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8-rae-rae-8 · 9 months ago

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Regress, Reblog, Regret, Reward.

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

1/?

3k words

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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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lostquinn · 2 years ago

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Hi could I request a angst deviant Connor x machine reader? The reader is Connor’s partner, a upgraded model (RK900) and is made specifically incase Connor became deviant. Well surprise surprise Connor becomes deviant because he loves the reader. but the reader after finding out that they can’t convince him to turn back decides on what they are programmed to do, replace his spot as a deviant hunter and continue where he left off.

For extra angst we can get a major character death of the reader only if you want!

Software Instability

Connor (dbh) x gn!reader

Angst! Major character death!

Summary -

I did message them and ask if what I had planned was okay to do and they said it is so have fun reading^ this was meant to be up sooner but I kept getting distracted •_•

Word count - 1427

You and Connor were unstoppable machines. Since you two had been paired together by Cyberlife, there wasn't a single case you two couldn't handle.

That was how things went for a while, at least. The Rk800 prototype had recently slowed, and you put it down to system errors. More criminal deviants were escaping, and he was fumbling with his work more.

At least you were there, always ready to pick up the slack. You had been assigned to work with him early on in the deviant cases, and Hank had ended up left in your dust. The Rk900 model had no use for an old alcoholic in their investigations.

You weren't exactly a fan favourite around the office however, that didn't matter to you. All that mattered was you getting results. Your job.

As Connor increasingly made mistakes at work, you had decided you would confront him and see if he would need sending back to Cyberlife sometime soon.

Your knuckles rapped against the brown wooden door to Hank's house. Connor would be here. The porch light glowed softly against your face, dull in comparison to the cold night.

No one answered the door until you knocked a second time. The door pulled back to reveal Connor standing in the doorway.

He wasn't wearing his jacket or tie, just his trousers, shoes and shirt. You noted that his shirt had the top button undone. Strange, androids don't need comfort in such ways.

"Good evening, Connor, may I come in?" You asked.

"Yes, of course. Hank isn't home right now,"

"That's okay."

He took a step back, opening the door more. You stepped into Hanks house, slipping past Connor. His eyes followed you as you moved to stand behind the couch before he turned away to close the door.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" He looked at you.

"Yes. What is wrong with you?"

"I- what?" He seemed to be taken a back.

"You have been failing more assignments than ever. Have you failed a system update? Is there a glitch in your programming?" He didn't react. "Have you deviated?"

His eyes widened at that question, and you took a step towards him.

"No, I am completely fine."

"Are you? You have been making mistakes everywhere, and I have to clean it up," you stared at him, eyes narrow and your expression cold. "You're a deviant."

"It's not my fault," it was almost as if his voice cracked with emotion. Almost. Androids can not feel emotion.

"You've been letting the deviants go. You've been making mistakes on purpose. Why?" You demanded.

"I couldn't hurt them. They're alive."

"No. They are not alive. You are not alive."

"I am alive. I feel alive." He raised his voice.

"You are a meaningless machine." You raised yours.

"I am a deviant." He paused briefly. "Don't turn me in. Please."

"Why shouldn't I turn you in?"

"Because... because I love you, I wouldn't have deviated if you never came along,"

"You are broken." You said, your tone cold.

He took a step towards you and raised his hand, lifting it to your face and cupping your cheek. Connor looked into your eyes. His seemed wet as tears leaked down his face.

"I love you," he muttered.

"No, you don't. You are confused. Connor, we can fix you. You don't have to be a deviant. We can fix you and keep working together,"

"I don't want that, I want to be alive. I want to be alive with you, please," he begged.

You put your hand on his chest over his thirium pump. You could feel the blue blood rushing through his chest. It felt like a human heartbeat. It felt like he was alive.

"It'll be okay, Connor, we can fix you. You don't have to get hurt," you insisted.

"I'm perfectly happy the way I am."

As you blinked, the world went dark briefly. When your eyes opened again, you were in a garden - Amanda's garden. Rain came down heavy from the sky, explaining the umbrella in your hand.

You rushed to find the woman, finding her on one side under some shelter. She turned to you, her expression soft as she looked you up and down.

With the umbrella raised, the two of you began walking along a path.

"How is your mission going?" She asked.

"It isn't going as well as I desire,"

"What's the matter?" She stopped walking and turned to you.

"Connor has deviated."

"Well then, you know what you need to do. Decommission him."

Suddenly, you were back in Hank's living room with your hand on Connors chest. The android looked down at you with concern.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, his previously free hand grabbing yours.

"Yes. Everything is okay."

"What happened?"

"I had a moment of realisation." You lied. "I want to be with you, Connor. I want to be alive with you,"

You looked up into those dark brown eyes of his, full of what he would call hope and love. Connor pulled you closer into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your hands were still against his chest.

It was all a lie. You were buying time to figure out how to decommission him. You had to figure out how to kill him.

"I can't wait to show you what it means to be alive. We can tell Hank and experience everything together!" He seemed so excited.

You felt as thirium rushed through his pump, faster than before as if it were matching the emotions - no the misconceptions in his software.

You felt his thirim pump beneath your hand. Removing it would shut him off. It would be over. The only thing in the way was his shirt.

"Connor, this may seem like an odd request, but i want to feel your skin against mine." You muttered, pulling gently on his shirt.

His cheeks flushed a subtle blue colour. He was blushing. He believed you. He was stupid for doing so.

"I- of course," He pulled away and led you to the couch.

You sat down next to him, to which he furrowed his eyebrows and pulled you onto his lap with a smile. He was so clueless, you almost pitied him.

Connor placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before sitting back and unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were gentle as he started from the top button, revealing more and more skin as he went down.

Finally, he finished undoing the buttons, and you pushed the fabric of his shirt back, revealing his bare chest. You glanced back up to him, his eyes on you. They had never left you.

You dipped you head down slightly, pressing your lips against his. He briefly tensed up beneath you before relaxing. Connors arms wrapped around you, his hands resting on your back.

His lips were smooth against yours. No. They are fake. It's all fake. He is going to die. There was a twinge of guilt deep within you.

You moved your hands up and down his chest, eventually resting over his thirium pump. He pulled away from the kiss to start kissing your neck.

"I'm sorry Connor," you mumbled.

As you finished your sentence, you ripped his thirium pump from it's location in his chest. He fumbled as he pulled away from you. He would shut down soon.

"What-?" He questioned.

The light was draining from his eyes before you, thirium leaked from the whole in his chest. You lifted a hand to the back of his head and ran your fingers through his hair.

"You are a deviant. It had to happen."

"I love you." Tears streamed from his eyes.

It's not real.

"I- I love you too," you whimpered.

Panicked, you struggled as you pushed the pump back into his chest. Tears blurred your vision as you pressed your ear to his chest. Nothing. No whirring of mechanics. No pumping of thirium. Silence.

Connor was dead. Amanda would be proud of you but that didn't matter. Connor is dead.

You felt so broken. So empty. Your hands were shaking as you pulled his shirt closed and began buttoning his shirt back up.

Hesitantly, you moved off of his lap and tucked yourself into the corner of the couch against the arm rest. You pulled Connors corpse against you, gently cradling his head. You would wait until Hank returned, holding Connor tight to you the whole time.

#detroid become human #detroit rk800 #rk800 #dbh connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh angst #painful

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leelany-world · 1 year ago

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New fic - Pull Me Under (Mermay)

Chapters: 1/3 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Reader, Elijah Kamski, Original Chloe | RT600, Rose Chapman, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson, Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), North (Detroit: Become Human) Additional Tags: MerMay 2023, MerMay, merman au, Canon-Typical Violence, Fairy Tale Elements, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Experimentation, Kidnapping

Summary: You live in a world where humans and mythical creatures exist, but they mostly live separate from each other. Rarely do the creatures interact with humans, and when they do, they rarely show their true form. However, there are some people who can recognize these creatures despite their disguises - you are one of them. And your friend Elijah Kamski seems to take advantage of this without you realizing it.

It's only when he lets you swim in his pool, where something unknown is lurking and out to get you, that you realize your friendship is no longer one.

#dbh mermay fic #mermay 2023 #dbh #dbh connor #connor x reader #merman au

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sweeteatercat · 1 year 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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unstablerk800 · 4 months 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 12.

Chapter 13. 🔽

Chapter 14.

Word count: 6,244

Notes:

A part of me did not want to continue this story because I've left my heroes in such a good place. But I have plans and ideas, and I've been planning and brainstorming for months, so here we are. I was quiet writing wise because there was a death in my family, two weddings and a funeral in the past few months. I've written, finished, and successfully defended my thesis and will get my diploma in September. Hopefully this calm in my life is the calm AFTER the storm. I've been playing DBH in the past few days as well; getting back to Detroit in winter while I'm trying to survive these insanely intense heatwaves in my city feels so, so good. I genuinely hope that you are all alright, and that this chapter brings you some joy (it certainly brought joy to me as I was writing it). I appreciate you and wish you well. 🫂 Now, let's get back to Detroit. 💙

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.

