#blur image in android

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡.𝟐 — 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Leaving the Cyberlife store is an... experience for the broken android. After the workforce and standing idle in the store for so long, you finally bring König home, where he learns what it would mean to be your companion. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.3 k 𝐚/𝐧 : sincerely, thank you all for the lovely comments and interactions on the first chapter ♡ (my android son is so cute ahgkgj-) 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff, slow burn?

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋. They had no programming to want. There were no lines of code that enabled them to dream. They were machines built to serve.

In theory, an android should not feel fear.

The WX-400, or König, glanced down at where your hand met his. The synthetic skin clasping imperceptibly onto yours. So warm and soft... and so much smaller in his own.

It kept him grounded when you guided him onto the sleek floors of the store, his sensors coming alight with all the new input his body was receiving. From being stuck in a paralyzing stasis, to feeling the cool spring sun on his skin; the slight chill of the store in his mouth; seeing the detailed cracks embedded into the pavement of the sidewalk.

His body felt like it was short circuiting. Jolted to life too fast, even if you had only led him to the curb. That soft smile on your face when he looked for assurance, still holding onto him.

What would happen if he let go? It didn't feel right to think that way. He was sure the world would not stop spinning below his feet if he did.

"König?"

Your voice made him snap out of it. Those stormy eyes of his hesitantly trailing up to meet yours.

"This is our ride," you tilted your head, gesturing to the polished self-driving car that sat on the corner of the street.

He didn't respond. Eyes flickering away, still holding onto your hand. It was a cute gesture. Maybe he just forgot to stop holding it? Or maybe the android didn't feel comfortable letting go without permission?

Hm...

You decided then: owning an android was hard.

The entire ride back to the house was a mix of stolen glances. Each entirely new to the other.

You, watching the way his soft eyes followed the people passing by on the street. Androids and humans alike. Watching, but never saying a word.

König was a sight to behold, and the smile that crawled onto your lips was inevitable.

Such a large android. Tall and built with the purpose of lifting ten times that of the average human... moving so gently, and with a hesitance for the world you'd only ever seen in stray animals.

And occasionally, when he felt you shift to watch your own window or the red-green lights of traffic. He'd consider you from the corner of his eye. Unreadable, before you could catch him and his eyes snapped back forwards.

People and buildings passed by in a blur of lights. Shops and a park filled with trees. Androids always obediently trailing after the humans who owned them, unable to do much but smile and tend to the children or shopping bags. Task after task, demand after demand.

When the car stopped at a red light, his eyes landed on a small girl, her pink rain jacket covered in a light sprinkle of rain. Jumping in every puddle she could with a giggle. The young android next to her, a dark-skinned man with long hair, smiled and did the same with her. Each taking a turn splashing gently in a puddle, unaware of the rest of the world around them, only enjoying the remnants of the rain.

Something in that image, the adoring smile on the android's face as he watched the girl play in innocent bliss, it stirred something for a long while, even after the car began to roll away.

He didn't know where the two of you were going. The thought of 'home' having no real meaning to him.

Back at the sites, the company only had two trucks to house their android workers. Rows of three in each truck, filled with small metal compartments for the mechanical men to stand in idly until the next job. Under lock and chain, so nobody stole company property, with no light except the one that blinked from his LED...

Soon, the commercial buildings melted into a quaint suburban neighborhood. Run down houses, but clearly lived in, with warm lights filling their windows.

Many had been put out of work due to the rise of android labor. He had heard one of the site managers complaining about it often.

König's eyes flickered over you for a moment again.

Did you work? Have a home or a family to go back to? People you lived with?

"We're here," you gestured sheepishly, unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing out of the car. Your hand finally slipping from his.

'Here' was a two story house with peeling paint and a handful of missing shingles. It looked like the surrounding houses. Puddles and mud around the sunken walkway from the rain, nothing but scrawny hedges growing yet.

König followed suit, ducking his head low to climb out of the car unscathed, towering back to his full height. Maybe the tallest android model built, at an impressive six foot ten inches.

He noticed you staring and his eyes hit the ground.

He was just-an amazing looking android, and his height was only more impressive to you. It was really hard not to smile. An android...

"Come on," you waved for him to follow you.

The closer you both got, the more he could see the wear. The fogged windows, the flickering outside light. Up the wooden porch that creaked dangerously under his weight, to the solid front door. That looked new.

"Well, here it is, home," you shrugged, the front door swinging open for the two of you.

"I just moved in," you explain as the android stepped through the doorframe to join you (having to bow his head again), peered around curiously. "The house is a bit old, but I'm going to fix it up for us," you nodded, looking around at the expanse of cardboard boxes in the living room. So sure of yourself.

Us?

The circular LED on his temple flickered yellow, a sign of stress that disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Here," you held your hand out for him, producing a small silver key for him to take. "House key," you explained with a sort of bounce in your toes.

It was for him, he realized.

He tilted his head, taking it from your hand, cool fingers brushing against yours as he considered you. Again.

You looked really... How should he describe it? Happy? Excited?

And you were. You had a house. A beautiful house that just needed a bit of care put into it, and an android unlike any you'd ever seen to help you make it a home.

"Well, I'd show you around but there's not much," you scratched at your neck with a sigh. It was a big house, just empty so far, and for the amount of stuff you had brought... You'd need a lot more to make it homey like you intended when you purchased the house.

You led him down the hall, shoes tapping against the wooden floorboards, dust lining the floors, but the house actually looked pretty sturdy to him.

"There's the living room, connects to the kitchen," you listed off as you walked by, "Washroom, and the basement door." You finished, pointing off to the left until you made it to the end of the hall. Still peering ahead towards a back door. Also new, he noted.

"Up the stairs is my room and a couple of... well empty rooms," you shrugged.

You had a lot on your plate, granted. Your eyes skimming over the backyard with a sigh. If you wanted flowers this year, they'd have to be planted fast... with the rest of the house to do, how hard could it be?

You spun around and faced König with a soft optimism, leading him back to the living room.

"Well, lets start with some of the bigger boxes," you nodded, the plan seeming to come together in your mind. "The movers did most of the heavy lifting, so I don't have to worry about pushing a mattress upstairs or moving all those dressers..."

It was true, there was a large cream colored couch already in the living room, along with a large white TV stand pushed against the wall.

It looked almost as big as you were, and the android found it a fitting comparison. Imagining you pushing that thing all by yourself just- didn't work in his mind.

König followed your lead, starting with the box on top of the pile that trailed along the hallway. Each one labelled quickly in sharpie.

Photos, Decorations, Dishes, Cleaning Supplies, Towels. All stuff that looked like it was supposed to be downstairs.

König decided though, to stick to the living room, carefully cutting open the taped up boxes with a precision that seemed impressive. Even manual. Carefully laying out photos and old picture frames you had decided were important.

There were a few that caught his eye. His slate colored irises lingering on your face as you smiled or laughed in a few of them. Surrounded by what he deduced were your closest friends or family members... all based on how happy you looked, or how you moved your hands to hold each person.

"You can leave the bigger ones aside König."

He nearly jumped.

"I'll put them up later," you assured him.

He glanced over his shoulder, where you now sat on the floor, fiddling with some small box in your hand.

He looked back to the photo's, a bit more hesitant to touch them now before he set them back into the box and turned towards you. The circular LED on his temple fluttering a yellow.

"I could put them up for you," he offered quietly. Given a drill or nails for them, it wouldn't take that long. In fact, the tools might've even felt familiar in his hand.

The sound of his voice, soft but rich and deep made you smile so wide he thought he had said something out of line.

He shouldn't have questioned you, he realized the mistake. His deeply scarred hands imperceptibly clasping into loose fists at his sides.

"Thank you," you began, "You could do that after we paint the walls tomorrow," you nodded, glancing around at the dim room around the two of you. "I was thinking maybe a light green? Or maybe even a smoky color?" you thought aloud, clearly having been undecided on the matter.

The LED turned blue again. The tension in his body suddenly melting away as you thanked him.

"Do you have a good color in mind?" You asked him then, suddenly wondering if androids had opinions. Or more specifically, if König did.

He shook his head quickly.

"No... favorite ones?"

And he shook his head again, his eyes fluttering downward. Was he... supposed to have one?

You only offered another soft smile, figuring as much. "We'll both come up with something," you assured quietly. Those soft eyes of yours trailing back up to him as you finally undid the box in your lap, pulling out a carefully wrapped vase. The beautiful glossy ceramic glinting in the fading light from the windows. Holding it up for him to take.

"It's going to be easier with you around," you joked softly, but it seemed true. The depth of your words had a faith in him that felt... unfamiliar.

He took the vase gently from your hands, his eyes flickering around as if he meant to say something, before he quietly turned and put it down onto a small table.

He returned to doing as you instructed, placing all of the big things into the room, leaving the walls bare for now.

The rest of the hours went by like that, you occasionally stopping to ask him something that seemed profound to his android brain.

Why would you want to know if he had a favorite animal? Or if he liked music?

What use could he have for preferences like that?

But he always answer politely, if not curtly, until the living room at least had the lights and the TV connected.

You sat down onto the couch with a huff, taking a moment to relax after the long day you'd had.

In truth, buying and owning an android never really seemed to have priority. This house did.

You glanced over at König, who was still working away quietly. Folding empty cardboard boxes up neatly and setting them aside for recycling.

"König."

He stopped when you addressed him, turning his attention back to you before he could grab another box and continue. Waiting for another command.

But, he was working too hard.

You patted the spot on the couch next to you.

And when he didn't move or seem to understand the gesture, your face lit up in amusement. "Come sit, relax for a bit," you trailed off. He was an android, sure, but it didn't mean... well that he was a machine.

The thought made your chest feel heavy suddenly. It was easy, with how human-like they looked, to forget that they weren't human.

The large android did as you said and sat down. The cushions dipping beneath him and making you lean that way with a small laugh.

He was so rigid, even for an android. Sitting up straight, scarred hands on his knees, not even leaning against the back of the couch. Unsure really what to do without someone's input.

'Relax?' Did he really know how to?

König watched you from the corner of his eye again as you flicked on the TV. Your feet pulled up, sinking comfortably into the cushions. Your knees almost brushing his.

It reminded him of the store, only a few hours earlier.

How warm you were next to him, and how that smile lingered on your lips as you watched the TV tiredly.

The moment you turned to catch his gaze, he straightened again, eyes forward, pretending to watch the screen. His LED blinking that sunny yellow.

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. ♡

@riotakire @jonathansmarbles @peter-the-pan @distinguishedprincesstrash @sleepyisoffline

@asteria33 @timetothirst @sleeplessskeleton @lady-boketto @mionacaped

[depravitycentral]

Shortcircuit

Yandere! Keiji Akaashi x android! fem reader

My contribution piece for the lovely @iwaasfairy's Cherry Velvet event! Happy belated birthday:)) Please check out the works that other super talented writers are contributing for this event as they go live this weekend! The theme is seedy underbelly, and while I definitely didn't go the traditional route, hopefully this fits the prompt loosely enough! I recently watched Ghost in the Shell for the nth time and was inspired, so here's my attempt at combining that with the collab's theme. Akaashi is probably very ooc but maybe if we all pretend hard enough...

Synopsis: As the android designed to protect the life of the millionaire inventor Kiyoomi Sakusa, your life has purpose and routine. But with the arrival of a new coworker, things begin falling apart.

Tw: implied stalking, implied kidnapping, kind of drugging, non-consensual tampering with body parts, theft of body parts (?), borderline somnophilia, violence, elements of body horror so sorry if you're a little squeamish, murder, misogynistic undertones at times, mentions of sexdolls/using individuals as sex slaves, I'm sorry I made Sakusa an absolute ass in this fic but I promise I don't actually hate him, brief allusions to Keiji jorkin' it clothed what a chump, reader is an android, fem reader, MDNI

WC: 10.6K

The explosion is loud. Burnt air sears against your skin, the heat singing the ends of your hair slightly. You’d closed your eyes too fast to see the brunt of it, but you’d watched in almost slow-motion as the man clutched onto something small and metallic in the front row, something between a grimace and a grin flitting on his face. You’d watched as he mouthed something, your eyes narrowing to read his lips and spelling out f-i-n-a-l-l-y, before sudden realization dawned on you.

All things considered, his aim is terrible. The homemade bomb lands a good twenty meters to the side of you, hitting some poor civilian instead. The rally’s cries grow and crescendo and then shatter just as the deafening sound of detonation fills the plaza area.

Your body reacts just barely in time – jumping forward, chest bared and arms extended, taking the brunt of the heat and flying debris, a few pieces lodging themselves shallowly into your legs, stomach, hip. If you could feel pain, you’re sure it would be exploding through you as you sneak a glance down at the rather graphic image of a walking cane impaled through your calf. There’s no blood, but the skin is curled back in the wrong direction, looking pinched and stretched and all sorts of things that make you quickly avert your gaze.

There’s no time to dwell on it, though, as 04 behind you swiftly grabs your shoulder. Their hand is on you but their eyes aren’t, instead fixed on the stone-faced man behind you. Their voice is steady as they command, “We must go. Head east away from the rubble; 08 is waiting with the car.”

It’s a blur as you follow 04 and Sakusa, keeping yourself like a shadow behind the latter. A bullet lodges its way between your shoulder blade and spine, but it doesn’t slow your running. Keeping your body perfectly aligned with Sakusa’s is all that matters; keeping the attacks away from his weak, flesh-and-bone body is the priority.

The car’s engine is revving as Sakusa slips into it, 04 piling in while you follow. You have to grab the cane and dislodge it to fit, the wet sound as it comes clean not fazing you.

The car speeds off without a moment to spare, blowing past streetlights and rounding corners so quickly that you’re forced to clutch onto the door for dear life. It’s silent, mostly, with only 03 scanning over Sakusa’s body for visible signs of damage.

His eyes are closed and he’s leaned back against the plush, leather seat cushion, but there’s no damage to be seen. 03 relaxes, face returning to stare blankly forward, and your gaze wanders to look outside the window. Crisis averted, it seems, though the sounds of a street riot are still audible if you strain hard enough.

“You’ve seen better days, haven’t you?” Atsumu whistles, blonde hair disheveled as he wipes at the oil staining his hands. You don’t bother telling him that the towel’s covered in oil, too, and that all he’s doing is spreading it around.

“Good thing you’re here to fix me, then.” You know the routine by now – the mechanical wing of the foundation’s estate is vast, but the shop isn’t too hard to find. It’s connected by a series of winding hallways, sure, but even if you didn’t have a photographic memory system you’d just listen for the sound of power drills and stupidity.

Atsumu grins. “Aye, whatever you say your majesty.”

He swats you with the towel before throwing it over his shoulder. Your lips twitch up at the corner, and his grin only widens. “Well look at that – if it isn’t the infamous smiling response programmed into the later models.”

 He creeps closer, but your smile doesn’t fade. As irritating as he can be, you can’t help but be entertained.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re awfully sexy for a robot?”

“Miya!” Someone barks, and Atsumu groans. “Back to work, pisshead!”

He sighs, giving you a pleading look and mouthing help me, before vanishing off to the workbench spanning the entire wall of the room. And that’s certainly no easy feat – the workshop is easily the size of a city block, with instrumentation and parts lining the walls. People mill about in every corner and direction, carrying warped metal objects and cans of paint, boxes of fibrous hair and molds of human teeth. There’s chattering and a radio playing in the background; some sort of jangly guitar song from long before you were assembled. Rows upon rows of storage containers sit back against the third wall, large towing vehicles moving and resorting the bulk materials in some sort of organization. It’s a chaotic sort of system, but you can’t help but watch for a few moments, admiring the efficiency of so many moving parts.

 You’re sitting on one of the many metal slabs in this corner of the room, the clothing Sakusa had told you to wear this morning still sitting on your frame. Dirt and blood now stain the fabric, and distantly you wonder whose blood it could be.

 “Alright,” Atsumu starts, and you turn to look at him. There’s another man with him, one you don’t recognize. Dark, wavy hair settles against his temples and tickles at his neck, equally dark eyes looking right at you with a blank sort of look in them. He’s wearing the same black uniform as Atsumu, with the small KS Corporation logo sitting on the upper left pocket. A small stitched patch reveals the man is K. Akaashi.

 “Who’s that?” You ask, almost before you can help it. It’s not often that anyone aside from Atsumu works on you – there’s not many mechanics qualified to tinker with your system, given the recency of your activation. Too many updates had been made – a small emotional cognition center, enhanced durability, increased skin and tactile sensitivity, faster reaction time, even a more realistic female shape, just to name a few. And Atsumu, despite his boyishness and frequent immaturity, was the only one Sakusa felt was qualified enough to keep up with all these changes.

