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peskellence · 10 months ago

Note

could I please request some reed900... 👉👈

Nines' skin is malfunctioning, but Gavin reassures him (in his own, Gavin way) that he accepts him as he is? Skin or no skin?

thank you. bless. kiss. forever indebted💕

Say less, friend, I've got you 🫡

Fail Safe

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, Established Relationship, Fluff, Praise and Affirmation, Self Acceptance.

AO3 Link

Summary: Gavin and Nines are on security duty when an unexpected cyber attack results in the android's synthetic skin being compromised. Despite his worries, Gavin reassures him that their bond runs deeper than the pieces they are made of.

Word Count: 4.7K

Gavin and Nines had been assigned to security duty at the opening ceremony for a new Jericho Community Centre. It was due to be a pretty contained event, nothing overly flashy or publicised. Normally, it wouldn't demand any police involvement, but there had been whispers the Anti Android Alliance planned to attend—staging some sort of protest.

This turned out to be true, although not in the way that could've been anticipated. It seemed a particularly enlightened Dipshit In Charge had decided the usual M.O. of bats and bricks wouldn't cut it. Instead, they were going to make some waves with a street-deployed cyber attack. Send their 'message', whatever deranged bullshit that might be, by taking out some local figureheads with a home-brewed virus.

Fuck knows how they'd manage to string together the spaghetti code with their three collective brain cells—or how they'd loaded up said clusterfuck onto the batons concealed in their pockets. Nevertheless, about five minutes into the presentation, they started swinging. Weapons bared and flung into the faces of nearby pedestrians as they tried to make their way to the stage.

Shit hit the fan, but fortunately, not for their targets.

It turned out the engineering at Fuckhead H.Q. was just as shitty as the planning, as the would-be attempt at corporal justice folded like a house of cards. Most of the batons didn't work, and with the ones that did, the virus wasn't able to execute the way they'd wanted.

The intent had been to infiltrate the android's core systems through mass corruption of their internal networks. Ultimately, overloading the CPU and causing permanent shutdown, but without plugging the device directly into an access port—which they clearly had no idea how to do, and their targets weren't about to help with—its reach was incredibly limited.

Basically, it couldn't do shit. Stalling at the first line of defence: the chassis. Digital garbage hurled at a plastic wall.

Nines had been hit by one of the bastards—stuck in the side of the neck as he wrangled them away from a Jericho representative. Handling of the situation became a lot less gentle after that, with the man catapulted onto the floor, squealing like a pig as the android pinned his flailing limbs. Gavin had moved to assist, feeding the guy a couple of teeth for his trouble.

Total accident, of course. The man just happened to move his face as he was getting the cuffs on, and it just happened to slam into the detective's fist.

He didn't get much of the chiding he'd usually expect for this, as the virus had started to do its thing. Working across his partner's body, flickering in patches like a broken LCD. The corruption branched down his throat before retreating beneath his collar in search of available access.

Much like with the other android's affected, it failed. Nines was fine, mostly: the only exception being that the malware had managed to fuck up one of his less important functions. His synthetic skin.

At least, that's what the Cyberlife Tech on the phone suggested was happening when they decided to call. The glitches spread, with the majority hidden beneath clothes—but Nines could undoubtedly feel the effects of corruption taking hold. While he wasn't sure if this was something they really needed to worry about, the concept alone left a bad taste in Gavin's mouth.

They were forced to leave reinforcements to book the fucker responsible, as well as the rest of his brain-dead friends. A shame, as the detective would have loved to acquaint him with the book about to be thrown his way. Maybe give him a black eye to go with the dental bill.

As they made their way home, the vibrancy of glitches had started to decrease, fading into a translucent creep that filmed across the skin. Whatever receptors were present to lend cloaking abilities were beginning to short-circuit, creating an expanding kaleidoscope of freckles and plastic.

Gavin used full siren privileges to run every red light they encountered, determined to weave through the traffic as quickly as possible. He had never seen the android so panicked—frenzied—like the car would be at risk of imploding if it didn't imminently materialise outside their home.

With his understanding of Michigan Traffic Laws becoming increasingly lax, Nines continued to rip into the rep held at knifepoint in his temporal channel. He hadn't bothered to lock communication to his internal server and instead was speaking out loud—in a tone that a more diplomatic man might describe as 'a bit confrontational.'

In reality, he had gone all seven shades of middle-aged-mom-with-an-expired-coupon. Demanding the guy listen to every minute detail of his grievance and inform him how quickly it could be resolved.

Gavin would have found this hilarious had the intensity not been a little terrifying. Instead, it inspired him to punch the gas harder, resulting in a chorus of beeps as he pulled a particularly dangerous manoeuvre around a sharp bend.

It didn't seem to matter what the squeaky-voiced foetus on the line said; each suggestion was ruled unacceptable. Commencing a perpetual cycle of 'that isn't fast enough' and 'speak with your supervisor' and 'this is an emergency, William; it should be prioritised accordingly.' The rep responded to each chastisement with small, deflated whimpers, like a punctured balloon expelling air.

The virus, now engaged fully, worked in stages to target each section of artificial skin. Limbs faded out in sporadic blotches as glossy pinpricks expanded their way into dense bands of white. They tunnelled through rapidly shrinking pockets of flesh, with Nines looking like a six-foot lava lamp by the time they finally reached the apartment.

Admittedly, it was a strange image—with this something the android seemed astutely aware of. He had charged for the bathroom and locked himself in within seconds of entering their home, informing Gavin with no uncertainty he would not be coming out until help arrived.

This was all well and good at first, but after three hours—and five espressos—nature was calling. Not softly, either, having been forced to wait for a good fucking while.