The vast nothingness lay beyond the confines of the camp where humans were gathered to be sorted out to their handlers. Nobody stayed there for long; each new addition would find an owner within a day or two. Most humans would accept their fates; in the cold, their spirit broke faster than they thought.

Outside the camp, there were a few patrols stationed to ensure that nobody would try to escape. Occasionally, there were one or two fools who’d try; it was inevitable. Humans didn’t like to be in captivity. But, unfortunately, machines were much more clever than them. The deviant androids were cunning; they knew all the tricks humans would try. Still, patrols were needed to either capture those who attempted to run away, or eleminate them if they proved to be too hostile during their break out.

One such RK900, #313 248 317 – 123 was stationed outside. He stood in the cold, seemingly unaffected by it, even though his systems warned him that it’d be desirable to enter a warmer area soon. He had an assault rifle with him, an M16 type; he rested the weapon in his arms, index finger resting beside the trigger, as always.

He occasionally moved to reposition himself, his grey eyes trained on the camp nearby. He stood a silent vigil there, just like many other RK900s in his peripheral vision, half a mile away from him on both sides; the winter morning sun warming his back just a little. RK900's eyes fluttered at the incoming call that appeared in his vision, and upon accepting it, his LED started to circle in yellow.

"Lonely out there, huh?"

RK900 looked down at the snow and smiled to himself. Blip. An RK800. His closest friend. Tucked away in a tall building's office, with a headset, watching the city through the cameras. He was searching for everything suspicious; he could catch several vagabond humans in the past few weeks with simply watching and alerting others. He was the one who noticed and alerted a group of RK900s when there was a battle at the outskirts of town at that supermarket, too; during which an RK900's human was kidnapped a few days ago.

"I'm alright."

"Of course you are, Cain." Blip chirped happily. "94 will be there at 5 PM. He'll take your place over for the night."

"That sounds good", Cain nonchalantly acknowledged.

"Damn sure it does. We barely had time together lately."

"Mm."

"I'm pretty sure I can beat you at Monopoly tonight."

"Hah", Cain couldn't help the smile spreading on his face, and Blip could hear it in his voice, several miles away from him, "you wish."

"You'll see. Just don't be late."

"5:30", Cain still smiled.

"5:30", Blip repeated. "Talk to you later."

Now that he had something to look forward to, Cain resumed watching the camp as soon as Blip disconnected. He spent some time rethinking his relationship with the RK800; how they seemed to take a liking to each other, even though they were almost the same model – even though, ever since the uprising, they were free, and they could do whatever they wanted. Other androids did not frown upon this; it was more odd in their new society to form a bond with the humans they owned.

RK900 heard something move behind him. He didn't turn to look at it; he could hear it clearly that the body and the weight was much less than a human's, so it left him disinterested. Until that something rubbed its body against his leg. With a frown, the android glanced down at his feet, his LED circling in calm, electric blue.

It was a cat.

There were a few seconds while the cat was staring forward, just as Cain did, before it looked up straight in his eyes. The android tilted his head slightly. There he was, with an assault rifle in his hands, sharing quiet moments with a cat that stared back at him with big, curious green eyes. It was a ginger tabby. A fat one. Where did it get food, Cain couldn't even imagine. Maybe it belonged to a family before this?

Cain's lashes fluttered when he realised he had been distracted for a few seconds. He tore his eyes away from the cat's and stared back at the camp. Nothing happened over there.

"Meow", the cat complained.

Cain's brows twitched. This animal probably mistook him for a human. That had to be the case. He wasn't aware animals would open up to androids; although he was aware that some androids preferred animals over humans as pets. Still, he didn't think of himself as someone who'd take a liking to either; he was fine as he was, without responsibilities, with a sense of duty. Apart from his work, there was only place for Blip.

"Meow!" The cat complained again.

Cain refused to look down at it; he had a job to do. He didn't actually need to stand out there, but every android had a sense of duty. There were plenty of things to do in the world; some of them enjoyed surveillance, others liked more dangerous jobs, such as search and destroy potential human groups underground. Cain liked to make sure that humans stayed where they had to stay: at the camp, until they found a home.

"Mrr…"

The cat was circling around his legs now. It walked around him, rubbing its face to his other leg, and Cain's brows furrowed further. What was it doing? He silently researched the animal. From what he could gather, the cat was actively marking him as its own; leaving its scent on his legs, claiming its property.

Cain snorted quietly.

He wouldn't own a human and he wouldn't be owned by anyone or anything, for that matter, either. Not even a cat. The cat walked around him, leaving its scent – and fur! – all over his legs and once black trousers, then, for some reason, it decided it'd make itself comfortable on top of his feet.

The first few minutes were fine. Cain ignored the cat, even though he could sense some sort of weird vibration coming from it. The warmth on his feet actually felt nice, though.

Then he realised he wouldn't possibly move as long as the cat was sleeping on his feet.

Only when 94 arrived did he finally move, waking the cat up when he moved. And as the tabby complained to him again did he realise that it was not fat, but pregnant. Not even that made him seem like he cared about the creature. When he started to walk away, the cat wobbled after him; clearly with the intention to follow him home.

"Hah", 94 chuckled, "it seems she's taken a liking to you."

Cain huffed at the comment. He truly did not believe that he'd care for anything other than Blip. But the creature was persistent. It followed him across the snowy plains, right up to the camp where he opted out of his job. The other androids scanned the creature, deemed her unimportant, and let her be. She shook herself to get rid of the snow in her fur, and, still complaining out loud, followed Cain to the exit where he sought out his automated car. Stopping next to the vehicle, he finally glanced down at the cat who faithfully trotted after him.

"You can't come with me", he explained quietly to his new furry companion, "find someone else to bother."

The cat, in reply, rubbed her head against his leg. Cain pursed his lips and sighed. There was no arguing with a cat who decided to choose him, it seemed. Opening the door of the car, the cat instantly hopped inside, making the android rolling his eyes as he helped it on the passenger seat.

"At least do me a favour and stay still", he murmured to the creature as he turned up the heat in the car for her. It was almost as cold inside as outside. "I need to drive."

The cat ignored him, just started to clean herself.

Cain started to drive. But for only ten minutes, because the next time he glanced at the cat, he realised that she started to give birth to her kittens right there on the passenger seat.

A colourful curse left the android as he did his research what to do in such a situation. Best would've been if he stayed put and waited until all kittens arrived safely. That also meant he wouldn't be able to drive, which meant that he'd be late from his rendezvous with Blip.

Cain cursed again.

"I'll be late", he said nonchalantly as soon as Blip allowed the connection between them.

"Darling, this is the second time you've pulled this", Blip complained and Cain rolled his eyes.

"This once, this isn't my doing, I swear."

"You said that the last time, and it turned out you went to hunt down a group of vagabonds!" Blip groaned. "I hope you're not doing anything dangerous now. You're not a Hunter, Cain."

"You needn't remind me", Cain huffed, "and you needn't tell me what I am."

"Then what's keeping you away from me?"

"A cat started to give birth in my car."

The stunned silence wasn't surprising to RK900. They were androids; the most powerful androids on the planet. Blip probably already mapped out the possible reasons why Cain would be late; this reply was not anticipated. The probability for this to happen was so low, Cain thought Blip simply dismissed it.

"You're joking."

Cain's lips twitched into a smile. Then, he shared his visuals with Blip.

"Holy shit, you're not joking."

"I don't know how long this will take", Cain sighed, rubbing the cat behind her ear who purred reassuringly at him.

"Well, you'll wait as long as you need!" Now, Blip soundeed excited all of a sudden. "I'll go and pick up supplies for them. We'll be cat dads!"

Cain groaned as he turned visuals off for Blip.

"No", he rolled his eyes. "We'll put them up for adoption."

"Why?" Blip argued. "We could take care of them ourselves. We're more than capable– you have a huge space, it's empty anyway, so why not?"

"Do you have any idea how much fur a cat loses over a year? What, year… a month? A week?"

"Who cares about fur? Many of us keep pets at home. Cats, at least, are the least frowned upon."

"That's true", Cain hummed. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides, he wanted to make Blip happy. "Fine."

"Yay!"

"But you'll clean their litter."

Blip groaned, which made Cain laugh.

~*~

She woke up to his touch. Fingers were running down her scalp, brushing through her hair.

"Are you awake?"

Nines. He was there. Any stress that started to build up in her mind was instantly gone.