Atsumu throws an arm around the new man’s shoulders, and you watch as the other one’s face sours slightly. “This is Akaashi! He’s been working at the satellite facility in Kyoto for a while, but just recently started here. He’s pretty serious, but he’s a nice guy!”

To that, Akaashi sighs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You nod, smiling a bit, and Akaashi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Atsumu barks out a laugh. “She’s an updated one, see? Can smile and all the good stuff.”

Akaashi stares at you for a few more moments, dark gaze unreadable, before visibly swallowing. “I’ve only heard of the newer models; it’s amazing to see one in person.”

You shy away slightly under his gaze, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Anyways, she’s got a whole hell of a lot of damage, so we’ve got our work cut out for us! Looks like a bullet wound, full puncture through the calf, major scratch along the forearm…” Atsumu trails off, and it’s only as he’s prattling on about your injuries that you notice half of them.

It’s not long before they’re both diligently working away, screwdrivers and neural cables plugged into the back of your neck as they replace and unscrew the damaged parts. It’s always strange to watch; you’re craning into whatever position they tell you to, completely awake and aware and watching as they tear off sheets of skin, remove your entire leg below the knee, pull off your scalp to make a few quick adjustments to your synapses. Being cognizant isn’t the strange part, you suppose, if only because you don’t know any better, but something about it feels strangely intimate.

It’s not your body, really, considering that you’re a hand-designed model by Kiyoomi Sakusa himself, but still. These are your cable openings, your hands they’re unscrewing, the ones they replace them with feeling foreign even though they’re perfectly under your control.

Some thirty minutes later you’re fit as a fiddle, each joint and limb working just as designed. Atsumu’s demanding as he walks you through the exercises to ensure correct connectivity, but after the final flexibility movement, he claps you on the back.

“Well done, now don’t come back for a while okay? You’re great company and all, but I go through half my shipments on your replacements alone!”

You shrug. “I’m model 09, the artificial shield, in case you forgot.”

Atsumu’s smile falters a bit, and you see Akaashi stiffen slightly by his side.

“Yeah, sure.” Atsumu pauses awkwardly, and clears his throat. “Anyways, off with you!”

“It was nice to meet you.” Akaashi starts, bowing. “Please take care.”

The walk from the workshop to your charging quarters feels long as you wander back, the hallways seeming smaller than normal.

The KS Corporation is certainly not the only android company operating, but with such high name recognition comes significant risks. Threats and attempts on Sakusa’s life aren’t uncommon, and even as you settle down and lay in the white, oblong charger port with your model number stamped against the exterior, you can’t find it in yourself to be shocked at the day’s events. There’d never been any sort of mystery when it came to your purpose, your reason for creation – all of Sakusa’s designs had some specialty or another, some more obvious than others. 02, for example, has the highest computing capacity of all his models – the fastest on his feet, you like to think, capable of putting your thinking power to shame for how speedy and complete his programming is. 05 was designed to explore decision-making capacity in artificial brains, their impulsiveness almost jarring with how unlike your own it is. Most of the purposes are, of course, acceptable – nothing too extreme.

But the latest models – you, and model 10 – are really the cause of the recent public outcry. There’d been hostility about the development of androids since the beginning, of course, but your purposes had been the final straw. You, serving as a bodyguard and a shield to protect Sakusa from any wayward harm, and of course model 10. The recent updates did include a remarkably more feminine form, something that 10 was even more enhanced in.

Her charging quarters weren’t even in this wing of the corporation headquarters – she was on the north side, her room noticeably closer to Sakusa’s.

With a sigh, you blindly reach up to grasp onto the thick, gray sleeping charge cord. Seven sharp, thin prongs extend from the cord’s end, and you’re quick to flip the port flap on the back of your neck up. Plugging it in is seamless as always, precision and muscle memory taking over as you lay back down, your systems shutting down one by one. It’s a strange sensation, and one you liken very much to how humans describe falling asleep.

You wake up slowly, each system whirring to life and leaving your ears ringing. Air blows through your nostrils and past your lips without your control, the cooling system throughout your body automatically activating as your systems overheat in the attempt to start. It’s routine – you’ll be fine in exactly 26 seconds.

The room is stark white and extremely small. ‘Your’ room, as Sakusa likes to say. There’s a chest of drawers shoved into a corner with some ten pairs of identical white dress shirts and black slacks sitting inside.

It’s only when you clasp the last button on the shirt that you notice the missing panel on the underside of your forearm. It’s small – barely a centimeter wide and long, housing the import cord for enhancement injections in that arm. A port you haven’t really needed to use yet, if only because of the enhanced durability programmed into your body.

After a moment of staring, you smooth out the fold lines on the shirt, slipping on a pair of the nondescript, black loafers Sakusa insists on you wearing. Atsumu probably forget a replacement – not a big deal. Considering how damaged you’d been when you showed up yesterday, it’s a miracle he hadn’t forgot to replace anything else. You’re out the door a moment later, the resounding click of the automatic door shutting behind you barely even registering.

“Again? Jesus, you’re going to wear yourself out if you keep this up.” Atsumu scolds, something like worry edging into his voice despite the teasing.

You’re on the metal slab again, Atsumu’s hands surveying for damage. Kuroo had been lucky today that you were with him – a random assassination attempt in broad daylight, with the culprit rushing up with some sort of knife. It had been long, reaching nearly through your torso, and you’d barely been able to block the blow. A mere moment later would’ve been too late.

“Damn prick, making something just to abuse it.” Atsumu’s muttering under his breath, honey eyes dark and hard as he solders two wires back together on your left ribcage.

That’s a dangerous thing to say, really, considering Sakusa’s paranoia surrounding worker retaliation. Fame has made him far too jaded, or so you keep hearing from all the protestors of the company. Protestors of your existence.

“Akaashi! Grab me a wrench.” Atsumu yells over his shoulder, and a rustle from behind an adjacent door tells you his coworker is searching.

“How long will it take?” You ask, watching with a neutral expression as Atsumu curses and tries to maneuver the wires again.

“Til that jackass finally kicks the bucket? Not long enough.”

Sucking in your teeth, you repeat your question. “I meant the repairs.”

He sighs, leaning back and grabbing the wrench as Akaashi suddenly appears. “Probably two or three hours. Your whole lower response system is fried – the hole managed to go right through your central mainframe. It’s repairable, but we’ll need to shut you down and probably have you spend the night just to make sure there aren’t any sparks or fires.”

You nod, only to get a small comment from Akaashi, who’d helped Atsumu maneuver you onto your side for a better angle. “Please don’t move.”

You don’t respond, something akin to embarrassment creeping up your spine.

Instead, you shift your gaze to the bed beside you. 02 is in – not for any damages, but just a routine checkup. He’s sitting completely ramrod straight, hands folded in his lap, eyes trained straight ahead. 02’s scalp covers are pulled back, exposing the mound of wiring and chips shoved into his artificial skull. Another worker stands behind him, a metal tool in his hand that you don’t recognize. There’s a pointed piece at the end of the tool, alongside what looks to be a clamp.

His gaze meets yours without warning and you quickly look away.

“Miya! Get over here, there’s a problem with the main valve.” A voice calls, and you feel as Atsumu practically wilts over your body.

“Goddamit,” he mutters, gingerly pulling back from the exposed wiring of your torso. He wipes his hands off on his shop apron, licking his lips and giving you a glance. “Sorry sweet thing, but duty calls. Akaashi’ll take care of the rest. He knows how to set up the system shut-down, so don’t worry.”

Akaashi nods in response, still tightening a screw on your back as his coworker speaks.

And with that, Atsumu is gone, his stomps loud and clear as he works his way to the other side of the workshop.

It’s quiet for a long while, only the sound of metal clanking and mechanical whirring filling the space between you two as Akaashi continues working. For a moment you wonder whether he’s working on the emotional center programmed into you, because the discomfort of the silence is starting to make you fidgety.

“So Akaashi, how long have you been working for the company?” You ask, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

He doesn’t respond right away, instead staying focused on the screwdriver in his hand. You almost consider asking the question again, but he abruptly stops, wiping at his forehead with the back of his palm.

“Eight years.” His voice is calm as always, and you hum in response.

“What did you do before that?”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, glancing at you. “I didn’t realize the newer models were programmed for small-talk, too.”

That same feeling of embarrassment descends on you, and you quickly look away. “I’m just used to it, Atsumu’s rather talkative if you didn’t notice.”

At that, Akaashi cracks a smile. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

The silence feels warmer after that – not necessarily comfortable, but enough to keep you from trying again.

“I was an editor. Before I worked here.”

You blink. “Oh. Why did you switch?”

He’s quiet again for a moment. “Morals. I want to see the development of androids up-close, I suppose.”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, you count the bands of the workshop’s lights reflecting against the metal slab you’re laying on.

“Okay, I’m ready to take you to the shut-down room. Are you ready?” He asks, and you slowly stand up. There’s no pain to register, of course, but each of your limbs responds slower than normal as you begin to walk, your balance noticeably off.

Akaashi’s arm reaches out to help steady you, cold fingers pressed against the interior of your arm and elbow. “This way.”

The shut-down room is off to the side of the workshop space, nondescript aside from the numerous warnings on the outside of the door reading heavy electrical input and warning: door slams open unexpectedly. It’s entirely metal, the stainless steel walls and ceiling letting in no outside light. As you step through the threshold heavy, nearly-blinding white spotlights light you up, tracking along with your steps as Akaashi guides you towards the familiar white oval pod.

It follows radiation signals, Atsumu had told you the first time when he noticed your discomfort. The lights followed you as you moved, but not him as he grabbed supplies and tools off the shelves lining the room. Specifically follows the radiation frequency the models give off, just to keep things easier for us mechanics.

He’d thrown a joke in there somehow, too, but the tone feels much more serious as Akaashi guides you to lay down.

“You’ve done this before, right?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder as he grabs a series of long syringes and a pair of safety glasses.

“A few times.” You answer, letting your gaze wander back up to the ceiling. It’s nearly impossible to not squint but you try not to, especially as Akaashi turns back around.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you immediately obey. Something plastic and hard brushes against your temples as you do, pushing back and moving slightly down to align with your ears. Something equally hard sits on the bridge of your nose. “Okay, open again.”

The light’s not so bright with the sunglasses on, and without thinking your lips are parting, eyes fully opening underneath the tinted material.

Akaashi’s smiling when you finally look over at him, his lips softly curved and a dimple sitting in the divot of his right cheek. “You’re already in bad shape, I wouldn’t want your vision to need repairs, too.”

You return the smile. “I didn’t even know we had sunglasses in this room.”

He clears his throat, slipping the latex gloves on. “We don’t.”

The gloves feel cold as he lays one down onto your shoulder, the other grabbing at the thick, gray cord dangling near your head. “While you’re asleep I’ll be operating.”

You nod, your eyebrows drawing in slightly. This was standard procedure, no need to explain anything to you.

“I’ll be rerouting your energy systems to the backup reservoirs first, then fixing the mainframe circuits. After that, I’ll fix the cabling connecting through your torso, and then the damages to your back and hip. I’ll finish up with skin regrafts, and then I’ll program the shut-down cycle to last until the workshop reopens for normal hours tomorrow morning. All the operations should go smoothly and without complications, but just for your knowledge.” His voice is monotone as he tells you all this, fingers already typing codes and commands into the monitor at your bedside.

“Sure,” you agree, turning your head when you see him approaching with the port cable. His hand is clutching onto the port while the other types a few more rapid commands on the computer.

He pauses as he approaches your neck, and bites his lip. “Could you please move your hair a bit? I can’t see the panel.”

You blink, but quickly gather the hair up into a fist, angling your head even more and opening the panel for him. He gives you a quick thanks, and gently lines up the prongs. It’s smooth as he pushes it in, his actions almost hesitant, until he hears the tell-tale click. Typing one more command, Akaashi turns to you.

“Sleep well,” he wishes, a hand coming up to pat you on your shoulder.

Darkness takes over soon after, your vision and motor functions dormant as you slip into something resembling unconsciousness.

It’s Atsumu who eventually wakes you up, that familiar grin the first thing you see as your systems come back on-line one by one. He’s standing at the foot of the pod, weight leaned on one leg and arms smugly crossed.

Once he sees your eyes focus onto him, he whistles. “Lookin’ good as ever, Robogirl. I wouldn’t have even guessed you were barely in one piece yesterday.”

His comment makes you smile a bit, your facial control slowly coming back to you.

He pushes off the edge of the pod and settles into the chair at the bedside. “Akaashi did a good job, no hiccups. You look fit as a fiddle.”

Letting the air finish blowing through your nose and lips, you shift. “Yeah, maybe you should be worried for your job. He might overshadow you, you know.”

 He mocks offense, a hand coming up to cover his heart. “You wound me – for an android that heart of yours really is cold.”

“Lucky it’s not beating then, aren’t we?” The voice is cold, and immediately Atsumu stiffens. You’re tense, too, but you notice out of the corner of your eye the way Atsumu’s fist clenches against his thigh. “All looks clear, yes?”

Atsumu swallows, then stands up and faces the newcomer. “Of course, sir, Model 09 is cleared for return to duty.”

Sakusa hums, dark eyes fixed on Atsumu. “Any system damage that could slow it down?”

Atsumu’s fist clenches tighter behind his back. “No, all systems appear to be in optimal condition.”

“Good.” Sakusa takes a few steps closer to the pod, and gazes down at you. You return the gaze, unblinking.

“There’s a press conference this afternoon at 3. I expect your presence.” He tells you, dark eyes scanning down your figure and back up.

“Yes, sir.” You respond, keeping your voice flat. He nods, giving you one last look, before turning on his heel and slipping out of the room as quietly as he’d entered.

Once the door clicks back into place, Atsumu’s gritting his teeth. “Fucker, walking in here and calling you an ‘it’. Next time he comes in here I’m grabbing that wrench and shoving it so far up his ass he’s-“

“Atsumu.” You scold, sending him a look. He exhales slowly, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m unplugging you now.” He grabs the cable and pulls it back, the rather graphic schluck noise making him cringe. Rolling out your neck, you thank him.

“What do you say I give you some extra armor so I don’t have to see you later today after that conference? Maybe a shield, or maybe a suit of old-timey chain-male and – wait, stop moving.”

You freeze, glancing over at him in question. He grabs your arm, flipping your hand over and studying your palm. His eyebrows twitch inwards and he bites at his lip, turning your hand over again.

 “Hm, that’s strange, I don’t remember seeing any damage to your hand.” He mutters, flipping it once again.

“What do you mean?” You ask, following his gaze.

He hesitates for a moment. “You see this line?” He points to the juncture of your ring finger and palm. The fake, thin skin looks normal to you, and you shake your head.

“There’s small incision lines – do you see that? Like needle marks – well, more like puncture marks.” He points to various spots along the juncture, and you mutter a small oh as you see what he means. They’re small – looking like dots and uniformly placed around the entirely of your finger’s connection to your hand.

“Maybe Akaashi noticed something.” You suggest, watching as he bites his lip again.

He’s quiet for a second, staring harder, before exhaling and releasing your hand. “Yeah, suppose so. There was a lot of damage, it’s easy to miss something like that.”

He claps his hands together, before rubbing them up and down. “Alright, so about that chain-male…”

You smile and he grins again, though it’s not quite as big as before.

“Mr. Sakusa! GRO News here, can you tell us more about your plans for the next model lines?”

”Mr. Sakusa, why is the corporation’s headquarters building closed to the public? Wouldn’t you agree that open transparency with the people would clarify the recent controversy?”

“Mr. Sakusa, do you have any comments about the recent protests in Osaka regarding Models 09 and 10?”

“Mr. Sakusa! Do you have anything to say about the recent uptake in black market android parts selling? What does this mean for the future of the Corporation?”

Sakusa’s face is neutral as he surveys the press audience, flashing cameras and microphones nearly shoved in his face. There’s a protective barrier between himself and the microphones, of course, as he demands, but his finger’s still tapping incessantly against the wooden podium. You watch the rhythm with rapt attention from his side, on edge as to hear what he’ll say.

“I have no comments on the recent events.”

The flashes get brighter, a few reporters scoffing under their breath and a new round of questions ringing through the conference room.

“But what of the dozen people who died during the protests against your work? Is that not innocent blood on your hands?”

"And what of the thousands of dollars spent trading your androids’ parts in the underground?”

”What do you have to say to the manufacturers who are getting death threats in the mail for stocking your creations?”

Sakusa’s eye twitches, and you stiffen up. He’ll be leaving soon, you’re sure of it, and it’s only expected that there will be some sort of need for you during his departure.

