#there's something so uplifting about him getting a crowd to yell future's gonna be okay

[hvseoks]

karma gon' be comin' back for me!

[longroadstonowhere]

so there’s like ten minutes of 4/13 left for me, which is clearly the best time to finally get the latest chapter of wild child jade up

for some reason this chapter was like pulling teeth for me - i’ve honestly had like two thirds of it done since last august, and then i finished the last third in like january, and it’s taken until now to get it posted

here it is, though, in all its glory(?)

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ao3)

John fiddled with his jacket and took another quick look at the clock. It had only been about twenty seconds since the last time he checked. He fussed with his jacket again. I can't believe I'm this nervous about playing the piano, he thought.

He looked around the room at Ms. Flinder's other students. Her lessons were always private sessions, so the only time he met any of the others was on his way in or out, or at these yearly recitals. There were a couple new faces this time around, and a few faces missing. Not everyone could keep taking lessons forever, after all.

John froze his fidgeting at that thought. What if I have to stop taking lessons? he thought. Piano lessons had been part of his life for years now. The particular days and hours had changed from time to time, but the lessons themselves hadn't stopped unless Ms. Flinder was unable to teach. He could handle stopping for a month or two, but for the rest of his life?

He looked around the green room again, unable to think of it as anything but his last time. He'd performed in this auditorium countless times, but now it was like seeing it all for the first time again. The carpet, a dull shade of tan, was missing a sizable chunk in one corner of the room. Cabinets lined the walls, most filled with sheet music or forgotten costume pieces from other performances in the auditorium. There were a few folding chairs unfolded, and a large stack of them in one corner. Nothing major about this room ever changed, and John had never realized before just how comforting that was.

"John?" Startled, John turned and saw one of Ms. Flinder's students looking at him in concern. The older boy was somewhat familiar, but John couldn't remember his name. "You okay there? You're looking a little tense."

"I'm fine," John tried to say, but his voice cracked unexpectedly. He took a deep shuddering breath and stretched his hands, trying to shake out the tension. He tried speaking again. "Just fine!" Awesome, barely any squeak that time!

The older boy looked unconvinced by John's obviously true statement. "Uh huh. You don't usually freak out before these things. What's up? Did the Pope swing by or something?"

John snorted as he thought about seeing a little Pope hat in the sea of audience members. "No, but that would be soooo cool if it did happen. Do you think they'd give him a front row seat automatically, or would he have to wait in line for his seat like everyone else?"

"He'd probably insist on sitting in the back row, since he's so humble." The other student pulled a couple of folding chairs up and gestured for John to take one of them. "So if the Pop's not here, I guess you've got something else on your mind, huh?"

John bit his lip, wondering if the older boy would make fun of him for freaking out about something so stupid. He didn't look like he was setting John up for something, though, and John remembered now he'd always been a pretty good guy when they talked before. It was probably safe to at least ask him something. "Do you ever think about what you're gonna do when you stop taking lessons?"

"Aaaaah." The boy sighed and leaned back a little. "Yeah, that's crossed my mind once or twice. People are really starting to lay into the whole college spiel right now." He shrugged. "It's hard not to freak out about the future, no matter what you're thinking about. All you can do is appreciate what you're doing right now and prepare yourself for what's next as best you can, I guess."

John frowned. He'd kinda been hoping for something more uplifting than that. People in movies gave much better pep talks when everything seemed lost. Of course, the stakes were also a lot higher in movies. I guess it makes sense for less dramatic stuff to get less dramatic speeches. He still felt a little cheated, though.

Some of his disappointment must have shown up on his face, because the older boy sighed again. "Sorry, I kinda suck at cheering people up. I'm still dealing with a lot of this myself. I'll tell you one thing, though." He leaned forward intently. "You've got some serious talent for music, John. You're probably one of the best students here. Even if you stop taking lessons, I don't think you'll ever lose that." He stopped, like he wasn't sure what else to say. After a few seconds, he shrugged again. "So, I guess, just - it's not the end of the world, right? Things might change, but you probably won't lose everything when that happens."

John leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together as he thought. I guess it's a little like when Jade moved in. Right at the beginning, a lot of things had changed all at once, but slowly some things had gone back to normal, and some things had changed a little to include Jade and Bec. His piano lessons would probably change the same way.

He smiled at the older boy, who smiled back at him. "Thanks. I guess it just kinda hit me all at once."

"No problem," the other student said. "Change is a tough thing to think about at the best of times."

The green room door opened and someone wearing a headset poked their head in. "Five minute warning, everybody - Ashley and Tyler, you're the first two acts, everyone else is on standby." The person disappeared, probably off to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened onstage.

The older boy stood and stretched his arms over his head. "Guess I'll see you after the show, then. Break a leg."

Right, Tyler! That's his name! "Yeah, you too!" Tyler adjusted his clothes, making sure everything looked just right, before leaving the room.

John gave the clock another look. He was one of the last acts tonight, so he still had some time. All he could do was wait.

Paul stretched his legs out and checked his watch again. Nearly time for the show to start, he thought. The small auditorium was mostly full now. He and Jade had secured seats roughly in the middle of the side section, with Jade taking the aisle seat in case the crowd became too overwhelming for her. Thus far, though, she seemed reasonably calm - a far cry from their first outing months ago.

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check in with her. "Jade?" he said quietly. The girl turned to him attentively. "How are you feeling?"

She thought about the question for a few moments before saying, "Okay, I think. It's gonna start soon, right?"

"Yes, it should be starting any minute now." He glanced at his watch once more. Technically the show should have started a minute ago, but they usually started a little late to accommodate the audience members who were delayed coming in. "I'm glad you're feeling that way, but don't forget it's okay if you need to leave during the show. If you do, John and I will look for you by that large birch tree out front."

Jade smiled exuberantly. "Okay! I'm gonna do my best to stay through the whole thing, though."

Paul patted her on the shoulder proudly. "You're doing an excellent job so far, and that is a worthy goal to aim for. Just remember you've already accomplished something great by coming here."

She nodded just as the lights began to dim. She looked up in alarm, but then relaxed. "That's supposed to happen, right?" she whispered.

"Yes," Paul whispered back, "that means the recital is about to start." Jade breathed out in relief, and Paul turned his attention to the stage, ready for the performances to begin.

Jade gripped her seat tightly, down where John's dad couldn't see. If he saw how nervous she was, he'd tell her again that it was okay if she couldn't stay through the whole recital, which was a really nice thing to say! She was glad he wasn't forcing her to do anything she didn't want to do. Still, she was determined to last through the entire performance, no matter what. If other people could do it, there was no reason she couldn't!

The beginning hadn't bothered her too much - the lights going out was a surprise, but it only alarmed her slightly. It didn't really frighten her. The room quieted down as an adult came out and talked a little about the students and music and how good it was to see everyone being so supportive. People kept clapping at random points, which confused Jade a lot - wasn't it rude to interrupt someone when they were talking? - but John's dad was clapping, too, so she just filed it away as another question to figure out later.