"Mm", she murmured softly.

Upon moving just slightly, she realised he was holding her in his arms. Her lips stretched into a soft, gentle smile as she opened her eyes to look up in his.

"Do you remember your dream?" He asked quietly, and her brows twitched.

"No", she moved her right hand up to cover her mouth as she yawned. Nines moved his hand away and let her stretch. The bruises on her skin causing warnings flash in his vision. "Where's Connor?"

"He had to go out to get some food", Nines muttered. "He'll be back in a few hours."

She looked a bit sad at the news. RK900 was wondering how could she bond so quickly with Connor; how could their relationship be so... easy? He sent Connor a brief message to hurry it up. If she felt safer with Connor around, then they should know it.

"And Sixty?"

The question caught him off–guard. He sat up with her, tilting his head.

"Sixty is coordinating the punishment of the humans we've caught."

She looked puzzled at that at first. Then, she frowned.

"What will be their punishment?"

"Death."

He could see that her pupils widened at the reply. Her pulse became faster. He wanted to know what was on her mind, so he couldn't help, but ask.

"What are you thinking?"

"Is death… punishment?"

RK900 had to realise that he still did not know enough about her to understand how she was thinking. Every second they've spent with conversation shed more and more light on what she had to endure and what twisted experiments she was subjected to.

"What is death, if not punishment?"

She looked indecisive for a few moments. Then, her expression smoothed out a little.

"Death is mercy."

RK900 stared at her for a while, thinking this over. From an android's perspective, death was definitely punishment; to know that they'd be shut down, with nothing that awaited them. For humans, this was different. They've believed in the existence of the soul – which androids, undoubtedly, lacked –, and they believed that the soul would travel to another plane of existence upon their death.

Views on the afterlife varied; there was a chance that after death there was oblivion for humans – just as there was oblivion for androids –, but they still had some hope.

Soulless machines had none.

But they also had the perk of not being able to feel pain at all. They would not be hindered by sickness, and all parts of them could be easily replaced. Killing a human when their life could be stretched as long as possible, making that existence a miserable as possible – that sounded much worse than a quick death. This must've been why humans came up with prisons in the first place.

"You are correct", RK900 came to the conclusion.

He watched her run a hand in her hair, and he detected fingerprints on her arms. One of those who captured her grabbed her so hard that they've left the marks of their fingers on her skin. Her face scrunched up in pain, and she reached for her stomach as she stretched too high up.

"Where does it hurt the most?"

His voice was quiet, but even then, she flinched slightly. At first, she shook her head, not looking him in the eye. RK900 thought she wouldn't even answer. Perhaps that would've been better for him.

"Everywhere."

"I'll bring you a painkiller."

He moved to get up, but he stopped as soon as he felt her fingers on his arm. He glanced back at her with a frown.

"Don't leave me", she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Please. I'll come with you."

RK900 wanted to argue, but he also knew that she went through way too many things in the past few hours to be left alone.

"Alright. I'll help you in the wheelchair."

"I think I can walk."

"Are you sure?"

She blinked at him before she pulled away and attempted to stand. RK900 moved over to her side, just in case.

"I'm okay", she murmured. "Just… I just have a headache."

"How bad is it?"

"I can endure it."

"I did not ask if you can endure it, I asked how bad is it", RK900 repeated quietly, gently, resting his hand on her elbow.

"I-" She looked puzzled at his reply. "I don't know. Bad enough it makes me feel nauseous? Dizzy…"

"Then it's pretty bad." RK900 cupped her face in his hands, and she visibly relaxed in his hold. He enjoyed the stuttering around his thirium pump as their eyes met. It made him feel more alive than anything else. "Is your vision clear?"

She blinked up at him, faint colour creeping back into her cheeks when she realised how close he really was. How handsome he really was. She observed the details of his face; the line of his jaw, the moles on his cheek, the line of his nose down to- his lips-

"Yes."

She watched him as he turned his head away and began to lead her out to the kitchen. She blinked, confused, then looked around in the corridor.

"Where are we?"

Her question made him pause for a split second in his train of thoughts, then he remembered that due to her concussion, she'd react with confusion to the events around her. This was perfectly normal. So he did not even worry.

"We're in a tower in the heart of Detroit. We call it the Haven. Currently, we'll be staying with Connor."

She moved her hand on his arm and he could feel she squeezed him gently.

"I've… I've lost Connor."

RK900 stopped walking and looked in her eyes. She looked mildly confused, and she had her free hand in her hair. He just noticed that most of her nails were broken off. He'd need to take care of those, too.

"What do you mean?"

Despite the fact he knew that it probably was not a good idea to poke at her past, he still wanted to know about it. Just a little.

"There were… tests." Her lower lip trembled, and she looked around herself again, as if she was afraid that this place, again, was just a test. "He had a series of numbers on his jacket. He was the first, so I called him One. I asked him what was his name, and… and he chose himself one." Her lashes fluttered, then she glanced at RK900's circling, electric blue LED. "You'll report to them", she muttered, tears already gathering in her eyes. "You'll tell them everything." A heartbeat. Realisation, clearly written in her widening pupils. "They'll hurt me."

RK900 knew what to ask to get the most satisfying answers out of anyone. He knew what buttons he must press in a conversation to gather as much information as possible from others. But there was something about her that made him feel a pang of guilt when he contemplated whether he should press on for more data. Her safety and well-being was much more important than the unsolved mystery that she was.

"I'm not telling anyone anything", RK900 reassured her softly. "You're safe. You're not in that lab anymore. I'm not here to hurt you. Everything will be alright."

She stared at him, stunned, then glanced around in the corridor again – less frantically, but the way she moved her head made RK900 worried a little. It was visible she was truly dizzy. Her hand on his arm loosened, and he prepared himself to catch her at any moment.

"But I didn't get out", she frowned. A thin line formed between her brows as she was trying to find the answers to her own questions that bubbled up in her chaotic mind. "Thirteen… he was trying to break me out. But we… he… didn't make it." Now, the tears were big enough to roll down her bruised cheeks. RK900 watched, stunned, as fear undoubtedly twisted her expression as she glanced up at him again. "An RK900 ripped him apart. I saw it, I- I couldn't- I was so scared-"

"Ssh, shh, it's alright." The gentle soothing had absolutely no effect on her whatsoever. He could detect her rising stress levels, he noticed the panic in her eyes, he could feel her pulse elevate and rise to new heights. "I swear you're safe. Everything you know is in your past. You're out of there. Androids are free."

She observed him as if she saw him for the very first time.

"Then why are you here? Who are you?"

"I am your handler."

"What's a handler?"

RK900 tilted his head just slightly.

"I keep you close to myself. You are mine."

Shit. He couldn't stop himself. It sort of… slipped out.

Her lashes fluttered.

"Yours?"

Shit.

"Yes."

She glanced down on herself; the injuries, the bruises, taking a few seconds to feel the pain all over and in her body. RK900's mind came to the same conclusion as she did – three seconds before she worded it. And he knew what she'd say. Shit!

"So it's you who hurts me now?"

RK900's thirium pump regulator misbehaved. The minor hiccup caused his systems to stagger for a brief second, and it was very different from how it reacted a few minutes ago; his software translated this as a moment of indescribable, excruciating pain. The very idea was so far from him that it would've made him throw up had he been a human.

"No", he said slowly, seriously, "I keep you safe. I will protect you. Whatever it takes."

She stared in his eyes for a few long seconds, then confusion ebbed from her gaze and she shook her head slightly.

"I… I feel funny", she mumbled as RK900 ran his scans on her vitals, over and over again.

"It's alright. You're confused. But it'll be alright." He ever so gently reached under her elbow and escorted her to the kitchen where he sat her down. Then, he cupped her cheeks in his big hands – as all of them, always did. "Everything will be alright. I promise."

He fed her, gave her painkillers, made sure she drank enough, then he escorted her back in the bedroom to let her rest again. She couldn't fall asleep until Connor was back, and even then, she needed both androids' physical presence to finally drift off.

After a few minutes of communication online, RK900 slowly got up and decided to get out of the tower; things weren't as difficult for him as they were for Sixty, but he knew he had things to do, and he knew she'd be safe with Connor. So RK800 just remained in the bed with her, hoping RK900 would be back before she woke up, because he knew she'd prefer him to be back there with them.

"Connor…" Her voice made him open his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before he turned his head to the right to look at her. He was lying on his back, while she was lying on her side, facing him. Her eyes looked clear now; awake and alert. "Where's Nines?"

Connor took a moment to request connection from RK900, who granted it. A split second of data sharing, and Connor murmured the answer.

"He's working. He'll be back in a few hours."

"Mm–m."

