasperation.

"TMI, buddy." He joined Nines by the perspex divider, offering Andrews an out with a smooth redirection. "We want to know if anyone suspicious checked in on the night of January 13th—think you can help us with that?"

Andrews seemed relieved, swallowing a nervous breath that had lodged in his throat. He ran a hand distractedly over the unkempt stubble on his chin as he tried to recall the date in question.

"Well, most folks who check in here are a little... suspicious," he muttered, his tone shifting back to apprehension as a spike in his heart rate betrayed his unease. "Nothing illegal, mind you! Drunk businessmen, ladies of the night...that sort of thing."

> WITNESS PROFILE UPDATING…

> ANDREWS, WALTER.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

> MAINTAINING PREMISES FOR CRIMINAL ACTIVITY (SUSPECTED)—FURTHER INVESTIGATION REQUIRED.

"Prostitution is not permissible in Michigan, so the arrangements you have described are indeed illegal." Nines dismissed the witness summary from his HUD, optical units refocusing. "Not that it is of immediate concern. The individual we are looking for would have been alone. Do you have any check-in records that we may review?"

"Well, yes, of course, I do…but I wouldn't usually share them. Customer confidentiality and all."

It seemed convenient that Andrews was now concerned with legal technicalities.

His thumping pulse rate continued to escalate as he made a superficial adjustment to his eyewear. "Mind telling me what this is about, officers?"

"It concerns a homicide," the RK900 informed. "This information may be critical in assisting our investigation. Your cooperation is appreciated."

"Homicide? As in murder?" The man spluttered. His hoarse tone raised several octaves, cracking unpleasantly, as he clutched at the front of his stained sweater. "I haven't heard anything about that. Is it public knowledge?"

"The story has been broadcasted on several networks."

"Was it a man? A woman? God, my niece Julie would've been out that day. She's only eighteen and such a dainty thing. It just kills me to think that something might have happened—"

The inane drivel grated against his acoustic modulators. Had the man not been so visibly frail—and the divider not present—the RK900 may have felt inclined to throttle him.

"Mr. Andrews."

"I'm looking at a screen most days and nights. Except when checking guests in—or driving Julie home—"

That said, the flimsy plastic hardly provided any real protection. The android was confident that he'd have no issues scaling past it.

Or breaking through.

"—She helps out with the cleaning on Fridays, you see. I would think I would have heard if something like that had—"

"It was an android." Nines interrupted, resisting his more violent inclinations in favour of raising his voice. "The records, please."

The torrent of verbal excrement halted. Andrews' attitude had shifted, the mania tapering as tension eased from his hunched shoulders. He spoke with an airy quality, almost like a sigh, as though the added context brought tremendous relief. "Oh, oh yes, that's—"

Then, trepidation returned to his eyes as they met with a disapproving glower. It seemed to dawn on him that this stance may have been ill-advised when addressing this particular officer.

"W-Well…that's a shame, isn't it?" he quickly backpedalled, his lips sputtering like a faulty motor. "I mean… It's very…"

His words trailed off, the stench of uncertainty mingling with the room's heady must. His gaze flitted desperately to Reed, silently pleading for support.

The detective ignored him, staring fixedly at the cork noticeboard above his head.

"…Sad," Andrews finished weakly.

He then turned to busy himself, hobbling along his workstation and sifting through mountainous piles of junk. Eventually, he craned to reach something haphazardly propped on a stack of boxes—a leather-bound ledger with a bent spine, the word 'Guests' embossed in neat script on its cover.

He wiped it with the back of his loosely draped sleeve, brushing off some residual grime before sliding it beneath the plastic partition to the android.

Nines yanked it roughly towards him, prying it from the tips of outstretched fingers. He set it on the desk and started flipping through the pages. Must and dirt filled his nostrils, intensifying the further he progressed—until he halted at entries relevant to their investigation.

He analysed the check-ins, isolating those that aligned most closely with their developing timeline of events. Unsurprisingly, many of the names appeared aliases, as cross-checking local housing databases yielded few results.

Handwriting samples were equally unhelpful. Their culprit had gone to great lengths to disguise his penmanship, with none of the writing resembling the threatening messages at the crime scenes.

The RK900 leaned closer, studying every scrawl and ink blot in meticulous detail, willing them to reveal something. Given their target's penchant for riddles—and taunting law enforcement—it was almost certain he had left them a message:

> ACCESSING SUSPECT PROFILE

> SEARCH PARAMETERS: COMMUNICATION PATTERNS.

> ANALYSING…

> LINK(S) ESTABLISHED: MORALISTIC EXTREMISM — ASSERTION OF TRADITIONAL IDEALS — RELIGIOUS/SPIRITUAL REFERENCES.

He placed these criteria at one end of his neural pathway as he sought to establish the next point of deduction. Assembling the scattered fragments of his reasoning into something sensical.

> KNOWN ALIASES — THOD GRAWS.

> ASSESSING FOR HIDDEN CODES AND MEANING...

> DETERMINING POSSIBLE SYSTEMS.

> PROBABLE RESULTS:

> ANAGRAM, CAESAR CIPHER — USAGE: COMMON IN ENCODED COMMUNICATIONS.

> APPLYING SEARCH CRITERIA 1...

> GENERATING RESULTS

In the background, he was vaguely attuned to Andrews and Reed conversing, though the details escaped him. The letters shifted in multiple directions, ordered and reordered in rapid succession. They became a frenzied blur of movement as results tallied on the right-hand side of his optics:

> GHOST WARD.

> WART HOGS.

> DAGS THROW.

This continued until one in particular struck as significant—connecting seamlessly to the established criteria—and he promptly suspended the search.

> GODS WRATH.

He stared at the phrase. The neat diagnostic typeface gnawed at his thoughts, filling him with a complex mixture of hopefulness and foreboding.

Dismissing all superfluous data from his conscious view, he redirected his focus back to the book in front of him. Its blotched, yellowed pages were now perceived through a new lens of clarity, the threads of logic weaving together as he repeated the same deductive process.

The name practically leapt from the page, its letters joining those that swarmed like locusts in the enclaves of his mind:

> HANS STIVER.

Nines recorded a snapshot of the text, storing it with the rest of their evidence before pulling back sharply.

"He was here."

The motion startled Reed, and it took a moment for him to process the words. As their meaning sank in, the defensive tension drained from his shoulders.

"...You're kidding me." He lunged forward, palms slapped onto either side of the sign-in book. "This guy was seriously dense enough to use 'Thod Graws' in two different places?"

"He didn't use the same name," Nines clarified, noting the confusion knitting between the human's brows the longer he squinted at the pages. "But he may as well have done."

He then looked to Andrews, who appeared dismayed to be the renewed centre of attention. The RK dismissed this, pressing a finger to the guestbook and urging him to look.

"Do you remember this man?"

Reluctant to argue, the hotelier leaned forward, obediently studying the page. It was a struggle, given his already impaired eyesight, exacerbated by the numerous spots of grime on the perspex.

"Who, Hans?" he asked pensively, his mouth curled into a frown. "He was a strange one. I couldn't get two words out of him. Paid with cash and went straight to his room."

"Do you remember what he looked like? This may be of crucial importance. I implore you to think carefully."

"It was raining that night. He came in wearing a hood and refused to pull it down…" Andrews' lips pulled inwards, although Nines was confident he'd heard some muttered beratement about 'the youth of today.'

"I asked if he had an ID, but he said he'd left it at home—I never got a good look at his face."

Emerging optimism strained as the android encountered an impasse. He searched for a way around it, adapting his approach to draw whatever he could from the spotty witness account:

> ACCESSING CASE EVIDENCE...

Images blossomed in his peripherals, creeping forward until they formed a scrolling banner across his visual scope. He studied them closely, searching for potential identifiers that might jog Andrews' memory…

Reed was faster, gleefully seizing the opportunity to outpace him. His tone carried preemptive confidence as if he already knew the answer:

"Let me guess. He was wearing a black raincoat?"

Andrews reeled back, his bulging eyes and gaping mouth speaking volumes about the accuracy of this assessment. "W-Well, yes, actually, I believe so—but how did you—"

"Psychic," The detective quipped before retrieving a tattered notebook from his jacket.

Flipping through the pages, he passed through droves of illegible scrawlings and crude sketches until he landed on a blank sheet. Fishing a well-chewed pen from the ring binds, he poised to take a statement.

"Who was on the desk the following morning? Anyone who might have seen him check out?"

The initiative had been unexpected—and was not strictly unnecessary, given the RK's ability to record and transcribe audio feedback in real-time. Nonetheless, he allowed Reed to proceed, indulging in his perceived victory.

He listened along, prepared to field any gaps in the account:

"Well, I was here all day, but…" Andrews faltered, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Slowly, he gestured to a small metal panel mounted on the far wall, a slot cut in the centre. "I have a drop box for early morning checkouts. Got to sleep sometime, you know?"

> ANDREWS DID NOT SEE THE SUSPECT LEAVE.

> RECALCULATING APPROACH…

> SUGGESTION: ESTABLISH OTHER POSSIBLE WITNESSES.

"Does anybody else work here, or is it just you?" Reed asked, surprisingly in sync with Nines' own neural processes.

"I mean, there's Julie. I did tell you about Julie, right?"

No words passed between the partners, though the android could sense a mutual disdain developing for the tangent.

"She's a lovely girl, always helping me out, going to college in September. Sharp as a tack, that one. I could ask if maybe she saw—"

Reed was the first to break. He shoved the notebook back into his pocket with a groan, mostly unused. "You know what? Never mind…"

Nines resumed the lead, reluctant to leave empty-handed after the profound feat of mental endurance that had carried them this far.

"Would you have any CCTV records from the night in question?"

"Well, I've got the camera up there…" Andrews gestured to the corner of the room with a weak flourish that failed to inspire confidence. "But it's grainy as sin. You can't make out anything but blurs and squiggles. I'm not sure what good it'll be."

"Regardless of its quality, a copy of the footage would be appreciated." Nines straightened his back authoritatively, eager to conclude the mind-numbing exchange. "We can analyse it ourselves to determine its usefulness."

"Well, I wouldn't know how to make a copy, but I can give it a go…never got to grips with this newfangled technology. If you ask me, it just makes everything more confusing."

Nines hummed, glossing over what could have easily been taken as another insult. It seemed pointless, seeking to educate a man teetering on the brink of senile dementia. Instead, he lifted his hand, retracting the skin to expose the chassis beneath—a quiet demonstration of what, precisely, his 'newfangled technology' was capable of.

"If you could show me to the hub, I will be able to download the data myself."

"Oh, right, yes, I forgot that you—uh—" Andrews fumbled, reassessing his words before he said anything else potentially contentious. Or got himself arrested. "That androids could do that."

With a stiff nod, he opened the bolted gate beside the desk and slid it back obligingly.

"This way, please."

While he had hoped Andrews' assessment was a consequence of technological ineptitude, the man had proved frustratingly correct. Nines reviewed the security footage as they stepped onto the street but found himself unable to decipher anything but mangled contortions of pixels.

"So much for a quick in and out," Reed complained, groaning loudly. "If I had to listen to another word about 'lovely Julie,' I was going to blow my brains out."

Nines huffed at the theatrics, his amusement growing as he watched Reed recoil from the cold. His chin was buried in his jacket, nose peeking over the zipper.

"Perhaps you were too dismissive—this Julie could have been a valuable witness."

"That seems pretty unlikely."

"I don't know, Detective. I hear she's rather sharp."

Then Reed's irritation faltered. He leaned back, exhaling a rogue chuckle into the air, the sound carrying like smoke until it vanished.

"Seriously, did you download a sense of humour? Because you are full of them today."

"Nothing I have said has been in jest," the RK countered. It was a selective truth, punctuated by a light shrug. "I am simply being transparent."

"Surprised you didn't rip that guy a new one the second he started spewing useless bullshit. I thought you were designed to intimidate."

> Do not be mistaken, Detective. I was highly tempted.

He relented from vocalising this particular cognitive strand, maintaining an appropriate degree of professionalism. "I was designed to intimidate criminals, not harass civilians. Well, that, and also to—"

His voice was claimed from him.

Its absence was jarring and unceremonious as the world around them was plunged into darkness.

Nightfall had arrived without warning, and Nines was forced to scramble through it, unable to see anything ahead. Then, like the beam of a torch, a set of large, fearful eyes cut through the shadows.

“̸̾͜"N̷̲͍͒͑͌̌̕9̵͙̀̉̌́̒͝—̸̮̪̐

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Blue.

It flooded his sightless gaze—a chaotic kaleidoscope of pixels—until it coagulated and dripped in thick, viscous lines down his hands.

The liquid slipped from his splayed fingers, pooling at his feet, dripping until each trace was gone, and the puddles faded from view.

Invisible to all who looked, but with stains that permeated his skin. Remaining there forever, visible only to him.

"...Nines…?"

A flash of light and day returned. The android reeled back, clutching his temple, blinking in the harsh winter sun.

Reed was staring at him, his hand offering some protection from the oppressive rays as it waved inches from his face.

"You're not glitching on me, are you?"

The lingering tendrils of his nightmare taunted him. Skating across his arms and legs, threatening to tighten their hold and drag him back into the void.

Then they receded, and he was safe—for now—able to press ahead.

"I am not," he lied evenly, hoping his performance indicator would not betray him. "My diagnostics indicate that I am functioning normally."

"Right," Reed spoke flatly, his tone brimming with scepticism.

For a moment, it seemed he might relent, allowing the matter to rest. This was before he proved steadfast in his commitment to privacy invasion.

"...Are you sure? You're acting twitchy."

"If I were experiencing a fault that may inhibit this investigation, I would certainly be aware of it."

Even with the efforts to conceal his deceit, Nines couldn't hide the spidering cracks in his facade—ones that Reed pounced on with irritating precision.

Perhaps it was juvenile to bemoan this ability, given the man's profession, but Nines couldn't bring himself to care. His priority was ending the unwelcome scrutiny as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps it is best we focus on that rather than the intricacies of my program, which I can assure are beyond your comprehension."