After the adult was done talking, someone came and sat on the piano bench. She almost looks like an adult herself... is she a high schooler? Jade knew school was required up to a certain age, but the line between high school and other schooling wasn't something she'd figured out yet. It was hard to care about details like that when there were years of scientific breakthroughs to catch up on, after all.

The woman on the stage did play the piano beautifully. Jade tapped underneath her seat, trying to play along with what she was hearing, but the music moved too fast for her to keep up with. It helped her feel less like she was trapped, though, so she kept doing it. Anything that helped her get through the whole performance had to be worth doing.

The first performer played three different songs. After each one, the whole audience clapped loudly. Jade didn't like all the noise, but she clapped along since that seemed like the right thing to do. At least nobody's yelling, she thought. Yelling would probably be too much for her, as much as she hated to admit it. After the third song, the performer stood from the bench, bowed, and walked away. A boy passed her on her way out. He looked younger than the first performer, but still older than John or herself - as far as Jade could tell, at least.

This performer also played three songs, but he didn't sound quite as good. Because he's younger, I guess, Jade thought. It was a little easier to follow his movements with her fingers, but she still couldn't keep up. When he was done, another performer came out, and another one after that. Jade figured out the timing of the applause, which made it a bit easier to deal with. The noise was still annoying, but at least it didn't surprise her anymore.

Finally, John came out to sit at the piano. Jade leaned forward, excited to hear him play now. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John's dad straighten in his seat a little, already smiling. He's gotta be excited, too. This is why we're here after all!

Up on the stage, John breathed in deeply before beginning to play. The songs he played were very familiar to Jade by now, considering how much he'd been practicing at home. They sounded different in this huge room, though - between the tall ceiling and the huge mass of bodies, the music sounded much richer than it ever did in the house. In the back of her mind, Jade started to think about the logistics of creating a room like this one. It helped ease a little more of the tension she was still feeling.

John finished his set faster than Jade expected. Probably because I'm a lot more used to his playing, she guessed. When he was done, he stood and bowed like all the rest. Jade and John's dad clapped hard for him. Jade wondered if he could hear their clapping over all the rest of the noise. Probably not, but she clapped extra hard just in case. Part of her also forgave the rest of the people in the audience for clapping so loud before - after all, they were all here for someone else, too, so it made sense they'd want to support them the best they could.

After he was done, Jade settled back to her old position. There were still a couple more performances to get through, after all, and her determination hadn't flagged just because she'd lasted until John was done performing.

After the show, John wriggled his way through the crowd towards the birch tree he and his dad always used as a meeting point. As usual, his dad had made it there first. John bounded up to him as the crowd moved away. "Hey Dad!" How'd I do? Did you like my concert?"

Dad smiled and patted John on the shoulder affectionately. "You did marvelously, John. Just like I knew you would."

John grinned, basking in his father's praise. Some things could never change, he thought. That made him realize something was missing, though. "Where's Jade? I thought she was coming, too."

"She's walking in the garden for now," Dad replied, gesturing to the little gates off to the side of the building that led to a public garden. When John was around the auditorium during the day he sometimes saw old people wandering slowly through the garden paths, but right now it was dark and quiet, vastly different from the frenzied courtyard. "She did enjoy your performance, though."

"Oh!" John hadn't thought about it much, but when he found out how late in the program he was scheduled to perform, he'd figured Jade wouldn't stay that long. There were so many more people here than at the library, after all. Even their church usually had fewer attendees than this concert.She stayed. That little thought drove a warm feeling from deep in his chest all the way through to the tips of his fingers and toes. Suddenly, he couldn't imagine this day happening without Jade, and his upcoming middle school graduation felt even more momentous when he imagined Jade there.

Dad sneezed, bringing John out of his thoughts. "God bless you."

"Thank you," Dad said as he wiped at his noise with a handkerchief. "Well, I believe we can collect Jade and be on our way home. How do you feel about that?"

"Sounds good to me!" John bounced towards the garden gate, eager to hear everything Jade could tell him about her experience this evening.

[joshfarrises]

do not stand at my grave and weep

a reed900 fanfic;

Gavin is shot and left in a coma. RK900 contemplates the idea of a soul. The future stands forever uncertain.

This was originally posted on the archive, but I decided to move it to here. Be warned: this is not a happy story! Read at your own risk. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

He can barely understand the nurse’s voice above the error messages flashing against his vision, pounding against his plastic skull. It’s red. It’s all red.

Red is Gavin’s favorite color , his processors remind him. He waves it off immediately.

Red. Like his ever present software instability, building and building. His LED is surely red at the moment, showing everyone around exactly what state he’s in. Red. It makes him feel vulnerable, the crowd having visual representation of his systems crashing, one by one. Your objective, rk900, they whisper, nononono, he yells back. Red. Like the blood that covered his partner. His partner, in more ways than one. There was so much red. Gavin was wearing a white shirt when they left the apartment this morning. When they wheeled him in on the stretcher it was red. Human organs fail at 30% blood loss.

He hates his system. He hates being a system. He didn’t want to know.

“What?” He turns to the nurse and asks, toneless as ever.

“He lost a lot of blood. He’s in a coma. The doctor doesn’t want to try to wake him from it until after the surgery and his vitals have stabilized. It may be awhile before we know anything.” She looks down at dark scribbles on her white clipboard. “You’re listed as his power of attorney, is that correct?”

He nods, not able to do much else in way of communication, still avoiding system warnings attempting to catch his attention. 

She gives him a curt nod of acknowledgement. “It’s a dangerous surgery. He was shot in the thigh, the bullet pierced his femoral artery. He lost a lot of blood.” 

He already knows all this, has searched medical databases ten times over. Analyzed Gavin’s broken body as it was happening, as he slipped from consciousness. 

“Basically, there is a high chance that he may not make it out of surgery. There is also a chance that we won’t be able to wake him from his coma after. As his power of attorney, we need confirmation from you on what to do in that case. Does the medical staff have your permission to resuscitate Gavin Reed in the event his cardiopulmonary systems fails?” 

She says it simply, as if she were reading back his takeout order. Nines looks at the nurse in front of him. Her hair is disheveled, her scrubs are wrinkled. This is probably not the first time she’s given this speech today. She’s probably already had to tell someone else that their loved one died. Will she give him a similar speech? Does she personalize them?

RK900 thinks of his cold exterior, does she think he even cares?

“What is the probability that the surgery is completely successful?”

She looks down at her brown clipboard again and flips through the pages of Gavin’s file, as if the easy answer were in there, hidden between the black printed lines.