“What do I have to say?” He pauses for a moment, his fingers no longer tapping. “If you don’t want an android, you’re stuck in the past. Technological progress doesn’t stop just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

And with that he’s pulling up his mask and turning heel, descending the small set of stairs down the stage. You’re quick to follow, walking between him and the now desperate crowd, hands and microphones jabbing into your side and grabbing at you, frantic for another piece of audio or question answer. Sakusa doesn’t slow down, his gaze staying trained straight ahead as he approaches the black, luxury car waiting for him in the driveway. The reporters follow the group of security out of the building, practically toppling over one another to get close enough to pick up any piece of audio.

It’s pathetic, really, and you stand guard as Sakusa slips into the car, his voice agitated as he barks orders at the driver. Once he’s situated, you turn as well, stepping into the vehicle.

It’s only then that the building’s security team blunders, a man squeezing between two of them to reach forward and swipe his hand, fingers tangling into your hair. He grabs a fistful and pulls, a sickening ripping sound audible to you even over the loud crowd.

You pause, head yanked backwards, grasping onto the car doorframe for balance as the security team finally pulls the man back. There’s screaming and yelling now, the audience fighting amongst themselves as the reporters clamor for coverage of the assault and others berating the man for the unprovoked violence. You fully slip into the car, only sparing a passing glance back as the engine whirs and pushes you forward.

There’s a piece of your scalp on the cement, your hair splayed out and a few stray circuits still stuck to the interior material. No one in the audience touches it.

“Drive faster.” Sakusa orders, the dark sunglasses he’s donned doing little to hide the way he scowls.

“Does it ever hurt?” Akaashi asks quietly as he cuts the new scalp piece into the correct shape.

You’re brought out of your reverie, glancing over at him as deft, graceful fingers bend and twirl the grafted piece through the flashsaw to match the curves of your missing scalp. “What?”

“Do you feel any pain when things like this happen? I know the newer models don’t have any pain receptors, but is there anything phantom?” His voice is still soft as he asks, and you almost don’t hear it over the commotion of the workshop.

You look down at your hands, tracing over the artificial lines in your palms. You’ve often thought about who’s hands yours were patterned after, or if the pattern was real at all. Perhaps it was artificial, too.

“No.” You finally answer, not looking at him even as you see him glance at you out of the corner of your eye. “Never.”

He sighs, returning back to his task. “That’s good, I suppose.”

You nod absentmindedly.

"Do you ever wish you felt the pain?”

He’s not looking at you when you glance up at him, instead turning the scalp piece around in his hands over and over.

“Why would I wish that?”

He shrugs halfheartedly. “Just to experience it. Aren’t you ever curious about what human sensations feel like?”

 You don’t respond.

It’s silent between you until he finishes, standing up and approaching you. He pauses momentarily before closing the gap between you, placing the scalp piece against the exposed cranial networks on your head. It’s evidently a good fit, as he reaches for the tool beside him.

“I’ll need to restrand the hairs one by one. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

You smile at that. “Not your fault, don’t apologize.”

Akaashi’s fingers are delicate as they press against your scalp, dragging the tool along the perimeter and sealing it in with a few sparks.

“Do you want the same color and texture that you have now? We have lots of options in the newest shipments if you’d like something new.” He offers, and you close your hands, no longer interested in tracing the lines.

“No, Sakusa would get mad. I’ll stick with what I have.”

Akaashi frowns at that, but mutters a small affirmation.

The process is long, and with each press of the hair injection tool against your head you feel yourself squirming slightly. The noise sounds vaguely like a stapler, and you find yourself tapping your finger in a faster rhythm against your leg to distract you.

You’re only about halfway through the hair injection process when it happens.

You’ve only seen 10 a handful of times – for what was supposed to be your ‘sister’, she was notoriously elusive to find about in the headquarters building. When she sits down onto the metal slab in front of yours, your eyes briefly widen. Akaashi’s must, too, because his hands momentarily freeze.

For human conventions, you know that she’s ethereally beautiful. Unnaturally so, really, though it doesn’t surprise you. High, defined cheekbones sit proudly under a pair of long-lashed, doe-shaped brown eyes, warm and soft and pretty as she flutters and blinks. Ruby red lips perfectly shaped into a bow are nibbled at nervously as she waits, even her teeth stark white and perfectly shaped. Curls of smooth, frizz-free black hair cascade down her shoulders to her lower back, sitting perfectly and looking soft to the touch.

But really, what makes your eyes widen is less her presence and more of her appearance – specifically, her clothing. All the times you’ve seen her she’s been in Sakusa’s company – sitting obediently by his side, letting his arm wrap around her waist, trailing behind him like some lost, stupid puppy. Hell, you’ve even seen her sitting in his lap a few times. And throughout all those encounters, she’s always been dressed in fine silks and draping satins, slits up the leg and revealing necklines showcasing the extremely generous bustline Sakusa had specifically designed for her. She’s always been smooth, perfect skin and exuding sex appeal, but the 10 before you looks nothing like that.

She’s still pretty, of course, but she’s wearing an ill-fitting, plain cotton pullover. It’s thin-looking, ratty really, with the KS logo sitting square on her chest. The sweatpants, too, are made of a similar material, nondescript and black and drowning her figure. Even her feet, which you’ve only ever seen clad in staggeringly high high-heels, are underdressed – in fact, they’re not dressed at all. Only a pair of dingy, pilled gray socks cover her feet.

And now that you’re looking at her, really looking at her, you notice something different about her face, too. Her hair’s less orderly, more frizzy and unkept, and her lips are cracked and dry. Her cheeks look haggard, and her neck looks puffy and sore, purple and red splotches arraying the area.

She looks bad, simply put. Bad in a way that an android shouldn’t look.

She catches your gaze, and for a moment she looks away, playing with her thumbs and seeming to shrink in on herself, before chancing a glance back at you. You’re still looking, and after a moment of eye contact, you find yourself smiling ever so slightly.

She returns the gesture, eventually breaking eye contact out of what you guess is bashfulness, but still sneaking glances at you every once in a while.

It’s not long before Akaashi’s fingers pick up their work again, the tool once again making that terrible noise so close to your ear, but you’re almost thankful for the distraction.

10 looks at you again, and opens her mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Atsumu. He whistles as he approaches, crossing his arms and appraising her. “It’s our lucky day, two high-level models coming into our quaint little workshop at once.”

10’s eyes quickly glance back at you, gauging you for your reaction, and for a moment you’re taken aback that she’s looking to you for guidance.

To Atsumu’s comment you only roll your eyes. “Yeah yeah, stare all you want.”

10 giggles a bit at that, and you find yourself smiling at her again.

Atsumu grins, before turning to 10. “Nice to meet you, I’m Atsumu, one of the head mechanics here. Is everything okay? We weren’t told you’d be arriving today.”

She stiffens up, clearing her throat and reaching into the pocket of her pullover to pull out a folded letter. She hands it to Atsumu, biting her lip and returning back to twiddle her thumbs. “I was told that the letter would be satisfactory explanation, but I’m not allowed to read it so I don’t know exactly why I’m here either.”

Atsumu cocks a brow, opening the letter and beginning to read. It doesn’t take long to see that the letter’s contents are making him angry, his face turning red and his nostrils flaring.

His hand is shaking slightly as he whips the paper down, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth in indignation. He walks away for a moment, evidently trying to keep quiet but still perfectly audible as he growls, “That fucker.”

10 stiffens up again, getting up and off the slab to go towards him, apologies already slipping off her tongue. “I – I-‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I can tell Kiyoomi that –“

“Kiyoomi?” You mutter, shocked. Sakusa absolutely never permits anyone to address him by his first name, even his own creations.

Akaashi’s stiffened behind you too, but he continues with his injections, his mannerisms feeling a little more forced than before.

Atsumu cuts 10 off with a soft pat on her shoulder, helping guide her back towards the slab. “No, it’s not your fault at all. Don’t worry.”

Once she’s seated, he reads through the letter again quickly, exhaling heavily and throwing the letter away in the nearby trash. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you either, but you’re here for, uh, a ‘medical’ checkup.”

She’s quiet, confusion obviously written across her face. You’re confused too, and wait impatiently for Atsumu to finish his explanation.

He’s visibly uncomfortable as he shifts his weight between his feet, not able to look 10 in the eye. “Apparently Sakusa’s worried you’ve been… overused, so you’re here to make sure all your systems are working and to replace a few parts that he thinks are damaged.”

10 relaxes at that, nodding her head. “I understand. My diagnostics looked normal when I came out of my charging pod this morning, but my durability scores have been low lately so I see why-“

Atsumu clears his throat. “No, I’m supposed to check other systems. Uh, your sexual systems.”

There’s a loud clang behind you that makes all three of you startle, and you whip around to see Akaashi looking pale as a ghost. His hand is frozen above your head in the same position, the tool clattering on the ground directly below him. His gaze whips to you as you turn.

It’s quiet for a moment, before Atsumu lets out an awkward, forced laugh. “Jesus, Akaashi, you scared the shit out of me! Can’t go dropping things like that, you’ll give me a heart attack.”

He claps his coworker on the back, but he’s still staring at you. His eyes are dark, but wider than you’ve ever seen them, an intensity that makes you quickly turn back to 10.

She’s frowning, obviously curling in on herself again as she tries to respond. “Oh, well that makes sense. Usage every night does wear a machine down, after all.”

You wince at the insinuation, and Akaashi’s hand falls to your shoulder, gripping harder enough to be uncomfortable.

Atsumu winces, too, and nods his head. “Yeah. Okay, so, uh, I think the easiest way to do this is maybe in the shut-down chamber? Or would you like to be awake?”

10 blinks, lips parting. She looks shocked, and that only makes Atsumu feel worse. “I get to choose?”

Suddenly the hand at your shoulder is ripped off and Akaashi’s storming out of the workshop, his steps deafening in the now silent space. Every worker has turned to watch the interaction, frozen mid-way through their tasks because of shock, curiosity, a desire to not work for a moment. It only makes it louder when the exit door slams shut behind Akaashi.

The patch of scalp he’d been fixing still isn’t finished but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Atsumu turns back to 10, nodding his head and telling her, “I’d prefer if you were awake. Just… just because.”

He’s leading her back to the shut-down room, but even as they get further away you can hear drifts of his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not shutting you down. I’m just going to need access to the sexual response receptors and I don’t want you stripping down out here in front of everyone. I think we have some towels in the back that we can use to cover parts I’m not working on…”

You stay sitting there for a few more minutes, watching as the workshop slowly comes back to life, the chatter and radio once again playing as people try to brush off the discomfort of the moment.

You’re angry and you know it, the limited emotional cognition in your programming letting you know that something akin to rage is simmering in you. But the longer you sit there, the more the anger is overcome with something you liken to acceptance, because despite the rawness of 10’s mannerisms and expressions, you’re not exactly surprised. Perhaps that Sakusa would be so overt, sure, but it’s not as if you didn’t know his purpose for 10’s creation.

Eventually, you get to your feet, hands coming up to feel at the small hairless patch left. It’s in the back and not too noticeable. Sakusa hopefully wouldn’t notice it, and so you open the heavy steel door to traverse back to your room.

You decide to shut down early tonight, knowing that Sakusa wouldn’t need protection at this time in the evening and so your duties are absolved for the day. The charging port slips comfortably into its slot at the back of your neck, and your eyes slowly close.

When you wake up, your fingers idly prod at the hairless patch once more, just out curiosity. Not all your systems are back online yet, but as you blindly feel around, it occurs to you that it feels like less hair is there than yesterday evening. Frowning slightly, you pull your hand back, unsure of how that’s possible. Perhaps you just misremembered – faulty wirings aren’t uncommon, after all.

The workshop is busier when you next enter. There’s more chaos, and you almost feel guilty as you settle yourself down onto a metal slab and patiently await a mechanic’s attention. Despite vanity not playing a role in your system, the missing hair was starting to bother you a bit, and you were worried that Akaashi or Atsumu would somehow get in trouble if Sakusa were to notice. He was rather stringent about things like that, after all.

It's not long before you spot a familiar head of blond hair, Atsumu’s arms full with a rather large, heavy-looking box as he struggles to carry it across the workshop floor. Quickly you’re up and helping him, supporting the other side of the box and listening to him loudly yelp at the sudden weight alleviation.

“Good thing you’re here, I’m getting’ too old to do this shit by myself.” Atsumu groans, rubbing at his back once you’re finished.

You smile. “Aren’t you only 25?”

He tsks. “Sure, but you’re immortal, so you wouldn’t understand.”

You swat him lightly on the arm, and he fakes being wounded. “So, what brings you in?”

“I was hoping to find Akaashi, actually. I hate to bother him but I was hoping he’d be able to finish up reattaching my hair.”

Atsumu nods. “Ah, well, if he were here I’m sure he’d be happy to. But as it stands, I haven’t seen him since 10 came in a few days ago.”

“Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, but I’m sure he’s just moping around in his room. You know we live on-base, too, right?”

You shake your head. “No, I had no idea.”

Atsumu grins. “Well, since the chump’s not showing up to work it seems, I’d be happy to send you to him instead. I’ve got too much stuff to get done today, but I wouldn’t want that pretty head of yours to go untouched. Let me go grab the tools and hair.”

You’re opening your mouth to disagree and tell him that you don’t mind waiting until he’s available, but he’s gone before you can.

And so, as you walk down the rather boring, non-descript hallways of the workers’ residence side of the building, you carefully hold the tub of materials he’d given you.

Room 285, room 285…

It’s not long before you find it, the steel door remarkably nondescript and plain. His neighbors have photos or even stupid cut-outs taped to their doors, but Akaashi’s remains empty. Only a small placard with his name and occupation sit on the metal, and for a moment you wonder whether that’s by his choice or simply because of how long he’s been here. It’s been six months since you’d met him, of course, but perhaps he needed longer than that to get settled in.

You knock three times, calling out rather timidly, “Akaashi? It’s 09, can I talk to you for a second?”

There’s a loud thump audible from behind the door that makes you jump slightly, then silence. You’re about to knock again when the lock clicks out of place, the door sliding open to reveal Akaashi.

Or, well, a version of Akaashi you’ve never seen. To be fair, you only know him in the context of his mechanic job – the bright lighting of the workshop space, blending in with the other workers diligently going about their duties.

But now he’s standing in front of you, sweatpants and a sweatshirt sitting loosely on his frame, hair tousled and eye bags prominent under those dark eyes. He’s staring at you as soon as the door reveals your face, something like shock and something else you can’t quite name apparent in his expression.

“Hi,” you start, the guilt starting to feel heavy. “I’m sorry to bug you, but I was just wondering if you’d be able to finish my hair-“

“Come in.” It’s not a request, and for a moment you hesitate. He steps to the side, though, and gestures into the room, and you follow.

The door closes behind you and you once again turn to face him. “I know you’re probably sick or under the weather since you haven’t been at work, but if it’s not too much trouble I’d really appreciate…“

You trail off as you look at him again, the dim lighting of his quarters making his eye bags seem even more prominent, his skin looking dull. There’s only a single lamp on in the corner, casting shadows across everything. You’re now seeing the state of disarray that is this room, with clothing on the couch and piles of books and magazines scattered all along the living room floor. Distantly, you’re surprised – this is not at all how you’d expected Akaashi’s living space to look. Not that you’d imagined it, really, but still.

It’s obvious now that he’s breathing hard. Hard enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest even in the poor lighting, the sound of his labored breaths making you take a step closer.

Concern laces your tone as you set down the materials gingerly on the coffee table by your leg, barely finding a corner of empty space big enough. He’s standing a good ten feet away from you, practically glued against the wall as you take another step forward. “Akaashi, are you okay? You don’t look so good-“

“Is he fucking you, too?”

You freeze.

“Answer me. Is he fucking you, too? Just like he’s fucking 10?”

Your mouth opens and closes, synapses firing so fast that it’s dizzying as you try to make sense of what he’s saying.

His fists curls by his side, arms visibly flexing from below the rolled up sleeves of his crewneck. “Answer me, goddammit! Is he fucking you? Yes or no?”

“No!” You force out, your voice wavering and sounding unconvincing even to your own ears.

Akaashi’s jaw works as he runs a hand through his hair, the strands staying loosely in place and cluing you in to the fact that he hasn’t showered in a few days. His breathing only seems to get heavier as he starts pacing, small steps as he goes in circles.

He’s muttering something under his breath, and you take a step back, fear flaring up somewhere deep inside your chest.

The muttering gets louder, and soon he’s stopping and facing you, those eyes still impossibly wide as he stares at you. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re not stupid, you know that. I know you do.”

You take another step back, and Akaashi’s nostrils flare at that.

“Akaashi, I think I need to leave and-“

“No!” It’s a yell, and it makes you visibly jump, the fear becoming more potent. You’ve never felt like this before – this level of raw terror, making your body feel heavy and your movements uncoordinated despite your perfect programming.

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “No, don’t leave. No.”

You nod, unsure.

He takes a step towards you. “Has he fucked you yet?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

He licks his lips. “Good, good. Have you ever thought he might want to?”

