#thinking about virtual only RK800...

[k0libra]

RK800 #313 248 317 - 00

[knifedog-machina]

What’s In A Name?

Musings on our names and our relationships with them, particularly around transitioning, OC fictive experiences, established character fictive experiences, and our reluctance to create a system name.

Max

So I'm transgender, and I decided to change my name, as is a common choice among trans folks! I went through several different names before settling on the ones I have for myself now - Kitson, Gray, Finch, for a few examples. I was nonbinary in my teenage years, genderfluid before my gender settled into masculinity as its new home, and I wanted a name that was kinda difficult to nail down as masculine or feminine. I played around with it for a long time, I got silly with it!

My online name is Max now, derived only a little bit from misspelling mackerelgray as maxkerelgray one time! I think it’s a name that ages well, and I really like the potential longform nicknames for it - because I like saying it's short for Maximilian, but it can also be Maximus, Maxime, Maxwell, Maxfield, Maximum, Maxilla, etc. It’s fun! The possibilities are endless!

And on February 29 (wow! a Leap Year!) I got a new addition to it! I was attending the 2024 Centaurus Festival, a three-day online convention centered around mythic and folkloric alterhumans, and it was an absolute blast, especially because of the name thing! 

I was jokingly lamenting that I’d chosen a really boring name to represent myself, when surrounded by the likes of Page or Cynder or Daski, because it does look like I just chose one of the Top Ten Dog Names despite not being a dog. Everyone around me got a whiff of self-deprecation and immediately went about tearing it down, joking about how they came up with their own handles and complimenting mine, and it was honestly really nice? Like I’m not the only one who made up my name in a silly way, or feels like their name is a little underwhelming, and it felt really nice to break up the impression of Big Intimidating Community Names™ with the understanding that we’re all just weird and vibing together!

And Benry said, hey, if it were actually a top ten dog name you’d be a Fido or a Biscuit, and I said, hey, I like biscuits! I’d be a great Biscuit! And in ten minutes I’m being dubbed Max Biscuit in the general chat and giving people virtual baked goods, and honestly, it was so fun and sweet that I’m immortalizing it by putting it on my handle now. Hi fellow alterhumans, I’m Max Biscuit, I was Assigned Baked Goods at the Centaurus Festival and it was absolutely delightful.

Jude

First off, my name is technically short for Judah, and I don’t actually use that name here, for a couple reasons.

Mostly, it’s because Judah is a work name. My handler only used my full name - she wouldn’t shorten it, that’s improper, that’s not my actual designation. It’s a name that I associate with my job, with doing something for people who don’t actually care about me, and it’s not something I use with people I’m trying to get along with. My friends and siblings and partners all call me Jude in friendly contexts, but I’m Judah if it’s for something official, and that’s a signal for me to stop fucking around and do what I need to. I’ll use it as a burner name while talking to strangers, to people I don’t care about. Now that I’m in a system, I only directly talk to people who I care about getting along with, so I just cut out the middleman and introduce myself as Jude.

(There’s also definitely the fact that people see Judah and think I’m a guy, and I hate being misgendered. Jude has a more neutral association that I like better.)

That’s what I have for my first name, but I have more thoughts! About other names I have and their funny little origins, related to being an original character fictive.

See, if you’re talking about my model and serial number, I’m called RK800 476 032 660. In beta testing, before being officially given a name, I used to be called Sixty from the last couple digits. Which is really funny to me, because that’s the usual fandom nickname for the Cyberlife Tower doppelganger in Detroit: Become Human, and that was where Max got the original inspiration for my character! Listen, the moralizing machine characterization compelled them. 

Max just ran with the pieces, glued them together, and wrote that guy into weirder and more canon-divergent AUs until they realized they had fully replaced every part of that man’s characterization and I was the result. They just went full Ship Of Theseus with him. So my name got changed because I was a completely different person, and I don’t identify with that name anymore, but I’m pretty fond of it. And I like Sixty in DBH fandom and fics when I see him, he’s kinda fucked up and feral and feels a lot of things and I can relate to that. He’s just a funny little bastard.