Reed hissed through his teeth, the sound teetering between offence and mockery. "Jesus, okay, touchy much?"

The RK900 refused to dignify this with a response. He trusted his partner must have retained some of what had been discussed the previous day—the limitations of his program, including his scant tolerance for matters he did not wish to discuss.

Reed ultimately relented. He kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk, scowling bitterly—a petulant child who had failed to get his way.

"Fine. If you wanna talk business, what did you mean when you said our guy 'may as well' have used the same name? Because I checked those sign-ins, and I didn't see anything close to 'Thod Graws.'"

"Our culprit is fond of codes." Nines' attention flitted briefly to the data he had collated in the motel before returning to his partner. "His preferred method for alias generation appears to be anagrams. When reordered, Thod Graws translates to God's Wrath. This new name, Hans Stiver, has similar connotations."

Reed frowned, pausing to retrieve his forgotten notebook. With a grunt, he scrawled out the name. His brow furrowed as he bent over the page, letters scratched out and reordered, frustration simmering beneath his focus.

Minutes passed before his posture stiffened. His hunched shoulders snapped straight as a spark of realisation lit up his ruminative gaze.

"Holy shit, you're right."

The confirmation wasn't necessary. Nines had run multiple self-tests to finalise his computation. Still, a small sense of satisfaction came from having his findings validated.

"Your computer brain got anything for that gibberish from the other day?" Reed asked, lifting his eyes from the papers, genuinely curious. "The weird binary shit?"

"It wasn't binary. Had it been, I would have deciphered it instantaneously—"

Nines fought to maintain his composure, but hints of resentment slipped through. Heat crept across his face as his core temperature steadily rose.

"Truthfully, I'm unsure of the system used. While I possess advanced deductive capabilities, code decryption is not one of my primary functions. An oversight on Cyberlife's part, perhaps."

"Yeah, I'll say. What kind of detective bot doesn't have a built-in code breaker?"

The comment tightened his jaw, far from appreciative of Reed's decision to 'kick him' while he was down.

"At any rate," Nines continued, voice levelling back to its usual neutrality, "it may take me a little longer, but I'm confident I'll crack it soon."

"We can definitely add 'religious nutjob' to the suspect profile, anyway. Hell of a lot else we've got to go on…"

The RK900 refrained from mentioning he had already done this, not wishing to jeopardise his partner's burgeoning interest.

"I wouldn't suggest that we have nothing."

The assurance was ineffective, the scowl etched on the man's face deepening significantly. "What are you, fucking high?"

"I am incapable of getting high. They have yet to replicate the effects of human narcotics on androids. Although I hear Thirium-based alcohol is—"

"You knew what I meant, jackass," Reed challenged coldly. "Just face it—we've got no DNA, no reliable witnesses, and no more leads. Unless that footage is of the killer holding up a signed confession, this feels like another dead end."

The android bristled, mirroring the man's sour expression, as he was faced with the looming possibility he might be correct.

It was doubtful further analysis would draw anything salvageable from the footage. That being said, while tracing the killer's call had yielded little results, the data presented could still prove beneficial in guiding their movements. A different approach would be needed.

Nines considered the events that had predated the phone call: where their culprit may have been before checking into Cedars and whether retracing those steps could reveal anything new.

As he assessed the TSU transmission for any overlooked details, his attention shifted to the surrounding buildings. Among the drab streetscape, a shock of red drew his focus. Formed in bold lettering on a weathered storefront:

> MIKEY'S PHONES AND ELECTRONICS.

He was pulled from his analysis, the discovery sparking a new hypothesis. Their trip, it seemed, had not been wasted—having brought them to what might be their next significant lead.

"Perhaps not," he concluded, a satisfied quirk tugging his lips. "We can assume that our culprit used a burner phone when they arranged the HR400's services. He would have needed to purchase the SIM somewhere, as well as the phone itself—how convenient that a store nearby could provide him exactly what he was looking for."

As Reed followed the explanation, his gaze drifted to align with his partner's. Upon catching sight of the storefront, he received the information with far greater scepticism.

"Detroit is a big fucking city," he said bluntly. "Our perp could've bought that SIM from anywhere. Even if we had a hunch, we'd have no way of tracing it. Thing is probably long gone."

"Maybe so, but the log collected from the suspect's call provided more than a location—

The phone used was a 2013 Samsung S3. If it so happens that a phone of that model was purchased in that store, with a prepaid SIM included, in the days before the murder..."

"...It would seem like one hell of a tidy coincidence," Reed grunted, begrudgingly conceding the point. "Alright, tin-can, I'll bite. But if you're wrong about this, I'll fucking dismantle you."

"Duly noted." The smirk tugging his lips grew before it was suppressed. It occurred that their current opportunity ought to be seized promptly, lest it slip from their fingers.

"I suggest we act quickly. We have failed to check in with the Captain for quite some time. No doubt he'll wish to receive an update."

#oh we are so back #apologies for the incredibly long hiatus #dbh #detroit become human #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #dbh fic

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ao3feed-gav900 · 25 days ago

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Forgive me Connor

https://ift.tt/uPjY7fO by FallenRosemary The deviant Connor keeps failing a mission after mission, just because he can't bring himself to hurt his own kind anymore and silently wishes for the androids to win the revolution. The CyberLife decides that he should be deactivated permanently and replaced with an upgraded model. Eventually the RK900 learns the horrifying truth behind his activation and doesn't take it well. Will the newfound emotions destroy him? Words: 3164, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson, Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Markus (Detroit: Become Human), RT600 "Chloe" Android(s) (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski, Original Android Character(s) (Detroit: Become Human) Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human) Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Whump, Hurt Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt Gavin Reed, Hurt Hank Anderson, Hurt Simon, everybody needs a hug, Forgive Me, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Identity Issues, Abuse, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Blood and Violence, Mind Control, Computer Viruses, Nightmares, Survivor Guilt, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, android interfacing, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Men Crying, Crying, androids can feel pain, Machine Upgraded Connor | RK900, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, It/Its Pronouns for Upgraded Connor | RK900, They'll change as he deviates, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900 is Called Nines, Black Chassis Nines, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, First Love, First Kiss, Soft Gavin Reed, Gavin Reed Not Being an Asshole, Author has never played DBH, First Time, Top Gavin Reed, Bottom Upgraded Connor | RK900

#AO3feed #dbh #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900

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ahumblenipple · 5 months ago

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I got to take place in this year's Reverse Big Bang @dbh-bb with the lovely @pichuxcreatesthings ! They did some gorgeous work and came up with the concept, and yours truly has been writing it down. There's a lot of other really great pieces coming out for the collection, so definitely keep your eyes open if you want to see more : )

Hank Anderson has endured much in his life, and the years after the Android revolution haven't been any different. So when a new case leads him to the far coastlines of Maine, he half expected the town to offer him a bit of respite from the chaos of Detroit. He could not have been more wrong. He's partnered with the strangest android he's ever met. A man by the name of Connor who leaves his hair on end, and makes him question more than just the events of the sleepy town. But they have a job to do, and no matter how pretty or strange the Android is, Hank knows his time here is temporary. There's no way he could ever get attached. Never again. A story of mourning, loss, and finding something decent in the cold waters of reality.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Relationship: Hank Anderson/Connor

Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900, Sumo (Detroit: Become Human)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Mer-Connor, canon typical alcoholism in Hank, Trans Male Character, Trans Hank Anderson, Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Hank Anderson, It's gonna be rough for a bit before it gets tender, Case Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and for the FUN tags...., Tentacle Dick, Connor has two dicks, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex

Language: English

Collections: Detroit: Become Human Reverse Big Bang 2024

#detroit become human #connor rk800 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hankcon #mermaid au #mer au #case fic #dbhrbb2024

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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years ago

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Word count: 0.4k

A/N: You asked for angst, so here's angst. Also this turned out to be a part two of this fic.

WARNINGS: GN!reader, not proofread, hurt with no comfort, Nines doesn't know to to propperly express his concern

Blurry silhouettes and incoherent sounds were the things (Y/N) was met with once they fluttered their eyes open. They tried to sit up but the sharp pain, piercing their skull, stopped them from doing so.

“Rest, kid.” Familiar voice echoed in their ears as they felt the impact of hands gently pressing them against the mattress.

“I knew it would be dangerous for (Y/N) to be with you two.”

“Gavin, that’s enough.”

“Detective Reed, I highly doubt you would’ve done better if you were in the same position as me and Nines. In fact, I doubt you could’ve located (Y/N) on your own.” Sparks emitted from Connor’s piercing gaze; Nines’ hand caught Connor by the shoulder, silently requesting for him to keep his cool.

“Shut up, tin can!” Gavin shot back in a defensive manner.

“Gavin you better head back to the department.” Quite literally Hank kicked the detective out with a sarcastic smile on his face. In response Gavin only tsked as he stormed out of the room. With him now gone the full attention shifted back on (Y/N), who was still processing the small fight that occurred right before their -still sleepy- eyes. All three of them, encircled around the bed, looked at them; (Y/N) squirmed in discomfort at the sudden inflow of attention on them.

“Detective, how are you feeling?” Connor asked them as he gently sat on the edge of the bed far enough to not cause them any physical discomfort.

“I’ve been batter.” They muttered, their voice barely above a whisper. Behind Connor’s shoulder, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of Nines, whose intense stare bore into them. Quickly they looked away, unnerved by the visible wrath behind his icy blue irises.

“Detective, you should have stayed close behind us and none of this would have happened!” The RK900 snapped, the sudden change in tone caused (Y/N) to flinch, tears formed in the corners of their eyes. Connor glanced at his successor, the LED on his temple lit in a bright amber color; Nines fell silent, bright red danced on his own LED as his eyes locked on the floor. Hank shook his head in disappointment, his hand rubbed (Y/N)’s shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“We all worried about you, kid.”

“I didn’t mean to burden you.” Hot tears rolled down their cheeks as a wave of thoughts took over their pulsing head. Guilt washed over their features, their heart clenched in a familiar pain- the one of disappointment.

“You don’t. Shit happens.” Hank smiled at them in a failed attempt to calm them down, yet (Y/N) couldn’t. A waterfall of tears flowed down their face as they were faced with their insecurities. The two androids were frozen in place.

#dbh imagine #dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #connor x you #connor x reader #nines x reader

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unstablerk800 · 10 days ago

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𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤

Rating: Explicit Pairing: RK900/Fem!Reader (third person) Tags (tagging as I go): post-android revolution, kidnapping, angst/fluff, hurt/comfort, Stockholm syndrome, protective RK900, manipulation, solitary confinement, blood, injury, violence, gore, illnesses, RK800, RK800-60 and RK900 are considered siblings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements Read on Ao3.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14. 🔽

Chapter 15.

Word count: 6,5k

The natural order of the world was established anew after RK900 was activated. 200,000 of them was enough to hack themselves into everything and destroy half of America. So humans became what they should be in the new world order. They became the slaves, and androids were their new masters.

RK900 sat down in front of her, at the other side of the table in the kitchen. He placed down a small box from which contained all the necessary tools to trim and file her nails. Since Connor told them he'd work with the android animals for a few hours, RK900 thought it'd be best if they spent some time together. Just to fix her nails and test the waters about how she felt these days, because since they've met those humans, she was awfully quiet.

"Give me your hand, please", his voice was calm and quiet, and she obeyed him without saying a word.

A part of him wondered what else would she do without asking questions. How far would his authority over her go? His thoughts remained hypothetical; he wouldn't betray her trust. She'd been through enough in the past few days, he wouldn't add to it. If anything, he wanted her to feel safe around him.

He took her left hand in his own. He couldn't help it, he analyzed her nails. RK900 discovered that even though her hands had been cleaned many times since the incident, neither the medical androids nor her took good care of her nails, and they still told a story about how she was trying to scramble away from her attackers. She must've dragged her nails across concrete to get them so badly damaged. The thought alone made his stress levels rise.

RK900 said nothing as he picked up a tool form the box and trimmed her nails. Her hand felt slightly colder than usual in his hold. He worked in silence, trimming and then filing each and every nail so it wouldn't get stuck in her clothing and would grow out properly. He did an amazing job; she guessed he downloaded the instructions how to do it beforehand. For a brief second, she wondered how much data he'd downloaded so far just to take good care of her. It was almost… sweet.

Although, judging by his rapidly spinning electric blue LED, he had quite a few things to think about at the sight of her hands, and she couldn't help but guess the reason why.

"Do you know what happened?"

Her question caused him to pause, and his icy, grey eyes glanced up in hers. She was taken by surprise at how serious he looked then.

"I have my theories."

He ever so gently placed her left hand down before he reached out for her right hand. That one looked even worse than the left one. RK900 ran an analysis again.

"I know you fought back", he murmured, making her regret that she asked. "I know you were desperate to get away."

"Can we please not talk about it?"

His eyes shifted to look in her eyes again, but she was looking away. He didn't mean to trigger her, but it seemed that this was more than enough. Her cheeks flushed slightly and tears already gathered in her eyes.

"Of course", he agreed quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel like this."

He trimmed her nails gently once again, then filed the edges, but there were two nails which were damaged way too much. He wondered why hadn't she told neither Connor nor him that her hand was aching from touching anything; it must've been painful to hold things with these nails.

"I'd like you to tell me how you feel in the future", he calmly reached for a small bottle of nail glue. As he opened the bottle and started to apply the glue, he could detect that her pulse was rising. He didn't look up, just continued to work. "You needn't worry or stress about this. I'd just like to know how you feel, so I can help you."

"I don't feel anything."

He finished putting the nail glue on her broken nail, and he looked at her face again. She was staring way away from him, probably at the clock on the microwave that displayed the current time.

"Nothing?" RK900 asked softly, and her eyes shifted back in his general direction.

"Nothing."

She did not make eye contact as she said that, and her hand became even colder in his palm. He knew she was lying. But he chose not to press on it.