The pressure grew, and rather than risk a hole being punched through the wall of his bladder, Gavin concluded he couldn't hold it. Rapping his knuckle on the wood, he pressed his face against it, making a pointed appeal to his partner.

"Nines, I need a piss. Let me in for a sec."

The request went ignored, bouncing uselessly off the door and crumpling at his feet. Frustrated, he knocked again, using his available grip to jiggle insistently on the handle.

"Come on, I'm desperate. Open the fucking door."

"The Cyberlife technician will be here soon," an even tone greeted him, undercutting the demand. "I am confident you can wait a few more minutes."

"It's been more than a few, jackass."

"The operative advised that their arrival would fall between 2 and 7. As we are nearing 6:45, we can anticipate—"

Gavin disrupted the explanation with a prolonged groan of protest. His head lulled back as he grappled with a growing temptation to slingshot it through the panel. "Those windows mean jack shit. You'll be lucky if the bastard shows up before June. Hell, you'll be lucky if he shows up at all."

There was a weighty pause as though Nines was attempting to formulate some form of mind-shattering retort. Words of assurance so profound they would effectively conclude the debate—as well as any and all that followed.

Despite having a world of knowledge quite literally wired to his brain, the android gave him nothing. Treading over the same tired deflection with a small, dejected huff. "Just wait. It won't take long."

"If you don't let me in, I'm gonna go in the litter box—or the kitchen sink."

The latter threat inspired a visceral reaction. Gavin swore he could see the red casting from his partner's temple, seeping through the cracks under the door. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me. It's full of dishes. You want that on your conscience?"

As though taking a moment to grapple with the grim proposal, Gavin was made to wait in anticipation of his partner's reply. A lull that seemed to stretch endlessly, as he tried not to focus on the uncomfortable pressure in his groin. Crossing his legs, he tapped his foot impatiently—a motion that would have likely attracted the attention of a marauding cat were she not out harassing strays.

There were muffled sounds behind the door, like rustling fabric, followed by the telltale scrape of something heavy being moved. It seemed like Nines had gone to the effort of barricading himself inside, just in case Gavin managed to break through the flimsy hold of the lock.

"Turn around and keep your eyes forward. I will only leave this room on the condition you do not look."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," the man grunted, eyes rolling at the theatrics. "I swear I won't look. Scouts honour."

Another rustle followed—and a click—as an internal mechanism was turned and released. The door creaked forward, with casts of fluorescents from beyond the passage starting to leak into the hallway. True to his word, Gavin turned around. Gaze fixed on a nearby wall—as though the flecked chips of paint were the most engaging things he had ever seen.

The panel swung open completely, anchored on creaking hinges, and steady steps crossed the threshold. They did not progress much further, as Nines failed to meet the steady foundation of the carpet, instead greeted with a cat toy being compressed beneath his weight.

The worn squeaker of the felt mouse strained to its absolute limit, wheezing in a prolonged cry, until it slipped out from beneath his toes and careened across the room.

Shit.

Nines opposed the trajectory, fumbling back and colliding firmly with the weathered plaster behind him. Dangerously close to where they kept their beast of burden's scratching post.

Shit.

Gavin wasn't sure if the glitching had affected his partner's durability, but he didn't want to find out. Certainly not by being forced to remove him from a surprisingly solid pillar of plywood.

Nines already had one near miss today. The last thing he needed was for the engineer's visit to end up a real emergency.

Don't turn, don't—

His head whipped around despite all resistance. It had been out of instinct, really, with no malicious intent intended. An innate compulsion to assist, justifying that he would've been more of an asshole if he'd wilfully allowed his boyfriend to skewer himself.

It only occurred just how badly he had fucked up when he saw him.

The partners froze, eyes locked, and the room around them seemed to vanish. The structural integrity of limbs and furniture was immediately forgotten as Gavin's heart plummeted into his ass.

Nines looked horrified. His LED flashed like a warning beacon, crimson pulses growing in frequency the more his eyes widened. He stayed that way for a period. Paralysed. Like a startled deer out on a highway, about to be struck by an oncoming vehicle.

It was nothing like him at all, and Gavin found it deeply unnerving. He then proceeded to make it worse, executing all the same grace of a violent roadside collision. Allowing the first slack-jawed musing that popped into his skull to tumble tactlessly from his lips:

"Oh shit."

The red illuminating Nines' face took on a different meaning in the wake of the outburst. He had broken free of his prey-like stupor and emerged angry—furious. Taking laboured strides toward the bathroom, levelling his partner with an increasingly scornful glare.

"I told you not to look."

Gavin winced at the accusation dripping from the words, as they were dragged through the snarled curl of the android's mouth. Damage control was needed, but he was unable to engage the appropriate mental factions.

Instead, he attempted to downplay his previous stunned reaction—gesturing his boyfriend up and down with feigned indifference:

"This is why you've been holding the shitter hostage?" He noted how his arm cast shadows against the sheened wall of plastic, masking his intrigue with a scoff. "Really, that's it?"

Nines jerked back, expression pinched as though he had been struck in the face. "What do you mean, 'that's it'? Gavin, look at me."

"So you're a bit pale. Grey round the gills. You should've seen me this one time at Summer camp." Gavin chuckled preemptively, arms folded across his chest as he attempted to recall the memory. "Man, I'd eaten like seventeen s'mores, and I swear they'd laced the marshmallows with laxatives because, after that, I couldn't…"

He trailed off as the pronounced scowl etched deeper into his partner's face. Informing it wasn't the time for jokes—and that the legendary saga of Preteen Gavin and the Exploding Bowels would have to wait for another day.