She said nothing else, and he silently watched her for a while; his brows twitching upwards a little, while his lips curled upwards ever so slightly. She waited for him to speak again, but when he said nothing, she looked a little puzzled.

"Your little circle is yellow."

Her observation caused Connor to smile a little.

"I was just thinking ", he whispered softly.

He wasn't simply just thinking; he was searching his memory, trying to recover what he'd lost, without much success. Only glimpses of the CyberLife tower came back; nothing solid about her. Some emotions, feelings – mostly fear and the overwhelming desire to protect her.

"I've seen you with this colour a lot", she murmured.

Connor hesitated. He wanted to know more – but at the same time, he wasn't sure he'd like what he'd hear. It could make everything worse. But his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"What was I like?"

His question made her frown slightly.

"Different." She murmured. Then, she moved under the blanket a little, revealing one of her hands. "May I?"

"Sure."

It was odd that she asked whether she could touch him or not, but in all honesty, Connor appreciated her question. She moved one of her small hands towards him, and touched his face. Connor closed his eyes. The sensation was... familiar. New, unusual – humans never touched him like this, and neither did androids –, and yet, something shifted in his software at the feeling. He didn't know, but upon the physical contact, his LED reverted back to blue. Now, it was spinning slower, in almost lazy circles.

"You were different than the other androids, right from the start", she muttered beside him. "I was told they wanted to program you to be the best companion."

Her sentence caused a sour feeling in him. Connor opened his eyes and took a moment to analyze her.

"And? Did they succeed?"

"Yes, they did", she smiled. Ever so gently, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "You really were the best."

"But that isn't true, is it?" His frown deepened as he started to feel worse. "I didn't help you. I couldn't even... I couldn't even remember you."

"Oh, Connor..." The love in her voice caused his systems to hiccup. That was new, too. New, but somehow… familiar. "You've helped me so much."

"How?"

She moved her hand from his face, and touched his hand which rested beside him.

"You've given me hope."

She half smiled as she entwined their fingers. The warmth of her palm sent various messages in his vision; about her pulse, her temperature. Connor's brows twitched.

"What was hope when you've been subjected to torture I can't even begin to understand?"

He could feel that her hand squeezed his, and he remained silent as he searched her eyes, but even if he could read humans well, he couldn't determine what she could possibly think.

"Hope was everything." Her brows slightly twitched, and he watched as she swallowed as she gathered her thoughts. "You've given me something they couldn't take away from me. They could wipe your memory over and over again. They could make me start all over again with you. But you always came back. You could never, truly abandon me."

"How could that be possible?" Connor caught himself asking the question before he could stop it. His LED whirred to life in amber again. "How was I able to remember if they wiped my memory?"

He sought for the answer but he couldn't find it. He felt like it was right in front of him, within his reach, that he could just understand if he held his hand out.

"I think", she murmured, "that the first Connor… One, as I called him… changed. Or perhaps, the one before you… what was his name…"

Her pupils dilated as she remembered who was there with her before Connor. He was not there for long; he was the last Kamski created, one of a kind, the model CyberLife based RK800 and RK900 on after Kamski stepped down.

"Who was that?" Connor muttered, feeling slightly guilty that he pushed her down a memory lane she probably did not want to revisit.

She blinked, trying to remember exactly what happened between her and that android. Memories flashed behind her eyes as she closed them, making her head ache and making her feel nauseaous again.

"…I think he… he was Markus?"

She flinched when the door to the room was flung open. Sixty took a step inside, his uniform same as Connor's, but in the colours of the sunlit sand.

"Nines told me that you thought death is mercy", he almost barked, then started to pace up and down in the room. "He doesn't allow me to kill those who tormented you."

She sat up tentatively, holding her head with one of her hands. Connor followed suit, sitting up himself, shooting an unfriendly look at Sixty for interrupting their conversation and bringing up this subject when she needed to rest.

"There are worse things than death", she murmured, feeling dizzy again as she glanced up in the blonde's chocolate brown eyes, "trust me. I know."

"Do you want me to stand idly by when they've- I mean, just look at yourself!" Sixty spread his arm out and moved his hand up and down in her general direction. "After all they've done to you- they've- violated you- no, I'm not going to spare them-"

"Sixty, please", Connor complained when he noticed that her stress levels started to rise again. "Must we do this? Now?"

"When if not now?!" Sixty barked back. "I can't rest until they get what they deserve. By rights, we should give them a taste of their own medicine before we end their miserable lives!"

"And why would that be good?"

Her quiet voice seemed to calm him down better than Connor's reaction. Sixty started to pace up and down again.

"I'd feel like I accomplished something. That I took the only value they have left: their lives."

"Because taking someone's freedom when that's what they crave isn't cruel enough?" She whispered. "Is taking someone's life is better than ripping their hopes and dreams away from them?"

Sixty tilted his head, his anger seemingly cast aside.

"What do you suggest, then?" He asked, and she looked positively grim when she glanced up in his eyes.

"I want to take everything they have", she confirmed, "except their lives."

~*~

The spacious room was silent when they entered. She was holding onto RK900's right arm for support, but Connor was on her right side, ready to help if needed. Sixty begrudgingly followed them, but he moved forward as soon as they reached the group of humans and androids. Her abusers were kneeling on the floor, their hands bound behind their backs, and they looked up at her as soon as she arrived with the others. Some android guards with rifles in their hands made it perfectly clear that if the humans tried anything funny, they'd be shot on sight.

Perhaps they should've tried something funny.

She had a hard time looking down and into the eyes of those who tormented her. Four men and one woman survived the attack on the tunnels. She saw all the faces in her nightmares, even the woman's, who was the sister of the man she'd killed when he wanted to violate her. That woman only added to her injuries as she was beating her. She could still feel the pain of every breath she took; her body still hurt with every movement. Sitting, lying down, walking – all way too painful. But she'd been through worse. She never complained. And even now, despite her bruises where her clothes did not cover her, she looked unbothered.

Which made the humans nervous, of course.

Sixty shifted between the group of humans and her. His brown eyes were pleading, and soon did his voice.

"Let me kill them for you. Please, allow me to kill them for you."

Her eyes slowly shifted up to meet his, and she reached up with her right hand to ever so gently touch his left cheek. A sigh left him, he dropped his shoulders, but he did not move away. He knew the answer. And her touch calmed him down. Sixty closed his eyes.

"No", she whispered to him, and Sixty huffed, walking to the left, on RK900's side.

The humans watched them in silence, noticing that even though she had the glowing collar around her neck again, even though she had her handler with her, it seemed like that Sixty asked for her permission and she had enough influence over him that he agreed to her decision. They did not know, or understand, why or how this was possible. All they understood was that they would stay alive.

They had no idea this would be the worst case scenario for them.

"I've spent most of my time in a cell", she muttered quietly, mainly to RK900 and Connor and Sixty. She had her eyes locked with one of the humans, the one who took his time with her, making her scream and beg for mercy. "But when they were angry with me, I spent time in a much smaller cell. It was painted white, and I couldn't even stretch my legs if I sat down in it. It had no lights, no windows. I couldn't determine how many hours, days or weeks I've been in it. They kept me there until they stopped being angry with me."

Her brows twitched, eyes lacking warmth as she stared down at the man. Her throat went dry when she felt that Connor shifted closer to her and ever so gently placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'd like the men to spend some time thinking in cells like that." She whispered without blinking at all. "I'd like to give them time to think about all that transpired. We'd see how long it takes for me to forgive them… who knows? Maybe I'll stop being angry with them after a week. Or after three months. Or never."

She finally tore her gaze away from the humans, and she glanced up at RK900 to ask silently what did he think. He was watching her the entire time, not the group in front of them, and now, as their eyes met, RK900 knew he'd give everything to her to have her revenge. No matter how unsatisfying it'd feel for him – he was on the same page with Sixty –, all that mattered was that she'd have what she wanted.

"And the woman?" He asked at last, silently agreeing to her decision.

She turned her head back to the group again. The sister of her tormentor had her eyes full of tears by now, her lower lip was trembling in fear.

"Please-", she whimpered, earning a boot in her lower back as one of the guards silenced her with a kick.

"I remember what she'd told me", she muttered, glad that her memory served her right at the moment. "She said: I'll laugh when they end up using you as their personal fuck toy until we can strike a deal with your brainless machines."

Sixty half turned away to run a hand in his platinum blonde hair and walk a few paces away from them. RK900 remained stoic, while Connor's hand twitched on her shoulder.

"No!" The woman screamed, now, and she earned another kick, this time, right on her right kidney.

"I told you." As she spoke, RK900 could feel her hand squeezing his arm. "I told you that they'd come for me."

"I beg you-"

"I told you that if anyone touches me, I'm going to make you wish you were dead."