"Alright", he acknowledged, then applied the nail glue on her other finger as well.

Later that day, while both him and Connor were with her in the bedroom where she snuggled up to RK800's chassis after she fell asleep – listening to his thirium pump regulator, as always –, Nines decided to talk about this with Connor. If they couldn't get to her to deal with everything she'd been through, they'll need to include a professional. There had been a large number of andriods who were fascinated by the human psyche, and would help humans deal with their traumas.

They could understand the surface symptoms, of course. She disassociated. She probably felt emotionally numb, because her mind couldn't deal with all the trauma she experienced. She'd try and shy away from situations that could be potentially triggering, and found little to no joy in activities she liked before. Of course, she probably was in constant pain due to her injuries that needed healing in the upcoming few days, but both androids agreed that if this state persists, they'd ask for help – whether she liked it or not.

~*~

She was sitting on the edge of the bed in silence. Nines walked in front of her, then he knelt on the floor and observed her face. She didn't move her eyes to look at him; she seemed like she wasn't even aware that she wasn't alone. Her eyes looked distant, empty, they've lost their shine.

The first two days with her after they've dealt with her abusers went by in relative calmness. She'd take care of herself in general. It just occurred to the android that she never once complained about the pain she must've felt. Both him and RK800 made sure she got her painkillers on time, but they could never determine whether they worked for her or not. She remained unresponsive when it came to her traumas. Both physical and mental. Whenever either of them tried to press on the events that took place in the underground tunnels, she would shut down.

And now, she was shutting down without anything even happening to her.

RK900 knew she left the tea and sandwich Connor prepared for her untouched. Her usual time for breakfast passed two hours ago, and she didn't want to eat last night, either. She looked calm, unbothered; but the circles under her eyes – coupled with his observations – let Nines know that something was terribly wrong. She didn't eat and couldn't sleep.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, his voice as soft and gentle as possible. She didn't reply immediately, just her lashes fluttered as she stared forward. "Please… talk to me."

He reached out for her hand which she rested in her lap. When he touched the back of her hand, she flinched, then her eyes came back into focus, and she stared at him like she wasn't even aware he was there until then.

"Nines?" She mumbled, looking confused.

"Yes", he murmured quietly, "are you alright?"

"I-"

She glanced around the room, trying to remember what was she doing there. What was she doing before this? She couldn't remember. Flashing lights and noises resurfaced in her mind and she felt nauseous as another splitting headache started to roll in her brain.

"I feel like-" She glanced down at him again, with a frown on her face. "Like I'm- trying to keep sand in my hands", she lifted her hands up and glanced down at them. His hand remained in her lap. She frowned slightly. "I don't- when did I come here?"

"You've been here since you woke up. Three hours ago", Nines replied softly. "Are you feeling alright?"

It was so hard to get her to answer this question, but they were patient. RK900 had to ask several times before he could get a proper answer out of her. It seemed that she had been conditioned not to complain or tell the truth about her well-being.

"I- don't know."

Nines tilted his head a little as his brows moved up slightly.

"You don't know?"

His quiet question made her glance back in his eyes. She looked troubled.

"I just. I just feel like something will go wrong", she confessed quietly. "I don't know what's going on." She paused for a few seconds before she added, "what is going to go on."

"Nothing is going to go on", Nines reassured her. "You are safe. We're safe. Everything will be alright."

"How- how can you be so sure?" She glanced around the room, unknowingly searching for a clue to figure out if this was a test or not. "We can't know. I can't know. I could… still be in there. In the lab."

A shiver ran across her body, RK900 could sense it. He took her hands in his own and gently squeezed her fingers; his touch was warm against her skin.

"They've given you substances that caused hallucinations?"

"Sometimes", she confirmed. "Although…" Her brows twitched. "Those felt different from this…"

"You've been in our care for weeks", he murmured. "This isn't a hallucination. I am not a hallucination. I am here, I am real. And I'm keeping you safe. Always."

There was a long pause as she was observing his face. Nines could see the understanding within her eyes until the spark gradually faded from them. He was at a loss.

"You need to eat", he decided, squeezing her fingers again. "I'll bring you something."

When he moved to get up, he stopped mid-movement when she grabbed his fingers tighter. He remained, crouching, in front of her.

"N- no, wait-", she frantically pulled his hands back against her neck, under her chin. "Don't."

Nines frowned, this time.

"You need to eat", he repeated slower, gentler. "You didn't have dinner last night, and you've missed breakfast today. Your body needs nutrients."

"I can't."

He gently removed his fingers from her grip and cupped her face in his hands.

"Why can't you eat, hmm?"

"It hurts." When Nines didn't reply just stared at her in shock – he wasn't prepared for this answer for sure –, tears gathered in her eyes again. "It hurts to chew."

Days passed since the accident. Days! And she said nothing! RK900 needed a few seconds to absorb that.

"Why didn't you tell us something sooner?"

"I- didn't want to be a burden-"

The way she broke eye contact and tried to lock her eyes onto something, anything, to distract herself told him more than anything else.

"Listen", his voice was as gentle as possible as he nudged her cheek to force her to look back into his eyes. "You're not a burden to any of us. If something hurts, tell us."

"Everything hurts, Nines", she blurted out the words as a sob shook her, "breathing hurts, drinking hurts, chewing hurts- even lying down and trying to fall asleep hurts. I don't want it to hurt anymore."

"I can help with th-"

"I don't know why can't I just lie down and die."

RK900's LED spun to red at an alarming rate. Even the thought was unbearable for him. He knew she was a human and that this must happen sooner or later, but if he had a say in it, it wouldn't happen in the upcoming few decades for sure.

"You say that because you're in pain", he said out loud, to calm her down and himself, too. His LED reverted back to blue – slowly. "I'm sure that if your injuries heal and the pain vanishes, you'll feel alright again."

"What if I don't? What's the point of me being alive?"

The android stared up in her eyes for a few long seconds. He didn't have answers to such questions; he couldn't know what to say to that. Earth's most sophisticated android could not answer such a trivial question.

"Would it suffice if I asked you to try and live for me?" Nines gently stroked her new tears away. "For us?"

She stared at him, her eyes full of unspoken emotions.

"Maybe", she whispered.

"Alright. Maybe it is. Let's just wait and see, okay?"

"Okay."

Nines slowly let her face go.

"You still need to eat, but if you're in that much pain, I'll bring you a stronger painkiller, this time."

Quietly standing up, he noticed that her expression morphed again, indicating that she did not want to be left alone. He reached out for her hand and when she slipped her fingers in his hand, he smiled a little at her.

"Just one step at a time", he told her quietly as she got up with him. "Alright? Just a step. And I'll be with you along the way."

"Promise?" She pulled closer to him, touching his arm with her other hand, pulling close to his synthetic body.

"Promise", he confirmed without hesitation, leaning closer to her to kiss the top of her head.

After he managed to get her stronger painkillers and she could eat and drink something, she announced that she was sleepy and tired and would like to sleep. While he knew that she was actively trying to escape her thoughts, he couldn't deny her the rest. He stayed with her all day, watched her as she slept, snuggled up close to his body as he monitored her.

She could sleep for long, long hours. As if she was catching up with sleep still.

The days found a calm rhythm, her injuries faded, her pain lessened and she seemed like she was alright. RK900 thought that he could go back to continue his own mission, when something unexpected happened.

It was a calm, regular morning. She was quietly eating her breakfast, staring off to nothing. Nines sat in front of her and scanned her vitals, as always, trying to figure out how to help and pinpoint her triggers. The doorbell rang and Connor walked over to the entrance to open it. A brief introduction could be heard before he was back in the kitchen – with a huge box in his hands.

"We have kittens", he announced, and brought the box next to her with a smile on his face.

She glanced down in the box and saw an orange cat mother with her six kittens around her. The big cat stared up at them, uncertain. There was a big, fluffy, dark blue blanket under them to keep them warm.

"Where did they come from?" She asked quietly, then glanced up at Connor who wasn't quick enough to erase his worried expression.

"A friend of mine", he replied, his tone sounding off. He took a moment to pause. Nines noticed that, and he straightened himself on his chair as he stared at Connor, unblinking. "…a friend of mine asked me to take care of them."

What happened?

Nines sounded direct after he was granted permission by Connor to connect.

Blip and Cain, Connor answered, we've lost contact with them.

Since when?

Three days.

Nines rose to his feet at the news. He walked over to her as she glanced up at him, and he could see that she sensed that something must've happened. He observed her without saying a word, then reached out to stroke her cheek with his right hand's knuckles.

"I'll be back soon", he promised her quietly, and when she nodded, he left.

A few hours passed by with Connor taking care of the cat and her kittens. When he was preparing lunch for her, she walked up to him, stopping on his right side.

"Connor", she mumbled.

"Hmm?"

He didn't look at her first, as he was focusing on cutting up the cucumber for the salad he wanted to serve to her.

"I've been thinking", she hesitated, then glanced at the slices of steaks quietly sizzling in the pan on the top of the stove. "I'd like you to put a tracker in me."

Connor's hands stopped what they were doing.

"What?" He straightened up and frowned, looking in her eyes.

"Please, put a tracker in me. In my veins. So I won't get lost again."

The android's LED spun quickly as he was processing her request. At the core, this was not a bad idea. They all knew that her collar could be removed, and they also owned technology that allowed them to track individuals. But for it to be her who requested it…

"Why would you want that?"

Connor's voice was soft and gentle, but she still flinched a little.

"It'd just feel right", she shrugged, her eyes pleading. "Please. Maybe I'd sleep better if I knew that even though if it happens again… you'll have a way of finding me."

"Alright", Connor replied quietly. "I'll talk about it with Nines, alright?"

"Thank you", she smiled at him, then walked back in the living room and sat down to relax.

Since Nines saw no harm and neither did Connor, they've scheduled the tracker insert for the next day with the help of the medical androids. When it was done and they've tested it, she looked much more calm and she seemed more relaxed with it.

Until everything went wrong.

That day was just another day. It was a Friday, her watch stated it that morning, when she walked out in the kitchen. She was barefoot, her hair was messy, and some of her bruises were still visible on her face as she yawned and wandered out of the bedroom. She woke up alone, but that was hardly unusual; RK900 and Connor often left the apartment or were occupied in another room, so she didn't panic. At first.

The living room and the kitchen was empty. She checked on the animals, too, but Connor wasn't there. There were no notes, no breakfast for her on the table… nothing. No sign of them.

She walked over to the fridge and opened it before she yawned again. She made herself a sandwich and ate – she knew how Nines was a firm believer of her eating breakfast, even if she didn't feel like she needed it –, then she made sure that Connor's living animals were fed, then she walked back in the living room where she covered herself with the soft plush blanket she got from Connor and she started to colour on her tablet.

Hours passed by. The apartment was so silent that she would've heard if someone dropped a pin. As the middle of the day approached, she decided to call Sixty, but he didn't pick it up. She tried to call Connor, but the line was dead. An uneasy feeling slowly, but surely, started to awaken in the pit of her gut.

The day went by without her handlers arriving back home. She wasn't sure what would happen if a human's handlers didn't come home, but at the same time, she didn't want to find out. As the night approached and she realised she'd need to sleep alone, she realised two things.

One, if she had to sleep alone, she wouldn't sleep at all.

Two, something horrible, terrible must've happened to RK900 and Connor, and she could do nothing about it.

She flicked up every light switch in the home as dusk arrived, and she started to pace up and down in the middle of the living room, thinking about everything she'd learned from the androids during the time she'd been with them. Even if they were destroyed, shut down, they'd upload their memories and they'd be able to come back. But what if… what if they weren't destroyed? What if they wanted to come back but could not because they were held captive?

She almost screamed in relief when the entrance door opened all of a sudden, but her heart fell to the bottom of her stomach as soon as she saw that it was neither Nines nor Connor – and not even Sixty – who entered the living room. She recognized this model; an MC500, an android with paramedic specifics. She met a lot of this specific android on the medical floor. He quickly scanned her, not the room. He scanned her watch, too; the gadget had been recording how many steps she took, and he was slightly surprised when he realised that the counter was over ten thousand steps that day – despite the limited space in the apartment.

"I need you to come with me", he told her, then turned around to lead the way.

"Where are my handlers?"

It occurred to him that she had a significant amount of stress in her voice. He half turned to glance at her; she followed him, worry clearly written on her face.

"We'll tell you everything you need to know", he reassured her, "this way, please."

He got into the elevator and she followed him.

"Please, tell me", she begged, on the verge of tears. "Are they alright?"

"We're unsure."

That only heightened her anxiety.

"How… how come you're unsure?"

He didn't answer her. As the elevator arrived, they stepped out and he led the way down a long corridor, to a room. She was anxiously fidgeting with the edge of her shirt as she discovered that the room was a big one they probably used for meetings; and this time, it was full of all sorts of androids. Some with LEDs, some without. They stared at her in absolute silence, and she was sure they could all hear the way her heart was beating hard and fast against her ribs. She was told to sit down on a chair at the end of the table, and when she complied, the man in front of her, on the other side of the table, started to speak.

"We've gathered here to talk about the possibility of your handlers being held captive."

She stared at the man in front of her. She knew him – remembered his face, his voice, his eyes, even though they were mismatched now. The tone of his voice was burned in her mind as she recalled what they've done to him for trying to help her.

"Markus?" She whispered, her hands twitching in her lap before they started to fidget with the edge of her shirt anxiously.

"Correct", Markus confirmed, looking her in the eye before his gaze dropped to the collar around her neck. He allowed her to have a few moments of silence to let that settle in, then he started to speak. "We've lost contact with RK900 and RK800 around midnight. They both were near the central park. Do you know anything about where did they go and why?"

Of course. Two androids suddenly disappear, and she'd be accused of doing something to them at once. She almost broke down in tears.

"No… no, they were with me until I fell asleep. I don't know where did they go", she replied quietly, her voice trembling with clearly detectable fear.