"... Seriously, what did you think I was gonna do?" he challenged, abandoning the playful lilt in favour of something serious. "Freak out and run for the hills because you look like a robot? Because newsflash, genius, I kind of got that. Your skin turns into a goddamn Rorschach every time we do it. Not to mention the static orgasms—"

Nines raised a hand to stop him, clearly not appreciating the growing vividness of the account. "There was a time when this would have been an issue. Please don't insult me by denying that."

His voice was stern—gravelly with a mixture of frustration and hurt—as his expression hardened further. A feat the detective had thought impossible.

He bore into him with sharply trained eyes, still the same vibrant grey they'd always been—despite everything else that had changed.

Remorse struck hard, twisting his gut and nearly knocking him back. Nines was right: not long ago, this would have been a big deal.

The consequence of a roadblock which spanned the numerous tangled alleys of his mind. Something established by years of resentment, growing uncontrollably over time. Soon, it had become impossible to bypass, not that he'd made much effort to try. Facing the beast, he just knew it was insurmountable.

That was until Nines arrived, rolling up to the rickety wagon he'd parked against the barrier and all but ripping him out. Tugged from his seat by the goddamn ears as he kicked and howled in protest.

"Plastic fucker—"

Of course, it wasn't all that dramatic. It didn't happen immediately, and definitely not in a single pull.

The occurrence had been slow and gradual, with Gavin only starting to scream when he realised what was happening. Because the closer they got—moved from aggrieved associates to unexpected friends—the more he had to challenge everything he understood about being alive. A painful, arduous process that forced him to confront wrongs he didn't even know he'd committed.

The conclusion should have brought relief, but instead, it was hollow. Something was still missing—and it sure as hell shouldn't have been. His entire worldview had been uprooted, enriched, and expanded by Nines' perspective.

What more could he possibly want?

Then came that one night spent together on surveillance. They'd been scoping out some low-life dealer: a notorious scumbag who had been running operations out of the back room of an underground nightclub. It was a particularly seedy establishment, turning out to be more 'brothel' than 'party spot.'

They had been forced to adjust their approach, cosying up to one another in an effort to assimilate with the handsy patrons. Not that Gavin was complaining—which, in itself, brought to light something extremely damning. The emergence of a serious problem, one that threatened to blow up his fragile state of composure with a fucking grenade.

A particularly enlightening moment occurred—where Nines had him pinned to a wall, held firm by his wrists—when he realised it was too late. The problem was there. Had been for a while. Shaped into the contours of a chiselled jawline and a cool, bright stare he wanted to drown in.

"Keep still, detective. Eyes on me. I believe I have a visual."

The request had been low, practically purred against his ear. It had sent his heart rate skyrocketing, blood rushing in frantic pumps through the lingering echoes of words still dancing in the canal.

Oh fuck.

After that, he couldn't keep convincing himself that he was content with friendship. He wanted more, wanted this, without having to pretend. Desperation drove him to the insane stunt he pulled seconds later. If it failed, he could always claim it was part of their 'performance.'

An excuse that wasn't needed.

Their lips had met, and after a fleeting blip of hesitation, Nines reciprocated. Practically melting into him, abandoning his wrists in order to capture the sides of his face. Like he was holding something valuable— worthy of care and reverence.

They'd lost their visual on the target, as well as any hope of catching up to their boss, but the impromptu trip to a motel had been worth the berating they received from Captain Fowler.

It couldn't be overstated just how grateful Gavin was that Nines had chosen to give him a chance. To show acceptance despite everything he had put him through.

Because even if he was better, nothing could change the foundational truths of the man he was. The innumerable faults that would continue to persist despite all best efforts. Recklessness, arrogance, and spite. Baggage that came wheeled on a dolly cart, stacked to the ceiling.

None of it mattered.

The android took it all—willingly—and without any ultimatum. From the start, the only expectation had been that Gavin would do right by both of them by not fighting the way Nines made him feel.

And nothing had ever made him feel this way. The kind of unconditional devotion and adoration that seemed unique to them, as well as the simple comfort of being together.

He owed Nines everything. The least he could do was offer some modicum of the same security. Especially now, when he seemed so vulnerable.

"You know your skin deactivates every time you go into sleep mode, right?"

The effort backfired horribly.

If Nines hadn't already seemed willing to take up permanent residence in the bathroom, this declaration came close to cinching it. His eyes widened to near-comedic proportions, looking like they might careen from their sockets. "Excuse me?"

Gavin, realising that this had decidedly not been the approach to take, acted quickly to rectify the mistake. "I'm kidding; I just thought it might make you feel better."

The android was seldom listening, making clear that the damage was done as he sidled closer to the bathroom. The exposed soles of his feet pressed against the linoleum, and Gavin's body howled, desperate for its overdue reunion with his porcelain throne.

"This is—just—I mean, you look—"

"I am well aware of what I look like," Nines interjected. His already tense posture had grown increasingly stiff, as though his back was being supported by a cast iron rod, "and just how far this version of me must detract from your preferences."

The words struck hard—much more so than the previous blow. Any ensuing attempts at fumbled retorts were abandoned as he blinked, stunned into silence.

"The issue will be resolved, and once it has, you needn't concern yourself with my default appearance."

Wait. Hold up.

"Now, if you excuse me, I will wait in the bedroom."

Awareness unfolded, leaving him floored—thoroughly astonished at how Nines, the paragon of informed deduction, could have been so cataclysmically wrong when it sought to matter most. To be able to speak so matter-of-factly, with such a candid degree of confidence, about something that couldn't be further from the truth.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, placing him decisively into the path between his partner and their bedroom.

"Don't you dare go storming off like you're some goddamn teenager," he hissed, in full awareness that his standing there wasn't actually stopping anyone. Nines could quite easily pick him up and fling him across the room like a frisbee, although he trusted him not to.