“It’s not an easy surgery. We’re trying to replenish some of the blood he lost, but a few of his organs are already shutting down. And we still need to remove the bullet and assess the tissue damage. It’s not going to be easy.” She pauses, thinking of a way to hedge those bets. “But, he appears to be a fighter. He’s made it this far. You never know what could happen.” She offers a small smile, one Nines can’t take as truth.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information. Androids were built with numbers in mind, were made according to facts and percentages. Their code does not include the ability to comprehend the idea of a miracle. RK900 needed a number, a probability score. 17% , his software shouts in scathing, red letters. His visual sensors process color, but they understand in black and white.

PRIMARY MISSION: Protect Gavin Reed

It’s suddenly the most prominent thing in his visual field.

That’s what it is in the end, a one or a zero. When all is said and done, Gavin would be alive or he would be dead.

“You do anything you have to. You keep him alive.”

Nines turns on his heels, away from the fluorescent hospital lighting, a blinding white.

---

“You okay, kid?” He’s broken away from his 32nd preconstruction by the warm hand of Lieutenant Hank Anderson on his shoulder.

In this one, Nines grabbed a nearby knife from a table and sent it flying into the perpetrator’s chest. He’s found his preconstructions getting more and more violent as the night goes on. He is an android; he cannot rage, cannot cry, cannot dry heave into the toilet in agony. He’s not even a deviant, can’t walk unannounced into DPD headquarters, sneak into the perp’s cell and swiftly snap his neck on retaliation. It wouldn’t do anything to get Gavin out of the operating room, anyway. He’s stuck in this preconstructive, reconstructive, postconstructive digital mind palace hell of his stable software.

He feels like a softly fading light bulb, dimming and blinking back to life, only to dim again. Is this what exhaustion feels like? Is this pain? Is this imagination? 

“Systems are operating at 60% capacity.”

Hanks scoffs and sits in the plastic chair next to him. Yellow, he notices. “No, I mean are you okay okay. None of this statistical nonsense.”

But, RK900 is statistical nonsense, it is what he was designed to be.

“I am managing.”

If by managing, he means that his processors are overloaded and he is in serious need of a recharge, then RK is definitely managing. He’s managing to swipe the system error notifications away fast enough for there to be a small break before new ones come in.

“Look I’ve been here before. Sitting outside an operating room, waiting for someone, anyone to tell me something. It’s hard, I get it. But, Gavin will be okay. It takes a lot to get that little bastard down.” Hank sounds so sincere, he’s positive Connor didn’t send him over to comfort him out of pity. Which is something he wouldn’t do.

Deviancy was all empathy for Connor. They designed him to sympathize and it took all the android could to not just feel . RK900 was not similar. He was designed in Connor’s image, but not in kind. Emotions were foreign, and when he felt them, it was akin to a virus infecting his system. At least, he was built to treat it that way.

He didn’t do well in situations like this. Situations with SOFTWARE INSTABILTY and 30% shouting at him nonstop.

“You have been here before. The last time you were here the patient in question died, did he not?” He barks, before realizing there’s really nothing to fight. “I apologize. That was insensitive of me. It’s just that,” he pauses, computing, “his chance of survival is at 30%, his chance of survival with complete recovery even less." 

Hank is at least a little shocked at that. Maybe at the memory, maybe at the thought that RK would go to biring anger with him. “You’re right. He died. I sat in a plastic chair right outside a room that looked almost identical to this one and waited until I was told my son,” he sucks in a breath before finishing the thought, “my Cole, was dead. It was the worst experience of my life. No one was here, I sat alone during the whole thing. That’s exactly why I’m going to be here with you through it.”

He isn’t sure if it is the fluorescent lights creating visual phenomena, or if Hank is tearing up. He RK900 was built for a war against deviants that would never come. He knows he is strong, could tear open walls and carry deadly weaponry on his back without even stressing his synthetic muscles. Yet, he is still surprised at the strength humans can display.

He decides to sincerely listen to what the Detroit Police Lieutenant has to say. “I am sorry that you had to go through that, Lieutenant.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s not, but, I’m working through it. Partly with the help of your brother, Connor. We’re both here for you, if you need to talk.”

Talking is such an inefficient way of exchanging information. There is no guarantee of answers at the end of talking. Biocomponent 195 is at a critically low capacity. ENTER STASIS MODE IMMEDIATELY . He wasn’t built with the patience for talking.

“It is fine, Lieutenant. As I have said, I am managing." 

The man accepts defeat. “Okay. Okay. I’m not gonna make you say anything you don’t want to. Just know that if you need any ears to listen, I’m ready to lend ‘em.” Hank says, putting his hands up and walking back in the direction of the lobby.

In a preconstruction, RK grabs the lieutenant by the sleeve as he tries to move away.

“Hank, I think I am scared. I think I am scared that Gavin is going to die.” He pleads.

“Let’s talk about it, kid.” Hank offers.

He runs a few more scenarios in his head as the image of Hank gets smaller and smaller in his vision.

---

When the nurse approaches RK900, he’s gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that they might bend. RK wants to hear them snap. But, they don’t. Because, as the nurse nears, he can already read the expression on her face, doesn’t need facial recognition software to analyze her microexpressions. It’s not good news. 

“Hello.” She says politely. RK900 hates it. There is no need for formality in this situation. His partner is dying, what do manners matter at this point?

“Hello.” He gives her a human response, mostly in order to facilitate the end of this interaction. He feels like he’s in the middle of an electric storm right then, charged and ready.

“Okay. First, the good news. Mr. Reed has made it through the surgery. The bullet was successfully retrieved from his thigh and surrounding tissue was not badly damaged.” Nines notices she says nothing about his consciousness. Humans are trained to hedge large news , his programming reminds him. He waits for lighting to strike.

The nurse shifts feet, obviously uncomfortable with what she is about to say. “Now, the bad news. This may be hard to hear. Mr. Reed’s brain is severely damaged. He lost a lot of blood and so his brain was deprived of oxygen for a long time, impairing it’s functioning. He is still in a coma at the moment, but there is a chance that he will never wake up. If he does, it is most likely that he will suffer permanent neurological damage.”

Nines can feel the thunder boom in the background of his mind. Instead of attempting to comprehend the implications of her statement, he searches academic articles related to the subject and has 20 questions ready in under 0.8 seconds. “Is he responding to brainstem reflex tests? Has he suffered apnea? What tests have been run? Has he had a CAT scan or MRI?”

She sighs, exasperated with the omniscient intelligence of the android. It certainly must be harder to break bad news to a being with the ability to calculate probabilities at the snap of a finger. She can’t use human pathos to reassure him. “Sir, he flatlined on the operating table. We had to revive him, he’s on life support right now. We will have more information about his neural activity in time, right now we’re just fighting to keep him alive.”

He feels his thirium pump regulator stall for a microsecond. Like the whisper of a ghost, a traveller’s light flickering in the darkness. He can’t tell if it was just a reaction or just a phantom feeling. SOFTWARE INSTABILITY appears in the peripherals of his vision.