"Did they tell you anything about leaving the tower?"

"No", she frowned as she tried to remember. "They were quiet in the evening. They always are. I… I fell asleep with them being there. Near me. They know I don't feel safe if they're not around."

Markus frowned.

"You've had your fair share of trauma", he noted, "I'd hate to put you through more, but I have to. According to our laws, every human must be assigned to a handler. Since you've lost both of your handlers, we need to find a new handler for you."

Markus paused when he saw her expression. She looked confused, sad and… enraged? At the same time. There were so many complex emotions written on her face that he couldn't determine what did it mean at first.

"I'm… I don't understand", she said at last, "you said I lost them but… but they're just missing, right? They're not… dead?"

"We've lost our way to communicate with them", Markus nodded, "and our systems can't find androids if they've deviated. In the past few months, androids suddenly vanish. Those who're deactivated, find their way back to us, so we know that there is a lethal group of humans who're taking our people, but we can't do anything about them."

She stared at him as if she thought he was joking.

"You can't do anything about them", it wasn't even a question, she just echoed the last words of his sentence.

"No android can enter that place", Markus's expression darkened. "Their defense system makes it impossible for us to walk through the doors of the base."

The other androids exchanged bewildered glances; why did Markus confide in a human like her?

"Why are they taking androids?"

"They're experimenting on them", Markus's hands balled up into fists under the table. "They're trying to find a code that simulates pain for us. They want to destroy us. Isn't that what humans always want to do?"

Her hands trembled as she shook her head, her eyes full of tears. Knowing that this was the fate what Nines and Connor had to face enraged her.

"You know that's not true", she finally replied, raising her shaking hands to rub the tears away from her eyes.

"Most of the time it is true", Markus shook his head and leaned back in his seat. "Back to the matter at hand. You're in the lucky position that you can choose a handler for yourself, thanks to your unique status. Who'll it be?"

She blinked a few times to clear her head a little. He didn't even think about… he didn't want to try and free his people? Was he this afraid? The thought was numbing.

"I want my own handlers", she whispered then, steeling herself.

"They're gone. There's nothing we can do."

"There is!" She raised her voice now, and slammed on the table. "Infiltrate the base!"

"How?" Markus's tone was both annoyed and condescending. He tilted his head, his mismatched eyes narrowed. "Did you even pay attention to what I just said?"

"Send me!"

Markus stared at her for a few long, long seconds, as the other androids burst out in laughter around them. He knew she was deadly serious, and she saw that he was thinking about letting her do it. When the laughter died down, she looked even more determined than before.

"I am a human. I'm sure I can get in. You can arm me however you like – even if you take my collar down, you'll know where I am. I have a tracker in me." She paused, and when he said nothing, she continued, "I could find them and the others who were taken; I could free them all and neutralize everyone else."

"How would you neutralize everyone else?" Another android asked, making her look at him without her batting an eye.

"I'll kill them."

Markus was shocked at the cold determination that rang in her voice. He could recall snippets; glimpses of a time long gone. She must've learned to fight for herself since then. The lab… the tests… her helplessness…

"Please, Markus", she pleaded, and he realised he wouldn't be able to say no to her. Not to her."Let me try this. I… owe them this much. They've risked everything for me, not long ago."

Markus stared at her for a few long seconds, assessing the dangers she might face and the outcomes of her endeavor. This could be the very last time he saw her if he allowed her to do this – but at the same time, human allies were so very few. He might not have another chance like this, and they'd need to act fast.

"Alright", he decided quietly, his voice ringing in her ears. "But you're not going in empty handed."

~*~

"So, how did you find us?"

The question was met with an unnerving stare. It looked like the woman hadn't had food in days; she was pale and she looked dehydrated, her cheekbones were standing out more than they should've, but her eyes were glinting with a spark that could not be snuffed out by the bleak surroundings.

"I've had a team", she confessed, then fell in silence for a few seconds. The man let her think that through; allowing her a few moments of grief for her fallen comrades. "We heard that the androids were trying to find a human base somewhere nearby. Only I remained. Others either died or were captured."

They walked down a set of stairs. She had a bulletproof vest on under her simple coat, and she carried a gun in a holster attached to her waist. Unbeknownst to the man, she also had a dagger hidden in her boot. She followed him like a ghost, her steps silent as a cat's.

"Same story every day", the man grumbled and pushed a door open. Vivid lights scanned both of them, and she scrunched up her nose at it. "Sorry about that. Gotta make sure you're not an android. They're getting more clever with every fucking day, we need to be prepared."

"This device alerts you of unwanted guests?" She squinted, glancing up at the machine.

"Precisely. Makes 'droids malfunction the second they're scanned with that. Can't be too careful."

She took a good look on the machine, and tilted her head before she followed the man.

"By the way, I'm Gavin Reed." He turned to look at her now, grinning her way. "I was a cop before the shitstorm."

She made eye contact with him, unblinking, certainly unnerving him again.

"Milly Green", she uttered the lie effortlessly. "Journalist."

"I've never heard of you before", Gavin cocked his brow and sized her up again.

She didn't move, neither did she blink. She didn't look uncomfortable or nervous, as if she didn't even feel anything particular.

"I've worked for a small paper back in New York", she reassured him with a half smile. "Just before the androids woke up, I came here to write about them."

"Guess you'll never get your money for that article, huh?"

Gavin laughed out loud, but she didn't even smile. When he started to look suspicious, she realised she must say something about her behaviour.

"Like I said", she murmured quietly, "I've lost my team. In New York, too."

"Yeah… sorry. Me too."

Gavin ran a hand in his hair at the back of head awkwardly, then led her down a corridor where humans were scattered around in a bigger room. They've lit fires in metal barrels and gathered around them for warmth, others were sitting on the floor or lying down, covered in blankets. She observed them as they walked and said nothing about them. She counted fourteen humans, men, women and a few children.

"Get yourself comfortable", Gavin motioned around, and she stared in his face without a word. "This is all we have – apart from some fuckin' androids on the deeper levels."

He turned away to glance at a woman and her daughter, missing the way the woman's eyes lit up with a newfound curiosity.

"Androids? Here?"

Gavin smirked as he looked back at her.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll show them to you later. For now, just get some rest. You look exhausted."

She knew she wouldn't be able to rest. Not like this.

But she allowed a few hours of rest for Gavin while she discovered the entire area. Counting humans. Checking if they had weapons, and if they did, what sort of weapons did they have. Trying to gauge how much of a threat they were.

A day has passed during which she couldn't eat and couldn't sleep. She was invited to sit with Gavin in one of the dullest rooms she'd ever seen. From what she could see, Gavin was respected by the other humans, and he had some sort of important role in keeping peace here.

"So? Will you show me the androids you have here or what?"

Gavin raised a brow as he looked at her from where he was sitting. She looked bored.

"Curious, are you?"

"Of course I am", she replied almost eagerly, "I'd like to see how can you keep them contained. I'm a journalist, you know; I could spread the word and help other human bases if I ever move on from here."

Gavin remained silent for a few seconds.

"Sure, why not", he shrugged, "come with me."

He led her out of the room, down a corridor that ended in an elevator, which, after he'd pressed level -12, led right into another room that looked hauntingly like a test room at CyberLife. She felt nausea at the sight of the sterile, pristine clean walls and familiar signs plastered on the walls and windows. Gavin led her to an enclosed space; the bulletproof glass pane was impenetrable, and she knew that if she wanted to free those who were inside, she'd need to find a key of some sort. Then, she realised that the glass panes operated with palm scanners; similar to those Nines and Connor were using in their homes to make the alarms work.

"Here's our first", Gavin tapped the first glass pane and she crossed her arms across her chest as she walked up to next to him, just when Gaving flicked a switch on.

Inside, there was an RK900 inside the room; suspended from the ceiling by handcuffs. His torso had been torn in half; countless wires hung from his body, others were attached to him and to the wall behind him. His LED was rapidly pulsing in crimson, his cheeks stained with countless artificial tears that never stopped flowing. He still had his white-black jacket on, the numbers stating his number – #313 248 317 – 123 – but his high-necked velcro shirt had been ripped open. He barely could open his eyes to look at his visitors.

But when he did, his eyes locked with hers instantly.

She was shaking her head in horror at the sight. Gavin was too occupied with his pleased humming when he saw that thirium leaked from the corner of RK900's mouth.

"We're keeping him alive for tests", he told her in a calm, almost pleased tone, "he's the first. We've tested our latest creation on him first."

She got a hold of herself before he turned to look at her. She needed every ounce of her willpower not to break down crying. She folded her arms again, and grabbed her elbows to support herself.

"What is that?"

"We're integrating a software in their programming that creates the sensation of pain", Gavin smirked, "this one, here?" He pointed at the glass pane, and behind it, at the RK900. "It's been muted, because it had been screaming nonstop, so it works. It's CyberLife's last android prototype, so that means that if it couldn't swtich our software off, then the other androids wouldn't be able to turn it off, either. Our main problem is that they're unstoppable, they don't get tired and they don't feel pain; we wanted to remedy that with a nice dose of ones and zeros. And we succeeded. Soon, every fucking android will feel if they get shot or hit or cut. And that will give us an advantage against them. We'll overload their senses with so much pain that they'll be absolutely paralyzed from it."

She, once again, realised that humans were way too creative when it came to hurt others. The terror she felt at the mere sight of that RK900 – strung up like a piece of meat, feeling excruciating pain nonstop, not even allowed to scream...

"Marvelous", she whispered.

She decided, in that moment, that Gavin had to suffer.

"Will you show me the others?" She smiled at him sweetly, and he laughed quietly.

"Curious, are you?"

"I'm glad you've found a way to fight against them", she nodded enthusiastically. "And I'd like to see what else you've got."

"I'll show you our other inmates", Gavin decided, touching a scanner near the next glass pane. Lights switched on. An RK900 and an RK800 were in the next cell; both had their arms bound tightly behind them, the ropes digging into their plastic padding. RK900 stared up at Gavin at once, in silent rage, but the RK800 looked like he was unconscious. "We're keeping these two together", Gavin smirked as he said that, "it seems that they are in a close relationship with each other. Whenever we 'treat' one of them, the other tries not to react, but they always end up begging."

She glanced at their numbers on their dirty coats. RK800's ended with 95, while RK900's ended with 485. These weren't the androids she'd been looking for, but her heart broke for them all the same.

"There's a theory machines can learn how to love, but I think that's just humbug", Gavin scoffed, "how can a thing love another thing, you know? Bullshit."

"Yeah", she whispered, "yeah, insane."

She thought of all the times she cuddled with her RK900, or when Connor pecked her face, her temple, when they held her close. The way Sixty lifted her in his arms, saying he was worried they were late. Why couldn't two androids share such a bond? Who could say that a machine did not understand what love was?

The next cell Gavin showed her had only one android in it. An RK800. As soon as the light turned on, he turned to stare at his visitors, and he froze as soon as he saw her. His chassis did not have an active skin on; he looked metallic and pitch black, his optical units were dark with a shining, bright orange sclera.

Her heart felt like it sunk into her stomach. Her eyes fell on the jacket he still had on himself.

RK800 #313 248 317 – 13.

Her lips parted as he took a few steps towards the glass pane. How could this be possible? Thirteen was destroyed, taken apart by CyberLife. Unless the androids rebuilt everyone they've lost; unless they've restored what they could to give their own kin a chance.

The way Thirteen stared at her now made her realise he definitely thought she was dead. He walked up to the glass pane and his expression shifted into a mournful one. But he did not make an attempt to break out of his cell; he didn't touch the glass pane, either. Her eyes flickered to the palm scanner. Then…

Gavin did not pay attention to the android, but to her; noticing that she definitely looked like she knew the machine. The next second, she turned her head to stare in Gavin's face unblinking, with eyes so dark, so determined, that he knew insantly that they've allowed a wasp enter their little hive to destroy it from the inside out.

He realised in that moment that this was the end.

#soulless #soulless fanfic #dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #detroit become human fanfic #dbh nines #dbh connor #dbh sixty #detroit become human nines #detroit become human connor #detroit become human sixty

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8-rae-rae-8 · 1 year ago

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Regress, Reblog, Regret, Reward.

Read On AO3

Gavin Reed runs a blog for his mental health, specifically his age regression. A certain RK900 finds it.

1/?

3k words

Read Tags on AO3

Gavin never wanted a caregiver of any sort, the most self sufficient he’d ever felt was when he was regressing. The lack of worries over work, not having to share a space… He happily, and easily, took care of himself. He found it to be his main coping strategy once he learned everything that could be learned about it, influence from an old therapist sealed the deal. One coping mechanism he found that worked consistently.

As common as ‘tantrums’ were with him, they successfully got out all the negatives and left him feeling better. Crying, kicking, shouting.. It worked and it didn’t hurt the ones he was close to, or used to be close to. He had his moments still, of course. But his coworkers didn’t get the brute of it. The less disciplinary files he had the better. It all worked in his favor.

Over the years, he had started a blog on a site he had already regularly used. Something centered around his regression specifically. Not knowing anyone who coped in the same way, he was determined to find others and settle into a nice community. It took more time than he’d like to admit to block as many NSFW tags and accounts as he could, and blocking more as they popped up. He was cautious. More times than not, he’d scroll his phone on the age regression tags while he was regressing. Just to get that feeling of togetherness in the times he was completely alone, which was a lot of the time. He knew he shouldn’t, really, because of his fragile state of mind and the possibility of coming across triggering content. But aside from shows, toys, and a few games, he didn’t have much.

He was fine being alone, though, even if it picked at him sometimes. That bit of loneliness could sting like a motherfucker on hard nights. Nights were he would debate between a pacifier, a calm show, and smoking some weed for a break from the weight he carried on his shoulders. Sometimes he’d do all three to alleviate the stress for even a few minutes. The weed helped loosen him up most times, but if he had more than his usual, he’d get paranoid. Checking windows, seeing things from the corner of his eyes. Usually he would catch on before it got bad, other times he would sit in an anxious haze, then go get his pacifier and lay in a lit room with his stuffed animal that he had deemed his protector. A teddy with a gold crown, a shield and a sword. Something an old friend got him from build-a-bear. Someone he had trusted deeply, then broke that trust. Even still, he loved that plush.