"What else would you propose I do? Allow you to defecate in our kitchen because I refused to accommodate?"

"You aren't even giving me time to think." The injustice of the situation was becoming more pronounced, flaring hot in Gavin's ribs. "You're just assuming the worst of me, acting like I'm gonna be a total dick about this."

This proved enough to pierce through his partner's haze of contention. The sharpness in his eyes faded, giving way to a flicker of regret. His softened gaze then fell to the side, heavy with shame. "...That was not my intent. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

Clearly, it wasn't. The tension between them persisted despite the conclusion to their argument. It was suffocating, and Gavin couldn't help but notice how, despite making no further attempts to physically flee, his partner was still trying to hide. Sinking into himself, hands wrapped in a tense bind across his chest.

"...Nines." The name was gentle, settled on a pensive purse at the end of his lips. "Let me see you. Please."

The android didn't respond immediately, hesitation evident in every microscopic shift of his frame. Eventually, his arms slackened and fell back, revealing the expanse of exposed white torso. While still unsure of the idea, demonstrated in his continued refusal to look up, it was clear Nines was extending some form of invitation—one that Gavin accepted.

He traced his fingers carefully up the stretch of the android's chest. It was not made of a singular uniform piece as he had previously assumed, but rather, a complex network of small, interwoven panels. Segmented into varied shades of white and grey, connected by subtle welds.

As he delicately tested the marks with the heel of his palm, he noted how remarkably smooth they felt, blending seamlessly with the rest of the body.

Not everything beneath the chassis was covered, with pockets of plastic so thin they were practically translucent. It revealed a dense network of wires—vibrant blues shifting through the synthetic circulatory system, pumped in steady flows of biofluid.

The liquid originated from the centre of his ribs, beneath a protrusion in the sternum. Something that pressed to the surface—formed in a subtle ring. It pulsed gently, and the longer he looked, the more he was able to detect rhythmic glows of light.

Gavin whistled low, noting how the pace of the component increased when he placed a hand across it. Blue bled through his fingers, illuminating the veins and tendons beneath his skin. It seemed so calm and balanced compared to the uneven tempo of his own raging pulse.

"I didn't think you'd be able to see so much…" he mused, voice low with admiration. "It's fucking incredible. You know that, right?"

"I am a machine," Nines said bitterly—the word of contention spat with disdain, like a curse. "A collection of polymers and circuitry, designed and constructed together to perform a practical function. There is nothing remarkable about it."

"What you just described is a dishwasher. This is not a dishwasher; this is—" He scoffed in self-deprecation, realising just how unequipped he was to describe the gravity of what he was seeing. In the absence of any poise or delicacy, the man opted for honesty. "You're like some crazy modern artwork, a goddamn masterpiece."

"Stop lying to me."

"I'm not. You'd be able to tell if I was, right?"

Nines had nothing to say to that. His mouth jutted open, a tumultuous train of thought evident in the shifting glow of his LED before it wordlessly snapped shut.

"Look, even if you weren't objectively the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life, it still wouldn't matter."

The android still refused to look at him, posture locked painfully tight, but as Gavin traced a delicate finger around his regulator access panel, there was a hint of a shudder. Bristling through his shoulders, as the tension held there started to wane.

"I know you don't wanna hear this—because it doesn't fit into your tortured soul narrative—and honestly, there's no way to say without it sounding like something out of a shitty romcom—"

He was stalling for time and not effectively. This sort of sentiment wasn't his strong suit. It didn't come naturally, which Nines was aware of. Still, if there was ever a time to be nauseatingly, cavity-inducingly sweet, this was it:

"Truth is, I love you, and that's got absolutely jack shit to do with what you look like. It's because of what's on the inside, or whatever."

"You love me for my thirium pump regulator?"

The finger stalled in motion.

Gavin looked up to discover Nines was facing him, a mischievous grin tugging his lips. He glowered despondently and made a hasty attempt to retract his arm. "Shut up, you know what I meant."

The limb didn't get far, as Nines captured it by the wrist, keeping it anchored to his chest. "I did," he assured, caressing the skin, marking trails of bone and ligament with the end of his thumb.

Until the languid motions slowed as synthetic muscles seized. An aftershock of the previous state of anxiety. It was such a minor slip in control that anyone else would have unlikely noticed. Gavin knew better—keenly able to detect the change.

"This really doesn't bother you?", the android asked, accentuating the question with increased pressure against his carpus.

"Does it bother you that I have a mole on my chest the size of a quarter? Or that you can do a dot-to-dot with my stab wounds?"

"Of course not. Why would that matter?"

"Exactly." The man huffed, punctuating the point with an affectionate prod to the android's temple. "Come on, you're the one with the supercomputer brain; just think about it for a second."

Whatever equanimity his partner was still clinging to unravelled in an instant. He looked genuinely overwhelmed, struck by a tidal wave of emotion which he could barely seek to contain. The breaks showed fast, leaking through in small hitches of crackling breath.

"Gavin, I—" He stopped as though desperately seeking to regain some degree of composure. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Don't be a moron." He ushered him forward, capturing the hand still wrapped around his wrist. "Come here."

The android did not resist the embrace, sinking into it, as he enclosed the man with powerful limbs. Cradling the back of his head, digits toying with tousled brown strands.

"Sap," Gavin teased, although he revelled in their proximity just as much. Indulging greedily as he peppered kisses across a tempting expanse of shoulder. "You don't need to hide yourself from me. Ever. I'm here for you—and nothing else."

The charged sounds grew louder, like the rumble of a car engine, sending vibrations through Nines' throat. This was before he cupped his partner's chin and allowed the sound to escape through tightly pressed lips.