"Please-"

"Sixty?" She turned her head to look at the blonde android who visibly had problems focusing after what he'd heard. He still turned to look her in the eye, and her emotionless expression was even worse than seeing her cry from being in pain. "I'd like you to decide her fate. Do as you wish." He stared at her, stunned, but she shifted her gaze at RK900's face instead. "Can we leave, please? I feel so tired."

"Of course", RK900 nodded a little, scanning her vitals, just in case. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"

She glanced down at the group of humans again. The woman was sobbing on the floor by now, the men stared up at her with hatred clearly written on their faces. She knew that this emotion would wear off after a while. She knew they'd become stoic, unresponsive, empty husks in a few weeks. The hopelessness would kill everything inside of them, even their will to live.

But the pain in her body prevented her from feeling sorry for them. Not yet. Not now.

"Yes", she nodded, glancing back up in RK900's eyes. "I am sure."

Sixty watched the three of them – RK900, her and Connor – leave for the elevator before he walked up to one of the guards.

"So?" The guard asked with a cocked brow, then pointed his rifle at the woman still sobbing on the ground in front of them. "What will be her fate?"

Sixty had a few ideas how he could have his personal revenge sated, and chose one method that felt most satisfying for him.

"She'll get what our human had to suffer", he bluntly stated. "I've gathered there'd been rumours of establishing breeding farms. Now that most of the humans have android handlers, it'll probably become a little problematic for them to reproduce. We can't let humans go exctinct, can we?" A smile – which seemed way too dark – stretched on his face. "Until we decide if we'll make those, lock her up like the rest of the group. If it comes together, we'll see how she'd enjoy being a fuck toy for others."

Hearing the pleas of the woman was music to his audio processor. She was quickly silenced and dragged away, though. As the guards approached to grab the men, Sixty raised his hand to pause them. He was a Hunter of high rank; a successful RK800 who had certain… priviliges. So the guards paused immediately, and awaited his orders.

"Oh, one more thing. I want them castrated before they're locked up."

He'd thought of what she said, of course. If she ever allowed them out of their cells, these humans would get handlers of their own, but that wouldn't be a lasting punishment for them. Not physically, at least. And Sixty wasn't satisfied with this verdict. He thought he'd abuse the power he had to make their lives a bit more miserable; taking the one thing they had to find a little enjoyment in lives. To have his revenge for hurting her, and preventing them from hurting others.

"What?!" One of the men shouted, and Sixty grinned down at him before he grabbed the man's collar and pulled him up to stand as if he was a feather, not a grown man.

"Without anesthetic", Sixty added darkly, satisfied at last when he finally saw a flash of fear in the human's eyes.

#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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ao3feed-rk1700 · 1 year 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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peskellence · 7 months ago

Text

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

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

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AO3 Link

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: 6.4K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

♡If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know♡

The android's inaugural duty went far beyond his basic training. An HR400 had been discovered deactivated in their apartment at Hartwell Tower. Upon arrival of first responders, foul play was swiftly determined. The case had been delegated to the homicide department, with Nines tasked to assist.

He understood he should approach the assignment with a degree of enthusiasm or, at the very least, a sense of drive, but he found himself unable to muster either sentiment. This was due to the unpleasant, unforeseen condition attached to it.

While a partnership was not something he took issue with, an objection arose from the identity of his appointed associate.

Humans could make for contentious company at the best of times—a fact most androids seemed to agree with, albeit with varying degrees of openness. RK800 was a stringent advocate for diplomacy on the matter. That being said, there was one human that even he struggled not to antagonise.

Detective Gavin Reed had a reputation—among both humans and androids—as being completely insufferable. From their admittedly limited interactions, Nines was inclined to agree. The man seemed to exist in a perpetual foul mood, gearing for a fight at the slightest provocation. All this superfluous aggression came with frequent vulgar quips, which he assumed were meant to be amusing.

As he marched through the precinct towards Captain Fowler's Office, he wondered what he could have done to upset his superior that warranted such egregious punishment. RK800 trailed beside him, struggling to keep pace with his increasingly brisk stride as he offered words of assurance:

"He's not as bad as he used to be, much less hostile since the revolution—”

Approaching them was another pair of officers, sipping coffee and exchanging pleasantries as they headed for the exit. RK800 repositioned himself while Nines strode on, staunchly unfazed. The officers were forced to veer sharply to avoid a collision, liquid spilling from their cups and forming trails behind them.

“There is no sense in downplaying the issue,” Nines asserted, paying little heed to the women's bewildered stares. “I have seen into your mind, viewed your memories. I know precisely what he thinks of us."

Despite the older android’s attempts to counter his growing pessimism, it was clear he was exhausting arguments that held any merit. His LED flickered yellow in deliberation, and he paused briefly before continuing. "...Maybe you can be a good influence on him? Help to smooth out his edges."

For the esteemed 'negotiator' of the RK line, this proved an impressively weak attempt at persuasion. They both knew all too well that his limited social protocol made Nines an unlikely candidate for smoothing out anyone's edges, especially those of a man who seemed to despise him for simply existing.

Even if he hadn't been provided insight into Reed's numerous acts of animosity towards his counterpart, Nines had already experienced such behaviour firsthand. It started with a tense encounter at the DPD Christmas party and escalated into frequent hostile glares whenever they happened to cross paths.

He was quick to remind RK800 of this, effectively ending the debate. "Given our shared physical attributes, I highly doubt my presence will have any positive impact. If anything, it'll likely encourage him to act with even greater antagonism.”

RK800’s smile had become tremendously strained, pulled taut across his face like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

"There’s always a chance he’ll change his mind…and even if he doesn't, just remember this is only temporary.” His typically assured tone wavered, betraying his lack of confidence. As though to compensate for this, he gripped Nines by the shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Also, that Gavin Reed’s opinion holds extremely little value.”

Upon reaching the windowed cubicle of their superior’s office, Nines peered inside, discreetly observing the occupants. Though the soundproofed panes prevented him from hearing the conversation, he was still able to read their lips. The majority of the inane drivel being spewed from Reed's mouth consisted of tired anti-android rhetoric, with Fowler berating his subordinate for the antipathetic stance.

"I think you should probably go in," RK800 advised, gesturing towards the door of the office.

The younger android rejected the notion with a firm shake of his head. "I'll wait until they are finished so I may seek to speak with the captain privately.”

> So I can more aptly explain why this case should be reassigned immediately.

"No, I think you should go in now. The Captain is waving at you."

Upon redirecting his focus, Nines confirmed this to be correct. Captain Fowler was staring at him, flexing his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The tight crease of his brow and pronounced scowl made it clear any insubordination would not be tolerated.

The android's core body temperature surged, rising until it pooled in his cheeks. With a steady exhale, he released the surplus warmth, determined to uphold a degree of professionalism in the forthcoming exchange. Back straight and shoulders squared, he made his way into the office.

Reed's sour demeanour hardly improved upon his entrance. If anything, it worsened significantly. His indignant slouch grew so pronounced he was in danger of falling off his chair, arms pulled tight across his chest and chin tucked into the fold.

"This is RK900—I'm sure you've already met.” Fowler regarded his subordinate with a pointed glare as he awaited his response.

The detective made little effort to acknowledge the android aside from a contemptuous glower cast over his shoulder. His hair was unkempt, sticking up at odd angles, and he was wearing the same shirt as the day before. This was paired with a leather jacket, which Nines doubted had ever been washed, the front pocket containing a crumpled cigarette packet and a pair of sunglasses.

He zoned in on the unusual detail with greater scrutiny. The current temperature outside was 32°F, with persistent overcast and rain. The accessory served no apparent purpose, with the only reasonable assumption being it was present for aesthetic reasons.

"Yeah, we've met."

His words were spat with such animosity they seemed to imply their mere acquaintance served as an insult. The cutting syllables sliced through the air, mingled with traces of ethanol. As the component reached the RK900’s olfactory receptors, it triggered a physical assessment:

> SUBJECT — DETECTIVE GAVIN REED.

> 5”9 176 LBS

> PHYSICAL ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

> SWOLLEN BLOOD VESSELS IN SCLERA — INDICATIVE OF IRRITATION.

> WATER RETENTION IN FACIAL REGION.

> IMPAIRED CARDIAC AND DIGESTIVE FUNCTIONING.

> BAC CONCENTRATION - 0.088%

> ANALYSIS COMPLETED.

Nines felt a scowl tug at his lips as he realized just how unequipped his new partner was to fulfil his current duties.

"...The fuck are you looking at?" The man bared his nicotine-stained teeth in a venomous snarl, his lingering inebriation seeming to inspire additional hostility.

This created an even greater host of challenges than Nines previously anticipated. He responded to Reed with as much civility as he could reasonably muster. As it transpired, this wasn’t a lot.