The blogged helped that sort of loneliness. With the asks he received, the replies and other interactions let him breathe in a sense of belonging that he thought he had lost many years ago. He grew close with a few of the people on there, the ones he interacted with most. They had a small group of mutuals. As he had learned more, he was very happily accepted into being a little sort of sibling group with them. It was as close as he’d gotten to a family again in a long while. And as he grew a bit more popular, he got comfortable messaging with people he didn’t quite know. But he never messaged or posted while regressed, a rule that was mostly to protect himself.

Those sessions of interacting with followers became more often the more relaxed he got on the site. He, of course, refused to show his face or name whatsoever. He posted under the name ‘little-forest-cub’, with nothing to allude to his job, name or location. But it was inspired by one of his favorite nicknames when small. He’s just a little bear, a small cub. Sometimes people questioned if he was a pet regressor as well with all the bear themed things, and would usually respond with a simple ‘i don’t know’ when he knew he probably did.

Never once did he tell anyone about any of this at work, the only person that hardly knew barely showed up anymore, even with the addition of the plastic prick- Connor, though he had noticed the difference he had made. It was important that they didn’t know. He was always thankful that the account was under a different email than the ones he would use for work or casual, normal day-to-day things. He had done everything in his power to keep everything separate.

Never once did he mention it or bring it up at work, nor did he check his account there either.

But one morning, an day he had off work more specifically, he checked his inbox to find a follow notification that made his stomach drop. A new message alongside that.

The face of his new-ish partner at work. An even worse version of Connor that really got him stirring. He almost made it impossible for him to keep working on his problems of anger issues and still feeling that ‘anti-android’ sentiments. Gavin still swore up and down that the detective models were going to take his job. Out-preform him and render him useless. And as much as RK800 told him, and the other coworkers that the RK900 came to work there already deviant, Gavin still didn’t want to believe that they had feelings and felt them on the same, if not higher, levels. It took a lot of time to get him to warm up to him, but at the very least, he called the android his name and the proper chosen pronouns.

The newer model was donned himself ‘Nines’, which Gavin had called stupid in a childish fit of annoyance. In no world was it necessary for him to hate the android as much as he did. That hatred faded ever so slightly over time as they were forced to work together. He argued every step of the way, until it hit about the third week. He had gotten injured and the RK900 helped him all the way to safety and waited with him for an ambulance. In that time, he realized that maybe Nines didn’t want to replace him. Because in his mind, he would have let him bleed out if he wanted him gone. But he didn’t do that. Then he realized that he must be doing a little better with his therapies if he isn’t jumping to the worst conclusion ever.

Nines didn’t seem as bad from that point, he even let the android fight back with him instead of storming out whenever something went wrong or he got pissed off. Sure, the comments could be horrible, but he would feel himself smirk a little when he got a response. A reaction of any kind rather than some dull, stupid look like he usually did after he got pissed. The android stopped feeling like such a threat, with lingering suspicion still, but the subtle shift in Nines’ steel gray eyes to something that felt more human let him put his guard down just a little.

But the follower notice and the message brought a sick feeling back to his mouth. The trust gained immediately felt like it went down the drain. That stupid robot face felt like it was mocking him as he stared at it. How did he find it? Of course the fucking android would, right? The bastard saw everything, he could even see his heart rate, caffeine consumption levels, or stress levels, just by looking at him. Oh how Gavin hated it.

Of course this is how his off day goes. The one day this week that he was even able to take off, Fowler constantly bitched about how he was on the clock overtime and the higher ups didn’t want to pay him for that, but wouldn’t give him a solid day off. And now he needed to go in to find Nines and throttle him-

No. He’s supposed to be working on that. He’s supposed to be trying to be civil. It was only just getting better and the android just had to go and fuck it up. If he had just kept to himself.

Gavin’s teeth clenched harder and harder as he hesitated to open the message, until a sharp pain shocked him into releasing that tension. That plastic prick. He wanted to get rid of the evidence, maybe just delete the whole account. If Nines had no proof, he could deny it, right? Wrong. He hated that stupid detective programming in Nines’ hardware, he could tell if Gavin was lying.

He forced his hand to the screen, pressing the notification and daring to skim the message. Not a word got rid of the sick taste in his mouth. It felt uniquely Nines, dull, characterless, and straight to the damn point.

It read:

“Good morning, I came across your account and I wanted to talk to you about this today. Can we meet at the station at 3pm today?”

Clearly not a care in the damn world from the android, and not a doubt it was Gavin either. As a detective, he should have known that he should have made the account as untraceable as possible, but he didn’t. Something he was deeply regretting now. Bile rose in his throat as he began to think. His one safe space could be so easily ripped away from him. And it was being taken, pried from his hands.

He desperately wanted to just ignore the message, let it rot in his inbox and try to forget. It wasn’t a feasible choice when Nines would undoubtedly stare him down every day until they spoke. So, on his day off, he pulled himself out of bed and went for a cold shower first thing. He waited to reply, just to be the most inconvenient as he possibly could be.

And when he did reply, he simply sent a thumbs up emoji and blocked the account Nines had used. For now, he couldn’t let the android stay on his page where he wasn’t welcomed.

Minutes were spent pacing. The last time anyone knew, they abused Gavin’s blind trust. They made his regression impure for months at a time before he seeked help from his therapist, then his community. He couldn’t help but wonder how much Nines had known, how much he had seen. It only made sense he would have looked as far back as he could, he was programmed to learn. That didn’t just disappear when he deviated.

His comfort jacket was left at home without a second thought, all of his comforting things were left behind. He couldn’t bring it along. He especially couldn’t bring his bag, more of a satchel kind of thing. It held everything he could possibly need. It had what he called his ‘panic paci’, a small sensory square what made crinkle sounds and was nice to touch, a small pack of tissues, and a thin, childish water bottle. A bag with things he kept for ‘just in case’ scenarios. But he had to risk not bringing it to be at least able to get Nines off his back.

He could almost hear the android’s reasons for concern now as he walked out of his apartment. It all made his stomach twist in knots with all the possibilities. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he felt pale. Clammy hands, racing heart, cold sweat, skin cold to the touch. It was almost nauseating how this got under his skin. His stupid coworker with his ridiculously smart fake brain he could so easily blow out. There would be no replacement with Cyblerlife mostly down and not making new androids. And as much as he hated his blue guts, he shook off those thoughts. If he even tried to speak like that with his therapist, they would ask things that always felt dumb to Gavin, ‘think about where he’s coming from’ or ‘listen before you decide how you feel’. Oh how it pissed him off even more, but.. His progress. He found it mattering more in his decision making because his therapist made gave him a reward system. Something a parent or a teacher would give a troublesome child. It bothered him just as it much as it helped, really.

The drive up to the station wasn’t much easier. The automatic taxi he took only forced him to think more about the android he had to talk to. Had to. It would risk his job if he didn’t. As he thought, he repeated that in his head. It would risk his job if he didn’t talk to Nines. That bastard would try to get him under investigation if he didn’t meet with him, Gavin was sure. He would try to replace him, just as he thought.

He was hot headed as he pulled up, a strong dizziness to match. No food, no coffee, nothing to prepare himself even after being awake so long. His eye bags were heavy, eyes sore. The more he forced himself, the more strain he put on his brain. Of course a headache was brewing the moment he stepped inside and that cold office air was directly on his cold face.

“Detective Reed.” The RK900 greeted him at their desks as if this was just another day, as if Gavin didn’t look like hell reincarnated. Steely cold eyes followed his every movement and no fear in them when Gavin dared to step up to him.

He wanted nothing more than to pull him into a nasty brawl, a bar fight times ten.

“You fucking bastard.” Gavin decided to start with. He didn’t bother with greetings, nor did he especially care about if the android was being helpful. The words his therapist would say lingered, but he didn’t want to listen when the plastic prick was right in front of him.

“Detective, be civil. We just need to talk.” Nines spoke, just as calm and calculated as always. Cold, too.

“Don’t give me bullshit, you know what you’re doing.” He lowered his voice, hands going to shove the android back by his shoulders against the glass divider that separated the hall and the bullpen. Gavin held a permanent scowl on his face.

The android hardly reacted while keeping a stare down at the detective. “Gavin, I’m not doing anything. I wanted to discuss your safety, and perhaps some of your history.”

His safety? His history? Oh hell no.

“You’re gonna fucking replace me, that it? You want me to spill shit, try and get me feeling soft so you get get me out.” Gavin pressed Nines back, keeping him against the glass with pure anger in his eyes. How could he not be pissed? He snapped with easy conviction.

“Detective, with your behavior, maybe you need it.”

Oh he was going to get it.

Right in the bullpen, Gavin pressed his forearm against the android’s throat and pinned him back against that glass divider. It would be easy for Nines to overpower him. This was a power trip, in a way. A reaction to a trigger. Even though he could fight back this time, he let Gavin have his time.

“I don’t need shit. I have what I need, and you fucking invaded that space. Shut up!” Gavin growled at him, brows pulled into a scrunch that burned at the surrounding skin.

He let Gavin have his outburst.

Profanities and threats were scowled at him until Gavin couldn’t hold him up there anymore. When he did let go, he pushed his head back against the glass too. Not enough to break anything, not even skin, but to get his point across.

He patiently waited. And waited.

When Gavin was out of breath and finally sitting, Nines looked down at him with some horrible mix of concern and annoyance.

“That’s enough of that tantrum, detective.” He spoke, and that anger flared up again. Gavin’s fists bunched up in his lap. It was a play, he was sure. But then a hand was rested on his shoulder.

“I’m not reporting you, nor am I replacing you.”

Gavin wanted to call bullshit. Why else would the android have even bothered to find his safe space, and intrude in it, then ask to talk at their workplace of all spaces? His mouth opened to speak.

“Ah.” Nines tsked. “I wanted to talk to you, both because I found the blog and I wanted to know if that was contributing to your new.. behavior.”

Behavior?!

This prick talking to him like he was a child was more enraging than anything else. His behavior… BS. He hadn’t changed outside of a bit of a lighter perspective.

“You don’t get to comment on anything, asshole. You’re the motherfucker getting in my shit then fucking me over.” Gavin sat up straighter into Nines’ space. He remained deflective, accusatory. He needed to.

“Well, I’m commenting anyway. You’re more lax, you have gotten more sleep, you have consumed much less caffeine, you aren’t snapping as much. Your last unprovoked fight was weeks ago.” It felt like utter lies to hear. He didn’t change that much, did he?

Tina had commented that she saw him actually smiling at something other than an animal video the week before. He had let Hank talk to him once too. He kept composed in one meeting with Fowler. And he hadn’t had to buy a new coffee grind that week either.

Was he that different?

“I don’t want your fake empathy your plastic brain thinks it has. Nothing is different.” Gavin deflected, again. He didn’t think anything was much different at all, or maybe he was just lying to get away.

The android seemed truly a bit disheartened by that, a small pang of guilt went through Gavin’s system.

“Gavin.” Nines was much more firm. “I’m not the bad guy here. You’re stressing yourself out. Your heart rate is high and you’re tense. Stay here, I’m going to get you water.”

And for some reason, Gavin stayed in his seat. Stirring in his anger, but it turning more to annoyance and exhaustion.

#dbh agere #agere #fandom agere #gavin reed #rk900 #gavin dbh #nines rk900 #dbh #detroit become human #nines x gavin #detroit become human agere

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ao3feed-rk1700 · 2 years ago

Text

Tears

by Leelany

Connor's grief is overwhelming him after they lose Sixty. He needs an outlet for his feelings, to feel alive, and to feel that Nines is still alive.

Why does Connor feel that Sixty is still with them?

Words: 1880, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of DBH rarepairsweek 6, Part 2 of Sacrifice - Tears

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60

Relationships: Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Rk1700, RK2500, RK1760

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Smut, Hopeful Ending, DBH Rarepairs Week

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47422078

#ifttt #ao3feed #rk1700 #detroit become human #rk900 x rk800

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ao3feed-hannor · 1 year ago

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Remontant Bloom

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50321785 by Lothlorienne Ready to commence yet another social season during which Lord Cole may or may not choose a bride, his father is reluctant to make acquaintance with the brothers Kamski - a pair of Americans which have come to stay with their aunt and are sure to cause a disturbance in the expected proceedings within their town. Especially the younger, mr. Connor Kamski, seems determined to become closely acquainted with the Andersons. Though the reserved Lieutenant starts off suspicious of possible underlying motives, he can not help but develop a liking to the bright young man as he gradually starts taking up more space in his life and his thoughts. Yet the attachment might come with additional hurdles to overcome, as something else besides genuine affection for the gentleman firmly starts to take root. Words: 4490, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Cole Anderson, Upgraded Connor | RK900, and various others making appearances as additional characters Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor Additional Tags: Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, Hanahaki Disease, Pining, Mutual Pining, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Requited Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Romance, Angst and Romance, Illnesses, Major Illness, Sick Character, Near Death Experiences, Feelings Realization, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50321785

#IFTTT #Hannor #Hankcon #AO3feed #Detroit Become Human

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sweeteatercat · 2 years ago

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Chapters: 36/? Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed Characters: Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Jeffrey Fowler, Tina Chen (Detroit: Become Human), Chris Miller (Detroit: Become Human) Additional Tags: Matter of Life and Death, Implied Relationships, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Cats, Friends to Lovers, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Soft Gavin Reed, Swearing, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Rk900 has a cat, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has Feelings, First Kiss, Drunk kiss, Slow Burn, Slow Romance Summary:

Saving a life isn't difficult. Taking responsibility for it, on the other hand, is. Nine has to face this harsh reality involuntarily when he gives a small, furry creature a second chance.