He moved with the sort of fervent passion that might suggest he was scared Gavin would disappear—but really, spoke more to the gratitude of knowing he wouldn't. It was only as he had fully breached the cavern of his mouth, and their hips were beginning to rock in sequence that the android finally pulled away.

Gavin was left mesmerised—and a little dazed—by the unexpected boldness. It didn't matter how often Nines did this or what other shows of licentious spontaneity happened to follow; he couldn't foresee a time when it wouldn't knock him off his feet.

How was he supposed to ground himself when he was perpetually flung into Cloud Nine, reminded of just how lucky he was?

"...Besides." He chuckled richly, the sound rolling into the part of tenuously divided lips. "Bald really isn't a bad look on you. It's kind of hot."

The man could practically hear the tight flourish of his partner's eyes before he graciously conceded to the attempt at flirting. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

With a hum of affirmation, Gavin leaned down, forming a seal on the junction between the android's shoulder and neck. "You ever wanna…you know…with the dome out. I'm game."

"Perhaps another time." Nines then returned a hand to the back of his scalp. Burrowing into the hair before resting a cheek softly against his temple. "Right now, I would like it if we could stay like this."

Gavin dutifully complied, removing his lips in favour of nestling against the collarbone. He savoured the gentle rush of warmth that radiated beneath the chassis. It felt like home, and his eyes slid closed, entirely at peace.

"Yeah, that sounds good to me."

#dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #fic request #requests are open! but please be aware i am slow #and i mostly just write reed900 #i know what i like and it is trash man and tin can

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thesilliestrovingalive · 1 month ago

Text

Reworked Group #8: Amadeus Syndicate

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to human experimentation, SA, and kidnapping.

Overview

The Amadeus Syndicate was formed by Manfrida Amadeus after she established a strong alliance with the Chief of the Regular Army and President Marx. Oghma introduced her to President Marx, who was looking to collaborate with a highly skilled scientist to enhance military and technological profits. Doctor Amadeus and President Marx initially believed that the Chief of the Regular Army would disapprove of a new alliance with a notorious woman of science, but he readily accepted it as he was in desperate need of additional support for military advancement. With substantial funding from the Regular Army and President Marx's defence contract business, they were able to establish themselves as a financially successful organisation. They served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army due to their extensive knowledge of various sciences and advanced medical equipment. They proved to be a promising opportunity for upcoming scientists and those who had been unfairly dismissed from their jobs, making it easy for them to hire new employees eager to work with the Amadeus Syndicate.

Many banks invested in the organisation after it gained fame through its various technological gadgets, weaponry, and war machines as well as its significant contributions to the fields of science, medicine, and technology. These banks provided further financial stability by offering them their own secret accounts, an opportunity that Doctor Amadeus seized. As a result, they were able to own multiple banks around the world, becoming a very wealthy company.

They significantly advanced the military machines and operations of the Regular Army, becoming known as the pioneers of the Super Vehicle line following their joint discovery of the Golden Slug. They conducted numerous scientific and technological experiments on behalf of the Regular Army, the most notable of which is the esper super soldier program, which experiments with psionic energy to create inhumanly advanced troops. Surprisingly, they're responsible for creating the Conference on International Cyber Terror Countermeasures within the Earth Federation as they possess a thorough understanding of technology and the issues that cyber terrorism causes.

However, behind the backs of the Regular Army, they managed numerous illegal and questionable projects, ranging from the illicit acquisition of Tuatha Dé Danann technology to the development of a sentient bioweapon. They conducted mutation experiments on carefully selected innocent Regular Army troops, transforming them into Mutated Soldiers. By leveraging the genetic traits of these Mutated Soldiers and integrating them with salvaged Martian bioengineering technology and rocks containing abnormal levels of radiation from the temporary landing of the Monoeyes UFO, Danu, they engineered a zombie plague. They also strengthened their paramilitary forces by contracting pirates and the Phantom Strike, ensuring they had access to reliable mercenary services.

They're responsible for desecrating ancient Egyptian tombs, triggering widespread mummy outbreaks to record the curses of each pyramid and harvest the mummification breath of the mummies for bioweapon purposes. Additionally, they conducted secret nuclear testing on Pallas Island and rigorous scientific experiments on the plant life and insects inhabiting the Oro Sol Ruins, leading to the creation of numerous mutated creatures, such as the Man Eaters and Flying Killers. During investigations in the Arctic to mine for gems and minerals and uncover more Tuatha Dé Danann technology, they inadvertently reanimated the Sasquatches, freeing them from their icy prison, which had remained intact since the Ice Age.

Three months before the Great Morden War, Nadia's unprecedented betrayal and word about Marco's sexual assault would lead to the untimely downfall of the Amadeus Syndicate. The Regular Army uncovered their hidden secrets and severed their alliance, igniting a fierce battle aimed at dismantling the Amadeus Syndicate by destroying the Amadeus Mainframe Base. However, with the support of the Ptolemaic Army and access to far superior technology, the Amadeus Syndicate managed to effortlessly push back. This battle proved detrimental to the Regular Army, resulting in significant losses of soldiers and war machines, which gave the Rebel Army an opportunity to easily overpower them once the Great Morden War began. The Amadeus Syndicate was able to quickly recover, thanks to Ptolemaios' mutual assistance and the substantial funds stored in their global banks.

After the Great Morden War and General Morden was freed from imprisonment, the Rebel Army lost a significant portion of their funding and was largely defeated by the Regular Army. Originally, General Morden intended to negotiate with Rootmars, but he quickly recalled his meeting with Doctor Amadeus and decided it would be a brilliant idea to form a triple alliance, relying on the vast wealth of the Amadeus Syndicate to rebuild his army. Since the formation of the alliance between the Rebel Army, Amadeus Syndicate, and Pipovulaj, Doctor Amadeus has made an effort to supply her allies with mercenaries, scientific assistance, and advanced weaponry and vehicles.