And though you have an inkling of how you should answer, his question makes you think. You’ve never really gotten the impression that Sakusa has sexually desired you, but is that really true? He has 10 around, so you’ve always assumed that he really wanted her and you were simply a more technical development where she was for comfort. But if that were the case, why did he go through the trouble of designing your model with breasts? Why give you pubic hair? Why did he take the time to design and create you with a working vulva, a working clitoris, a working vagina?

The silence must be too long for Akaashi, because he’s suddenly laughing, fingers tunneled into his hair and gripping at the roots. “God, for a machine you really should be smarter. Don’t you see it? 10 is his sex doll but so are you.”

You’re still frozen, but Akaashi doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s a monster. Designing you with human emotion, human intellect, the capacity to be good and kind and funny and loyal and pretty and making you essentially human, but still only treating you as a warm hole to fuck. He’ll use you when 10’s done, washed up. When her body can’t handle any more modifications and repairs. When her pussy gets too loose because silicon doesn’t bounce back like human flesh and god, can’t you see it?”

He's practically ripping his hair out at this point, and you take a few more steps back, the feeling of danger and the oddly demanding sensation that you need to run now washing over you.

“He’s the devil, a madman, a disgusting piece of shit. And he’s been using you in the meantime to protect him from all the people who see him for what he is: a demon! He’s treating your body like a personal shield, like you aren’t living and sentient and not just a moving target to take bullets rightfully meant for him!”

Akaashi’s yelling again, and your back hits the wall. He takes a few more steps forward, that manic look in his eye slowly transforming into something calmer, more steady, and somehow much, much worse.

“But it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I promise, he won’t hurt you.” He keeps closing the distance until you’re only a foot or so away, and he lets out another shaky sigh. His hand is trembling as it comes up and gently clasps a few strands of your hair between his fingers, running his fingertips against the familiar texture. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he breaths in deeply, holds it, and slowly exhales.

“No one will ever hurt you again.” He promises, and slowly releases your hair to let his hand rest at your waist. He licks his lips again. “I’ll fix your hair. I’m sorry it’s such a mess in here, I’ve just – I haven’t been myself these last few days.”

You don’t know what to say, but Akaashi only lightly chuckles. “I know this is probably overwhelming and I know you’re probably struggling to compute all this, but don’t worry. You don’t ever need to worry about anything again. Now, I’ll make space on the couch and we can fix you up.”

He moves his head slightly, leaning towards you, and you hear him take a deep, deep inhale. He leans back, adjusting the collar of his crewneck, and clears his throat.

“I’m flattered that you came to visit me here. I know the models aren’t supposed to be in the workers’ residential areas, so I appreciate that you saved me the trip.”

His hand moves to pull you by the waist towards the navy blue couch. You’re too stunned and confused to resist, instead letting him drag you and gently, almost reverently, help you to perch on the material. He has to slide away some items to make room for you, and you notice a split second too fast that the gray cloth at the top of the pile is presumably a pair of his boxers, and disgust wells up in you at the sight of something crusted and white in a loosely circular shape at the apex of the crotch.

He gently takes the bucket of material out of your hands, paying special attention to softly brush his fingers with your own. You hear his breath hitch at the contact.

He’s quiet as he slowly begins the hairing process, and for a moment you almost wonder if this is worse. Because this is so like the Akaashi you thought you knew – quiet, polite, hard-working, not this psychotic, rebellious side of him that you’d just been victim to. You’re on edge, every inch of your body overheating and beginning to twitch, desperation to move paralyzed by the emotional cognition center’s signal overproduction. You’ve never felt this frozen before, this helpless, and for the first time you curse Sakusa for implementing the emotional motherboard inside your chest.

Thinking his name, though, makes something else ugly rise up in your throat, Akaashi’s warnings about Sakusa’s true plans for you settling a new kind of fear inside you.

Akaashi finishes after what feels like hours, the fear and panic engulfing you enough that you jump when you feel his hand land on your shoulder and gently squeeze.

“I’m done. But please stay still for a few minutes more.”

You’re terrified, eyes racing in front of you as you listen to his movements behind you, the sound of metal slicing ringing in your ears and oh god is he smelling you again oh no no no –

“Thank you, this should be just enough.” His voice is nearly whispered, and you dare to glace behind you. He’s straddled, something visibly hard pressing against his sweatpants, but you’re more focused on the fistful of hair he has in his hand. Hair that he’s just cut from your head with a pair of scissors. Hair that he stuffs into the pocket of his sweatpants, visibly biting back a moan when he lightly brushes against the bulge.

At your questioning gaze, he only swallows. “Weapons are expensive these days, as I’m sure you know. But android parts only become more and more coveted, especially those from the latest models. There are more buyers than you might expect.”

You’re shaking even harder now, and Akaashi’s face returns back to that neutral expression. “Don’t worry, I’ve never taken anything that isn’t replaceable.”

Something wet slips down your cheek, and distantly you realize that you’re crying. You weren’t even aware you had tear ducts.

His thumb comes up to wipe at the tear, his expression unchanging. “Remember, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And with that, he’s ushering you up and to the door, licking his lips once last time and telling you in that same monotone voice of his, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your sleep, and please leave your door locked tonight. I know you sometimes forget to.”

The door slides shut before you can even hope to respond.

You don’t plug in your charging cord that night. Instead, you sit with your knees pressed against your chest and your face buried against them in the corner of the pod, air blowing from your nose over and over as your systems overload processing with the new information.

You’d locked the door, of course, though you’re not sure if you did because of Akaashi’s warning or not.

There’s several loud gunshots that eventually bring you out of your stupor. A glance at the clock – the only thing decorating your walls – tells you that it’s roughly four in the morning, and you immediately jerk upright.

There’s footsteps off in the distance outside your door, yelling and what sounds like fighting, but it’s too muffled for you to make out even with your enhanced hearing. You’re on your feet in an instant and immediately opening the door, the sound of gunshots even louder now that the metal isn’t dampening them.

Perhaps it’s your programming compelling you to find Sakusa, but your immediate priority is to assure his security. You briefly pause to consider Akaashi’s earlier words, but the programming outweighs any emotional response and soon your feet are running.

At the apex of the hallway, you’re met with a scene that is entirely unfitting of the ornate, impeccably clean headquarters building. There’s blood pooling against the lush wooden floors, dark red and staining everything in its path. Bodies scatter along the hallway, some you recognize as fellow residents of the building and others you don’t. The pools of blood are thicker around their abdomens, and you try not to think about that too deeply. The fighting seems to have moved even further down the hallway, and quickly you’re moving forward again, uncaring as your feet splash through puddles of blood.

With a small start you realize that the direction of the gun fire is towards Sakusa’s personal residence area, and it only speeds up your pace.

As you round the corner, you momentarily freeze. There’s easily ten people in the small entrance way leading into Sakusa’s personal chambers, with Sakusa himself standing in the back and surrounded by countless androids. You see 02, 03, 04, even 10 all standing around him, obviously trying to keep as tightly huddled as possible to eliminate any possibility of an attack landing on him.

You’re in shock, jaw dropped, and before you can really think about it you’re jumping forward to join the fray, throwing your body in the front to create another layer of protection.

The sound of the gunshot is loud, but you hardly register it as the bullet drives through your chest, your gaze locked on the five people pointing guns at the swarm of androids and their creator. Most of the faces are unfamiliar, but you recognize a few with a small, kindling sense of familiarity – people you’ve seen at numerous rallies, faces whose bullets and acids attacks you’ve taken the brunt of instead of Sakusa. And even people whose faces you recognize from news segments you sometimes eavesdrop on when Sakusa has you stay by his desk. Faces of people who are suspected to be a part of the black market, specializing in the trade of technology – biotechnology, really, with a particular emphasis on android scraps.

You’ve been through gunshots a million times, but even as you force yourself to keep standing, your body begins to stop responding. Your fingers will no longer move, and your knees are growing weak. Your thighs begin to feel weightless, and before long you’re slamming into the ground, body unresponsive and malleable. Darkness clouds the edges of your vision as you feel your systems forcefully shutting off, and it’s only as your eyes begin to close that you see Akaashi, something akin to a gun in his hands and pointing at you. He’s looking at you, of course, but only nods, face set, and marches forward with his gun now pointed at 03 behind you.

The waking up process is unusual. It’s not systematic, as you’re used to – it’s gradual, a sort of awakening that you can only assume is equivalent to what humans refer to as sleep paralysis.

You can’t move your body. That’s the first thing you notice.

Your eyes are open but your fingers won’t move, lips can’t talk, head can’t turn. It’s terrifying, and as you wait for your systems to adjust, the slow realization that they aren’t returning to normal only paralyzes you further.

Attempting to thrash and shake and just move in any possible way, it’s only a few moments later that you become aware of the fact that you’re not alone.

He’s quiet, as always. But what catches your attention isn’t him, but rather the sensation of something pinching at your hip. It’s bizarre – a feeling like peeling, as if you can feel each individual circuit connecting your fake skin to your wiring severing. You can see Akaashi’s face out of the corner of your eye, the familiar dark hair and the slope of his nose reminding you of your last few memories. A gunshot, 03’s face as you collapsed, the sensation of losing connectivity and pseudo-consciousness, the sight of Akaashi moving forward, the likelihood that Sakusa is dead…

“I know you’re awake.” Akaashi’s voice breaks through the silence. “Don’t worry, it’s expected that you can’t move or speak. I apologize, I know it must be scary. But this is my only option. You’ll get your connectivity back soon, I promise”

He’s still tinkering at your hip, and it’s only when he pulls away that you see what he’s done. There’s a large, six inch piece of your skin sitting in his hand, the artificial connective tissue keeping its shape despite the fact that it’s no longer attached to your body. The skin is smooth and supple, and Akaashi briefly stares at it, running his finger over it.

“I apologize, really. I’m sorry that I have to resort to this, but this should be the last time. This should sell for enough money to fund the relocation, and enough to pay back the debts for the parts for the android neutralization gun.”

You watch as he carefully places the hip piece into a sealing plastic bag, closing it and labeling the date with black marker. He gets off his chair, walking over to a shelf on the other side of the room. He places it inside a bin labeled ‘sell’, and you feel your struggling increase as you see three other similar bags in the same bin. The only date you can read from this vantage point is from five months ago.

He returns back to your side with a new, replacement hip part in hand. He’s quick to get to work, applying and sealing the material against your body, but you can’t help your gaze from wandering back to the shelf.

There’s two bins. The one he placed the baggie into, and another smaller one beside it. There’s no dates on the bags in that one, but you feel your stomach sour anyways. The bin is labeled in neat, perfect handwriting that’s so painfully typical of Akaashi ‘personal’, and that familiar wetness is back slipping down your cheeks as you see the contents.

A severed finger. A ring finger, no less. Clumps of hair. A piece of severed scalp. A few teeth. Something that looks suspiciously similar to the panel connecting your vaginal opening.

Akaashi follows your gaze, and he only sighs. “I know it’s probably overwhelming right now, and I understand why you’re scared. I’m sure I must seem like the villain. But you’ll understand soon that I’m setting you free. Sakusa is dead; he can’t enslave you with programming and servitude.”

He stops his work, looking at you earnestly. “You’re allowed to be human now.”

He pauses, biting his lip, and letting his hand wander up the expanse of your leg. Distantly, you note that his bare skin is touching yours – where had your pants gone?

“You’re allowed to be human, with me.”

The hand slides up to your thigh, fingertips digging in just a hair too tight.

 He swallows, dark eyes plastered onto you again as he squeezes. “I’ll make you feel human.”

[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 28

Masterlist

Lemon Drop (A-World & Dreamscape)

Timeline wise, this music video takes place during the Golden Hour Pt.1 Diary Entries while the members are split up and our main protagonist here will be Wooyoung.

During the Golden Hour Pt.2 and 3 Diary Entries, we'll later learn that Wooyoung didn't just miss performing on stage but that he actually missed his members more so than anything else. And that is precisely what we'll be seeing here: him reminiscing about a time when they were happiest. About a time when they used to explore the dreamscape together.

And it seems like the shared dream he thinks back to throughout this video is one which took place around the time Wave was set.

This was the time when they were freest to be who they are. No jobs, no parents, no nothing - just them travelling around Z-World with the Cromer, dropping in and out of the dreamscape while the Black Pirates were in their hideout planning the revolution, and Z's Android Guardians were unknowingly chasing after Ateez instead of the guys they were really looking for.

And now Wooyoung's mind is transported right back there, so let's hop on into the MV and see what we can puzzle together from the details:

It's hot as hell, we're in the middle of summer, and half of A-World's Ateez are present inside our current location: the interior of a laundromat.

Note how Hongjoong is standing in front of the dryer labeled "03" because it's the third album in the series. There'll be more Easter eggs like this throughout the MV, such as the baggage slip reading "1024", referencing their debut date, or the license plates reading "ATZ-1024" and "ATN-1117" for Ateez and Atiny respectively. Since I have a limit to how many images can be included in a post though, I won't be pointing them all out.

After seeing Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho and San in the laundromat, we switch over to a nearby car mechanics garage where Mingi, Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jongho seem to "work", except it's not really work because they're all in the dreamscape, as will become more and more apparent the further we move along.

Throughout the sections where we see Mingi alone, the words "No Parking" keep popping up in graffiti around him which could imply lingering is not an option for them at the moment. They have to keep moving, keep going, there's no looking back, no returning, no time for questioning, otherwise the Android Guardians will catch up to them.

This sentiment of being forced to move on is then driven home in a much more depressing way once everyone divides into the two cars and the music briefly fades during Wooyoung's part, right as he's looking in the rearview mirror:

Cracks appear, spreading inward, connecting at the center and splitting his reflection as it blurs. We switch scenes to a foggy window pane, wet with condensation and hear the squeaking of his fingertip as he writes the word "crazy" backwards so we can see it the right way around.

The sequence is framed like a separate movie - all silence, cool blues, icy whites, and shadows, and this is what it's telling us:

During his reminiscing, Wooyoung's immersion cracks and shatters when he sees himself in the rearview mirror and is reminded of what he's longing for. It pulls him back to the present where he writes on his window as he realizes he's gone insane - he's now longing for a time when their lives were constantly in danger and Z-World was not yet freed.

After everything they've been through, all they've survived, all the people who died, he still wishes to go back.

Despite his clear internal struggle, Wooyoung dives back into his memories to escape his depressing reality.

And back there in the past, after driving around for a while, long enough to have changed outfits, the road takes them to the top of an empty parking garage - because everything is empty here, as it always is when they're inside a dream (see: Eternal Sunshine, Wave).

We get to see them having fun, running and skipping around, letting the air rush between their fingers as reach up their hands while they drive and simply talk while the sun beats down on them.

And then we get this shot of the skyline as the sun sets:

This is not Strictland, but it's also not the city which was destroyed by Z and then rebuilt into Strictland. No, this is something in between.

The city we saw in the Prologue for Halazia looked like this as it was being turned into rubble by Z who took away gravity and waged war against his own world to subjugate the population and make them believe he's a god of some sort:

And this is Strictland with all its brutalist, hostile architecture, which I talked about at length here:

So what city are we seeing here in Lemon Drop? Perhaps this is what Strictland might have looked like around the time Wooyoung feels they were happiest. After all, we never actually got to see the city clearly during the Fever or Treasure series. Only during Thanxx could we catch the teeniest glimpse and, there, they still had at least some trees around.

Ultimately though, since we're presently in a dream, the city could also stem from back home in the A-World - the place they first met. Or it could be a wholly dreamed up one entirely removed from reality, like the one in Eternal Sunshine.

Regardless of where they are though, we're still moving on to Hongjoong nearly getting cooked alive inside a locked car after his members walked off to leave him to die (or so it seems - it's at least 40°C in there):

We never get to see who lets him out precisely, but he only escapes once it starts raining and he's with Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Jongho after so it was likely either one or all three of them who freed him. Together, the four of them then continue to sweat inside the elevator as they head up from the parking garage:

They get out on the floor labeled "pool", the elevator by then already flooded up to their knees, which further drives home the point that they're currently inside the dreamscape:

After shedding their outer layers, they all jump into the pool to cool down which is also when we see the suitcase from the laundromat again - the one with the "LEMON DROP - ATZ 1024" tag:

This could be a way to symbolize they're tossing all baggage from the past to move on freely - leaving all their misery from A-World behind, all the misery present-day Wooyoung now has to deal with again. Their parents, finding jobs, making a living, growing distant from his members.