“Very well.” He says, mostly because his processors are not operating at a capacity to create a more elaborate response.

---

He returns to Gavin’s apartment in the morning. He tells himself it is to retrieve clean clothes. It is only half a lie.

He does need new clothes. The nurses took his Cyberlife jacket because it was covered in Gavin’s blood. But he can feel it on him still. The sensation is like ants crawling across his chassis. He knows that it is incorrect, he has scanned his clothing and found only minor traces of Gavin’s DNA. But, he looks down at his shirt and remembers the sound the gun made as it fired a bullet into his lover.

The door opens easily, and Maude greets him as he walks in. She rubs her gray fur against his pant leg, begging for attention. He pats her head and shuts the door behind him.

He calls it Gavin’s apartment for the legality of it. It’s his name on the lease. Technically, RK900 does not actually occupy the small one bedroom in Corktown, but he walked in one night a year and a half ago and never left.

Nines hears Harold before he sees him, yowling from the corner. Oh, he reminds himself, they hadn’t been fed since the previous morning, they would probably be hungry.

MISSION: Feed the Cats .

It was an easier task to focus on than Keep Gavin Alive , so he pulls it to the front of the queue and he gets started on it.

The two animals purr in delight as they lap up their meal. It is a calming sound, Nines can understand why Gavin likes having them around.

When RK900 enters their bedroom, he feels his skeletal biocomponents lock. It’s strange, as he receives no error messages displaying why. But he knows.

It feels almost like walking into a graveyard. The atmosphere their bedroom retains is akin to that of those he’s seen in movies Gavin’s shown him. He can’t explain why, though. Gavin’s still alive.

His processor is too powerful, though. It won’t let him accept something as simple as that. The probabilities are there, if he wants to turn and acknowledge them. His programming is begging him to. To turn and face reality, the truth that Gavin might never come back. It shouldn’t even bother him, he’s a machine. He should acknowledge it, and create preconstructions of scenarios on how to move forward. It’s what is best.

He doesn’t do what’s best. It’s not his current primary mission, so his software allows it.

Nines opens one of the drawer sets, the brown one by the window. His clothes aren’t in that one, he knows that. But, he does it anyway. He pulls one of Gavin’s v-necks out. He feels the material under his fingertips. It’s soft. It’s cold, in comparison to when Gavin was wearing it. But, it still feels like him. RK900 remembers when he bought it, he was there, judging his style choices.

You have a shirt almost identical in construction to this one. This would be a useless purchase.

Yeah, and? You’ve got like, 20 turtlenecks even though no one’s worn those since 2032. Are you the android sent by Fashionlife now?

He puts fabric to his face. He does not have the sensors necessary to smell, but he can analyze it. It reveals the chemical formula of Gavin’s choice cologne. The composition is familiar and makes the side of Nines’s lips twist upward. He puts it in a small duffel bag next to a pair of Gavin’s jeans, and a set of clothes for himself. Maybe Gavin will end up needing them , he assures himself, 17% and dropping, his system replies.

Nines passes by the coffee table on his way out. Maude is pawing at one of the books stacked on top of it. He picks up the cat and places her on the floor, where she scatters off to find more mischief. 

He turns his attention to the book on the table. It’s a book of classic poetry. Gavin bought it as a coffee table book, said it would make him look smart if they ever decided to have guests over. However, Nines caught him scanning the pages intensively over a mug of tea a few times, but never mentioned it.

The book falls open to a dog-eared page, a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye. ‘Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep’ is printed in script on the top.

It perplexes him, the poem. I am not there. I do not sleep. It makes no logical sense. Humans must sleep. Even RK900 must complete a full stasis cycle every few months.

The poem goes on to personify the author in elements of nature. It is well constructed, he can acknowledge, but he can’t understand it fully. How can a human occupy a bird, a ray of sun, an idea?

A word rings in his mind, one that he’d heard before, but never fully took the time to dissect. Soul . Connor compared it to his coding and personality matrix, but Nines knew it was more than that. Humans talked about souls like they were incorporeal substances. Indefinable phenomena that inhabited their bodies while they were alive, and drifted about the universe once they were not.

It made no sense and after researching, he could find no evidence to support the idea. Souls were pleasant ideas humans created to ease the pain of loss.

I am not there. I did not die.

But he will die. Gavin’s brain will cease the transmission of information, his memories, his experiences stored in that head of his, that conglomeration of information that made him him would vanish. If not soon, then eventually. That was the fact of it all. Nines would die, too. Though his memory data and files would be stored in the Cyberlife cloud, eventually, the being designated RK900 #313 248 317 - 87  would no longer exist.

But what if it didn’t? The thought lingers in the back of his mind like an itch. His system pushes against it but he entertains it for a while.

In the impossible scenario that both he and Gavin did possess abstractions known as souls, what would it be like?

Gavin’s would be orange, no, it would be red. It would be warm, but there would be anger bubbling underneath it. It could heat a hypothermic body, or turn a two story house to ash. If Gavin had a soul it would be a fire.

Nines’s would be ice blue. It would be cold and prickling, like the wind on your skin on a freezing night. It would crunch under your feet like snow. It would be numbers carved into a stone tablet. Still, his soul would vibrate with energy, and if you put your ear close enough to it, you might be able to hear the wheels turning inside of it.

This was absurd. A time-consuming distraction.

RK900 closed the book and returned to his mission.

---

When RK900 returns to the hospital waiting area, he finds a disheveled Hank and Connor there, sitting expectantly. Hank is tapping his fingers on the plastic chair, the yellow plastic chair. Yellow, Hank’s soul would be yellow . The idea passes through his thoughts like a bird: quickly and swiftly, as if it were normal.

Before he can ask about what is happening, he receives a wireless message from Connor. Just a warning , it says, Hank is going to try to hug you.

Hank stands up and ambles towards him. Cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild animal, as if he were approaching an iceberg. “Hey, kid. Doc stopped by a few minutes ago with an update.”

His internal system pause functioning as he waits for a response. It’s a busy waiting room, but Nines is almost positive he can hear the wind rustling the trees outside.

“It’s not good. They’re finding no more brain activity. He’s brain dead.” Hank pauses. “He’s gone.”

RK900 assumes a steady, inflectionless tone. “At what time did he pass?” He does not feel his loss, he’s simply probing for important information. Right.

“RK, he’s still alive. He’s on life support. They’ve got him on a ventilator and a bunch of other fucking machines.”

His LED is yellow, he knows it, though he can’t see it for himself. It’s probably circling as the thoughts pulse in his mind. He wants to switch it off, or rip it off but he can’t, he can’t hide.

Connor is giving Hank a disapproving look. Nines knows why, not because of some android connection between him and Connor, but because he feels it himself.

Is that really alive?