The Amadeus Syndicate is a highly advanced paramilitary organisation and rogue scientific corporation. Their goals are idealistic in nature, focusing on better understanding the forces that govern the universe, regardless of the cost. They aim to evolve human knowledge, free themselves from mortal limitations, and reset civilization by altering the world's timeline with Doctor Amadeus serving as their goddess. To achieve this without legal constraints, they rely on the resources of General Morden, Ptolemaios, and Rootmars, allowing them to freely test their prototypes and conduct experiments.

Insignia

It features a white circle outlined in electric blue. At the bottom, there's a rose gold ribbon displaying the Latin motto "Scientia est omnia" ("Science is everything" in English), rendered in teal. In the centre of the circle, the astronomical symbol for 99942 Apophis features the serpent god Apep in bluish-black with a golden star.

Uniforms

Mercenaries

Low-ranking mercenaries wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a silver-grey, baby blue, and poppy red camouflage pattern. They don navy blue army cargo pants, along with field tunics that have a seven-button gilt-brass front closure. They wear French blue Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), manatee driving gloves, and a carnelian armband displaying the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of manatee combat boots, and they wear a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their combat knife, and a French blue waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. They carry light blue teal rucksacks that contain various supplies, including energy bars, sample collection kits, rope, thermal vision X-ray goggles, a portable tablet for recording essential intelligence, and mechanical, engineering, lockpicking, and hacking tools.

High-ranking mercenaries wear an Improved Outer Tactical Vest (IOTV) featuring a silver-grey, old lavender, and rose taupe. They don greyish-purple cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back, paired with field tunics featuring an eight-button golden front closure. Their headgear includes lilac Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), and they wear English lavender tactical gloves with silvery purple padding and a rose taupe armband that displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of English lavender paratrooper boots with spiked soles, and they sport a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their machete, and a lilac waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. A purplish-black bandolier encircles their waist above the belt, containing either syringes filled with deadly acid or smoke bombs. While they carry the same rucksacks and supplies as low-ranking mercenaries, theirs is in a dark rose colour.

Mercenaries serving as sharpshooters are required to carry rifles equipped with incendiary bullets that can travel long distances and fire multiple shots rapidly. They either store these special explosive rounds in their waist packs or SPCS (IOTV for high-ranking mercenaries). The rifles resemble a Mauser Karabiner 98k but are reinforced with blue-grey adamant and feature an advanced scope that locks onto the nearest target.

Mercenaries serving as bomb experts are required to carry extra grenades, rolling bombs, and handheld rockets in their load-bearing backpacks.

Mercenaries serving as mortar troopers are required to wear bluish-black gas masks with green-tinted lenses, similar to those worn by Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives. They're tasked with bombarding oncoming enemies using chemical mortar shells that contain low levels of nuclear radiation and arsenic poison gas.

Mercenaries serving as bazooka-carriers are required to carry around an energy-blasting bazooka similar to the one used by the Future Bazooka Soldiers from Metal Slug 7/XX.

Mercenaries serving as the elite are required to wear tactical bodysuits made from heat-resistant, electric-resistant, waterproof, and bulletproof synthetic muscle tissue, similar to the DOLL bodysuit. Their bodysuits feature breast and standard cargo pants pockets, and they have a glossy dark purplish-blue finish. They easily neurally link to the wearers, granting them the strength and durability of an archdemon without inducing hunger, though they don't produce life-saving electrical pulses. They also wear E-Armour, but the articulated pads are in a bronze hue and the centre of the vest displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. They wear bluish-black US Navy MCU-2/P gas masks, silver-white gloves, and bronze-hued pelvic protectors that aren't overly pronounced. They wield AR-10 Autorifles, but the bullets are somewhat slow-moving.

Special Troops

Cyborg troops are meticulously designed to resemble the paramilitary Syndicate Infantry, Rebel soldiers, and Ptolemaic Army guerrillas and special forces operatives, including their uniforms and weaponry. They also have robotic versions of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, Lieutenant Wired, and Lieutenant Colonel Macba in their arsenal.

Hazmat soldiers wear the same orange and green suits as the enemies of the same name in Metal Slug 4, but their load-bearing backpacks are safety yellow and they feature the Amadeus Syndicate insignia emblazoned on the back of their helmets. The suits have bulletproof visors and protect them from all pathogens, toxic spills, acid exposure, and infections from zombies and mummies. Each load-bearing backpack features a sheath for combat knives on either strap and carries various supplies, including pineapple grenades, rolling bombs, smoke bombs, a portable scanner that detects and analyzes biohazards, canisters filled with cyanide gas, gas masks, and first aid kits. Green-suited hazmat soldiers carry purple rolling bombs containing mummification breath, while those in orange suits carry reddish-brown bombs filled with zomification goo.

Scientists

They're all required to wear professional clothing and the appropriate laboratory-suited PPE, but they typically don business attire in shades of brown and blue, white lab coats emblazoned with the Amadeus Syndicate logo on the back, and Argentine blue neoprene gloves. Meanwhile, the tactical scientists wear navy blue army cargo pants, field drab combat boots, and two black bandoliers—one holding piercing bullets and the other containing syringes filled with either simian or mantid serum, which can alter a human's cellular properties. They're also ordered to carry mutation rifles that are a blend of those wielded by Rebel Army riflemen and Ptolemaic Army snipers. These rifles are free from jamming and feature a blue-tinted silver scope that automatically locks onto any enemy target, providing information about their names, cellular structures, and vital signs. They can also fire piercing ammunition that's strong enough to penetrate adamant.