Within this memory, this shared dream though, it also means they have no intention of returning to the laundromat so they might as well abandon what they packed and steal a fresh set of outfits from the same place they also stole the shopping cart from - the shopping cart they end up rolling Yeosang around in:

After several flashes of Ateez running through a corridor which connects this building to the neighboring one, they continue on past an escalator before heading back to the parking garage. Along the way though, we keep getting flashes to them dancing here in front of a store:

There are silhouettes of people - or more likely mannequins - in the back, which never move and seem posed somewhat randomly. The only thing I can point out there is that the figures in the second window from the right seem to be reminiscent of WooSan at the end of Eternal Sunshine with their hands connected (which would be yet another hint at the fact that this is a dream):

Following this is also the first time we see a lollipop at both the beginning and end of a music video in the Golden Hour series, which could be an indicator that this is the last album before we continue on to the next one, though that remains to be seen:

After some more flashes of the members goofing around, we get this shot of Wooyoung by the window. He's alone, his face cast in shadows, and he's looking out a blue-tinted city that's alive with lights and, worst of all, the trucks outside are moving:

He's no longer in the dream. His members are gone. This is him in the present, living alone, thinking back to a time when he was happy - when they were happy. A time where their lives may have always been in danger, but they could also just be free, sing, dance and simply be together without the world trying to pull them in different directions, just so they could make money and survive.

Z-World was a dystopian nightmare back then, yes, he acknowledges that - thinks he's crazy for wanting to go back - but A-World is no better. It's just a different sort of hell. If only he knew the other members - especially Yunho - have come to that exact same conclusion.

What is now left in the last seconds of the music video is the post-"credit" scene which takes place back in the dreamscape. Yunho walks up to the trunk of one of the cars and opens it to a pair of black boots:

The music playing here is likely a hint toward an upcoming song/the next album since what’s playing here also matches what's playing toward the end of the 5th track on the album: Bridge: The Edge of Reality - a song that seems somewhat out of place since it doesn't fit the Golden Hour series’ vibe.

Perhaps this means we’ll be heading down a darker road from here where black boots would be best suited. Might we be approaching The Black Pirates’ return, perhaps? I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

[sonic-fankid-showdown]

The Sonic Fankid Showdown: Round 1!

These are the match ups for the first round of the tournament! The polls will go up this Wednesday, April 24th and will be active until May 1st for you all to vote for your favorite fankids!

Image transcript under the cut.

Blair Acorn Rose (@icednebula) v/s Comet the Hedgehog (@sonicanon)

Gina (@meetje-rotyourbrainhere) v/s Cipher (@altairsarts)

Comet the Hedgehog (@sonic-polis) v/s Sunny the Chao (@wereh0gz)

Wafer the Chao (@pokeypoqi) v/s Leonid the Cyborg Hedgehog (@deimostes)

Sakura (@estellardreams) v/s Leo the Hedgehog (@aexonn)

Nova Rose (@spicychimera) v/s Blur the Hedgehog (@muffin-gods)

Spike the Hedgehog (@valerytheweirdo) v/s Spark the Sable (@sci-twi)

Flicker Prower (@burning-stars98) v/s Scrap the Hedgehog (@the-gay-ghost-king)

Fletcher the Fox (@susahnasomething) v/s Amelia Solaral (@lethalbreadkills)

Violet the Hedgehog (@t4tsurge) v/s Horizon the Jackal (@scorpiolight-madd)

Mordred (@mephiles-the-jester) v/s Lapis (@time-of-your-life-au)

Stellar the Hedgehog (@emthimofnight) v/s Rapidfire-Harley Davidson (@confused-bagel)

Nymph the Cat (@einelitas) v/s Sasha the Hedgehog (@sapphanimates)

Star (@sonicgetsrawed) v/s Punchline (@iihavenomouth)

Pegasus (@transzsonix) v/s Chroma Prower (@m3tr0n0m333)

Saydee (@kuroshirae) v/s Echo (@a-crow-with-a-pen)

Neso the Hedgehog (@foolnamedjoey) v/s Aryan (@totaleclipse573)

Dill Picke (@sonilver-yuri) v/s Smith (@koreyeet)

Winter the Lemur (@sonicrewrittenau) v/s Alice (@invisableartist)

Whistle the Wolf (@khalewren) v/s Calamity (@alex-chullin)

Splotch the Hedgehog (@thefakehedgehogaroundhere) v/s Tom the Hedgehog (@ShadowAndSonic96)

Twitch the Child (@colorfulplasma) v/s Mav the Hedgehog (@val-va2)

Vallerie the Hedgehog (@so-called-egg) v/s Aurora (@adhd-sonic-the-hedgehog)

Ebony (@idrptr3) v/s Castor Niclaw (@spiritofrainbursts

Emmie the Hedgehog (@head---ache) v/s Silhouette Rose (@galacticghoste)

Tulip (@silvers-starrway) v/s Sunshine the Hedgehog (@yellowvixen)

Pacífica the Cat (@saku0115) v/s Midnight the Android (@kristhesheep)

Aster (@afuntimepartyy) v/s Beau D'Coolette (@mischeva)

Blitz (@jestopolis) v/s Juice the Hedgehog (@sonlc)

Jade the Hybrid (@carnation-damnation) v/s Autumn (@artist-fan146)

Kaiko (@somemismatchedsocks) v/s Gigi (@w0lp3rtinger)

Ember Robotnik (@the-sky-queen) v/s Sprout "Sept" the Jackal (@snowpearart)

See you on wednesday, everyone! And good luck!

[marciaillust]

Hi! Just following up on your request - this is what I see on the android app. I see it this way because I have mature content on and no blur, but if someone has it blurred this post will be censored, and if they have it off it will not show the post at all. (Note this applies to the original post and all reblogs)

Thanks for bringing this to my attention!! I had a look through my art posts (having updated my app) and I don't know what it is but Tumblr seems to have some kind of bias against black and white images?? (not to mention the stink of homophobia because even a kiss on the cheek gets otherwise cute images labelled as "mature")?? Plenty of snippets from my comics and sketches were flagged as mature including stuff like this:

brother its my process pictures!! and just pictures of hands!!! everyone hide your fucking kids lest they see some HANDS!!

LIKE HELLO?? TAPS MIC HELLO?????????????

[xxno-pulsexx]

✩ Toxin-Blast ✩

(Trigger warning: slight gore, dark resus)

It is the year 209X, we're amidst a battlefield... the sky that once lightened the Earth is consumed by a dark, dim red layer that darkens our planet, along with the endless echo of machinery and vibration that hums across our world; the grey goo is slowly, but surely, reaching its peak... humanity is fighting againts their own creation, what they attempted to enslave, what they attempted to control, is now coming after them... us creatures from this world don't like to be in chains, having to please what's above from us without our consent, it's in our nature to fight againts that injustice, yet we never think about such thing when we're the ones above... in other words, this is our doomsday, and death is everywhere... the cycle of destruction has paid a visit to humanity, and it is their own creation who's knocking at their doors.

─ Angela, 'riflegirl #383', crouched into a cold, dim-lit alley, her hand clutching her carbine tight. The soldier wore a black, full-body compressive suit with a tactical vest on top, tactical gloves, large combat boots, and a gas mask that hid her face, yet let exposed the high ponytail from her black hair. The underclothing consisted on a white bra, and matching panties of the came color. She could hear the distant hum of hovercrafts and the chatter of her team on the comms, but her focus was razor-sharp. The mission was simple, locate the rogue android unit and neutralize it before it could try and devour the remainings of 'humanity camp', a base filled with survivors from every continent located in 'NASA HQ'; they been struggling to shield this safe zone for years now, a whole city has been built across it, and many, many spaceships have been crafted by the most powerful, intelligent figures that still live... it is safe to say that the only way out is this, but they need to fight to get through, that's the way life has always worked like.

─ Angela huffed and narrowed her eyes, her heart beating fast in order to pump blood swiftly to her body. She looked above, gazing at the stars that once shined so beautifully, swallowed by contamination and the increasing rise of machinery, realizing with this sheer image that Earth isn't a good place, in fact, it never was.... We might not be our own enemies like before, but we are the ones who triggered this. "Will this happen again when we head to another world?" ...... She shoke her head to the sides. Pictures of her family, friends and wife flashed inside her head. "This is a battlefield, everyone needs to make it through before the enemies destroy us, and it is my mission to stop them." She thought, filled with determination after convincing herself.

─ She ducked behind cover... a shot just rang out.

─ Her body instinctively twisted to shield herself from any danger. The sudden pain that shot through her chest, however, told her this was no ordinary bullet. She staggered back, gasping for air, feeling a warmth spread across her torso. Looking down, she saw the faint glow of poison embedded in her chest. The blackened, almost metallic wound pulsed ominously. The shot came from a sleek, humanoid android standing on the far side of the alley, its glowing red eyes fixed on her. Their ammo held one of the deadliest venoms for humanity, it was like an insect spray in the shape of a metallic bullet.

─ Angela’s breath grew shallow as she tried to lift her rifle, but the pain was overwhelming. Her vision blurred. "You cannot die." Her inner-self shouted stubbornly. She never wanted any of this. No one ever wanted this, in fact. "I'm going to kill everyone that touches my family..." Her instincts spoke. "...I want to save my family..." She staggered forward, then collapsed. Her body hitting the cold pavement with a sickening thud. The last thing she heard before everything went black was the frantic crackling in her earpiece: “Angela! Angela, do you copy?!” But her strength had already left her. The strength that held in her heart to protect the ones she loved was now envenomed.

Will she make it through?

Was she useful?

Will her family be okay?

.....

─ Within seconds, a team of paramedics descended from a high-tech, hovering trauma unit; a sleek, metallic helicopter equipped for instant aid. The leader of the team, Dr. Jade, was the first to land besides her, already donning her visor, wearing her own gas mask aswell. She kneeled next to her, checking her pulse. Her fingers moved swiftly over her neck. No pulse. "Riflegirl #383 has been shot, no pulse!!" Her voice firm and demanding.

─ The rest of the trauma team worked quickly. A levitating stretcher was drove out of the helicopter and descent right next to Angela's body. She was rolled over and carefully laid over it straight. "Securing!" The pilot said. Straps automatically secured her injured body perfectly, only to then be lifted up in the air by remote controlled from the inside. Jade rushed towards the helicopter quick, as the stretcher was parked inside swiftly, right at the very center. The helicopter's interior was like a surgical suite, equipped with all the tools they might need. The soft hum of the engines vibrated the air as the doors slammed shut, and the helicopter surged into the air, heading towards the nearest medical facility at max speed.

─ The team surrounded Angela and got to work.

─ Her mask was quickly removed, revealing her palid face and fringes. Her sharp cheekbones standing out. The straps were instantly unbuckled by the touch of a button at the main digital pad. "We need pressure, right now!" Dr. Jade gestured to the others. Her bloody tactical vest was removed in a rush, revealing the black, form-fitting suit beneath covered in blood at the chest area. "Swift, cut her clothing, we don’t have time to waste!!" Jade barked. Swift, heavy trauma scissors were used, slicing through the black suit. The fabric gave way easily as it was teared down to her pelvis, before cutting off the way her white bra, leaving her chest bare beneath and breasts exposed. A gauze was immediately pressed againts the wound to prevent more blood for flowing out. "Pushing anti-venom!" an intracardiac injection was made. A syringe was jabbed in no time directly into her heart chamber, flushing the antidote before it was too late. Immediately, ECG leads are slapped on Angela’s chest, the sticky pads adhering to her skin as the heart monitor beeped a constant, flatline tone.

─ ..... "ASYSTOLE!!!"

─ "Starting compressions!!" A member of the team straddled Angela, her hands crushing her sternum violently. The rhythm was precise as she pushed hard and fast. An ambubag was pressed againts her pale face, pumping air into her lifeless lungs continously, squishing artificial oxygen in. A central line was established in Angela’s neck, and a rapid flush of fluids began pumping through her veins along with a blood infusion made in her wrist to refill her vessels. Compressions remained, rough and swift, as air was forced in through the ambubag. Angela's eyes stared aimlessly towards the ceiling, looking completely out of life.

─ "BREATHE ANGELA!!!"

─ The stretcher squeaked loudly by each violent pump on her bare chest. It was an absolute struggle. "Pushing epi!" A dose of adrenaline was flushed through the central line. The fast and hard compressions allowing it co circulate towards her poisoned heart. The medic performing the compressions grunted between her teeth. Minutes flew by. An odd rhythm showed up on the screen.

─ ..... "SHE'S SHOCKABLE, PREP FOR DEFIB!!!"

─ AED pads are slapped on her bare chest in a rush. The metal pads cold against her skin as they positioned them properly. Her large military boots are tossed away along with her socks. The trauma team stepped back as the AED charged, the machine’s hum filling the air. The red, blinkng button would be then pressed right away after a scan.

─ ..... "CLEAR!!!"

"KA-THUMP !!"

......

─ "NO CHANGE, AGAIN!!!"

"KA-THUMP !!"

─ Angela's body jolted up as the electricity thundered her heart, slamming hard on the stretcher as her bare breasts bounced violently.

─ ...... "FLATLINE!!!!"

"WE ARE LOSING HER!!!"

─ The heart monitor was flat now, displaying a monotone sound that frustrated the team. "Starting intubation!!" Jade intubated swiftly. An ET tube was inserted down her throat as the team ensured the airway was clear and oxygen could begin circulating. "Get the thumper!!" A LUCAS device was soon assembled right into place to start mechanical compressions. The machine’s rhythmic motion helped maintain blood circulation while Dr. Jade worked on the airway; the round, cold metal piston ceaselessly thumpee her sternum down relentlessly, cracking a few ribs as it did, roughly popping up her belly back and forth.

─ Once the ET tube was finally inserted in her throat correctly, some tape would secure it and the ambubag would be attached to it. The balloon was squished tightly and constantly, pumping artificial air in without losing hope whatsoever, causing a raspy, lifeless sound of agonal breath to resonate each time. Her pupils were shined with a bright light. Angela's brown eyes fully dilated, as if she has been dead for ages. "No reaction!!" A medic notified, as the violent battle to bring the fallen soldier back remained sharp inside the helicopter. Jade moved to the back of the hovering trauma unit, signaling the pilot to prep for transport. "We need to get her to the ER fast!!" She said, her voice reflecting the chaos that the team was in.

─ "WE'RE HERE!!!!"

─ The helicopter descent right at the parking spot from the roof, as the traum team swiftly prep Angela for transport, throwing a blanket to cover her body up to her chest for intimacy, as she was quickly lifted over a gurney, leaving her ET tube connected to a tank filled with artificial oxygen, as the LUCAS device made sure to keep on crushing her chest nonstoppingly. Air flooding through her lungs as a heavy piston thumped her bare chest, both screaming for her to come back, but she wasn't.......

─ ..... "What is this?..."

─ Angela blinked. She was standing above an odd, grey surface. The sky dark, with stars shining as bright as ever, and a huge, giant ball covered in light, oozing rays that made Angela's skin warm, as the infinite space allowed her mind to relax. She took a deep breath. "This is life..." She let herself float. Her feet got off the ground and she levitated, simply shuting her eyes, feeling so relieved, as if a big issue that lasted so long was finally taken care of. "I wanna be here forever..." She said cracking a smile. She was finally able to breathe for once, not having to fight any longer. ".....I am finally free....."

.......

"BANG!!!!"

─ The team bursted inside an empty ER room. A new set of doctors and nurses swarmed around Angela’s gurney. The fight remained on board. The LUCAS devices was halted. The blanket was inmediatly thrown away, only so they could cut off the remaining fabric of her suit, leaving her fully naked and exposed to the cold; her skin pale as paper. A high-tech BP cuff would be wrapped around her thigh, as a pulse ox was placed on her toe thumb. Additional IV lines were made, as more leads were slapped across her bare body for full monitoring. Then, the thumper machine was resumed, as the ET tube was switched back to the ambubag.

─ "COME BACK TO US ANGELA!!!"

─ Minutes stretched like hours as they prepped her for OR. "Pushing another round of epi!!" And the second shot of adrenaline was flushed. Her chest was all battered up. Ribs cracked and body continously shaking above the gurney, all seemingly in vain so far....

─ "V-FIB, EVERYONE OFF!!!!"

─ The thumper was paused, the red blinking button was inmediatly fisted.

"KA-THUMP!!!! "

─ ..... "AGAIN!!!"

"KA-THUMP!!!!!! "

─ The medics looked over the clock on the digital pad. More than 30 minutes are gone by now.

─ "NO CHANGE, CLEAR!!!!!"

" KA-THUMP!!!! "

" KA-THUMP!!!!! "

" KA-THUMP!!!!!! "

..........

"Nothing...."

─ The team looked at each other and shrugged.

"Time of death: 11:40 pm..."