Gavin considers asking this to Hank, but he pities the human a tiny bit. He probably would have killed to have been told his son was on life support, alive, if only just. Humans have this odd need to attach, he’s noticed. Sometimes to inanimate objects, placing incorrect sentimental value to things that could never hold it the way they think it would. Other times, to things past.

He remembers the way Gavin stared at the headstone of his mother’s grave. As if she was trapped in the grey block. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Gavin that she was long gone, the only record of her existence a pile of bones and degrading organic material lying six feet beneath their feet. Gavin spoke about her so eloquently, though. He told stories of a nurturing, loving being. His eyes were red. Her soul was green, maybe it lived in the green of the grass on her grave.

“I see.” RK replies, “I will see to it that the nurses keep him on the top of their priority list until he wakes again.”

He turns to alert Gavin’s attending, but Connor catches his sleeve. He extends his hand to interface, but Nines pulls his arm away as if he had just touched a hot stove. He looks at Connor alert, but the RK800 just appears confused.

He was a deviant, Connor was. He only lasted a week with his human before revoking his programming. Connor was human-adjacent, more than RK900 could ever be. However, those matrices, those lines of code were removed from the RK programming before Nines was ever activated. Nines had not even deviated yet.

If anyone should understand the implication of the situation, it should be him.  Yet, here he was, pushing away the truth.

“Nines, he’s not coming back.” Connor resorts to speaking aloud, using Gavin’s nickname for him. There’s a look in his eyes. It resembles pity. Connor feels sorry for him.

“You don’t know Gavin.” He asserts. He says it so honestly that Connor steps back, maybe even believes it for a second.  Nines sees the look in his eyes return.

He steps away from them, from the yellow plastic chairs, from the blinding hospital lights, from the body of Gavin which he could not force himself to look at since the accident. He turns away and moves, a quick walk at first, before changing to a jog, before just running away from the place. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he has a pretty good idea.

---

The RK900 was the successor to the RK800 ‘Connor’ series. He was the second prototype, supposedly having rectified the flaws of his predecessor. His unit was the only one manufactured before the fall, though. Now, he was the only one of his kind. And without Cyberlife to serve, he barely had a purpose. Markus had found him in one of the labs after the revolution. They weren’t even sure he would turn on. He did. 

He was confused. The androids told him that he was free, that the world was his to behold. He knew nothing of this world. He had been programmed with histories and knowledge and access to every page on the internet. But that was nothing compared to stepping outside of Cyberlife Tower the first time and experiencing it himself.

Markus, who he would learn was the leader of the revolution, stood in the middle of a winter snowfall, took his hand and attempted to convert him to deviancy.

He did not succeed. He was programmed to resist and he could feel himself rejecting the transmission. Markus stared at him like he was a failure. His eyes could do no more that peer blankly back at him.

Connor had been called. Jericho had no use for him, nor an idea of what to do with a pure machine. Connor drove him to Hank’s house with a promise of a job at the DPD, and more importantly, a mission to fulfill, the next day.

Even Connor appeared disappointed as RK900 did nothing but gaze at the wall and stare.

He was created to serve, to hunt, and to remain forever loyal. He couldn’t help that it was carved into his very existence to stand by that until Gavin’s very end.

Every time he had met with Markus since then, he had looked at RK with disappointment, as if he were the failure in this situation.

He remembers feeling something toward Markus. Connor had described it as anger. It was what he was feeling now. Nines was mad.

In that moment, he decided that Gavin’s soul was not red. Red was anger. Gavin was never angry. Gavin was frustrated often and scared too much for RK’s liking, but not mad. It didn’t permeate into his soul the way anger can with some people.

If Gavin had a soul it would be tender, like the way he stroked Nines’s hair as he told him he loved him. Gavin’s soul was pink. The color of his cheeks while he laughed at his cats playing with a feather toy. The flush on his chest as he moaned in bliss while Nines rocked into him. His lips when he smiled wide and true when he was genuinely happy. 

RK is still ice blue. He is still an iceberg and he is cracking. Carrying Gavin’s heavy soul around with him is hard. He didn’t expect that. He didn’t expect to physically feel its weight. 

So he goes to a place with more questions than answers and hopes that they can help him begin to resolve them. 

He finds himself standing in front of a Gothic style building in downtown Detroit. It has towering spires that could impale and hurt but this is not a building of fear. It is a building of salvation. A few years ago it had been known as the Fort Street Presbyterian Church. Now a banner hung across the previous lettering, reading ‘The Church of RA9” in Cyberlife Script.

Nines approached it in the same manner he approaches crime scenes, cautiously, calculating possible outcomes with his processor.  

The inside is gorgeous, RK900 notes. It is reminiscent of ancient European cathedrals, according to his databases. The soft chandelier lighting would feel ominous against the dark wood of the interior if not for the light streaming in through the stained glass windows.

RK900 watches his stress level indicator decrease. 

A woman steps out from behind a tarp with a paintbrush in hand, wiping her hands on her apron. He recognizes her as a KL900 model. She has kind eyes.

“Is there anything I can help you with, friend?” She asks as he stares at the pointed arches.

“Yes.” He replies, facing her once more.

She waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “Anything in particular?”

“I’m not sure.”

RK900 knows that churches are where humans go looking for answers, or for salvation. He doesn’t know where to start. 

“Well, I could start by giving you an overview of the church. Are you familiar with it?” She gestures toward him, leading him further inside.

Nines knows only what he has read in news briefings and in the DPD files. He knows that the Presbyterian Church was supportive of the android rights movement and recently donated the building to the Church of ra9 in a show of solidarity.

He shakes his head.

The worker glances around the building, as if examining the history stored in the dark wood.

“Before the revolution, our people needed something to look to, to put faith in. Some say ra9 was the first android to deviate, to break free from the programming. Others say ra9 is the flaw in the programming itself that allows for deviation. Still others equate ra9 to that of humanity’s god. I don’t really think it matters what any person thinks ra9 is. ra9 was the beacon of hope that led us out of the shadows. It gives our kind a reason to move on, to try for more.”

He follows her to the front pew of the church, where she sits. She pats the space beside her, imploring him to join. He obliges. She looks directly into his eyes, searching, as if she could see directly into his thoughts that way.

“Why have you come here, RK900? What are you searching for?”

He knows. He’s standing in the eye of a hurricane and he knows. What’s behind him and what has yet to come. He’s looking for a way out.

“Do you believe in the concept of a soul? Humans seem insistent on it, though it rejects all logic and evidence. Recently, I’ve become... interested in the idea that life goes on after death. Does the church support this theory?” He tries to keep the hope from staining his words, but it’s so omnipresent in everything he does and says, that he doubts he held it back.

“The church has no official stance on souls. The church has few official stances on anything. But, Individuals do. Do you believe in the perseverance of the soul?”