And yeah, Gavin is not happy about it at all.

#fluff and humor #fluff and hurt/comfort #romance #cats #gavin reed #nines rk900 #rk900xgavin #slow burn #detroit become human #friends to lovers #deviant rk900 #first kiss #soft gavin reed

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kneeling-for-nines · 2 years ago

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Freshwater Systems

Relationship: Gavin Reed/Nines (RK900)

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: Nonbinary Upgraded Connor | RK900 (terms used are bulge, erection, and cock), Estuary documentary, plot what plot/porn without plot, pee desperation, omorashi, watersports, wetting, piss kink, reed900’s piss kink, cumming in pants, once again there will be no piss drinking, dry humping, does it even count as dry humping if they’re both SOAKED?, hand jobs, cum eating, no aftercare this time folks, hurt/comfort, but in a “Gavin’s embarrassed” type of way

Summary: Gavin drinks way too much coffee before sitting down with Nines to watch a nature documentary. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: yes, I snuck a few fun facts about estuaries in here, they're COOL! In this fic, Nines is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns :))

Word Count: 1,540

AO3

“Estuaries and their surrounding wetlands are bodies of water usually found where rivers meet the sea. Although estuaries occur where freshwater meets saltwater, most ecosystems within are freshwater systems,” the nature documentary playing on Gavin’s and Nines’ TV explains.

Gavin shifts uncomfortably in his place curled up against Nines on their couch; all this talk of water has him realizing he probably shouldn’t have had that industrial-sized coffee right before sitting down and getting comfy. Nevertheless, he continues to drink the accompanying water supplied by Nines, since “just because coffee is made with water doesn’t mean it keeps you hydrated, detective.”

“…as seen along the Great Lakes, river water with very different chemical and physical characteristics mixes with lake water in coastal wetlands that are affected by tides and storms just like estuaries along the oceanic coasts,” the documentary continues.

The sight and sound of rushing water in the background are definitely not helping, but Gavin doesn’t want to get up when he and Nines have finally settled into each other and they’re only five minutes into the program.

—

The two make it about 30 more minutes before it’s visibly noticeable that something is up with Gavin. The detective is borderline squirming, so Nines squeezes his thigh, giving him a look that asks if he’s alright. Gavin shoots them a weak smile and loosely clasps the arm over his shoulder, not wanting to worry Nines or have to get up. He tries to act casual, but over the next few minutes, that becomes far more difficult as he feels his bladder begin to cramp and his cock twitch with need.

Gavin winces as the first few droplets make it out, and he can feel the dampness of his underwear rubbing against his awakening dick. He shuts his eyes tight, further squeezing his legs together and concentrating on keeping everything in, but to no avail. His bladder spasms, letting more piss out in short spurts. He can feel it bleeding through the front of his sweatpants as he curls over slightly, gripping his length in an attempt to hold on to what little resolve he has left.

‘Fuck! Shit! Oh god, not now…’ Gavin panics.

He lets out a low groan, a grimace pulling at his face. In a very unfortunate attempt to comfort Gavin in whatever’s bothering him, Nines rubs up and down their boyfriend’s arm, causing him to relax just enough to regret it. The floodgates burst open, and in a very poorly timed silence in the documentary, all the pair can hear is the hissing sound of the detective unwillingly releasing his bladder. The now-obvious dark patch in the center of his lap grows exponentially, the fabric glistening as his piss runs between his thighs, pooling around him on the couch and reaching the underside of Nines’ shorts. Suddenly, Gavin’s glad he invested in his LoveSac sofa: complete with lined, machine-washable cushion covers (not a sponsor).

After 10 long seconds, he just barely manages to stop the surge from further ruining both his pants and his reputation, but the damage has already been done. Nines has definitely caught on.

For a solid minute, all either of them can do is stare in disbelief at the mess Gavin has made of himself, as well as the rather unfortunate tent in his pants resulting from it. His face is beet red with humiliation, and the look of horror he wears could power five Monsters, Inc. brand Scream Canisters alone. He’s shaking like a leaf, and if Nines doesn’t speak up soon, he may crumble like one too.

“Are you okay?” the android asks quietly. Gavin had expected pitiless scolding, but Nines is purely soft and gentle. The amount of loving concern in their voice is comforting, and they wait as long as their lover needs to answer them.

“I’m…I’m okay, I think. I’m really sorry, I- I don’t know why I waited that long. I know you probably think I’m disgusting right now. I mean I got hard from pissing myself, that has to be so weird and gross for you. God, this is so embarrassing-” Gavin rambles shakily, his flushed face turned away.

“Gavin, hey, my darling, my love. It’s okay, I understand,” Nines calmly reassures him, delicately taking his chin into their hand to turn his face back, gazing into his watery eyes with nothing but tenderness and adoration. Gavin gives them a confused look, clearly not picking up what Nines is putting down.

"There's no need to be sorry. Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Nines whispers, lips brushing against Gavin’s ear and voice barely audible over the last bit of the documentary still playing in the background. They take one of their boyfriend’s folded hands and place it over the prominent bulge in their satin shorts; when the so-called detective finally catches on, his eyes widen, pupils blown, and he begins to stroke Nines through the silky fabric. The android immediately groans low in their throat, brow furrowing with pleasure, before they tenderly kiss their way to Gavin’s lips.

The kiss grows stronger as the minutes pass, lips crashing together with passion. Nines licks across Gavin’s lower lip, nipping it in a request for entry, which Gavin gives. Their tongues slide and cross over one another as Nines palms the detective’s hardness through his thoroughly soaked pants, Gavin moaning and straddling their lap. Once the two have settled with him resting on Nines’ thighs, the android reluctantly pulls back to let him breathe, working their way down his neck with harsh hickeys and soft kisses; all the while, their hand still sends shockwaves through Gavin’s body.

“Do you still have to go?” Nines whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“God, yes, I don’t know how much longer I can hold it,” Gavin mewls in response.

“Good.”

Somehow, Gavin isn’t quite sure what they mean until he feels Nines’ hand move up from the outline of his wet cock up to his bulging bladder and press. Gavin pitches forward, whining directly into the android’s ear as he feels himself leaking lightly, piss dribbling into his sweats. The need to let go is overwhelming, and he becomes impossibly harder as Nines uses their other hand on Gavin’s hip to grind him down onto their clothed erection.

“Just relax, my love,” Nines murmurs. And he does.

The crotch and thighs of his sweatpants darken considerably as Gavin’s piss rushes through, down his legs; it overflows, dripping onto and soaking the android’s shorts in warm tides. Nines bucks up into Gavin’s pelvis, pulling him down by the hips in time, desperate for any pressure or friction they can get. The documentary is long over, and all that can be heard in the room is the loud hissing of Gavin flooding their lap, the sound of his piss hitting the hardwood floor beneath them as it spills over the front of the couch, pornographic moans loudly accompanying the harsh slide of the couple’s cocks rubbing roughly together through soaked fabric.

The satisfying warmth seeping into their shorts coupled with the wet massaging of their hips joining in tandem seems to be too much for Nines to bear, judging by their erratic pace and harsh groans. At a moment’s notice, Gavin feels them alternate between shuddering and freezing as he’s lifted a few inches in the air by the android’s pelvis, and it’s clear to him that Nines just came in their pants. From being pissed on. This is, quite possibly, the best day of Gavin’s life.

Eventually, Gavin’s stream pitters off, and he’s still hard as a rock. Nines, ever the mutual lover, notices; they untie Gavin’s drawstrings to pull his pants down to his mid-thighs, surprised to see the detective not wearing any underwear as his cock hits his stomach with a lewd slap. Nines doesn’t waste any time on niceties, wrapping their hand tightly around Gavin’s length and stroking at a near-inhuman pace aided by the slick of the borderline-excessive amount of precum built up.

Not even a minute passes before Gavin’s squeezing his eyes shut, moaning like a whore as he cums in spurts that coat both of their stomachs and a bit of his companion’s thighs. When he finally opens his eyes, his cock twitches weakly at the sight of Nines sensually licking the cum off of their hand, the bastard.

—

Once the pair have cleaned up and thrown their soiled clothes (along with the extremely convenient, lined, machine-washable cushion cover) into the washer, Gavin finally asks the question that’s been itching at the back of his mind.

“Did you really think it was that hot when I pissed myself?”

Nines takes a moment to think about their response. “Gavin, my love. First of all, I think everything you do is hot. Second of all, seeing you lose control of your own body like that brought out a kink I've been dwelling on for a while now. This definitely isn't how I planned on talking about it, but I'm glad it's what happened.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I…” In the blink of an eye, Gavin is downing the full pot of coffee that just finished brewing.

“GAVIN, NO!”

A/N: Can you tell what my favorite pet-name is?

I got my fun facts from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and my own knowledge :)

#second fic i've written babey #this one was actually beta'd!#reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #nines dbh #detroit: become human #gratuitous smut #piss kink #omorashi

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peskellence · 4 months ago

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 6.2K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

Detective Reed's apartment was almost indistinguishable from his dismal preconstructions.

Initially, they struggled to even enter the home, with the man using his entire body weight to force the door open. While he slipped through the narrow gap with relative ease, Nines had much greater difficulty. His broad shoulders collided with the frame multiple times, as the bunched runner at his feet hindered his progress significantly.

Emerging inside, the reason for their difficulty soon became apparent. The android had always failed to understand how humans could endure such unfavourable conditions. They derived no pleasure from it, yet this discomfort often stemmed from their own complacency.

It was one of the worst examples he'd seen. Already tiny, the space was dwarfed by a staggering expanse of debris and clutter. It proved as hazardous as it was disorganised, with tight tangles of electrical cords snaking across the floor. They were partially concealed beneath a layer of brown paper and packing peanuts, ready to trip anyone who crossed their path.

"Don't mind the mess," Reed said flippantly, turning towards a nearby coat rack. It was layered high with a dense pillow of clothes. He paused to assess—as if considering how to expand the load without causing a collapse. "I just moved in a few months ago. Haven't finished unpacking."

'Mess' proved a gross understatement. It didn't begin to cover the profound level of squalor the man was inhabiting.

Despite this, he carried with him no discernable shame. If anything, he seemed proud of it—canvassing his surroundings with a contented sigh as he slipped an arm free from his jacket.

Nines struggled to maintain mental clarity in response to the confounding behaviour before reminding himself of his objectives. Studying the home in greater detail would be beneficial. Combing through the chaos in order to find personal items that could provide deeper insights into Reed's psyche.

In spite of any lingering aversion, Nines widened the scope of his optical units and determinedly proceeded. Considering the limited space in the apartment, his partner's use of it was far from optimal. The majority of his sparse shelving was cluttered with unnecessary memorabilia: cheap trinkets from tourist attractions, as well as numerous framed photographs.

The pictures were old, featuring the face of a much younger Reed—and a man Nines did not recognise. His facial identification software proceeded to resolve this, confirming the identity of the stranger:

> CHRISTOPHER JAMES REED

> BORN: 1ST DECEMBER 1972

> STATUS: DECEASED.

Nines failed to understand why his partner didn't discard some of his less essential possessions, given the skyline of unopened boxes towering behind them.

"I would think that a few months would have been sufficient time to unpack. I wager the delay has more to do with a lack of space."

"Yeah, well, there's that—" Any previous calculations were abandoned as Reed callously tossed his outwear at the stacked pile. "I'm still working out the logistics."

Nines considered sharing the findings of his spatial mapping, noting to Reed that there were few logistics to be calculated. However, he quickly determined the advice would be wasted, a reality the man would likely reject.

Instead, he mirrored his actions, shedding the outer layer of his Cyberlife uniform and folding it neatly in preparation for storage. It was a gesture he hoped would be received positively, demonstrating a willingness to adhere to the human's domestic customs.

The action certainly inspired a response, although not one Nines had anticipated.

With the jacket held in his grasp, he detected an elevation in Reed's core body temperature. This wasn't unusual, given the recent shift in climate. What proved peculiar, however, was an accompanying spike in heart rate and respiratory patterns.

Glancing over his shoulder, he sought to investigate further. His target didn't notice the shift, attention otherwise preoccupied by the definition of Nines' central chassis.

The detective's gaze followed a path down his undershirt, starting at the shoulder blades and continuing until it settled on the convex mould of the android's posterior.

Rising temperature intensified—a heat which pooled in his cheeks—as his expression flitted between alarm and intrigue. He was a man at war with himself, wishing to avert his eyes but unable to pull away.

It seemed the frustration Reed felt for him stemmed from more than just contempt. Sights lingered to the point of shameless transparency, and Nines couldn't help but draw amusement from it.

Despite all claims of 'advanced cognition', the humans around him proved remarkably driven by their base urges. Reed was no exception, as lust breached walls of prejudice with shameful ease.

Turning back towards the hangers, Nines feigned obliviousness to the ogling. Positioning his coat with much greater finesse than his partner, he stored a record of the behaviour for future reference.

As he removed his shoes, placing them neatly on the stand, a flicker of light caught his eye. It was reflected from a framed poster hanging askew on the peeling surface of the adjacent wall. Depicted was a young woman lying in bed, the covers clutched tightly to her chin as wide, fearful eyes reflected the gleam of five drawn razors. They hovered in perfect alignment above her face, threatening to swipe.

A subsequent analysis was triggered as his systems sought to identify the origin of the image:

> SOURCE IDENTIFIED

> CLASSIFICATION: RECREATION OF PROMOTIONAL POSTER ASSOCIATED WITH CINEMATIC PRODUCTION

> TITLE: 'A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET'

> RELEASE YEAR: 1984

> DIRECTOR: WES CRAVEN

The image was shouldered by several of its ilk, each depicting iconic figures or scenes from their respective franchises.

"You're a fan of horror films," Nines mused, closing the diagnostic branches. "Specifically, titles from the late twentieth century."

Reed was snapped back to reality, eyes freed from their magnetic hold on the RK900's backside. He looked up, visibly flustered, as if he'd been caught in a compromising position.