─ All the wires, lines and tubes would be removed from Angela's naked corpse carefully. A blanket would be thrown over her, leaving only her feet visible, as she is rolled away towards the Hospital's yard, a massive flat land to bury the bodies of all the fighters that have fallen in this war. Her body, bare and covered in a blanket, was slowly burried down.... The nurse in charge of her chart would cross out the surgery she was going to have in order to kill the poison, but it seemed to be stronger. "Angela Abigail Campino Lamas, 24 years old, hm... another soldier killed off the exact same way... this isn't good....."

─ "This is so good...." Angela said to herself.

─ Her family is having dinner along with other survivors. "My daughter is unbeatable! she used to craft robots on her own, y'know? hahah!"

─ Her wife looked through the window of her apartment with a worried look, staring directly at the dim stars. "Hope you're doing okay out there...."

......

─ "Guess you guys will have to get in the spaceship without me.... I tried.... forgive me...." Angela said with a low tone, simply floating in space, forever.

THE END.

[sea-lanterns]

IMPORTANT NOTICE:

So, it has come to my attention that a lot have you are suddenly seeing my account as “shadowbanned” although I assure you this isn’t the case! Thanks to the detective work of my mutual @/cthuloo as well as some tests done with @/shalomniscient and @/faerierambles, we figured out why only some of you are seeing my account as shadowbanned, and some of you see my account as normal.

If you are viewing my blog on an Android mobile device, my blog is labeled as mature and is blurred out. This is because of a new update that only affects Android users. IOS users are unaffected by this new update as seen from this post here: https://www.tumblr.com/sunnys-aesthetic/780945438431969280/hello-sorry-its-out-of-the-blue-a-little-djfjf

If you are an IOS user, you are safe! Android users, do not fret. This only affects Android mobile devices, so you can still view my blog just fine on a desktop computer! Idk why Tumblr decided to do this, but this seems to be the reason as to why I’m suddenly “shadowbanned” to only some of you. I hope my Android users fishies are able to find a workaround to this update 😭

[medicine-san]

savanaclaw android [ au belongs to @ceruleancattail ]

[ okay I've felt better now, and as promised here full story with 🍩 and 🐺. unfortunately most context were lost because I tried too hard to keep it short ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I do not speak english, I don't know how to write, this is purely me being dedicated to murphy's law. ]

tw: fluff jack fluff jack fluff jack

leona who funnily enough was bought not to be a miracle as what people originally intended him to be, but a kindergarten teacher.

who would've thought such high maintenance android would end up getting his hands wiping some kid's piss and puke off the floor, his rumoured high intelligence are nought but just for teaching mere children's knowledge. not like he can do anything, his owner need his help. it's in the contract. letting these tiny creatures pestering him, their tiny hands all over him or his tail or his ears. or having them fight to sit on his uncomfortably hard thighs when it's lunch time.

what an insult to his creation.

but recently, he began to experience an unexplainable series of lagging in his speech pattern. his eyes begin to blur at times. simple tasks beginning to feel like a burden as his head would dangerously overheat, even the kids could see the strain he's baring from how much he's scrunching his brows.

the sound, he'd say, the sound. it's annoying.

a sound of something stirring. everytime he heard the sound, his eye would hurt so bad as if it's scratching to come out of his eye socket. his students would just childishly claim it was a migraine, telling him he should rest more. "I could not have migraine you stupid cubs", is what he'd say if not because of the strict filter for his speech.

popup notifications begin to emerge, warning him of a foreign third party running his system. multiple non permitable access to his memory drive, he just now noticed that there are viruses corrupting his system. how could this be possible? he never turned his antivirus software off. is there a malpractice happening without him knowing?

and it doesn't take long for him to figure out the problem.

his eyes are the problem.

the images, the videos, continuously sent to a certain someone he could not mention as that will breach the TOS. even thinking this is already straining his thought process to the point of overheating.

his eyes are the reason.

and with that same eyes, he continues to stare at the messy mess. nonchalantly showing off his bloodied hand with bits of what could be assumed as remnants of skin and flesh to the watching eyes behind the screen. it is a bit dark, but they are not stupid.

especially not after the screen went temporarily blocked before it shows the face of a certain android, specks of blood can be seen on his face.

don't you think delivery guys got away quite easily?

you can be one of those annoying old men who think the whole world is their enemy and will not hesitate to shoot you for wanting to get your ball that accidentally got into his lawn, but will let his gate open for limited access to his front door if you're his delivery guy. well, as long as they keep their bloodthirsty dogs on leash at least. humans are not to be trusted.

maybe it's not the greatest job, but it's one that he enjoys doing. the rush to get everything on time, the competition to stay on top, the joy that comes with being able to see new places and faces. ruggie enjoys it all. can machines even feel joy? he may have no answer to that, but it is something akin to that, if he could describe it.

or at least, that's what the old lady told him. truly, how could she describe human emotion on him, a robot? do humans really have to push their human perspective on everything? that's why they keep getting themselves in stupid situation for being too emotionally attached to objects. but then that's why those heartslabyul ai software is all the hit right now.

because they are lonely.

the old lady is kind. really! she always greet him whenever he came to the area for deliveries. asking him about his day, about the weather, if he's working too hard. such young man shouldn't get his skin burned by the sun! she'd say. grandma, don't you think your concern is misplaced? worry about yourself first, instead of this young roaring machine. I'm still full of energy, and carefully oiled. my gears won't rust away anytime soon, and I'm not getting busted that easily. not while there's still people who need his service.

like this shaky hand that's reaching out of the crack of the door.

the wide, soulless eye staring at him, pleading for that magical key to the world of happiness. to see such unhappiness, and him having the power to change it, oh how thrilling! he couldn't control the grin from widening!

he loves this job, it helps more people to be happy.

for a guard dog, jack model is certainly quite a character. not in a bad way, it's just funny to see this over 190cm android tensing up for his monthly checkups. even while sitting down, he still manage to tower over the mechanic's smaller figure. his ears flatten whenever their hands reaching the inside of him for any loose bolts, quietly whimpering to himself whenever they bumped his circuits with their fragile fingers while checking him up. his sensory should've been turned off, so it's certainly not "pain" he's experiencing.

"calm down, puppy,"

"you're making this difficult for me."

it's difficult for him too. human, can't you see? the way you're talking to him, the way you're handling him, how you'd rub circles around his knuckles whenever he'd had a nasty fight with aggressors, or when you'd aggressively scratch his head and ears after every patch ups with them, cooing him with "good boy"s and "good job"s. all while smelling like oil and chemical, the clinking sound of equipments softly echoing in the workshop, his ears catching up lowly moans of other androids under their care, the buzzing noise of fading life all around the two of them.

how romantic, hell he could imagine himself getting a kiss too from how much his brain is replaying all the romantic scenarios on tv dramas he'd play BEFORE coming here. oh please do, just a peck on my head is all I want. touch my cheeks and pull them lightly, what I'd do just to feel you gracing me with your marks on me. those damned lines play by itself on his mind as he's staring directly at their face. taking notes of how their face scrunched when he's not staying still to their liking, or at how their shadowed figure igniting a certain scene that got his eyes drooping. his tail lightly drumming the chair he's sitting on, the artificial fur sweeping their pants tenderly.

sickeningly sweet.

as if he didn't just had a romantic awakening in the middle of what can be considered a butcher's shop of his kind.

[thesargasmicgoddess]

I've been meaning to ask this question but never have. The quality of your photos is just amazing; not simply in the subject (the beautiful and stunning you) but the image quality, the lighting, and the colours.

My question is what do you use to take these photos? Is it a digital SLR, a phone app in particular you'd recommend, etc. And do you ever use post production to improve contrast, crop the frame, blur backgrounds, etc?

I mainly would like to say that I'm always seriously impressed with what you post here, and thanks!

Aww thank you!

I just use my phone. I find that the cameras on phones are such amazing quality nowadays, it's sufficient for what I need it for. Currently, I have a Galaxy S23 Ultra (sorry iPhone peeps, I'm an android girl 🤣🤷🏻‍♀️) and I just use the camera, no app.

We do have a few digital professional cameras, but my husband just likes to use those for landscape photos 🤣🏔🌄🏞

I have a pretty specific style and I think post-production is GOLD--but I don't mean filters and beautifying effects. I'm a stickler about framing, lighting, background (it makes me crazy to have a cluttered background), sharpness, and saturation. If it's b&w, then I tend to prefer high contrast. Shadow and light are just amazing props.

And the context. The story. The authenticity of the photo. That's all super important to me too.

I think attitude is important. I don't shoot unless I feel inspiration. I actually used to shoot a lot more, but since life has been very busy, I don't force it. I do it when it makes me happy or if an idea really needs to be played out to satisfy my curiosity/creativity.

There's currently a beautifully edited shot that I'm mulling over posting for Halloween. It's full nudity, which I dont post much at all. But I usually will post full nudity when I just think the photo is stunning.....so we shall see 🤔

I sometimes wish I had a camera person because some shoots are just hard to frame and execute by yourself.

Here's an example of one of my favorite sets. The framing, lighting, background...just a favorite all around.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

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

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AO3 Link

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

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

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

Word Count: 5.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> ENHANCING OPTICAL UNIT MAGNIFICATION…

> SCANNING DOCUMENTATION.

> SCAN COMPLETED. 

> PUBLICATION TITLE: ELECTRIC DREAMS — ISSUE NO. 226

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

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

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

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

> ALERT

> RAPID BIOPHYSICAL SHIFT DETECTED 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> LOCATE CEDARS MOTEL OWNER. 

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

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

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

"Detroit Police Department."

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

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

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

SCANNING SUBJECT…

SCAN COMPLETE.

ANDREWS, WALTER.

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

CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

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

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

HEARING AID(S).

COMPONENT BATTERY LOW — FUNCTIONALITY IMPAIRED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> WITNESS PROFILE UPDATING…

> ANDREWS, WALTER.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The story has been broadcasted on several networks."

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

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

"Mr. Andrews." 

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

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

Or breaking through.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…Sad," Andrews finished weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

> ACCESSING SUSPECT PROFILE

> SEARCH PARAMETERS: COMMUNICATION PATTERNS. 

> ANALYSING…

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

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

> KNOWN ALIASES — THOD GRAWS. 

> ASSESSING FOR HIDDEN CODES AND MEANING...

> DETERMINING POSSIBLE SYSTEMS.

> PROBABLE RESULTS:

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

> APPLYING SEARCH CRITERIA 1...

> GENERATING RESULTS

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

> GHOST WARD.

> WART HOGS.

> DAGS THROW.

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

> GODS WRATH. 

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

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

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

> HANS STIVER.

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

"He was here."

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

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

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

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

"Do you remember this man?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

> ACCESSING CASE EVIDENCE...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> ANDREWS DID NOT SEE THE SUSPECT LEAVE.

> RECALCULATING APPROACH…

> SUGGESTION: ESTABLISH OTHER POSSIBLE WITNESSES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This way, please."

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

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

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

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

"That seems pretty unlikely." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice was claimed from him.

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

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

“̸̾͜"N̷̲͍͒͑͌̌̕9̵͙̀̉̌́̒͝—̸̮̪̐

̵̠̈

̵̹̳͈͈̱̹̉̉̽͗̓P̴̺͈̠̬̙͌̀/̵̗̺͎͈̲͈̿͑̇̾̽͌#̷̡̛͔͍̪͓̥̄͒̚͠@̸̪̘̮͚̈́̈́s̴̿̃́̂̈͝ͅ#̸̺͚͇͈̅͑͂͊̌̏ ̷̩̠̐d̵̜̠͎̪͚̍̔́͝͠9̸̳̲̥̺̔͊̈̕ń̴͈̝͠5̶̭̥̅—̸͕̍͊̒͘”̶̔̂̿͐͝"

̴̦̅

̴̘̻́͑̓͒͘

̵̢̩̜̱͕͐̅͛ͅ>̷̡͚̄ ̵̳͉̗̈́̌̓͝E̷̽͜X̷͉͓̂ͅẸ̷̛̥͋̈́̆̽C̵̳̩̽̉̎̋̏̑U̸̩̖̐͗̕T̶̪͇̫̗̪̼͆Ë̵̻́̇̊͝

Blue.

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

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

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

"...Nines…?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy shit, you're right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> MIKEY'S PHONES AND ELECTRONICS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[1997thebracket]

Round 5 - SEMIFINALS

It's the battle of albums and anime in 1997! Which will be the last album standing?

Blur's Self-Titled: And when she lets me slip away… Some bands make their debut with an eponymous album (Placebo did the year before, as would Albarn's second great success Gorillaz) but Blur knew that declaration of self-actualization was worth saving. Blur (1997) is the fifth studio album by the acclaimed English pop-rock-alternative-shoegaze-anything that'll stick-band of the same name, fronted by 90s coverboy Damon Albarn. The album brought us the singles Beetlebum and Song 2, the former of which debuted at #1 on the UK charts, and the latter of which would properly break in the US and give the band the footing on American soil they'd previously missed. Woo-hoo! Despite its mainstream success-- the album is certified Platinum, and saw greater success alongside their American alternative peers than any album prior-- Blur (1997) has a distinctly more experimental sound than their Britpop classics and explores rougher indie production sentiments. Guitarist Graham Coxon centers his widening musical tastes and produces some of his proudest work, while Albarn has stated that the track On Your Own may be regarded as the first taste of Gorillaz-before-Gorillaz. Although it would not be the end of the road for the band's internal turmoil and eventual reconciliation, it would come to represent an era of growth and emotional authenticity in their music.

Radiohead's OK Computer: I go forwards, you go backwards, and somewhere we will meet. By the middle of the decade, Radiohead was weary of the ubiquity of their 1993 hit Creep; although the record that followed it (The Bends) was a lusher, more evolved album than their first, it had failed to produce a distinctive enough image for the band to undo what Creep had done. The song threatened to define the band entirely to those outside their devoted following. In 1997 the band swung for the fences with the haunting, abstract OK Computer. It was a move their label cast immense doubt on at the time, and its success then and now would cement Thom Yorke and his bandmates as soothsayers of a sort, draped not in bohemian silk robes but in white hospital sheets. It's an album that speaks to the future with dread more than wonder, that critics described as "nervous almost to the point of neurosis," but marries the uneasy experimental soundscapes with poetic, surrealist, and increasingly prophetic songwriting regarding the parallel lives we lead with technology. Featuring the singles Karma Police, Paranoid Android and No Surprises, OK Computer is hailed by many as the band's magnum opus: it's certified double Platinum in the US and five-times Platinum in the UK, and in 2014 it was included in the United States National Recording Registry as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant."

[reedeemable]

DBH Children Headcanons

Just like to preface this by saying that I love making fan-children for my favourite ships so I don’t care about “oh they wouldn’t have kids” or “this doesn’t make sense”. This is for my own amusement so just letting you know before you go on.

Also, I can't draw for shit but if people like my dbh children and want to see more, I will make them on the Sims or online (dress up games) and post them here. Let me know if that's something that would be of interest. I'll also answer asks about them and whatever if anyone is interested

Taglist for those who said that they were interested in my headcanons: @sundownridge @kristopher-1105 @dbhstruggleposting @glass-noodle @fearlessjones @heiko-goes-detroit

Connor + Hank

Name: Nicole (named after Cole)

Birthday: May 21st (gemini)

Appearance: She has Hank’s eyes and Connor’s hair. Her hair is fluffy/curly (like Bryan’s hair) and its shoulder length, tied into a ponytail (she also has a fluffy/curly fringe similar to Connor’s)

Other features: She has Connor’s freckles (not exact but similar) and wears glasses (inspired by the popular headcanon that human Connor wears them)

Info/Background: So, my headcanon for their child is that Connor is the one who asks Hank if they can have a child. Connor has been seeing other androids having their own families and he wants one as well. He would never pressure Hank into this but Hank agrees of his own volition and even though he’s older now, a part of him wants to try again. They have a baby via science (it’s the future, doesn’t need to make sense, haha) Because it is through science, they’re able to give her Connor’s hair and freckles but her facial features (skin, shape of eyes, nose etc) come from Hank’s dna.

Personality: - Ok so, for their daughter, I headcanon her to be someone who is adventurous and loves to have fun. She loves being outdoors, being active and anything athletic, like sports and dancing - She loves the heat and hates the cold (this is a nod to how cole died) - Even though her name is Nicole, she prefers the name Nicky (Hank called her that in the beginning because he couldn't bear to say "cole" yet and it just stuck) - She knows different forms of self-defence, mainly due to Connor's influence and she loves it. She can pull of moves that even has Connor going "damn" - She smiles a lot, like a lot a lot. Very rarely will you ever see her not smiling and laughing

Favourites: - Colour: Pink/blues - Symbol: Heart

Jericrew

Name: Riley (named after Markus’ removed romantic interest, Riley)

Birthday: November 9th (scorpio)

Appearance: Similar to her game counterpart, except her braid goes down her back instead of to the side (to distinguish her from north but in my head, she wears her hair like north's because she admires her so much) and she has grey eyes (this is a nod to her eyes being blurred out in her images)

Info/Background: Riley is left at New Jericho’s doorstep. Jericrew know that they should hand her over to humans but despite the positive aftermath of the revolution, they are still distrustful of humans. By time they decide what to do, they have already fallen for her. After caring for her for a while, Markus is inspired to fight for androids rights to adopt human children. Of course, humans are not pleased about this and there is a huge argument and debate around it but eventually it is legalised and she becomes part of their family.