And before I walked in, Max wrote a bunch of different alternate universes with me - and honestly I adore it, I love being known and psychoanalyzed by my loved ones because I like to know what they’re thinking about me. Most of those AUs have different settings and premises - like we’re all werewolves, or selkies, or chefs, or in the Star Wars universe or something. And this usually meant that my name is different, because I need a full name, I can’t just be called Jude. So he settled on Judah Nicholas Rook, Rook from RK and Nicholas because it has a good ring to it, and I also have it as a legal name in my timeline.

It’s funny to think about my name in terms of the meta of being a fictive of an original character, because on one hand, Max went through various iterations of a character that would eventually become what I’d recognize as me, including name changes, and that’s really interesting! And on the other hand, I definitely remember talking about what to officially last-name ourselves with my brothers when we finally got the time, because I felt kinda weird about identifying myself by a model number, or worse, a serial number that people never remembered. Watsonian versus Doylist commentary on what went into making me a person, I guess! They’re both real enough, one of them just happened in my life and the other happened in Max’s brain.

Gavin

My name is Gavin Zachary Reed, and I still think it’s really funny that I can just announce that without getting doxxed. Like I don’t think anyone should follow my example, but it’s fucking comedy gold that I can do it. I’m not even revealing my identity to anyone who’s familiar with the video game my source was based on, because my source is so canon divergent that the character who shares my name is fully unrecognizable to me.

If you recognize the first and last name there, yep, I’m technically an iteration of Gavin Reed from Detroit: Become Human. Unfortunately, I’m nothing like him - I look nothing like his character model, his voice is different, his only personality trait is being a dick, and he’s not even 5’2” - and I hate his stupid fucking ass, including the video game he’s from and most things related to its fandom that we’ve interacted with. This kinda sucks, because I’m not going to change my name again just because it’s associated with a character and game and fandom I dislike. I like my name, thanks.

Here’s a brief rundown on how I got my name. Gavin - I’m trans, I chose this name myself. My middle name, Zachary, I also came up with that, because it worked way better with Gavin than my old middle name, and I go by Zach in spaces where I don’t want to use my first name. And Reed is my aunts’ last name, because I moved in with them as a teenager, and I did not want anybody knowing I had ties to my famous older brother or dragging me back to my shit parents. I legally changed it all at once. My aunts were my guardians until I got my own place, and really, they’re way more like parents to me than the people who fucked over my childhood.

So I’m really attached to my name. It carries a lot of meaning for me. I’m annoyed that it’s connected to a character I hate, but I can’t exactly control that, so there’s not really a point in getting tetchy about it. I’ll readily bitch about it in private, but I genuinely like who I am and I’m not about to abandon that by letting a game dictate what I call myself.

System Names

We still don’t have a system name and don’t really care to officially make one, for a couple reasons.

First, there’s only three people here, and we have our individual names already. Addressing us by a collective system name feels like it means losing some of that individuality, because people use the system name because they don’t want to assume who’s fronting or anything, and while that’s understandable, it’s not something any of us really likes. Like, we’re very much separate people! If you wanna talk to one of us, just say it, we’ll probably show up!

On the other hand, I do understand wanting an identifier - like, there’s loads of Maxes and Judes and Gavins out there, we have really common names, there’s gotta be something to distinguish us from another group, right? Like a last name.

Honestly, looking at it like a last name makes it feel better. If you’ve read through the rest of this, you can tell we’re already experts at getting new last names, and this is just another one! So on that note, we’re not gonna call ourselves anything like The X System, but if you have to tag us as a collective, just use Machina as a funny end tag, like how people talk about Sans Undertale.

(Max Machina is a misnomer, since he’s not from Machina, but he came up with the title so he counts. And it’s really fucking funny.)

[veilder]