Nines maintained his facade of obliviousness. Hands folded neatly behind his back, he emphasised his 'curiosity' with a subtle cranial tilt.

"...Dad loved his horror," the man ultimately replied, stiff posture relaxing as he glanced up at the posters. "Got me into it young. I'd watched most of the Nightmare movies before I started junior high."

The longer he stared, the more his features softened—until a gentle smile spread across his lips. It was unlike any expression Nines had seen him wear. Absent of his usual bravado or smugness, it revealed a genuine vulnerability.

"That hardly seems like appropriate viewing material for such a young child. Was your father aware that most of these films possess an R rating?"

Reed tensed again, sharpness returning to his eyes as they fixed on Nines with a resentful glare.

"It didn't do me any harm; just meant I didn't grow up to be a total pussy."

His retort was hissed through clenched teeth as though causing him physical pain. The assessment had clearly touched a nerve. One that remained profoundly sensitive—despite all the time elapsed.

Recognising his mistake, the android sought to mitigate the damage, swiftly recalibrating his approach.

> RECALIBRATION SUCCESSFUL.

> CONVERSATIONAL ROUTE DETERMINED.

The solution came fast, much to his annoyance. It was as though RK800 was speaking to him directly, guiding his actions through their temporal channel.

> EXECUTING RECOMMENDED APPROACH.

Reed's uncouth remark posed an immediate hurdle. Nines held his tongue, silencing the sharp retorts that crowded his thoughts. Instead, he grasped for geniality—maintaining a performative interest in the decor:

"Do you have a favourite film?" Nines asked before observing his partner closely—gauging subtle cues in his body language, keen to assess the effectiveness of their ongoing engagement.

> TARGET ESTABLISHED — 'DETECTIVE GAVIN REED'

> TRACKING RESPIRATORY AND CARDIOVASCULAR FEEDBACK...

> ASSESSING MUSCULAR TENSION, PUPILLARY DILATION, AND FACIAL MICROEXPRESSIONS…

Reed gawked at his partner, blinking slowly as though seeking to determine if he had heard correctly. Then his jaw tightened reflexively, like an innate biological refusal to lower his defences.

"Why do you care?"

> WARNING.

> MUSCULAR TENSION: ELEVATED

> MICROEXPRESSION(S) IDENTIFIED: DISTRUST, DOUBT.

Reed had already detected his insincerity, a disheartening realisation for the RK900.

There was a period of despondent introspection, during which his partner appeared goaded to press on—solidifying their shift in dynamic, with Nines the one under scrutiny.

"You don't actually care, do you?"

In the wake of his failure, Nines almost wished that RK800 were guiding his communications. He was forced to manage the fallout whilst making a note to pursue further training in the art of social coercion.

"...I do not," he conceded, determining honesty to be the best option in mitigating the consequences of his deceit. "I believe I am trying to engage in what humans refer to as 'small talk'"

"Well, you're shit at it."

The insult came fast and biting—without a hint of hesitation. Nines resented how quickly the human cut him down, undermining any hope for an affable dialogue.

He tried to ignore it, but the words refused to abandon him. Charging through his mind in niggling currents, relentlessly persistent.

Nines stepped forward, and Reed instantly regretted the openness of his ridicule. Self-congratulatory titters were stifled as he glanced up at the opposing figure now looming over him.

"Through no fault of my own," Nines said sternly. "CyberLife did not provide me with an advanced social protocol. When taking part in a conversation, I learn from experience. Meaning I am only ever as adept as the partner I am engaging with."

The implications were not lost on Reed, who scowled in response. Fists tightened at his sides, although the combative gesture was undermined by a series of fraught twitches.

Corrective measures were made to hide them, and with a steeling breath, he straightened his back—lengthening his posture as much as possible.

The difference in their statures remained staggering, and Nines was forced to suppress a chuckle, understanding just how deeply this must have bothered his partner.

A ruthless assault on his already fragile masculinity.

> ACCESSING FILE — 'DETECTIVE GAVIN REED'

> UPDATE IN PROGRESS…

"Fuck you."

While disappointed the man couldn't think of a more meaningful insult, the android was far from surprised. His optic units were rolled in a tight flourish before he took a step back. The leg was swung with laborious slowness as though teasing the possibility of aborting the action.

"Aside from showing me your lovely home, what exactly are we doing here, Detective?"

"Stick it up your ass."

A far more riveting response. Nines was unable to show appreciation for the vivid picture created as Reed pivoted sharply on his heel.

Back turned to the android, he began pacing the room in disordered patterns, muttering nonsensically under his breath. " Where the hell … she's probably hiding because she's scared of you, tin-can."

Amusement dissipated, giving way to confusion. "...She?"

Reed ignored him, refusing to provide any clarification. Instead, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called across the room, interspersing his words with clicks of his tongue.

"Tiff, I'm home."

He was greeted with silence. After waiting a moment, Reed moved further into his home, heavy footfalls scattering litter as he charged toward an open doorway. Peering around the threshold, he swung his neck back and forth in a steady motion.

"Tiffany!" he called again, this time with increased insistence. "Come here, girl—"

His calls remained unanswered, and it appeared that Reed was losing patience with the absent individual. He retreated back into the living room, punctuating his failure with a dejected curse.

Nines found the situation odd—inconsistent with the personal data he had collected on his partner. Establishing a link with the DPD staff database, he searched for any updates or revisions that might clarify the disconnect:

> ACCESSING EXTERNAL FILE 'det_gavin_reed_3345'

> SEEKING MATCHES — SEARCH CRITERIA 'TIFFANY.'

As he awaited the results, Nines scanned Reed's possessions again. This time, he focused on anything that seemed out of place: clothes ill-fitted to his body type or hygiene products that he certainly wasn't using on himself…

> NO MATCHES FOUND.

Then he noticed it: the large structure positioned beside the television. It was made of carpeted plywood, platforms spiralling around a column of thick, corded rope. The arrangement came complete with cartoonish animal prints adorning each side.

> PRODUCT: LAYERED CAT TOWER — GREY — 6 FT (#CH-2984)

> DISTRIBUTOR: CLAW HAVEN PET GOODS LTD.

> RETAIL PRICE: $199.99 (46% ABOVE MARKET AVERAGE)

> DIMENSIONS: 6 ft (H) x 2.5 ft (W) x 2 ft (D)

This finding effectively resolved any logical inconsistencies. He hummed in understanding before disregarding his previous hypothesis.

"Tiffany is your pet."

"No shit." Reed, who had dropped to his knees at some point during his search, moved to stand back up. A felt mouse impeded his efforts, the tail catching under his foot until it was brushed aside with a firm kick. "Have you not seen the cat hairs all over my clothes? So much for being a super detective."

"I was aware you have a cat; I thought for a moment that you might be cohabiting—although a review of your personnel file suggested this was unlikely."

The assessment struck another blow at the man's already bruised confidence. He pulled back, posture restored to its usual hunched slump. Nines might have called it wariness had it not been for the palpable aggression still radiating from him.

"Oh yeah? And why is it so fuckin' unlikely?"

"Because your files indicate that you are recently single. Not to mention, the name 'Tiffany' would suggest a female-presenting individual, which would be inconsistent with your established orientation."

The human faltered, jaw flapping open and shut without any identifiable purpose. As he spoke, he did so in fragments, struggling to form a sentence. "That is—you—that is none of your business—"

"I wouldn't have thought you'd take issue with me stating the obvious. You answered 'Homosexual' quite openly in the most recent police census."

Reed responded to the information as though it were an insult—nose wrinkled contemptuously, and he took a margined step forward, seemingly ready to strike back.

The additional hostility proved puzzling, given the android had done nothing but state an objective fact. Perhaps he had missed some subtle nuance, a tone or gesture that would have warned of the growing aversion…

Still, now that a dialogue was open, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity. If not to foster their 'connection', then to assess how pressing further might influence Reed's emotional state.

Inspiration struck, and boldness manifested in a mischievous smirk which tugged at his lips.

"Not to mention…" Nines began, deliberately slowing his words, drawing them out with a husky lilt. "When in the proximity of conventionally attractive males, your physical responses are consistent with sexual arousal."

The reaction of his partner escalated. He abandoned any advance, recoiling as if struck. Tension gripped his body; the muscles in his neck pulled taut, bulging through flushed skin.

However, beyond this surface pressure, there lingered hints of receptiveness. The marginal dilation of pupils and the nervous bobbing of his throat…

"...Why did I let you into my apartment?" he snapped, pulling himself forcefully from the grip of salacious temptation. "Go wait in the rain. I'm done with you."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," the android deadpanned. "If I leave this building, I cannot ensure that you will return to the station, and I require your assistance in reviewing our case."

"Well, shut up then. Stop being an asshole for five minutes and shut your damn mouth."

Nines had no intention of obliging, curious to see how far he could press the teasing. To observe how fast his partner might fold, omitting his principles in favour of carnal appetite…

Then, there was a sudden shift from across the apartment, and the experiment was forgotten. The RK900 perked up, his auditory processors adjusting as he attempted to identify the source. His partner had heard it as well, as after another sound—more like a wail—a spark of familiarity passed his gaze.

"There she is. Probably stuck in the bath."

Rounding his worn leather couch, Reed approached a sealed door flanked by two stacked bookshelves. He reached for the handle before freezing mid-motion, casting a contemptuous glance across his shoulder.

"You wait here."

"I can assure you that isn't necessary." Nines smoothly countered. "I am quite comfortable in the presence of felines."

It was a guarantee that felt justified.

While the recent changes to his residence meant he had not yet acquired pets, it hadn't stopped him from building a rapport with the local strays—a group of felines who would routinely visit him, drawn by the promise of food.

Lately, their visits had started to linger, with them trusting the android to attend to more intimate care requirements. Grooming and shows of affection—honours that did not extend to other residents in the building.

"It isn't about you being comfortable, genius. It's about her not freaking the fuck out."

The comment stirred a slight ripple in his confidence. While drawing an undeniable enjoyment in testing the limits of his partner's tolerance, the RK900 had no intention of extending this treatment to his pet.

"I take it she is not particularly friendly?"

As if in response, the distressed cries grew louder from behind the door. The scratching of tiny claws followed as if the animal was trying to dig free from its confines.

Reed's jaw clenched, and his grip tightened firmly around the handle." "No, she isn't."

Hesitancy quickly deserted Nines. It seemed clear that his partner—in all his abrasiveness and impatience—was far from the soothing presence the pet required. He felt a strong urge to observe—prepared to intervene if more effective methods were required to ease distress.

With a twist of the handle, the door swung open with a soft creak. Nines moved in step with his partner, earning a small grunt of dismay. Reed seemed aware of the android's determination to assist, regardless of invitation, and had begrudgingly resigned to it.

"Just keep your distance," he murmured gruffly, pinching the bridge of his nose, "and don't make any sudden movements. Got it?"

Already lacklustre hygiene standards deteriorated significantly upon entering the bathroom.

There were thick layers of grime caked on all visible surfaces, suggesting the space hadn't been cleaned in a significant amount of time. Were Nines to speculate how long, he would say the event likely preceded the human's tenancy.

The smell was repulsive, wafting around them in pungent coils. Organic matter clogging the drainage system accounted for most of it, concentrated with the greatest intensity in the open plug of the bathtub.

It was a detail the android soon overlooked in favour of the set of vibrant green eyes peering at him from across the rim.

They were framed by a canvas of inky black fur, save for bands of white that spanned the creature's chin and nose. Her jaw widened, eclipsing the eyes as she revealed rows of sharp teeth.

Nines was completely enchanted, unable to look away as his partner reached across and deftly scooped her up.

"Come on, wide load. You could get yourself out; you don't need to be airlifted."

Reed skillfully adjusted his hold, allowing the feline to blanket herself on his forearm. As he brushed his dominant hand across the top of her head, she responded with a series of throaty rumbles, nudging into the presses and arching back to reveal her stomach.

It was then that Nines noticed the large protrusion.

It seemed disproportionate to the feline's size and raised concerns that it might have resulted from inappropriate feeding. Frowning, he fired a biophysical analysis—examining for any health concerns and ready to scold Reed for any transgressions.

He received a concise overview of Tiffany, including her age and relevant weight and fitness metrics. Nothing proved especially concerning; however, he did encounter an unexpected detail:

> VITAL SIGNS DETECTED — MULTIPLE.

> GESTATIONAL STAGE: THIRD TRIMESTER.

The system prompt lingered on his HUD as he quietly absorbed the information.

"... She's pregnant," he eventually said, closing the diagnostic channel. "Were you aware?"

Reed, who had appeared to revel in the distraction from their close proximity, was rudely reminded of his existence. He grimaced before seeking to return to his previous tranquillity.

Forcefully sidling past the android, he clipped his shoulder in an effort to make for the exit. "I'm aware; must've been a stray. Getting his dick wet is about to cost me a fortune in vet bills."

Nines was tempted to inform his partner of how easily this situation could've been avoided had he done his due diligence getting the feline spayed. Instead, he lingered on the broader implications of the statement, hit with a wave of excitement mingled with trepidation.

"Do you intend on keeping the babies?"

"Hell no, I can barely afford to keep this one."

Nines felt reassured by this. While the upcoming birth was pleasant news, the idea of more animals being subjected to the current unsavoury living conditions was deeply alarming.

That said, Tiffany appeared to be coping well, given the circumstances. She was healthy and proved visibly content in Detective Reed's company—an extremely novel achievement that few could claim.

Nines followed the man out of his bathroom and into the neighbouring kitchen. Despite his earlier insistence that his pet could move, Tiffany remained cradled in his arms for the entirety of the short journey.

Rocked by the steady vibrations of footsteps, she nestled peacefully into the groove between her owner's chest and neck. Whiskers brushed against coarse stubble, causing Reed to flinch before he firmly corrected his posture—a silent pledge not to disturb her.

Unfortunately, he was unable to maintain this vow. As they reached their destination, he was forced to shift her aside in order to access a nearby pantry.