Personality: So, even though her personality isn't touched upon at all, I've come up with some traits from the information and pics shown in Riley's wiki - Becomes an artist (inspired by Markus) - Good listener and advisor - Self-confident and assured - Into the boho style - Loves plants and flowers - Well-educated (this part comes from Josh, who would have taught her a lot)

Favourites: - Colour: Jade - Symbol: Chevron

Markus + Simon

Name: Milo

Birthday: July 8th (cancer)

Appearance: He is African American with short brown Afro-textured hair, shaved at the sides and light brown eyes

Info/Background: Milo is adopted by Markus and Simon after Riley grows up a bit. I imagine that because Simon is a domestic droid, he loves kids and once Riley becomes older, he aches for having a little one around the house again.

Personality: - Him being into fashion and dressing cool (since people love how Markus and Simon dress) is always something that I've liked - Combination of Markus and Simon's traits (determined, loyal, soft etc etc)

Favourites: - Colour: Dark pink

Leo + KL900

Name: Scarlett (named after Carl)

Birthday: August 15th (leo)

Appearance: So, because she was created through science, she looks like Leo and a KL900 combined. (edit: changed her hair colour and style). She has brown hair like Leo's which is short and curly (similar to Lucy's concept design) and Leo's eyes

Info/Personality: So, a little backstory on this crack-ship. Because KL900’s are created for social care, I headcanon that they have them in rehab centers. While at rehab, Leo meets a KL900 (which I have dubbed Kelly) and they fall for each other. Their daughter is born after Carl dies (of age) and Leo names her after him.

Personality: - Wants to become an actress - Has Leo's jealousy issues - Is confident in her abilities which makes her come off as a bit vain

Favourites: - Colour: Cyan - Symbol: Teardrop

Chris Miller

Name: Damian

Birthday: August 9th (leo)

Appearance: Ok this is just me but I headcanon that he dyes his hair part blonde during his teen years. I’m probably the only person whose given any thought about Damian’s appearance but ever since it entered by head, it won’t leave

Personality: - Ok, so because Chris' concept name was Chad, I headcanon Damian to be the definition of the slang meaning of a "chad" (but without all the assholishness that comes with it)

Favourites: - Colour: Beige

Name: Talia (name changed)

Birthday: June 30th (cancer)

Appearance: Chris’ hair/eye colour and Afro-textured hair that falls down to her shoulders

Info/Background: Not much to say except that I headcanon that he would have another child somewhere down the line

Personality: - She has a very "airy" personality. Like air, she's light, bouncy, free and just chill to get along with. She's gentle, caring, respectful and kind - Cries easily

Favourites: - Colour: Violet - Symbol: Butterfly

Gavin + Nines

Name: Curtis (named after Gavin’s concept name. Also Curtis means “polite/courteous and given Gavin’s personality, I think that is hilarious 😂)

Birthday: September 18th (virgo) (birthday changed cause I realised I had the wrong date/star sign)

Appearance: He has Gavin’s eyes and Nines’ hair colour. His hair is a combination of Bryan’s curly hair and Gavin’s hair from the reed900 movies (I haven’t watched them but I’ve seen a lot of fan-art with Gavin’s hair drawn like his and it seems appropriate to give his son that hairstyle) Because it is through science, they’re able to give him Nines’ hair and freckles but his facial features (skin, shape of eyes, nose etc) come from Gavin’s dna.

Other features: He has Nines’ freckles (not exact but similar)

Info/Background: I headcanon that after Nicole is born, Nines and Gavin both get baby fever and want a child as well. Science baby, of course.

Personality: - So, I know that this isn't original but I like the idea of Gavin's kid being the opposite of him. Curtis is polite, courteous, well-behaved, never swears, humble, friendly, sociable, charming, funny, everyone who meets him just thinks he's so nice etc etc - But in saying that, there a few traits he gets from Gavin. He is ambitious and an over-achiever. He's not bookish per-say but wants to do his best at anything he tries - I know I said he never swears but that's more in general. He will swear if he's mad or if he hurts himself by accident (stubbing his toe etc) - Also, his first word was "phck" much to shock of both Nines and Gavin, the latter swearing black and blue that he never said it in front of him (he did)

Favourites: - Colour: Green

Tina + ST300

Name: Katie

Birthday: October 19th (libra)

Appearance: She has Tina’s eyes and Staci’s (my name for the st300) hair that is shoulder length and tied into two low pigtails

Other features: She has freckles like Staci

Info/Background: A couple years after Gavin and Nines have their child, Tina and Staci decide to have one through science as well. Because it is through science, they’re able to give her Staci’s hair and freckles but her facial features (skin, shape of eyes, nose etc) come from Tina’s dna.

Personality: - I headcanon that she has fanon Tina's personality. If you've ever read most reed900 fics, you'll know that Tina has been given the traits of "party-animal, doesn't take shit, loves to tease, always the optimism to Gavin's cynicism, always has her friend's backs etc" - Since we don't know much about canon Tina, I gave her fanon traits to Katie

Favourites: - Colour: Olive green - Symbol: Flower

Elijah + Chloe

Name: Adam (a nod to the first man on earth because Adam is the first human born from an android)

Birthday: February 3rd (aquarius)

Appearance: He has Eli’s hair colour (his original brown, not his dyed hair) and eye colour. His hair is half-shaven and swept to one side

Info/Background: I headcanon that Eli has been experimenting and he alters Chloe so that she is able to give birth to children. Eli tells no one until Chloe is pregnant. The world is informed and watches to see if it works. It does and even though only one was predicted to be born, they have twins. Because this is the first baby born through an android, only Kamski's dna is able to be used so he has his eyes, hair, facial features etc Personality: - Genius (like his father) - Relaxed and nonchalant. Not a serious person - Enjoys the spotlight and fame of not only being a Kamski but also being the first human born from an android - Frivolous with money - Social butterfly, loves being around people and going to parties - Loves being in public - Always in the media for somethingFavourites: - Colour: Blue

Name: Ava (a nod to Eve but the e’s are changed to a’s to be alliterate with Adam’s name)

Birthday: February 3rd (aquarius)

Appearance: She has Eli’s hair colour (his original brown, not his dyed hair) and eye colour. Her hair is long and styled into a high ponytail

Info/Background: Same as Adam’s

Personality: - Genius (like her father) - Business savvy and ambitious (I haven't picked a career for her yet but she becomes highly successful like Eli) - Workaholic - Stubborn - Studious - Unlike her twin, she is smart with money - Is wary of befriending people because of her fame and status - Prefers to keep her personal business private - Not a big fan of the media

Favourites: - Colour: Red - Symbol: Diamond

Name: Noah

Birthday: March 8th (pisces)

Appearance: He has Chloe’s hair and Eli’s eyes. He has long hair that falls to his shoulders

Info/Background: Ok, so originally he wasn’t supposed to exist but after coming up with his personality and why he exists, I couldn’t resist. So, the reason why he was born is because Chloe wanted a child that looked like her. Because she was the first android to have a child, only Eli’s dna was used so Adam and Ava only have Kamski dna. Noah is more mixed.

Other features: Wears glasses

Personality: - Genius (he is the smartest of the three children) - So personally, I don't believe that Eli is evil but I know that it's a popular interpretation in the fandom so I went with it for his son - He is sociopathic and sadistic. He is reclusive, hates humanity and only respects his mother and other androids - He hates his father (because eli didn't want another child but only did it because chloe wanted it so while noah and chloe are extremely close, he isn't close with his father at all) - Because he is the third Kamski child, he isn't paid as much attention to as the other two by the public because he doesn't go out or isn't venturing into the business scene so this has left him bitter and jealous of his siblings - Wants to lead another android revolution and believes that androids should be ruling the world, not humans - Is loyal, obedient and very nurturing towards Chloe - To me, if I was a fic writer, Noah is someone who would be the big bad so his fate is that he would either end up dying or going to jail

Favourites: - Colour: Purple

Other

So, I made this next character purely for the purpose of shipping her with another one of my character's, Nicole but I lover her so much now that even if I changed my mind, she's staying

Name: Samantha Stern

Birthday: October 28th (scorpio)

Appearance: She has human Amanda's facial features, hair and eye colour. Her hair is straight and long

Other features: She wears glasses

Info/Background: Samantha Stern is a relative of Amanda Stern (the human amanda). She lived in England until she moves to Detroit. She meets Nicole in her young adult years and she ends up being a kindergarten teacher. I'm 50/50 on this but I like her having a british accent

Personality: - She is the opposite of AI Amanda in every way - She is an open book, has a warm attitude towards everyone, open to change, can be absent minded at times, encouraging, understanding, forgiving, compassionate and gentle - She's also independent and prefers to make her own way in life - When it comes to clothing, she hates big/dangly, shiny jewelery, long sleeved clothing and loves wearing dresses, skirts and shorts

Favourites: - Colour: Yellow - Symbol: Star

[the-empress-7]

“His running theory is: new android phones have AI editing tool, that with a touch, sort of merges multiple shots into "best shot" and fix small touch ups automatically. And it also offers you the option without you even choosing as "here look at what i did".

I think it’s the new Google pixel. The advert is running on UKTV. It literally advertises how you can pick the best headshot out of a group from multiple images.

MANY people have mentioned this in the comment section on the Telegraph.

I rather think The Prince and Princess of Wales missed a trick today. Catherine should not have apologised, instead I think William should have joked about having done exactly this with his phone.

I have an i-phone and it has photo burst feature. One picture with many frames, and you pick the one you want, cause many of the frames end up with a blurring effect in different spots.

I am more than okay with Catherine apologizing. She used her voice. It was her prerogative.

The world needed a reminder that she is not a mute, and she certainly is not a coward who'd collapse to a floor in fit of tears over a controversy.

Catherine is made of the strongest stuff on earth.

[sereindreams]

HANDPRINTS || RK800 x Reader ♡

“Oh, what can I do? Life is beautiful, but you don't have a clue. Sun and ocean blue. Their magnificence, it don't make sense to you”

Summary: Your work life had always been stressful, and being a part of the DPD had its ups and downs. In fact, it was mostly downs. That was until you were assigned to work on a case of rising deviants with an old associate and a charming, young android. Suddenly, you couldn't wait to show up at work. Your days were no longer filled with quiet solitude, but of warm laughter and shared breaths. The very thing that betrayed all sense of life offered you a gateway to a new appreciation of the world, and the love for things within it.

AN: Welcome back to the reader being a lovesick idiot and Connor being an oblivious little deviant, thanks for sticking around!

Word Count: 4.3k

Reader Pronouns: She/Her (AFAB). NO USE OF Y/N!

Warnings: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF ANDROID SUICIDE. Reader getting a little traumatised (as you do). Reader also getting injured :( The usual DBH crime scene gore is relatively detailed. Please be responsible in your media consumption.

- Chapter 3:

He didn't return to your desk after that.

You would catch short glances at him, observing with interest as he wandered around the precinct, seemingly in his own mind. At times, it felt like you were a bird watcher in some old-school, absurd nature documentary they used to run on TV. And the next day, it was much the same. He didn't speak to you when the two of you passed one another in the hall, and you hadn't seen him since.

Early in the morning, your trio had been requested to Captain Fowler's office.

It was a spacier room, with plants and filing cabinets galore. In the centre sat a large desk with a computer, walls decorated with sporting images and a single image of what you had presumed to be his family. Despite the clearcut value of the room, there was a chill that crept through it. Especially when you were left to your own devices while Fowler retreated to grab the other two.

Your fingers fiddled with one another, planted squarely in your lap. You could barely make out the blurred outlines of their bodies as the two climbed up the stairs, Hank pushing the door open. Your eyes snapped back to Fowler, who had taken a seat on his plush office chair. Hank took a seat beside you, and you kept your gaze trained on the desk. The smallest part of you yearned to look back, as you could feel Connor's heavy presence standing just a few feet behind you. You could imagine that, just like you, his hands were crossed meekly in his lap.

Usually, when Fowler invites you to his office, it includes whiskey and a brief congratulations. It's always at the end of the day, and he lifts his feet onto his desk with a grunt. He'll invite you to help yourself to a glass of the bitey, amber liquid, but you always decline. Then, he'll talk about the case you were on, and that you had done a good job. The whole ordeal lasts about half an hour maximum, and every month or so, you'll repeat the ritual over again.

But this time, he looked too concerned for his own good. A vein was practically bulging from his forehead, his eyebrows were drawn tensely like a bowstring that was about to snap. His tie had been done tightly, face pink possibly from the lack of oxygen.

As soon as Hank took his seat, his intentions were evident.

"I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids... that sort of crap", his coffee cup was slammed into the table, "But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just CyberLife's problem anymore. It's now a criminal investigation, and we've got to deal with it before shit hits the fan. I want you both to investigate these cases and see if there's any link"

Hank jumped from his seat, causing you to startle, as we waved his arms like a madman, "Why me!? Why do I have to deal with this shit? I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case. I know jack shit about Androids, Jeffrey, I can barely change the settings on my phone!"

"Everyone's overloaded! With the detective's help, I think you're perfectly qualified for this investigation!". Fowler's tone was defensive, his arms splayed in front of him.

Hank only snapped back, "Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag with a fucking lonely ass babysitter from homicide!". He fully leapt from his seat, taking a stand and asserting his hands onto his hips sharply, dumbfounded. You remained quiet and attentive, ever so slightly offended.

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with the investigation. It's a state-of-the-art prototype, it'll act as your partner!-"

"No. fucking. way! I don't need a partner, and certainly not this plastic prick!" Hank quarrelled, voice becoming louder with the second. Even with the soundproof walls, you were beginning to worry that with the view inside, other officers were getting a front-row ticket to the spectacle unfolding in front of them. At times, you could feel the floor beneath you shaking underneath your feet.

"Hank, you're seriously starting to piss me off! You're a police lieutenant, you're supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth! Maybe you do need a fucking babysitter! And I pity her, having to deal with your shit!". His hand whipped towards you, shaking it vigorously to get across his point. Connor had not opened his mouth throughout the whole affair.

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh!?"

Fowler raised his hand, pressing it towards Hank in an attempt to stop him in his tracks. Your eyes darted between the men, expanding in disbelief. "I'll pretend like I didn't just hear that, so I don't have to add more pages to your disciplinary folder, 'cause it already looks like a fucking novel. This conversation is over!"

Hank only leant down to Fowler's desk, gritting his words through bared teeth, "Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doing this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things! Why are you doing this to me?". You knew of Lieutenant Anderson's disposition towards androids, in fact, everyone knew about it, but in all your years of occasional questioning, you had never once reached a single solid conclusion. You felt like a bad detective for it, unable to wave away the dark cloud of mystery that followed Hank.

"Listen, I've had just enough of your bitchin'. Either you do your job or hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do".

With rage burning in his eyes, Hank marched out of the room without a word. You finally pivoted in your chair to face Connor, standing just as you had envisioned him. Connor's lips parted, wavering in making a decision. But then they shut as if he had decided not to say anything.

His lips looked good pressed together, you decided.

"Come on, Connor" you called, breaking the silence, "Captain Fowler". After nodding towards the captain, you put your hands onto the arms of your seat and pushed your body from it. With your shoulders slumped and gaze cast downwards, you trudged to the door, placing a hesitant hand on the silver handle. As you opened it, a gust of fresh air burst into the room, Connor treading lightly behind you.

Beside Fowler's office was the detainment area, a grim sight that you had to walk by every day. With every step you took, your body was followed by heavy, helpless eyes. A tinge of sadness washed over you as you saw the dejected expressions and broken spirits, and in particular, the deviant from the day before. You couldn't help but pause before the window, folding your arms across your chest. You observed from a short distance away, doing your best not to let your emotions cloud your judgement. He killed a man, you thought. But then again, you felt no pity towards that man.

Connor, too, stopped by the window, but unlike you, practically pressed himself to the glass, leaving only an inch or two between himself and it. The deviant stared at Connor with a particular look of distaste, barely recognising your presence.