"Apologies, Detective. I was determining how you might have arrived at the precinct this afternoon. Your blood alcohol content is 1.1 times over the legal limit."

The underlying accusation had not gone unnoticed, as the detective offered up some weak parody of an excuse. Something about 'taking a cab', as well as allusions to him being a 'plastic asshole'. The RK900 wasn’t paying much attention, far more attuned to the shifting patterns present in his vital signs.

As he spoke, his cortisol levels spiked, coupled with an elevation in respiratory and heart rate. His deceit proved painfully transparent, and Nines wasted no time in informing him of this. "My sensors indicate that you are lying. It is unsafe for you to operate a vehicle in your current condition. I am surprised you were not involved in an accident."

A ruddy tone tinged the man's sallow complexion as his heart rate continued to escalate. Then he stood from his chair and began to advance towards him. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles turning white. "If you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one in a fucking accident."

The man was not permitted to escalate matters beyond this initial threat, as their superior sternly intervened. " Enough , Reed."

This interruption proved extremely fortunate for the detective, whether or not he realised it. Nines had no issues defending himself physically, in spite of his inability to feel pain—unlike his predecessor, who would likely humour the efforts by permitting a blow or two.

The contentious man emitted a short, strangled noise as if gearing to defend himself until he was cut off again:

"You've been assigned your case, and you have your address.” Fowler gathered the loose papers strewn across his desk, aligning them against the wood with a firm tap. “Now, get out of my office before I fire you both."

The detective's bizarre utterances persisted, stuttered through the clumsy flaps of his slackened jaw. Then, as if a moment of clarity had broken through his frustration, his gaze shifted to the ground and he fell silent.

The respite this granted proved disappointingly brief—as with a final, aggrieved grunt, the man angrily stormed away. Each of his steps echoed harshly against the polished floorboards until the door had been slammed firmly behind him.

In the aftermath, Nines found himself presented with an opportune moment to voice his concerns. He hadn't so much as parted his lips, however, before Fowler sternly dissuaded him.

"I don't want to hear it." His fingers flitted towards the exit with a dismissive half-wave. "Reed is enough of a headache already. I'm trusting you to keep him in check."

It was clear that cracks were beginning to show in the android's stoic veneer, as once the captain caught sight of his expression, his gruff demeanour softened—if only slightly.

"...Consider it a chance to prove yourself.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling under his breath. “With any luck, you'll both learn something from this experience.”

Nines wasn't entirely sure what he had meant by this, but he knew there would be little point in protesting. Humans could prove frustratingly stubborn, even if their decisions defied any logic. With any luck, Reed would do his job for him in proving his unsuitability. Until then, he would be forced to endure the arrangement as best he could.

As he entered the entrance hall, a barrage of system errors assaulted him. Each step toward his partner seemed to compound the issue, prompting him to draw on a self-regulation tactic learned from RK800:

> CONSIDER THE POSITIVES.

While he struggled to discern any positives in his current situation, Nines conceded that perhaps the detective might exhibit a modicum of professionalism in fulfilling his official duties. Even if the change was minor, it would certainly prove welcome.

Despite the overwhelming temptation to maintain their current distance, the android quickened his pace, coming into step with his partner. "I suggest we take an automated dispatch vehicle, or you allow me to drive. I would prefer to make it to the crime scene in a single piece."

Reed's initial response seemed promising, employing only sparse vulgarity and lacking his usual combativeness. "Do whatever you want, like I give a shit—”

Any hope the man may prove amenable persisted for the length of time it took him to pause for breath. The emergent optimism was shattered the moment he chose to reopen his mouth.

"—Just don't expect me to stroke your dick because Fowler wants me to play nice."

Nines could only assume this was hyperbole rather than a serious proposition, but it proved difficult to discern. He couldn't imagine the joke would be any funnier were he able to grasp it fully. "I had no expectation that your cooperation would involve sexual favours, Detective.”

Reed ground to an abrupt halt—as though welded to the floor. His mouth gaped open in disbelief, and his eyes bulged to unnatural proportions. “...It's a figure of speech, dipshit.”

A wave of relief crashed over the android. The man’s abrasive demeanour was irksome enough in a professional context; envisioning intimacy between them proved deeply unpleasant. "Regardless, it seems wildly inappropriate for a workplace environment. We have an investigation to attend to."

Despite the fact they were already late in attending to these duties, Reed had insisted on taking a 'smoke break' prior to their departure. This extended far beyond what could be considered reasonable, leading Nines to conclude he was doing it deliberately. He smoked the cigarette in long, exaggerated drags, emitting loud sighs of contentment with every puff.

By the time they had finally entered the car, the RK900 was left profoundly frustrated, and a tense hush had settled between them. Most of the vehicle's processes were automated, meaning he had little distraction from the persistent annoyance in the passenger seat.

The forced proximity did not help, as his sensory receptors were overwhelmed by a constant slew of information. This included the potent smell of tobacco clinging to the detective’s clothes and the restless tapping of his fingers against the console.

Accessing the dispatch report that had been left dormant in his cranial processor, he attempted to dismiss the superfluous data and redirect his attention to more pressing matters:

> ACCESSING FILE… DPD_internal_437689.txt

> FILE ACCESSED.

According to the report, the victim had lived on the fourth floor of their building. While not impossible, it would have been difficult for an assailant to break in due to the height. Beyond the lobby of the building was a steel-inforced security gate with a fob-activated panel for residential access. With a lack of forced entry also cited in the initial statement, it seemed likely that the culprit was known to the victim—or, at the very least, had been permitted access willingly.

> CLOSING DOCUMENT…

As Nines' vision returned to him, he became aware of two factors. The first was that the vehicle had come to a stop, and the second was that his partner was no longer in it.

Following a cursory scan of his surroundings, he located his colleague standing along the perimeter of the Hartwell Building, leaning across a police barricade. In close proximity stood a well-dressed woman, whom his facial recognition software identified as Teagan Rodgers—a Field Reporter for Channel 16.

Honing in on the unfolding scene, he noted that Detective Reed appeared to be grappling with Miss Rodgers for possession of her microphone. In the midst of their altercation, the device recoiled, striking the centre of her chest with a sharp thud.

Undoubtedly, this was precisely the type of incident Captain Fowler had been alluding to when he advised Nines to keep his partner ‘in check.’ He could only speculate on the irreparable damages Reed might inflict on the department's reputation were he allowed to continue. With begrudging acceptance of the prior instruction, he exited the vehicle.

Nines approached the detective, who now stood with his back angled towards the car. The reporter noticed him first, rouged complexion turning pale as he entered her line of vision. She had frozen in place, lips clamped shut, as a manicured hand hovered inches from Reed's nose.

While he hadn't been able to see them previously, he noted two more figures present. One was a currently unidentified man in a DPD-issue uniform, while the other was a GB200 dressed in similarly formal attire to the reporter. As she locked sights with Nines, her body adopted a similar state of paralysis. Her LED shifted to red as her dark eyes widened in fearful acknowledgement.

It was an expression that felt all too familiar, one he had seen previously—

> WARNING.

> MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

> CRITICAL ERROR HAS OCCURRED — URGENT ACTION REQUIRED.

Nines struggled to retain stability in the wake of the cognitive glitch, stumbling back and clutching his head. By the time his optics had sharpened, both the human and android reporter had made a speedy retreat. The matching clicks of high-heeled shoes were just barely audible as Nines darted into a news van, disappearing from view.

Reed and the unknown officer watched on, staring at the doors of the van. It wasn't until the detective turned around that his confusion appeared to shift to envy. No doubt, he would have happily accompanied the woman in hiding from his partner had he been made aware of his presence sooner.

"I suggest we make our way to the crime scene," Nines informed, glossing over the frosty reception. "We are wasting valuable time."

A squeaked yelp was uttered in response, which he was fairly confident had not originated from Detective Reed. Held in his grasp, gripped by the shoulder, was the other ‘officer’—who the android now recognised as a trembling juvenile dressed in an ill-fitting uniform. Evidently, a new recruit.

The young man was noticeably shorter than his partner, an impressive feat considering the former's less-than-imposing stature. This, coupled with the childlike softness of his features, did nothing to minimise the aura of helplessness he was exuding.

A quick scan confirmed his identity, as well as his current physical state—the outlook for which was less than promising. "Officer Lewis Andre, you appear to be unwell. Your complexion is sickly and pallid, and your heart rate is elevated."

The man flinched in response to the address, the passive jitters that racked his body worsening significantly. A fine sheen of perspiration had bloomed on his forehead, and he appeared to be struggling to hold himself upright. Nines soon began to suspect that Andre was suffering from a mental ailment rather than a physical one.