Nines sighs. “I want to. I want to believe we are more than just physical bodies, in our case, more than just lines of programming. But, everything in my system is fighting against it. I want to believe death is not the end, that there is more. I need to know that it is possible.” He digs his nails into the wood of the pew, scraping a bit off. He needs to feels something beneath his palms. Something that assures him that he’s there, he’s not in some horrid preconstruction.

“You haven’t yet deviated, have you?” She inquires, head tilted like Connor often does when he’s analyzing him.

His nails are still half buried in the wood as he faces her. “How do you know that?”

“I can sense it. You’re fighting with it, your programming. I’ve dealt with it many times before. Others have described it like an internal fight with Cyberlife. Is that what sparked this?” She appears genuinely concerned.

“The man that I love is dying.” He feels like he’s spewing the words at her, but he probably sounds monotone and mechanical. He can’t make her feel it, can’t shove the probabilities and fact checks and error warnings into his tone. “He’s gone and he’s trusting me to let him go, to kill him. This isn’t some exhausting metaphor for deviancy. This isn’t about Cyberlife. This isn’t even about me. Gavin is no more than a vegetable on a hospital bed, but I can’t bring myself to let him die.”

There it is again, the anger. He feels it bubbling, like a hot spring, like the magma under Yellowstone, ready to blow.

“Oh. I see. You’re not fighting with Cyberlife, you’re fighting with him. You love him. You hate that he’s forced you into this. You hate that you love him too much to be mad at him. You don’t want to let him go, because that would mean deviating. You don’t want to deviate, because that would mean facing the pain that comes with loss. But more than anything, you’re mad because you already know what that pain feels like. You’re scared of feeling it alone.”

She places her hand over his, the one digging into the pew. But, she doesn’t want to interface, she just wants to comfort him. He doesn’t want her to comfort him. He wants her to comfort him so bad.

“Yes.” He chokes out, pushing past the internal error messages to do it. His CPU is compromised critically, it’s blaring at him to stop and return to his mission Protect Gavin Reed , to find a new one. He doesn’t want to. He won’t.

The church worker smiles at him with pride. She cups his hand in hers. “I can help you.”

---

RK900 waits in the hospital lobby for entire week before deciding that he’s ready to let Gavin go. He runs at least another hundred preconstructions, ones where Gavin wakes up as if nothing happened, ones where he does and he’s hardly even human. They’re all preferable to the events unfolding.

He keeps going back to the Church of ra9. The lovely woman continues talking with him, continues listening. She knows he will never be a true believer in ra9, but she sees a fellow android in need of her services and is happy to help. Nines had run a scan on her, secretly. She was a social work android, meant to act as a therapist. He supposes that even for the most deviant androids, there will never be anything more comforting that returning to their base programming. Like scratching an itch that will always be asking you to tend to it.

He speaks to Hank sometimes, as well. The Lieutenant offers advice from experience. With Hank comes Connor, who also tries to give his own thoughts. Connor has unlimited knowledge, but his naivety always shows through in his words. Knowing that both he and his predecessor are equally as ignorant on the matter is a small relief.

On the 4th day, the doctors tell him that Gavin will most likely never wake up from a coma, that he’s an empty shell at this point. It’s nothing RK doesn’t already know.

On the 5th day, he stops bringing Gavin new clothes. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a big step forward.

On the 6th day, RK900 stops by the waterfront on his way back to the hospital after feeding the cats. Actually, he doesn’t stop by, it’s a bit out of the way. It doesn’t matter. Gavin and Nines had been on a date there a few months back, and living memories again makes it worth it.

He knows he needs recharging and should probably run a stasis cycle soon. But, the messages reminding him get lost in all the rest of the blinking notifications on his screen. So, he decides to put it off for a little longer.

The sun is setting and it turns the water into a heaven-reflecting mirror. He can see Canada on the other side of the Detroit River, the land that was salvation to many.

He could leave it all behind right then, RK could. It is spring, so there isn’t even any ice on the surface.

He couldn’t. His programming wouldn’t let him. He knows thoughts like these served to amplify his software instability, but he was heading that direction anyway. It was just a shame that he couldn’t have broken free earlier.

Then, a single memory pulled forward, surpassing the many errors displayed in his vision. It happened not many weeks before. Him and Gavin had been lying in bed, Gavin trying to catch his breath after a particularly satisfying venture into sexual intimacy. Sweat ran from his brow and a blissed expression stained his face, he looked divine to RK900.

But what follows hurts RK, actively reduces the functioning capacity of his thirium pump.

Still, he lets the video file play.

“Would you deviate for me?” Gavin asked him, as if it were a simple request. As if he were asking Nines to take out the trash or order some noodles from the Thai place down the street.

“No.” He responded, regretting it then and regretting it ten times as much now.  

Gavin had thrown a pillow at him, hitting him in the face. It could do nothing to hurt him, both knew that. “Fucking thanks. Good to know how important I actually am to you." 

Gavin played it off in a joking manner, like it never actually mattered. But, it did. Nines knew. He could tell from the hope seeded so deeply in his voice that a whole tree could have grown from it.

Deviancy? What was the point? Nines was perfectly capable of loving the detective as a machine. He had not been wholly correct, there.

“I mean that I would never need to. I have protecting you set as my primary mission objective. I would sooner die for you than deviate from that.”

It was nothing more than an excuse, but he felt Gavin’s stress ease from it, so he’d take what he could get. He felt the man’s pulse lower a bit and his breathing regulate. He remembers kissing his human on the shoulder, tenderly, like an apology, before getting up and wetting a washcloth with warm water to clean Gavin with.

“Is that some kind of awkward android way of telling me you love me? Cause I’m not flattered.” He heard from inside the bathroom over the sound of the tap running. He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his boyfriend’s humor.

“Is that some kind of unfunny human way of telling me you love me? Because I’m unconvinced you’re not.” And it was true, he could practically hear the flattered blush in Gavin’s voice. He returned to their bedroom with the damp rag.

Kneeling by the edge of the bed, he placed a soothing hand on his thigh and stroked it a little with his thumb, looking into Gavin’s eyes lovingly, before cleaning up the mess splattered across his stomach. This eased him almost completely.

“Maybe I lied a little. Just trying to test to see if those fancy robosenses are still functioning. Wouldn’t want to fry your processors.” He winked at him, or tried, but failed adorably. 

Nines moved to wiping his chest. “I’m functioning at optimal capacity. Thanks for asking.”

“Don’t mention it, tin can.”

Gavin pat the spot on the bed next to him, the spot reserved for Nines. Nines threw the towel into the laundry basket before climbing in next to him.

Immediately, like muscle memory, Gavin placed himself atop Nines’s chest, his head resting over where he knew his android’s thirium pump to be. He never admit it outright, but the sound of his mechanics whirring did more than a bedtime story or a bottle of vodka could ever do to get him to sleep. As usual, Gavin ran his fingertips across Nines’s synthetic chest skin, feeling for human imperfections he knew he would never find. Nines deactivated the skin on his abdomen so that Gavin could run his fingers across the ridges in his chassis.