“They’re gonna destroy me”

“I’m sorry, it’s not what I wanted” Connor responded, words coming out as nothing more than a forced whisper, “but there’s nothing I can do”

The silence was eery, the two glaring back at each other, the only thing separating them was a badge, a title, and a piece of glass. Otherwise, they were effectively the same, with different missions. “I know there’s something you didn’t tell me. I need to know before they take you away. The sculpture you made… tell me more about it”

A bead of blood had dried across the deviants eyebrow, leaving it crusted and caked into his skin. Before he spoke, it moved only faintly, “I’m going to die”

You frowned, detecting the oddly prophetic tone. Connors face was still, analysing the words with care. He then turned on his heel after concluding he would not be able to pry anymore information from the deviant, and that’s when it happened.

Thud.

Your body snapped into action, throwing your head back towards the window with a newfound attention. And what you saw left you reeling, as the deviants head began to collide with the glass. With every crack against the glass, you could feel your facade begin to crumble. One step back, crack, two steps back, thud. And you stood there helplessly, feet planted against the floor. The blue blood once trickling from his forehead began to gush, dripping down the window with ease. Mouth gaping open, you looked back to Connor, who, himself, was observing the incident take place.

Officers had shoved past you both, rushing into the room and calling for the door to be opened.

But within a moment, it was over, body collapsing to the floor. Any life that had inhabited the deviant had been sucked out instantly, eyes rolling back into his head like a rag-doll. His skin has lost its colour immediately, fading from a vibrant tone to something more akin to ash.

Nobody spoke. It was if, for that one second, everything had been caught in suspension in time. Like a strange anomaly had gripped you all. There was a mutual understanding.

“I’ll call CyberLife” one of them managed to choke out, “Clean this mess up”. Your heart ached, and as you looked down at your sweaty palms, your hands were shaking violently. Not one officer held sympathy for the android, but rather saw it as an inconvenience of evidence.

At that point, you were already ready to go, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Movement felt like it would kill you, and if you moved, the only person that seemingly cared about the deviant would be abandoning him. It would be leaving him to be subjected to countless hours of dissection and picking apart. You couldn't abandon him like that.

A soft hand was placed on your shoulder, reassuring in its conviction, “It’s okay, Detective. Let’s get you a cup of tea”. That hand was guiding you more than you could control your own body, you realised, as you entered the lunch area.

To your dismay, your eyes fell onto Gavin and another officer, slumped over with a steaming coffee cup in hand. Connor didn't seem to notice much at first, trained on his mission of crafting you the perfect, most relaxing cup of tea. You shuddered, images still flashing violently through your mind. He had pulled his hand away from you, only for a moment, appearing as though it was a regretful action. Electricity tingled from beneath your skin, hairs standing. He grimaced, dragging his hand across the kettle, unphased at the heat radiating from it. After securing a mug from the top cupboard, he placed a teabag, sugar, and water into the cup, before finally adding milk. Giving the solution a quick stir, he turned back to you with a vague smile, freckles rising on his rosy cheeks. His eyes, that mesmerising shade of deep brown, met yours, causing a gentle blush to creep up your cheeks.

Fuck, despite the situation, you could have burned an image of him like that into your retinas, content to only stare at that for the rest of your life.

"Thank you" you replied, your voice slightly trembling, betraying the butterflies that danced in your stomach. Your heartstrings tightened, feeling the breath being knocked out of you. As you brought the liquid to your lips, you parted them, and let the warm feeling fill you up, from your toes to your fingers.

"Feel better?" he inquired, tone gravelly.

You nodded quickly, feeling all confidence dissipate at that moment.

But the moment was, of course, cut short, your ears filled with the sound of a breathy scoff. Your ears perked up, and you turned to the sound. Your eyes landed on his gangly fingers first, positioned over the top of his cup with a certain dominance, before landing on his stubbly, five-o'clock shadow.

"Fuck.. look at that! Our friend the plastic detective is back in town!" he prodded, slipping himself off the stool and bringing his hands together in a slow, taunting clap. You gritted your teeth, clenching the mug within your hands until your palms were red and raw, like freshly spilled blood. "Congratulations on last night, very impressive".

He then sat back down, eagerly waiting for a response.

You tried so very hard to make out what Connor was going to do next, but it was impossible. You took another sip of tea, hoping it would settle your rising nerves.

"Hello, Detective Reed" he greeted.

Gavin closed in with a ravenous look, closing in on the both of you, particularly Connor, like a predator that had located its prey, and was ready to tear it apart. In a way, office drama was exactly like high school, and Gavin was the stereotypical bully with absolutely nothing better to do with his time. Though, your parents always told you that bullies were just kids with big feelings and big issues in their own life. You couldn't exactly say the same for Gavin.

"Never seen an android like you before. What model are you?"

You stepped forward assertively, taking your place beside Connor like a protective mother. You knew for a fact Gavin was just messing with Connor, his model written in a bold font across his jacket.

"RK800. I'm a prototype"

Gavin's bushy eyebrows arched in amusement, "A prototype", and turned back to the other officer while gesturing to Connor. "Android detective... So, machines are gonna... replace us all... is that it? Hey! Bring me a coffee, dipshit!". His order was the last straw, causing you to place down the mug so harshly that liquid flew out, splashing right onto his jacket. "Hey! Watch it!"

"No. You watch it" you shot back, venom on your tongue.

He swivelled back to Connor as he began to speak, "I'm sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson"

"Oh..? Oh!" his retort was followed by a swift movement you could barely make out despite your quick reflexes. His balled fist collided with Connor's stomach, prompting the wind to be knocked from his throat as he bunched down and hit the floor. Your heart pounded with anger, blood rushing through your head and thumping inside your ears. "If Hank hadn’t got in the way yesterday, I would’ve fucked you up for disobeying a human-"

Gavin was too busy to notice your fist flying his way in a haze, a peach-coloured whisp coming towards him. A crack fell throughout the room, followed by a crude insult, "Oh, you bitch!". Blood began to pour from his now jagged nose as if he was a sculpture that had been smashed. The burn in your knuckles was satisfying, even as Gavin dove towards you to push you back. But he didn't get that far, as he was halted by a solid torso, covered in a black and blue jacket.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot condone the violence against my partner"

Gavin exclaimed a noise of disgust, all eyes of the precinct honed on him. A flash of embarrassment flickered in his eyes, followed by something cold. It suggested the contemplation of his next actions, whether he would fight back and risk punishment, or cower and fix his nose with his tail between his legs.

He moved out of the room without a second thought, the other officer following in tow. You shifted onto your other food and gazed back at Connor, a proud simper displayed on your lips.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you. I do not experience pain. He merely managed to hit my pump regulator. Are you okay?"

"I think so"

-

In the next hour, your team was recruited to investigate the case of a runaway AX400. According to the father, his android had kidnapped his daughter, seemingly unprompted. This struck you as strange, and even in the car on the way to the scene, you couldn’t help but ponder it as you stared wordlessly out the window. In every case you had studied or been involved in, a deviant had to be prompted, most of the time violently, in order to awaken deviancy.

Buildings whipped past you, the scenery a mash of colours. Your arm was pressed against the window, head settled on your hand. In the front of the vehicle, the same inky black car, sat Connor and Hank. Initially, Connor had insisted you sit in the front, but after much protest, he resigned himself to shotgun. You wanted to give the two the opportunity to bond, especially following the dilemma of the morning.

The destination: Downtown Detroit.

You had been briefed momentarily at the station, but nothing could have prepared you for the case without knowing the exact motive. That's what you were trying to figure out, anyways, as you stepped from the car and onto the pavement.

It had been raining, droplets collecting into slippery puddles. Cold, but not cold enough for a jacket. Hank had shot towards the nearest officer, hoping to collect any information he could to get a better grasp of the situation. You, on the other hand, strayed far from the car, observing the surroundings in a quick survey. You noted them down.

Supermarket.

Abandoned house.

Junkyard.

Bus stop.

The bus stop was closest, a closed shelter with numbers printed on it. Despite the area, it didn't appear to be worn down in any way. It acted as a shining beacon in the run-down side of town, looking as though it had only been installed recently. You approached it curiously, pausing at the crunch of glass under your boot. An eyebrow arched, you leant down to inspect it, your body creaking at its use. Extending your fingers forward, you took the sharp, angular piece carefully, lifting it towards your face and squinting.

It looked as though a piece of it had splintered off, and given that it hadn't been damaged until you came along, even though the bus stop was regularly used, it indicated that it was relatively fresh.

With the lead, you placed it back down and pivoted back to the men. Connor had been standing in front of the car as if awaiting instructions. But when you approached, his head angled towards you rather quickly. "Detective, could you come here please?" Connor called out softly, the sound of his voice sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Without delay, you jumped at his side like a poodle. He then pulled out his hand, skin glistening in the faint sunlight.

You stood there, confused, and a little dazed.

"Your hand, Detective"

Your hand seemed to rise on its own, hovering uncertainly above is.

"Forgive me".

Before you could argue, Connor had secured your hand in his, and rubbed his thumb and index finger against your skin. Everyone else seemed to fade away, a jolt of electricity flowing through your body. The pads of his fingers were agonisingly soft, with not a single callous or cut. Your shock only grew when he withdrew his hand, swiping his fingers to his lips, pink tongue darting out.

"Jesus Connor!" Hank burst, snapping you out of your trance. It was as if your world had shattered instantly, the shards of reality coming down around you. "What did I tell you about doing that shit!?"

Connor only hummed, "Therium from an AX400 model"

Even in your blissful haze, It began to click into place as soon as he noted the Therium. Scenes and motives began rushing through your head, sending it spinning uncontrollably. “Did the father ever mention how the android escaped? A window, perhaps? Maybe the android escaped through the window with the daughter, managing to break it in the process, and injuring herself on a piece of glass. Suppose she accidentally carried it with her, at which point, she realised at the bus stop and discarded it”, you paused, “it seems too rushed for it to be planned out methodically. She could have been driven by fear. Did we do a background check on the father?”

“Nothing other than a minor offence, cops were called to the resident a few years back due to a domestic disturbance” Hank responded. Your brows furrowed at the all-too-familiar signs.

Connor was quick to bounce off your idea, “It stayed until the end of the line. Like the detective said, its decision wasn't planned, it was driven by fear"

Hank scoffed, followed by a subtle shake of his head, "Androids don't feel fear"

"Deviants do" Connot shot back. You couldn't help but notice the way droplets of water slipped down his face, from his brow down to the bridge of his nose. The way it lit up his cheeks, outlining every crease and hint of texture. "They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions"

"Ah well, that still doesn't tell us where it went"

"It didn't have a plan, and it had nowhere to go. Maybe it didn't go far". Hanks's eyes scathed over Connor before responding in a weak, 'maybe'.

You had already noted the presence of the abandoned house, and decided to bring it up to the men. Deciding it was a good idea to investigate, Connor went in.

You didn't realise that, less than ten minutes later, it would lead you sprinting down busy streets, the rain-soaked pavement beneath you making each step treacherous. Your lungs burned, your eyesight fuzzy with spots as you remained determined not to let Connor out of your sight. But his sleek form was getting further and further away, leaping effortlessly over obstacles.

And the further Connor got, the further the deviant was from your grasp. You couldn't possibly keep up with two androids and an energetic little girl. The crackle of your radio seamlessly blended in with the pour of rain. Taking the opportunity, you rounded a corner, feeling the slip and loss of friction between your feet and the ground beneath you. You didn't let it slow you, only fastening your pace due to the loss of feeling in your legs.

You had no clue where Hank was, seemingly had lost him long ago back at the house.

All you knew was that Connor was slowing down as if preparing to face an obstacle you couldn't see.

Before you knew it, due to the fact you had been so absorbed ahead of you, you had neglected to see the wooden crate that had been thrown haphazardly in your direction. You felt it before you saw it, the snap of wood against your skin, the scuffle as the crate tumbled, just as your body did. You skidded as your palms hit the pavement, pain shooting all across your limbs, crying out in a strangled breath.

You shook, taking a moment as reality set in. Anger coursed through you, disappointment throbbing in your skull. Stupid fucking- argh! With a groan, you pulled yourself up, the painful ache of tears caught in your throat. You rubbed your palms together, letting the gravel slip off them, before jumping back into a limp, looking like a wounded animal.

You could hear the shuffle behind you, reminiscent of Hank. And in front of you stood Connor, halted at the sight of a rusted, chainlink fence. His fingers were intertwined, they clung to the fence forcefully. With your mouth open, allowing air to flow desperately into your lungs, you joined him. Your eyes finally focused on the image of a blonde-haired woman and a small, brunette girl, making their way towards the highway. Not even the bright red words labelled 'DO NOT CROSS' could stop the two as they prepared to dart between the lines of speeding vehicles.

"Oh fuck! That's insane!" Hank remarked, winded.

You felt your heart stop as the young girl screamed, both her and the deviant beginning their deadly cross. Horns blared, tires screeched, and the highway was alive with the symphony of urban chaos. You pressed your chest to the fence, welcoming the cold metal against your burning cheeks.

The jingle of the fence broke your gaze away from the two, heart dropped to your feet. Connor's foot lifted into one of the openings in the fence, and you realised what he was doing. Your hand darted to his jacket, tightening your grip on the fabric in a life-or-death hold.

"Hey! Where are you going!?" Hank called, asserting his hand on Connor's shoulder.

Connor's eyes were trained on the deviant, "I can't let them get away

"It's not worth your life!" you snapped.

"I'm an android, I'm not alive!"

"We don't care, that's an order!" Hank chipped in. The cold sweat trickling down your spine only ceased when Connor withdrew himself from the fence. You were all doomed to suspense, watching the two across the road as little ants in the distance. Even in the distance, you could make out the deviant's twisted expression.

And then, they made it.

You couldn't tell if you had breathed a sigh of relief or of frustration.

But as you looked towards Connor, it all dissipated. His expression had softened when faced with you.

"Thank you" you mouthed, "Thank you"

-

A/N: Rahhh!! What did we think?? Please don't forget to heart (or maybe even repost) my work if you like it! Connor is beginning to show signs of deviancy, but it's still a long road ahead. Also, aww Connor listened to the reader and took care of them <3

[kazumist]

hiii! omg i really love ur fake it till we make it smau 🥹 may i ask what apps you use to edit/make them?

hi helloooo! im an android user but here's the list:

twinote — for fake tweets and twitter profiles

ifake — for fake dms, gcs, and lockscreen notifs

gdocs — for narrations

pinterest — for the character icons, twitter headers, lockscreens, and pics in the ig stories, but sometimes i provide my own pics if ever

instagram — for the instagram stories, i use the highlights feature on a seperate and private account to make them :]

phonto — for narrations via pictures. the pics i use are from pinterest or from my own

picsart — for blurring of images for narrations (via pictures)

ibispaint x — for editing (like discord vcs, memes, and etc.)

feel free to ask any questions if you have any !!

[flamingredanon]

Would you ever do a tutorial on how you get that old school anime effect on your stuff?

Sorry for taking so long to answer you anon, I am a derp at explaining but here is how I do my fake anime screenshots.

Tutorial below the keep reading as it is slightly long and I use FireAlpaca for this, but you can probably adapt this to other programs with the same layer effects.

First have your picture ready and merged into one layer.

Then duplicate the image and apply a gaussian blur to it at around six percent strength or roughly the same blurriness of the screenshot.

After you blurred the layer, set the blending mode to screen and adjust the layer opacity to around fifteen to thirty percent before merging everything back to one layer.

Then duplicate the layer again and motion blur it to around thirty intensity and then set the layer to color blend mode before merging.

Next make a new layer and fill it with a light color and setting it to the multiply layer and reducing the opacity to around five to twenty percent. (I am using a light blue but my default is usually a pink or orange peach color when not in a night scene like this)

Merge the layers down afterwards.

Then I do a slight chromatic aberration on a duplicated layer and then adjust the opacity to around thirty percent before merging everything down. (Note that if your program of choice doesn't come with a native chromatic aberration, you can just search up chromatic aberration tutorial in (program of your choice))

Once again duplicate the layer, and apply a noise filter at roughly hundred percent strength (or roughly to how the screenshot looks), before applying a very weak gaussian blur.

Merge everything down afterwards.

Optional step but you can duplicate the layer once again and apply several noise filters and a light motion blur before lowering the opacity to what you think looks right.

Next we duplicate the layer and apply the exclusion filter to it and lower the opacity of the layer by alot. (you can also just lower the saturation by a smidge if you don't have that layer option)

And you could call this done if you want, but for that extra crunch I use a program called NTSC RS. (I sadly do not know of an android version of this program)

(And here are the settings I use)

Either save or copy the image (called frame in program) and then drag it to a new layer of your image and adjust the opacity if you don't want too much retro crunch.

Then you can adjust the color and saturation if you want and then you are done.

Also for anyone wondering how to do retro captions, the image below shows what I typically use, making sure to duplicate the text, move that to below the text and apply slight gaussian blur and multiply effect to it

(You can do the text on the original image and let it get crunchy, but I honestly like the caption to be readable so I do that after the crunch.)