It did not escape the android's attention that the majority of shelves were barren, save for the central reservation, stacked to the brim with pet goods. Reed leafed through the glossy food pouches, browsing the selection until he settled on a product ambitiously advertised as 'Premium Chicken Breast in Rich Gravy.'

He pinched the pouch between his fingers and flipped it onto the counter, the contents displacing with a wet splat. "Mystery meat giblets with jelly and eyelids—bon appétit."

Despite the disparaging claim, it transpired that the heading on the packet was fairly accurate. This was determined by an internal scan of the foil, with a subsequent cross-reference of the barcode suggesting the brand was far from economical.

It seemed Reed had a habit of excessive spending as it pertained to his pet. Interesting, given his purported financial struggles and the absence of his own basic provisions.

"My scanners indicate that the meat is poultry, with some additional supplements and flavour enhancers—the balance of proteins and vitamins should provide more than adequate nutrition."

"Heh, is that so?"

Beyond the attempted nonchalance, Reed seemed genuinely pleased with the information. After preparing Tiffany's meal and setting it on a nearby mat, he stopped momentarily to card his fingers affectionately through the back of her coat.

"Good to know that what I'm feeding her isn't total shit. She seems to like it, anyway—that's all that matters."

The human stayed that way for some time. Looking down at his pet, smiling fondly, before moving to discard the pouch in an overflowing waste receptacle.

As Nines watched, persistent notifications flooded his HUD. At first, they focused on the litter cascading to the floor, displaced by a heavy hand. Then, attention shifted to his partner's current behaviour—elements misaligned with his interpersonal records.

> ANOMALIES DETECTED.

> ACTION REQUIRED.

"I would surmise that she eats better than you," he continued, attempting to move past the disruption. "Her vitals are all normal, and her physical appearance suggests optimal health. You are taking excellent care of her."

> SUGGESTED ACTION: CHANGES REQUIRED TO CHARACTER FILE — 'DETECTIVE GAVIN REED'

Resigned to the fact that the prompts would persist until acknowledged, the android complied and opened the file. A descending procession of text followed, pushing past the alerts as it readied itself for review:

> DETECTIVE REED LIKES DOGS.

Irritated that such an inconsequential point would cause such a pronounced disturbance, Nines revised it nonetheless—inputting an elaboration before realising its redundancy and scrapping both in favour of a unified statement.

> DETECTIVE REED LIKES DOGS.

> DETECTIVE REED LIKES CATS.

> DETECTIVE REED LIKES ANIMALS.

With the profile updated, Nines hoped to secure some form of cognitive release—the freedom to observe Tiffany without interruptions, sharing vicariously in her contentment. No such luxury came, as the charge of data soldiered on:

> REED SHOWS COMMITMENT TO THE CARE AND WELL-BEING OF HIS PET.

> BEHAVIOUR COMES AT THE DETRIMENT OF HIS OWN PERSONAL WELL-BEING.

Nines attempted to exit the file but found himself unable to do so, no matter how many commands were sent to his processor. It remained locked in his consciousness, a branch of cognition demanding expansion:

> DETECTIVE REED DEMONSTRATES SELFLESSNESS.

This proved a step too far for the RK900. It was a notion that verged into the obscene and one he refused to dignify, rejecting the addition as soon as it appeared. This did little to assist, as in the wake of the dismissal, his cognition looped back to the start of the strain. Seemingly just to mock him.

> DETECTIVE REED LIKES ANIMALS.

> COMMON GROUND ESTABLISHED.

His partner, unaware of the pronounced conflict Nines was experiencing, emitted a terse snort.

"Since when are you capable of giving compliments?"

The noise broke his focus, granting the android an opportunity to escape the state of mental paralysis. He looked up at Reed, noting that he had pulled away from his pet in favour of leaning against the countertop. His hands gripped the stained granite, unperturbed by the smear of grease now coating his palms, as he awaited a response.

"It was not intended as a compliment," Nines quickly clarified. "I was simply making an observation—"

Then he stopped himself, the rationalisation trailing off, unfinished. It occurred to him that adopting the man's skewed narrative might simplify matters. Feeding into whatever conclusions Reed wished to draw whilst shamelessly reaping the benefits.

"Feel free to interpret it as one, though, should you wish."

Much to his vexation, the detective remained unconvinced—despite the performance being shaped by this narrative. His eyes narrowed into slits, the corners of his mouth twitching as if considering something. Whatever fleeting thought had passed was quickly discarded with a sharp click of his tongue.

"Let me guess, Connor taught you to say that? Don't pull that fake compassion bullshit on me. It won't work."

Nothing else was said on the matter as Tiffany interrupted them. Beckoning her owner's hand with an insistent mewl, unenthused by its sudden absence.

Reed rolled his eyes, but the gesture was clearly performative as he dutifully resumed his duties. This time, crouching down to reduce the proximity between himself and the animal.

"Jeez, you're a needy bitch..." He cradled the back of her skull, targeting the junction between her ears with gentle presses. "There, head scratches—you happy now?"

Nines grimaced as sticky residue transferred onto the feline, matting her fur. It seemed he was the only one concerned by this, as Tiffany responded gleefully. Rumbled purrs reverberated in the back of her throat, and she rolled into her owner's touch, seeking further contact.

It was an action that Reed had undoubtedly performed countless times and one that also struck Nines with a sense of familiarity.

He wondered how the glossy coat might feel between his own fingertips. How the sensory input would differ from that of his dishevelled, street-bound companions…

His body ached with the need to satiate this curiosity, compelling him to mirror Reed's actions. His knees bent slowly, bringing him to the floor with precise movements. Each motion was carefully calculated to ensure he wouldn't startle the animal.

Despite his caution, Reed responded as though he had brandished a lethal weapon at her. His body tensed as he protectively manoeuvred himself between them.

"Hey, watch it— I'm not kidding around, Nines. She hates everyone. Get any closer, and you'll be android sashimi."

There was little credible threat in the warning. The RK900 was able to withstand military-grade ballistics and was entirely incapable of feeling pain. The worst outcome of an attack from a domestic cat would be the inconvenience of minor cosmetic damage.

Nonetheless, he halted. While his partner's claims could not be verified, he was reluctant to participate in any behaviours that may cause Tiffany undue stress. It seemed best to allow the pet to approach, assessing for herself that he posed no threat.

With a swift calibration of his physical routing, Nines stood up, briskly smoothing out the creases that had formed in his uniform. "Very well."

"...Well…shit." The human whistled low, brows raised, and lips quirked in exaggerated appreciation. "You actually listened to what I said. Full of surprises today, aren't ya?"

Beneath the surface of smug teasing, there appeared to be a hint of sincerity. The man was angled towards him, his posture open and gaze locked forward.

It spat in the face of apathy, as no measure of this behaviour could be determined false. Evidently, there was a part of the human that sought to mirror Nines' current goals—extending his own understanding of his partner.

This curiosity served as the final piece in a rapidly assembling picture he'd created of Reed. It extended past the bounds predicted, and the RK900 sought to expand the scope further with another testing push.

"I could say the same thing about you, Detective."

The coy smirk vanished instantly. His face shifted, features pinching in a bewildered crease. As though seeking to determine the veering turn their conversation was now taking. "...What do you mean by that?"

Reed could have easily ignored the android, attempting to steer off course, but he didn't. There was a part of him, however dormant, that had hoped for this development.

To Nines, it seemed an opportune time to facilitate these wishes. While he lacked the skills required to promote any long-term benefits, he hoped the fleeting psychological release would prove a useful means to an end.

"In the time we have been working together, I have observed certain patterns in your behaviour…" Nines began, tone neutral—but stern enough to probe a response. "While you present yourself as hostile and uncooperative, this seems inconsistent with your underlying motivations."

"Where the hell are you going with this?"

"There must have been a reason you joined the police force. A cynic might suggest a desire for power, but I believe the reality is more compassionate."

Hands folded behind his back, the RK900 honed his gaze with ruthless focus. It was a calculated divergence from the approach of his predecessor, as it had become clear that Reed did not appreciate RK800's signature sympathies.

The gentle intricacies were wasted on him—in favour of a disproportionate value placed on something less nuanced. An instinctive need to engage in conflict to the point he revelled in it.

"You desire to protect those you deem vulnerable. In turn, this makes you feel more assured—powerful."

The words struck their mark flawlessly as Reed bristled in response. He then rose from his crouched position, meeting the challenge head-on." Are you fucking psychoanalysing me?"

Nines knew he couldn't back down—to show any form of weakness or hesitancy. In sticking firm to the current trajectory, he assuredly charged on:

"Whilst preoccupied with archaic views on strength and masculinity, you are a deeply sensitive person. Perhaps wounded from some unresolved trauma. This results in a great deal of insecurity for you."

"You are, aren't you?" Reed attempted to match the assurance, but his underlying resolve proved woefully unequipped to meet these demands.

Cracks had already formed, buckling under increased pressure as his defiant posture began to stoop. Arms wrapped around his chest, a habitual motion he seemed to perform whenever he felt vulnerable.

"Look, I've been real nice to you today, tin-can. Taken you out to lunch, put up with your shit, but this is where I draw the line—"

"I wouldn't call it psychoanalysis. I am simply assessing your physical response to specific statements and stimuli."

With Reed cornered, Nines determined it was time to deliver the final blow. Striking with precision, driving deep into the swell of his concealed chest.

His blade came laced with a subtle mockery, ensuring the words left a sting.

"Your insecurity is unwarranted, at least concerning this aspect of yourself. While you are brash and uncouth, and your work ethic severely lacking, I hesitate to admit that you possess qualities some might consider…endearing."

His pitch shifted towards the end of the sentence, utilising a snippet of the voice sample he had collected from Officer Chen.

Recognition sparked in his partner's eyes, mingled with a building frustration, as he realised he'd been defeated. A tense silence settled between them, leaving Nines in brief anticipation for how his partner may take the loss.

Then, the human responded—jaw clenched with such pronounced tension that he seemed in danger of shattering his teeth. "You ever going to get tired of playing games with me? I bet you think this is funny , don't you?"

The RK900 pondered on this, fully absorbing the man's expression before performing a reading to assess his own response. While there were myriad uncertainties in his capacity to feel—complexities he was still navigating—in this instance, the answer proved straightforward.

"Perhaps."

The confirmation did little to clear the dense fog of contempt that had descended across his partner's gaze. Still, the transparency sought to inspire some secondary sentiment. Glowing embers of curiosity, not yet extinguished, cast a small glow of light through the mist.

Then Reed shook his head as though attempting to rattle the undesired thoughts from his skull. His subsequent address was stiff and insistent, tension betraying an enduring struggle as he brusquely changed the subject.

"You know what? Break time's over; let's talk about work." The man secured a worn plastic chair from a nearby table, flopping into it clumsily. "So—what do we know about our killer so far?"

More than happy to reroute the dialogue to something more substantial, the RK900 complied with the deflection—as entertaining as the teasing had been.

Accessing his temporal link to the DPD directory, he swiftly located the relevant case files. Once prompted, the assigned photos and text revealed themselves, circling around the perimeter of the kitchen. The ordered formation stood in stark contrast with the pronounced clutter it overlaid.

"There have been no eyewitnesses who have come forward for either murder. Aside from what we have ascertained regarding their clothing—namely, that they were wearing a black polyester jacket at the time they murdered the MJ100—we have little to go on in terms of a physical profile."

"That's just peachy, Nines," came a sardonic reply. Reed reclined further in his seat, threatening to tip off it, "but I asked what we did know. Your signals jammed or something?"

Truthfully, there had been a delay in analytical cognition. This was not a consequence of signal disruption, however, but something more tangible.

Tiffany had abandoned her meal in favour of sniffing curiously at his feet. Nines waited to see if she would act in hostility—the veritable flaying Reed had warned of—but no such advent occurred. Instead, she continued to circle his ankles, the relaxed positioning of her back and ears suggesting no aggression.

Reed pulled forward, his chair following the motion with a disconcerting squeak. He observed his pet with stunned bewilderment as if she'd ascended onto her hind legs and begun walking upright.

"... Well, I'll be damned," he eventually said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Nines barely heard him, as all his energy was now focused on keeping the discussion on track. Disregarding the drive to abandon work in favour of scooping Tiffany into his arms, rewarding her geniality with well-deserved praise.

"In regards to the first case, a contact number for Thod Graws has been found in the HR400's diary—

We have been able to trace the number, as well as the SIM card, to its last known location. An outgoing call was made to the victim from a Cedars Motel approximately 12 hours before the murder. No doubt, to arrange a booking for the victim's services."

Gavin pursed his lips at the deduction before humming in muted agreement. "Might be worth asking Reception if they saw anything suspicious…"

He then paused, catching a glimpse of something over the android's shoulder. His attention diverted fully as his lips pulled into a tight frown. "Will have to wait until tomorrow, though. You were right; we've gone well over an hour. Fowler is going to fucking lynch me."

"For what it is worth, I haven't found this experience completely abhorrent." Nines had also looked away, his attention shifting to the purring bundle of fur still rubbing against his legs. "I have enjoyed meeting Tiffany."

"You weren't kidding about being 'comfortable with felines'—I wouldn't have pegged you for an animal lover."

"My interactions with animals have been limited. However, I find that their company is often more pleasant than humans."

Reed looked back at him, his nose wrinkled, bunching the span of his nasal scarring. Then, he started to chuckle, a noise which quickly escalated into a rich laugh.

For a moment, it was as though all contentions between them had been forgotten—something that could have easily been mistaken for camaraderie if viewed from an outside perspective.

"Yeah, well, I guess we can agree on that one."

A prompt flashed on his HUD once again, this time received with significantly more positivity by the android. Releasing that infiltration had been successful, with his partner now open to the possibility of congruity existing between them:

> COMMON GROUND ESTABLISHED.

#ignore that the chapter numbers are now a bit weird #it is the consequence of my own timeline fuckery #dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900

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