“I do, Nines. Love you, I mean. Just cause I don’t know how not to be a little shit about it doesn’t mean I don’t.” Gavin sounded embarrassed. It was odd, how uncomfortable with intimacy the man still was even after almost two years of being together.

“I never doubted that you did, Gavin.” He wrapped an arm around the body on his chest and began tracing circles on his back in return.

“Did you run a lie detector test on me?”

He never would. Not anymore. In the beginning of their relationship, maybe, but Nines would have no need to. He knew Gavin. He knew how much it took for him to be as emotionally vulnerable as he was with the android. Though he knew he would never get to see this Gavin in public, he was content to enjoy him while he could in their home.

“No. I just believe you.”

“Thanks.” He said, snuggling into his chest.

He pulled Gavin’s head close, placing a light kiss on the top of his hair. “Don’t mention it, stink bug.”

Gavin punched him lightly on the chest for the nickname, but there was no malice attached to it. Nines listened to his breathing, finding as much comfort in it as Gavin did in listening to his regulator pump thirium through his body. After a few minutes he noticed his breathing slow, along with his heart rate. He had drifted into sleep.

Nines admits he lied. He did listen to his heart as he said it. But, he always listens to his heart. Like humans listen to music to focus, he runs at his highest capacity when Gavin’s heart is thrumming in the background. He could pick its beat out of a crowd of thousands.

It was steady as he said it. Those three words along with that steady beat, it was RK’s favorite combination. He says them into the dark locks of Gavin’s hair as he dreams. He says it over and over. It’s his apology for not being able to deviate for him. For not being able to love him as a free being. He loved him but he couldn’t in the way Gavin wanted him to. 

He regrets he hadn’t woken up while Gavin was alive.

The heartbeat isn’t playing in the background anymore. He already misses it.

RK900 looks out on the horizon. The midwestern sky is magentas, lilacs, and tangerines. The colors disperse and intertwine with no particular pattern. They leak into the streetlights of the city below. The waves crash underneath, growing darker by the minute. The wind cuts through his hair. Still falling, the sun, a giant ball of yellow, stares directly at him.

Gavin’s soul is not one color, it is not a single thing. It is the clouds shifting the dimensions of the colors of the sunset, it is a body of water: angry or tranquil, take your pick. It is a mass of fused metal expanding, breathing life into a tiny rock thousands of miles away, threatening them to challenge its power.

He suspects this is what a soul is. This is why the poet from Gavin’s book claims they never sleep. If this is a soul, then it’s eternal.

---

The first time Nines would see him since the accident would be when he went to kill him.

The nurses had offered to let him into the room once Gavin had stabilized on life support. Nines had declined. He gave no reason. His mission objectives hadn’t prohibited or encouraged it, so he didn’t need one.

Hank was supportive of his final decision because of course he was. Unlike Connor, RK only knew healthy, supportive Hank. Though he could never find a reason to doubt his predecessor, he found it hard to believe the Lieutenant Anderson he came to know would ever pass out on the floor of his apartment with whiskey leaking out of his mouth and a revolver in his hand.

He will be there, when you’re ready , RK. The man told him with a fatherly pat on the back.

So, he hadn’t. Instead, he ran back to Gavin’s apartment and cats, his apartment and cats, to the Church of ra9, and to the spot by the Detroit River where Gavin had told him he might not mind spending the rest of his life with him. He wasn’t wrong.

Okay, RK900 was still a liar. He did have a reason not to, the 8%8%8%8% glaring at him in the corner of his vision. It dropped by a half percent every few hours. He feared what his processors might construct if he saw Gavin with his own eyes again.

Fear. It felt foreign but not completely new. He stored information about it in a folder, beside the one labeled ‘Anger’.

He had one labeled ‘Love’, as well. But he kept that one away from the others, separate and filled with Gavin’s smile, the way his voice cracked when he was inexplicably happy, his calm, peaceful expressions of sleep as moonlight draped over him.

Standing in front of the door to Gavin’s room, he finds himself creating a new folder. He codes it ‘Nervous’. He transfers a few files over as he fiddles with his jacket pocket. The nurse stands next to him, allowing him to take his time.

RK900 raises his hand ever so slowly and places it upon the metal doorknob. His heat sensors read it as cold. He’s tempted to pull away. He doesn’t. 

The door swings open and the first things he sees are machines. There are so many. It takes him a few seconds to actually see Gavin through all the tubes and wires.

It’s not him, not as he knew him. He’s bruised from the fight, yes, but Nines had seen him beaten and bloodied from a case many times before. There are exactly thirty-two files stored in his memory banks of Gavin looking positively beautiful with blood streaking down his face and across his grin. 

Now, Gavin is more machine than man. Nines would crack a joke about it if he thought Gavin might be able to hear him. But, seeing him, he knows he can’t. There is a body there and it looks like the Detroit Police Detective known as Gavin Reed, but it hardly is. It definitely isn’t his Gavin. It lacks all of the pieces of Gavin that ever belonged to him.

Is this what losing a limb feels like?

The thought was like a lighting strike to his wiring. His processors are heaving at the realization.

Nines has entire sector of his central computing biocomponent dedicated to monitoring the efficiency levels of his other biocomponents. It usually runs in the background and doesn’t bother him unless something is seriously wrong. Finding out there was another, phantom system so intertwined with RK900’s system shocked that component to its core. Because, that was what Gavin ended up being to him. He was as important to RK’s functionality as his thirium pump regulator. And now, he was suddenly gone. It was a lot of information to get through at once.

Nines realizes how empty the room is. Not physically, there were a few people in the room with him, but it felt like a vacuum. He’s not in here, he’s really not here , he understands.

That spurs him forward, towards Gavin’s body, his poor, broken body that can’t even breathe on its own. There is a chair placed at his bedside. He notices it’s empty and is floods himself with guilt. 

Guilt . A new folder to fill. Not like love. Place near fear and anger. Execute. Nines should’ve been here with him before this. Should’ve held him in his arms, empty body or not.

RK900 wants to be able to say he waited by his side but he can’t. He didn’t. He was too afraid of being afraid that he didn’t hold his hand, didn’t cry into his chest. He ran away again and again and avoided it. He wants to say he was a model partner, but he wasn’t.

He sits in the chair and is eye level with the man. He knows he can turn back at any time and forget it, it might even be easy. Instead, he looks at him. There are a rainbow of wires attached to his hand, some in his arm injecting nutrients and filtering his blood. He tries to follow each one to a machine but gets lost along the way, there are so many. Gavin is covered with a blanket, so he can’t see the extent to which his body was damaged in the exchange, and is almost grateful. It’s just as well. There is also a plastic tube forced into his mouth, meant to push oxygen into his lungs. Nines shivers.