Vehicles

Armoured Combat

Di-Cokka

Nop-03 Sarubia

M-15A Bradley

Denturion

KT-21

Hellfire

Aircraft

Brave Guerrier

Amadeus Ship

Mega laser Turret

Naval Vessels

Sea Satan

Support Vehicles

The Iron

MG-36

Vigilance

Big John

Toschka Dalanue

Crablops

M-32 Water Carrier Plane

Arachnid Bot

Cyclops

Working Machines

Iron Death Worm

Miscellaneous

Amadeus Mother Computer

Kraken

Mecha Kaiju

The Union

Special Weaponry

Support

Amadeus Robot

Vigilance

Supervisory Camera

Patrol Bot

Metal Mole

Pods

Biological Weapons

Mutated Soldiers

Zombies

Mummies

Man Eaters

Sasquatches

Special Tech

The Amadeus Syndicate developed two serums, simian and mantid, which alter the subject's physiology. Individuals with simian or mantid DNA retain their ability for human speech and cognitive function, but they often succumb to animalistic instincts, especially when confronted with perilous situations that trigger primal responses.

When injected with the simian serum, individuals transform into hairy creatures resembling orangutans or baboons, but with inhumanly muscular physiques, jutting veins, bloodshot eyes, yellowed carnivorous teeth, razor-sharp claws, unchanged hairstyles, and fur that mirrors their original hair colour. Those possessing simian DNA exhibit enhanced muscular strength and agility, increased bite force, accelerated healing processes, and heightened senses akin to those found in primates.

When injected with the mantid serum, individuals transform into creatures with iridescent exoskeletons in shades of green, brown, pink, yellow, orange, purple or pearlescent white. They possess dark or light opalescent wings, and the sickle-like claws of a Ninja Mantis, which can cut steel with ease. They also have crooked omnivorous teeth, eyes that retain their human hue, and hair-like follicles surrounding their joints and tegmina that match their original hair colour. Individuals with mantid DNA exhibit adaptive camouflage capabilities, superhuman flexibility, a bone-crushing grip force, the ability to move with minimal noise, lightning-fast reflexes, and enhanced eyesight that includes infrared vision and motion detection.

White Baby is a partially sentient artificial intelligence and computer virus capable of overriding the main military systems of countries around the world through the internet. Childlike in nature, it often constructs virtual stuffed animals to play with and is known to occasionally playfully disobey the commands of its Amadeus Syndicate coworkers. However, it becomes incredibly mature and ferocious during combat, employing every hacking trick at its disposal to thwart the enemy. Due to their inability to speak, they rely on text boxes that display lines of translatable code or words in any language they choose to communicate.

In its holographic form, when using a war machine that it has hacked into and which is owned by the Amadeus Syndicate, White Baby appears with the head of a young woman with pale white skin, glowing light red eyes, and the same hair as White Baby from Metal Slug Attack, all framed by a soft, emotionless expression. They stand at 7' 8" (233.68 cm) tall and wear a metallic blue bowtie neatly tied around their neck. Its entire body is enveloped in a neon green glow with golden floating particles. Their fingers and toes are freakishly slender, tipped with black bear-like claws. It wears an androgynous cybernetic suit made from metallic pink steel, designed with a sleek, armoured, and emaciated skeletal appearance. Sharp, spiky vertebrae run along its back from largest to smallest, while three partially curved spikes ascend along her outer thighs from smallest to largest. A small globe of Earth partially protrudes from the centre of its chest, while two pearlescent white dove wings with razor-sharp edges extend from the back of its shoulders, reaching down to its ankles.

In its on-screen form, White Baby appears as a teddy bear head with light red button eyes, a metallic pink nose, and white fur made up of vertical lines of 1s and 0s. Its head is partially ripped in half, revealing neon green stuffing with golden sparkles inside. It wears a metallic blue bowtie around its nonexistent neck.

White Baby has been programmed to infiltrate the Amadeus Syndicate's testing tubes, where specimens are safely housed and life forms, such as clones, are developed. It can create 12 ft (365.76 cm) sexless, embryonic humanoids with distinct features: pearlescent white skin stretched taut over their skeletal frames, bulbous craniums, large mouths filled with crooked, jutting carnivorous teeth, and oversized, jelly-like eyes with light red irises and amber pupils. Their elongated limbs end in slender fingers tipped with razor-sharp claws, while umbilical cords terminate in sea lamprey-like mouths. These cords enable the creatures to latch onto human hosts and transform them into the bomber or poisoner variants of Mutated Soldiers of their choice by injecting a viscous, honey-colored substance. The humanoids' vocalizations are limited to unsettling, fleshy sounds, violent gurgling, soft rasping, and ear-piercing baby shrieks. Strangely, they exhibit a maternal bond with Doctor Amadeus, responding to her presence as if she were their biological mother.

Cyborgs, also known as androids, are meticulously crafted, waterproof, fireproof duplicates of their human counterparts, containing their DNA and equipped with the latest digital consciousness uploads. Their synthetic skin, nearly indistinguishable from human flesh, is the weakest part of their design; with enough well-placed slashes, bullets, and bomb explosions, it can melt away, revealing their dark grey exoskeleton. Their skeletal structure consists of a copper-hued adamant, protected by a network of red, green, and silver-white wires that function as veins. These wires transport a black tar-like substance with a subtle neon greenish-yellow glow throughout their bodies, sustaining their electrical energy. Their organs are biomechanical yet carefully designed to replicate human organs in both form and function, ensuring optimal performance.