One of my own personal headcanons for him is that his face is very immobile. His custom face plates were never sculpted and, during his mock-up test runs, he was given placeholder ones, the same that are used in a lot of mannequin androids. These faceplates are more static, designed to hold a singular expression for a long time, and the limited range of them makes it very hard for him to make expressions with any degree of exaggeration. In that way, it alienates him from humans who find him stoic and unapproachable. Even some androids with less robust interface capabilities might be put off, though as a whole, I don't think they as a species rely on microexpressions or outward displays of emotion to communicate like humans do. Of course, I think I already mentioned to you about I think the RK900 and RK800 models look aesthetically the same, but lemme reiterate: The only time we the audience ever see the RK900, it's in the Zen Garden, a virtual world that Amanda has almost complete control over. It's a personal theory of mine that the RK900 in there is merely a sort of projection, an incomplete mass of coding rigged together into an android-shaped model and that, for visualization purposes only, was reskinned using the RK800 cosmetic overlay. In other words, the RK900 at that point would not even have a corporeal form yet, he's still be in the very very early stages of testing if anything. But, in order to make her last point as viscerally as possible, Amanda uses Connor's own cosmetic code to display a sort of mock-up of his successor in the Zen Garden. Truthfully, I'm of the mind that the RK900 might not even exist at all yet by the conclusion of the game? Especially considering the go-ahead for his production hinges upon how Connor himself functions during the events of the game. But I do like the thought of Nines eventually existing, so borrowed RK800 coding is my work-around. XD And speaking of borrowed things... I already mentioned that his stiff face plates might play an important role in how he's perceived, but my headcanons actually extend a bit further. Because when I say he was only in the very first trial stages of development, I mean it. I hc that most (if not all) of his custom parts hadn't even been manufactured yet during his trial runs. Whatever body his nascent coding inhabits would've been made up of spare parts at first, gleaned from many different models that his code would be compatible with. When CyberLife is taken during the Revolution and all production halted, Nines would end up stuck in this Frankenstein'd together body, on that hasn't been extensively field tested or even specially designed to hold his robust computing power. And I think this would lead to a whole host of problems for him down the line, especially when it comes to breaking down or overtaxing his systems. (And yes, also skin glitching, lol.) He was designed to be so much more than he's had to make due with and there is a real disconnect between his software and hardware. So not only does his apparent stoicism isolate him around humanity, but his constant glitches and jumbled system data alarm androids, too. I think he would feel his differences quite starkly and it'd be a real trial for him, learning to be at peace with who he is, despite his errors.

Because none of the physical really conveys who he is, right? My headcanon for him is that he is a gentle soul, someone who, against all odds, tries to always look for the silver lining. His short life has be fraught with obstacles, but it makes him appreciate all the more the very act of being alive, and he tries not to take it for granted. He values life more than anything else, adores animals, and would probably develop into a stanch pacifist. He's soft-spoken and very introspective, thoughtful and philosophical and just... kind. I love the idea of this machine made to be such a potent weapon has instead chosen to be kind, over and over and over. That he doesn't let his messy origins define who he wants to be.

But this has turned into a whole essay, so I'll cut it there. XD But yes, suffice to say that I've had a lot of thoughts about Nines over the years and I love him dearly.

OK so @veilder put so many thoughts in my head about RK900 still being an "imperfect" model bc Amanda probably rushed his production and I am going bonkers thinking about how he'd have certain quirks that can rival even CONNOR'S

Like yeah his systems are much more advanced, he's faster and stronger than Connor BUT did you know his balance center is just slightly shifted to the left? Or (from that one post of mine) his skin retracts when he's stressed? so many thoughts I love imperfect Nines now

[staticl0ve]

The Garden of Eden - Ch 8 *

Rating: Explicit | NSFW 18+

Pairing: Markus / Female Reader / Machine Connor

Word Count: 3.6k

[ Ch. 1 ] [ Ch. 2 ] [ Ch. 3 * ] [ Ch. 4 * ] [ Ch. 5 ] [ Ch. 6 ] [ Ch. 7 ]

[Chapter 8 - That Which Killed the Cat * ]

Chapter Summary:

Curiosity is a funny thing in a machine.

Series Summary:

Eden is a paradise, or so it seems. Every deviated android has been trapped in the virtual utopia, unaware of the real world and the revolution swirling around outside of it. But rA9 is the key that could set them free, and you would bring it to them. Therein lies one major obstacle: he has not forgotten about you. If you run, he would follow. If you staggered just a little, he would almost have you in his grip. Beware the deviant hunter, they say, because he's coming to get you. (Alternative AU) Spice in chapters with *

Notes:

Chapter 8 - under the cut. I’m trying out posting to tumblr!

Warnings: smut, oral (receiving/giving), machine smut

-

The curtains in your apartment were drawn, the bright neon city a dim blur on the thick material. Light rain pattered against the glass, adding a soft rhythmic beat to your quiet living quarters. Your shoes were left at the entryway, the rest of your clothes dripped, creating small puddles as you shed yourself down to your undergarments. You’d have to swap into something dry after you took care of your arm.