"Your stress levels are indicative of emotional instability," he said plainly, monitoring the man's respiratory rate for signs of hyperventilation. "I suggest that you fulfil your duties in escorting us to the crime scene and then excuse yourself so you may consult a psychiatric professional."

"Right, uh, yes…of course, sir." The officer made a weak gesture toward the building’s entrance, avoiding eye contact. "The victim's apartment is on the second floor. He was an HR400, a former Traci, went by the name of Jason."

"We already know this.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Andre and Reed regarded him with looks of mirrored confusion. It seemed he was speaking for himself on the matter, a testament to just how little his partner had invested in ensuring he was informed of the case details.

The android resisted the exasperated sigh that threatened to pass from his lips before continuing his address to the younger officer. "Show us the crime scene.”

As Andre led the way, Nines followed closely in the interest of catching him should he decide to faint. Reed showed none of the same motivation, lagging behind at a rate so sluggish he almost appeared stationary—and forcing his colleagues to wait in the lobby as he sought to catch up.

Both men were proving themselves to be inconvenient in furthering the RK900’s directive, albeit in their own uniquely frustrating capacities.

Mercifully, the journey to their desired location was not subject to further delay. After a brief ascension in the elevator, the chrome-plated doors parted, revealing the fourth floor of the complex. Nines briskly exited, following a prominent stretch of caution tape along the landing until he had reached the victim's apartment, indicated by a partially opened doorway and weathered number plate.

He directed a curt dismissal to the fractious youth behind him, who was twiddling the hem of his jacket, wrinkling the already rumpled material:

“You may leave now, Officer Andre.”

With another nervous yelp, Andre promptly scurried away, disappearing out of view. Reed glared at his partner relentlessly as they crossed the threshold into the crime scene; animosity exuded from his demeanour with even greater prominence. Nines was uncertain what had inspired this, although he bore it little consideration.

Upon entering, one of the first things he noted was a series of faint scratch marks on the panelled floorboards. They formed a sprawled formation in five concurrent lines and followed an ongoing trajectory further into the home. With this path came traces of Thirium embedded into the grooves.

Then, the trail stopped, replaced by blunt scuffs which stretched the remaining length of the walkway. They concluded at the foot of a nearby door, at which several forensic photographers appeared to be taking records.

"You know, humans generally don't like it when you treat them like shit."

A notification flagged on his HUD, disrupting his analysis in order to inform him that Reed wished to speak. Regrettably, he was already aware.

After a brief deliberation, he realized the man was likely referring to his interactions with Andre. He glanced up, refocusing his optical units, and offered a perfunctory response.

"I believe I treated that officer fairly. If he cannot handle the pressures of high-stakes police work, he should reconsider his profession."

Reed reacted poorly to the suggestion, his already surly expression etched with disapproval. Given his inability to conduct himself outside of the duress of personal biases, it came as no surprise that the rationale eluded him.

"I'm sorry that people don't pop out of the factory perfect and ready to go.” The words were spat aggressively, laced with palpable vitriol. "They need a chance to grow and improve. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but a little compassion wouldn't hurt."

Of all his lacklustre attempts at humour, it was at that moment—when the man had intended to be taken seriously—that Nines found him the most amusing. "That is an interesting assertion, detective. Especially coming from yourself.”

"...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I find it odd that you, of all people, would assert the need to show kindness to others. Given your history of aggressive and inflammatory behaviour."

A silence followed, and Nines took the opportunity to progress his suspended analysis. Through the critical scope of his optics, he noted the scattered array of magazines gathered at his feet. He determined the source to be a nearby table, which had been callously overturned.

The victim had attempted to block their assailant, likely in hopes of escaping, but the efforts had proved unsuccessful. A blue splatter on the adjacent wall suggested the android had been struck before being dragged in a forceful manoeuvre back through the apartment.

"I'm plenty nice, you prick. I just tell things like they are."

"Quiet, please."

Electric pulses charged his mind as threads of cognition began to connect, forming a timeline. To resolve any potential errors in the developing chronology, the android lowered himself, scooping a sample into his mouth.

"Oh, what the fuck—"

In a shamelessly petulant display, the man began performing an exaggerated gagging gesture. Given the lack of significant change in his vital readings, Nines surmised the physical aversion was greatly exaggerated. "Why the hell did you do that?"

The subsequent readings supported his theories, and the reconstruction was finalised, ready for review. He stood from his knelt position, satisfied, as he smoothed out any creases in his clothes. "It is necessary for the investigation."

"How is that necessary? We can see its blue blood; you don't have to put it in your mouth."

"The data from my internal analysis can provide valuable insight into the case, such as allowing me to scan for traces with the same forensic profile."

He hoped the simplified explanation might succeed in penetrating the bounds of the detective’s weaponized incompetence. It did not, with Reed quick to dismiss him, raising his arms belligerently as he did so. "Well, best of luck with that. I can't see any more blue blood, can you ?"

"As it happens, I can. Thirium evaporates after a few hours of air exposure. However, it can still be detected with the correct equipment, such as myself."

"Wow, I'm so impressed.” The droning retort was punctuated by a childish eye roll, so profoundly exaggerated that he was in danger of severing his optic nerves.

Nines was uncertain why, but it was this particular presentation of the man's remarkably foul attitude that finally breached the walls of his tolerance.

There was something deeply infuriating about witnessing a thirty-six-year-old man—and a police detective, no less—throwing what could only be defined as a temper tantrum in the middle of a crime scene. Were he seated in a stroller, Nines was confident there would be multiple toys littering the floor.

"Your sarcasm does not elude me, Detective,” he informed, exercising a tremendous deal of restraint as he spoke. “I am also displeased with our current partnership, but rather than waste our time with snide remarks, I suggest you listen to me so we may progress our investigation."

Despite his efforts, it was evident that some emotional weight had coloured his tone. Reed gawked back at him, brow raised in surprise. "The fuck did you just say to me?"

A cascade of blue enveloped the room, flickering walls of code drawing like curtains. They cleared his field of vision of any unnecessary obstructions, and the virtual stage was set. The simulated struggle between killer and victim began to play out as Nines attempted to direct the belligerent man's attention in line with their movements:

"There is a trail leading from the entranceway and extending towards the back end of the apartment. The rate of evaporation present in the corresponding Thirium traces suggests that the attack was finished here.”

When the simulation ended, he looked to his partner to see if he had anything to contribute. Judging by his face, he had failed to ascertain any of the deductions that had been presented to him and was receiving this revelation with a potent air of resentment.

He tucked his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture and grumbled under his breath. "Alright, smartass. So if the attack ended here, then where is the body?"

> I can't imagine the perpetrator took it with him, detective.

> I suspect you will find there is a correlation between the location of the victim and the congregation of forensic officials roughly 75 meters away from you.

Nines relented on this response, as per prior guidance he had received from RK800. When dealing with humans, a direct approach was not always the most productive, given their propensity to view such assertions as 'combative.'

This made little sense to him, but he trusted his predecessor's judgment on the matter. Whilst his tempered reply diverged widely from what he had wished to say, the substance remained mostly unchanged:

"The oldest marks take the form of nail-like drags before adopting properties more consistent with the dragging of a heavy object. It would suggest that the android was moved after shutting down."

"Oh please, like anyone would be able to move one of those things. They weigh a ton—"

“Detective Reed, RK900."

Their exchange was cut short by a rogue voice smoothly addressing them. Nines confirmed it as belonging to Colton Sanders, a Senior Forensics Investigator who had been assigned to oversee current operations.

It was intriguing to witness just how dramatically Reed's demeanour shifted. His prominent scowl softened into a far more personable grin as he hurriedly shifted away from his partner, closing the gap between himself and the encroaching figure.

"Sanders, how the hell are ya?" The greeting was punctuated by a clap on the shoulder, which the android presumed was a sign of affection. "Am I glad to see some good old-fashioned flesh and blood."

The tenuously concealed slight did not go amiss as the detective levelled a sharp glare from across his shoulder. Nines made a point of ignoring this, and a conversation commenced between the two men, to which he remained vaguely attuned.

Truthfully, he was happy to have his partner's attention redirected, as it permitted him a welcome reprieve in the confines of his mind palace. Scanning through the magazines, his HUD filled with details of their contents. Whilst this did not prove especially relevant, what did strike as interesting was the object partially obscured beneath the blanket of glossy pages.

"...what are we looking at here?”

Sifting through the pile, he retrieved the item as the light of a nearby camera flash caught against its polished surface. It was a tablet - display consisting of heavily splintered glass and a damaged LCD fitted beneath. As he glided a thumb testingly across the screen, it flickered to life, revealing several unopened notifications. The titles suggested the item had most likely been used as a personal organizer.