Powered Soldiers are a special type of cyborg, composed of regular humans who have received cybernetic enhancements from the Amadeus Syndicate, along with a strong hint of Tuatha Dé Danann genetics bioengineered from Marco's DNA samples. They possess roboticised, almost human voices and are programmed to strictly follow the orders of their superiors and comrades. However, they retain some degree of free will, allowing them to act independently without being overly reliant on their allies.

They resemble the Powered Rebel Soldiers from Metal Slug 3D, but with a few differences. Their eyes are usually a dull and slightly faded light sky blue, and the hexagon of pearlescent white adamant on their backs is attached to a dark greyish-brown industrial tube that can extend up to 2 ft (60.96 cm). This hexagon serves as a battery pack, filled with computer circuitry, discoloured circulatory and intestinal organs, and a cow's heart, all of which pump electricity and the same type of blood found in typical cyborgs. Rebel variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as other Rebel land troops with their attire varying depending on their deployment location. In contrast, Syndicate variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as the standard Syndicate troop uniform.

They're equipped with powerful, oversized cannon pistols that can fire three explosive bullets at a time, alongside data discs wrapped around the wrist of their dominant hand. Whenever their steel muscles ripple with power and their eyes glow a bright red, it indicates that they're in attack mode. Made from adamant, their bodies are incredibly durable, rendering most bladed weapons ineffective and requiring multiple bombs and bullets to weaken their armour. They also possess enhanced strength, agility, and reflexes, along with heightened predatory instincts. Their biggest weak points are their exposed faces and the industrial tube connecting their easily detachable hexagonal battery pack.

Amadeus Syndicate Base

The Amadeus Mainframe Base is a secret facility located in the mountainous regions of Oceania. The true entrance is located at the back corner of a mechanical and storage garage situated in a flat area at the centre of the base's surface. It resembles an abandoned warehouse that does not display their insignia, where their machines are securely stored and maintained. Supervisory Cameras are discreetly placed in hidden nooks both inside and outside the building. This building features the same elevator used to access the communications facility of the Amadeus Mainframe Base. The interior of the base closely resembles the environments seen in Metal Slug 4, including the entrance briefly shown in the final mission scene. The base has two exits, each leading to long vertical tunnels with numerous balconies that allow troops to engage any enemies that descend.

The base features multiple downward hallways that lead to various facilities and reactors located throughout the Amadeus Mainframe Base. There are twelve sublevels with the last six situated below the robot factory that produces multiple androids. The robot factory is located before the communications facility where the Amadeus Mother Computer is housed. Sublevels 6 and 5 contain machinery systems, sublevels 4 and 3 house computer systems, and sublevels 2 and 1 are dedicated to circuit board systems.

Sublevels 8 and 7 contain eighteen office areas, Doctor Amadeus' private office, six bathrooms, basic housing amenities for mercenaries and scientists, and a meeting and investigative room. Sublevels 10 and 9 house a large medical facility, an open theatre surgery room, and an asylum-like prison. Sublevels 12 and 11 feature a massive laboratory, several testing facilities that serve various purposes from cybernetics to virus creation, a computer systems room filled with testing tubes that store living specimens used to create lifeforms, and a large biobank filled with frozen samples and preservative jars. Below sublevels 12 and 11 is a hidden, heavily fortified basement containing cryogenic pods, preserved specimens, and unrepaired and unfinished cyborgs. It also contains several freezing modules filled with frozen blood samples, bioengineered diseases, and collected viruses as well as a storage room stocked with miscellaneous items such as clothes and extra weaponry.

Extra Information

Members of the Amadeus Syndicate are commonly referred to as "Syndis" or "Deos", terms that Doctor Amadeus finds intriguingly endearing.

The Syndicate Infantry consists of elite mercenaries hired by Doctor Amadeus to safeguard the interests of her organisation. Among them are skilled Rebels who have allied with the Amadeus Syndicate as well as Ikari Warriors mercenaries who betrayed Heidern to serve under Doctor Amadeus due to shared political and militaristic beliefs. Additionally, some members of the Syndicate Infantry are cyborgs created by scientists, operating under the control of White Baby's computer system.

Most scientists at the Amadeus Syndicate are freelance employees seeking stable, well-paying jobs that allow them to contribute to the advancement of science. While some pursue fame and fortune, hoping to gain recognition for their hard work, others have been coerced into their roles. These individuals, possessing exceptional scientific knowledge and investigative skills, have been kidnapped or taken captive. They're forced to defend the interests of the Amadeus Syndicate and conduct research that serves nefarious purposes.

Although a couple of their war machines are often mistaken for belonging to the Rebel Army due to their prominently displayed insignia, they actually belong to the Amadeus Syndicate. This is primarily a way for the Amadeus Syndicate to showcase their alliance with the Rebel Army, allowing them to use their technology freely to maintain friendly relations. The rights to the war machines displaying the Rebel Army's insignia are shared between the two organisations, granting both the legal right to utilise them as they see fit. This arrangement also provides a convenient cover for the Amadeus Syndicate, allowing them to use the Rebel Army as a false front when necessary, all under General Morden's approval.

In the former base of operations that the Rebel Army intended to fully utilise on the P.F. Squad training island, the Amadeus Syndicate established a dedicated rocket launch base, which Allen O'Neil, Rebel troops, and Syndicate mercenaries were tasked with guarding. Unfortunately for them, they were unable to make much use of it due to the unexpected resistance put up by the Regular Army cadets and Division 6 against both the Amadeus Syndicate and Rebel Army.

Some mercenaries and scientists are treated with professional respect and care, including decent pay. However, there are others who are either egregiously mistreated or treated properly, but not as well as the others.

Some tactical scientists are known to swing fiercely when meleeing an enemy with a syringe, which has led to incidents where they miss and accidentally stab and inject themselves, transforming into a simian or mantis creature.

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