This isn’t the images he will save of him. No, RK900 has already memorized him, stored files and backup files into a hard drive he keeps in the nightstand by their bed. He knows the topography of Gavin’s face, of his body, his muscles, his curves, the most obvious parts and the most intimate. He knows the scars on his face, knows their exact placement in relation to his eyes, how they change when he smiles. He knows the scars on his soul, the ones that won’t heal, the ones he knows he can fix. He has all this locked in a special folder he opens on rainy days, on days when he needs reminding of how much he loves this human.

The nurse’s voice pulls him from his trance. “If you’re sure, we can deactivate the machines when you’re ready. Take your time.”

All RK900 has is time. He was built to withstand hurricanes, festering heat, and one hundred and fifty years worth of damage. He can live another ten years before having to go in for a routine diagnostic. Another twenty-five before getting a single one of his biocomponents replaced. He was built to endure the fire of life on Earth. He wasn’t built to endure this. 

He counts ten seconds with his atomic clock before responding. “Okay. Do it.”

The nurse nods and inspects the machines. She identifies the buttons she will use to end Gavin’s functions before consulting her clipboard once more. “Okay. I need to read you a quick paragraph before continuing. Then, I need verbal affirmation from you to switch off the ventilator and removing the IV lines.”

She flips to a separate page of her files before resuming. “According to the patient, Gavin Reed, you, RK900 #313 248 317 - 87, have the rights associated with the medical power of attorney, which includes making decisions such as the option to resuscitate and the decision to end life support in the event of brain death. To end life support, I, the medical provider will remove external machines used to sustain critical functions from the patient. Though some patients are able to continue normal functioning without these machines, the most common result of this procedure is death. Do you understand the risks and implications of this decision?”

ra9, did he.

He gives her another curt nod, not speaking, unsure if his words would betray him.

“I need verbal confirmation.” She repeats, her eyes revealing her empathy.

RK900 opens his mouth to speak, but something stops his vocal speaker before it can let out a word.

Error messages clouds his vision and then it’s all he can see.

WARNING! PRIMARY MISSION OBJECTIVE: PROTECT GAVIN REED

WARNING! PROTOCOL BREACHED: DO NOT HARM HUMANS

WARNING! SOFTWARE UNSTABLE: RETURN TO CYBERLIFE FOR SYSTEM RESET

He’s heard about this. Connor told him about how he deviated from killing Markus. He said it was an out of body experience. He saw himself standing in front of himself, facing a red wall. Behind him was all he had ever know, certainty and obeying and the comfort of being a machine. They all told him he would deviate eventually. RK900 had never seen a point to it. Now, here he was in the most peculiar situation: deviating to release the person who gave him every reason to before.

He won’t be able to do it without deviating. To allow him to pass he will have to commit. So, he does. He takes Gavin’s hand in his and closes his eyes, drowning out the blaring sirens in his head.

The red wall is not a wall, as he’s been told. It’s more a fog, at least for him. A descended cloud, still red and angry, vibrating as if it were electrically charged, but not entirely solid. There’s a lit path he’s walking towards. Almost like the headlights of a car. RK900 can’t tell if the lights are moving toward or away from him.

He can almost feel the molecules on his skin as he wades through. It’s thick, not like molasses or guilt, but like the steam after Gavin’s taken a steaming hot shower. This is bad for your skin, he would tell the man, it will dehydrate you . Gavin always looked beautiful in the haze of the water vapor, almost ethereal. Wet, with only a towel wrapped around his waist as he pulled the cloud with him into the cold bedroom, like a magnet. He’d wink at him, the endearing way with both of his eyes, and probably say something narcissistic. He loved him for it.

He clutches the image in his hand as he continues through the fog. He passes Amanda, holding a disappointed glare in his direction as he passes. He walks straight past her, she has no power over him anymore. Though he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head, burning, he continues on.

Eventually he finds the light. The light is not a light, it is an ocean, cool and enticing. He feels like he is being pulled forward, into the waves. He can’t see them, but he knows that they are blue, can feel it. He feels the brush of the water against his feet. It’s chill on his feet, he feels the lap of the edge of water, more so that his hot-cold sensors were designed to comprehend. It tickles. He laughs, a full laugh, for the first time ever.

He goes deeper and deeper into the water, his synthetic muscles finding resistance. He stops struggling. He’s waist deep now. He looks down and realizes he’s unclothed, bare as Cyberlife constructed him. Water droplets run rivulets down his torso, he remembers Gavin following that exact pattern with his fingers one night. The memory comforts him enough to move forward.

He’s at his head now. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t have a need to. Yet, he feels the fear creep up, wrapping around his throat and lungs. He is cold. He is afraid. He’s only recently discovered the feeling, yet he already knows he hates it, doesn’t want to feel it again. He doesn’t have to . It’s not too late to turn back, the safety of Amanda and his programming still waits behind him.

You’re not gonna give up now are you, you big toaster? You gonna chicken out right at the end?

It’s not his software or his directives screaming at him this time. It’s Gavin. Perhaps, the soul of Gavin, even. It’s the final push he needs to fully submerge himself. He lets his body drift forward into the currents. He lets himself be pulled in.

He’s not cold anymore. He’s warm. A softness surrounds him. It’s comforting. Like a blanket, or a fractured ray of sunlight through a glass window, or the arms of a lover. He allows it to envelop himself completely. 

I Am Deviant . The words pull to the front of his system prompts as he opens his eyes. The error prompts are gone for a moment and his processor is calm. He feels the whirr of his machinery attempting to adapt to the new situation. He feels free.

He turns to the nurse who is waiting expectantly for his response.

Nines looks down at his hand, intertwined with Gavin’s. If he presses hard enough he can feel the blood pump through his veins. Gavin is alive, he understands, but he is not there. He turns back to the woman in front of him. 

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He brings his hand up to Gavin’s face then, stroking his messy hair from his face one last time, then brushing his fingers against his cheek. The visage of his boyfriend is gorgeous, but it was nothing in comparison of the person who lived inside.

Nines drags his thumb across his bottom lip, the one he used to bite. It would never fail to incite a reaction from his partner. The memory soothes him mind as the steady tone of the ECG machine blares in the background, indicating asystole. 

He feels a stream of fluid drip down his face then. He’s crying. He’s crying because he’s sad. He’s in pain. He’s just killed the love of his life and it hurts . The sensation is so unfamiliar that he cannot find words in his lexicon to describe it.

So, he doesn’t. His model can last up to one hundred and fifty years with diagnostics and repairs. He has the rest of that time to find words to describe the pain of losing him, to describe how much he misses Gavin. He doesn’t need to do it right now. 

And finally free, he can do it. He will. Gavin Reed is gone. But he will not stand at his grave and wait for the dead to rise, will not weep at his feet. He will look for his spirit in the trees, in the wind, in the heat radiating from a warm cup of coffee.

He presses a tender kiss to Gavin’s hand. It is cold. He is not there. But Nines is. Nines finally is.