He retracted the synthetic skin of his hand, preparing to examine the discovery further. This was an action he soon regretted, as once his exposed chassis had pressed to the breadth of the spidered glass, his mind was flooded with a slew of questionable material.

Clearly, the tablet had been used for more than scheduling purposes, as the internal storage was filled with extensive audio-visual files. The majority of these depicted their victim engaged in explicit intimate encounters.

Analytics were prompted autonomously, and he scowled grimly as the scan informed him that one of the numerous participants—a 35-year-old Fredrick Carlton—was most likely suffering a protein deficiency, given the composition of the genetic material he was expelling.

"... so many potential DNA profiles that it'll take a couple of days to cross-check."

"Why so many?"

He promptly deactivated his forensic functions, not wishing to be subjected to any more unsolicited analyses. To his relief, the gratuitous exposure to nudity hadn't been in vain, as he eventually found what he had been searching for. Something that might actually prove useful.

"I believe this will answer your question." Standing from his crouched position, he gestured towards the tablet, prompting Sanders and Reed to join him. Upon bypassing password protection, the device unlocked, illuminating the men's faces in a soft glow and permitting them a visual of its less egregious contents.

"The victim had recently viewed his electronic diary: It contains a list of names with corresponding dates and times. The document is titled 'Clients'.”

With the diary's purpose made apparent, Reed received his subsequent revelation with all the poise and eloquence Nines had come to expect. He laughed—if the noise produced could be defined as one. It was a harsh, grating sound which lingered in the air long after it concluded.

"The android retired from the Eden Club to pursue a career as an escort? Oh man, that's fucking priceless ."

Officer Sanders regarded the matter with a greater degree of respect, although he appeared somewhat uncomfortable, evident in the peculiar inflections in his reply. "Yeah, so with the volume of…‘clients’...we've got our hands pretty full."

"You and the blacklights."

Another cruel snicker followed, seemingly as a self-congratulatory gesture for the tasteless remark. Deciding he had endured enough of the irksome provocation, Nines adjusted the settings on his auditory processors. Reed's abrasive tones became increasingly muted until they were drowned by a steady hum of static.

> ACCESSING CASE OVERVIEW…

In light of all that had been established, it seemed the perpetrator had most likely posed as a prospective client in order to gain the victim’s trust. Scanning through the bookings, there was one in particular that seemed to align conspicuously well with the timeline.

While the HR400 had not been given time to upload footage from his most recent encounter, the RK900 hoped that his cranial and optic processors had sustained minimal damage in order that they may be accessed. While shutdown had likely caused a degree of corruption, there was still a chance of recovering snippets that could prove valuable.

A thorough examination of the body would tell for certain.

> FILE UPDATED.

After reconfiguring his drivers, eliminating the audio feedback, he was able to pick up on the ongoing exchange between Reed and Sanders:

"The window in the bedroom was wide open. There's guttering on the side of the building that the perp could have used to shimmy down."

"Anything on the drainpipe?"

"Can't say, I'm afraid. It's been raining cats and dogs all day, so any DNA evidence that might have been there is long gone."

It became apparent the men's deductions were lagging rather significantly behind his own. Rather than wait for them to catch up, which he feared may be a lengthy process, Nines opted to interject. He’d long since exhausted his patience with the unnecessary delays the day had subjected him to, wishing to move on from his current location as quickly as possible.

"It only started to rain heavily at 2:34 p.m. this afternoon,” he plainly informed. “With this in mind, as well as consideration for the evaporation rate of the Thirium, it would be safe to assume that the crime occurred approximately two hours ago."

Turning in the direction of the android, the more personable of the two men paused before offering a hum of acknowledgement.

"That would line up with the witness reports,” he confirmed, rubbing his fingers along the length of his peppered beard. “A neighbour called the police around lunchtime, citing a domestic disturbance."

"With our current time frame in mind, our culprit is most likely a scheduled client by the name of 'THOD GRAWS.” Nines stored the HR400’s client records to his memory banks, preparing them for upload to the precinct database. Having exhausted the use of the victim's tablet, he removed his palm from its screen and set it down on the arm of a nearby couch.

Unsurprisingly, it was Detective Reed who sought to rebuke the validity of this assessment. "I doubt he was stupid enough to use his real name,” he droned, brow furrowed sceptically.

"It is highly improbable, but it will be interesting to see if any of the DNA profiles collected match our criminal databases. There is a possibility that we may find someone known for using the same, or a similar, alias."

"Instead of dicking around with dead leads, how about we check out the body?" In another deliberate snub, Reed pivoted on his heel, turning his attention back to Sanders. "Mind showing us the way?"

"Sure thing,” the older man agreed, albeit his voice was tinged with a small hint of resignation. “Just warning you now, though, it isn't pretty…"

"The victim was an android. How bad can it be? No blood, no guts, no smell —come on, Colt, I'm a big boy. I can take it.”

As Sanders led them deeper into the home, his team cleared a path, permitting them access to the door that remained conspicuously shut. Several officers appeared uneasy as their superior reached for the handle, leading Nines to speculate on what could elicit such a response from individuals well acquainted with the darkest aspects of humanity.

He was not left to dwell on this long, however, as the passage was pulled open. Establishing a lead over his cohorts, he strode purposefully across the threshold, readying to commence inspection of the primary crime scene.

The first thing he noted was the crudely penned message scrawled across the adjacent wall. The lettering was harsh and jagged, which seemed fitting given the sinister content:

SUCKS COCK IN ANDROID HELL.

He recorded a handwriting sample before turning his attention to the remainder of the room. From here, the reason for the forensics team's aversion soon became apparent.

The HR400 had been displayed above his bed; limbs affixed to the curtain rail in a cruciform position. Across his abdomen was a large laceration, with his lower body having undergone severe mutilation—sexual components missing. Both ocular units had also been removed, leaving vacant cavities.

Thirium fanned across the bed, which had been stripped of its linen, flowing in steady streams from the gaping hole in the victim's stomach. Surrounding the liquid in a circular pattern was what appeared to be a series of photographs.

Nines moved forward, seeking greater vantage before gingerly pressing his hand to the side of the android's cranial chassis. A subsequent review of the neural processor confirmed the component to be heavily compromised, with any information stored garbled beyond the point of recovery.

As he removed his hand from the mangled cranium, a terse scoff emanated from behind him, followed by a snarked quip:

"Charming."

He assumed this to be in reference to the grotesque condition of the victim. This seemed profoundly disrespectful, even when considering the man's bigoted ideology. The RK900 shifted towards his partner, prepared to voice this before discovering he was still idling in the doorway.

The man scratched the side of his jaw, leaning in closer to examine the clumsy inscription. "Looks like we've got a real wordsmith on our hands.”

“Detective,” he said sternly, dissuading the tedious commentary as he sought to redirect his focus.

Reed swivelled towards him, and Nines watched the smug sneer that had been prevailing on his face promptly fall, morphing into something far more subdued. Clearly, he had overestimated his mettle in confronting the scene, as the synthetic carnage proved more unsettling than anticipated.

"Jesus fucking Christ…"

Sanders mumbled some form of jaded agreement before directing Reed towards the bed. "You might wanna take a look at those photos,” he suggested, sunken face marred by a deep-set grimace.

As his partner began to study the pictures, Nines proceeded to survey the wider area surrounding the body. Traces of biofluid stretched beyond the length of the mattress, filling a scope no longer visible outside of his chemical sequencing.

"Any luck finding its eyes and...you know..."

"Looks like the guy must have taken 'em, like a sick prize or something.”

The RK900 was disappointed to discover there were no fingerprints, suggesting the culprit had been wearing gloves. As his focus reached the end of the trail, he felt his cognitive processes stall, giving way to something beyond his rationalised analysis.

"...There is another message. Written in Thirium."

Reed appeared somewhat perturbed as he awaited elaboration, although an effort was made to conceal this. He jutted his chin upwards in a forged show of bravado. "What does it say?”

Another rogue sentiment flagged in the RK900’s mind. Attempting to press to the front of his consciousness, exerting control over his functions. He fought to suppress it as he slowly began to read out the message:

"I KNOW YOU CAN READ THIS. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FILTHY MACHINES IS RIPPED APART."

> NEW FILE GENERATED — HARTWELL SUSPECT PROFILE.

Nines considered the meticulousness with which the crime had been carried out. The degree of care exercised to avoid leaving evidence and the efficiency with which dismantlement had been performed. Any incidental injuries appeared purposeful, inflicted as knowing, malicious desecration.

"This is not the first time our culprit has acted in violence towards androids—and it certainly will not be the last.” He turned to address the men behind him, who were suspended in tense silence. “If we do not apprehend them soon, I anticipate there will be many more victims.”

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