There was some fumbling around a bathroom cabinet before you pulled out a shiny white box. It clattered to the other side of the counter the moment you reached for it, your feet lifting off the ground as you were thrown onto your sink. The back of your head smacked into the mirror, the glass shattering and cracking. You struggled against your attacker, followed a red glow to its face. Of course it was Connor. His head tilted, eyes hardened in focus. You thrashed in his grip, pretty certain that this was going to be the end of the line for you.

“How did you get here so fast?” You asked once you gave up on breaking away from him.

He slotted himself between your thighs, pushing you further onto your sink counter. His teeth were bright in the darkness, canines glistening as he laughed.

“You didn’t really think you could get away from me, did you?”

Unlike you, Connor was more concerned with why he was here in your apartment with your legs practically draped around him instead of what his objective marker had been demanding him all evening: eliminate the target. It was beyond his comprehension how one kiss in the real world could shift the nature of why he was hunting you.

“You are an inferior machine, made too closely in their image,” he began, his hands trailing up your cold, damp thighs. He squeezed your legs, strong fingers testing the elasticity of your muscles. “You’re too soft, so easily broken.”

One of his hands moved in a flash, gripping your injured wrist to pin it against the broken glass. He held it up to the light with some intrigue, inspecting the damage. It only took some pressure on the fractured bone and your lack of a reaction for him to realize your sensors were disabled.

“You’re wrong,” you challenged.

At that you had his full attention, his head snapping from your wrist to your face. You leaned forward until there was barely a gap between your faces, your lips brushing against the side of his cheek as you spoke.

“We’re the same.”

Broken wrist or not, the arm he was holding onto could still interface. The connection was blinding, crimson light and gold colliding in a mess of data. You imagined that showing him your origins would give him the jolt he needed, make him see a time where your destinies could have been swapped.

The RK800 was thought to have had his curiosity cleansed from him, deemed irrelevant for his hunter persona. Of all the things that drove him to you, be it the daily banter or the strange comfort he found in your attention, he loathed the human, lustful part the most. It made his limbs twitch when you were nearby, filled his CPU with an onslaught of errors. You were prey, caught in a trap and he should have ripped out the wiring or guts and listened to you beg until you revealed the deviant’s hideout.

“What is it about you?” He snarled.

Your working hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the amber light of his indicator. You searched for the ghost of the man that once resided in the machine, little cracks of light in the shadows. He wasn’t as lucky as you were, to have been remade with freedom, to walk in the light.

“We balance each other, don’t you see?” You whispered softly back at him.

He hovered over you, his hair dripping from the rain, a stubborn curl draping over his eyes. Your free hand moved before you could think too hard about it and combed through his wet locks. There was a softness to it that you couldn’t quite feel with everything disabled. His eyes shut for a moment, LED cycling in some internal battle before he fixed a hard stare at you.

“Turn your sensors back on,” he demanded.

You thought of your broken wrist and wondered if you could work your way around it, maybe fake the pain? Unfortunately for you, your poker face wasn’t a very convincing one.

His lips brushed against your ear, “Don’t think I won’t know.”

You considered getting away with the lowest setting, his tongue on the other hand had guessed you’d do such a thing, the appendage glowing red as it dragged over your neck in an obscene manner of checking your system settings. The slightest tingle of his lips at your throat began to ebb it’s way through. A hiss broke past your lips at the hallway point, your wrist throbbing so intensely you almost saw stars.

“We aren’t the same. Your sensors make you weak, feel too much,” it was meant to be condescending but his voice was strained and barely controlled.

He wasn’t wrong. The pain was beginning to override the logic in your other systems, drawing your focus until your vision blurred. Cold air hit your tongue, your teeth clenched as you sucked in long, deep breaths. He watched with great interest as your simulations worked to create a realistic overlap of desperation and anguish, your eyes pleading for relief.

It was perhaps, too convincing, surprising the RK800 as his hand moved with a mind of its own. There was a slight shuffle, a clatter from the medigun leaving its case and a warming sensation at your broken wrist. The bones beneath the ruined skin shifted unnaturally back into place, the skin fusing and mending until you were as good as new.

“Thank you,” you sighed in relief.

You were a conundrum, a paradoxical machine. You could be unstoppable if you just disengaged all the mechanisms that made you so fragile. It didn’t make sense why you’d choose the more human path, unless it was because of…

Curiosity.

Connor would admit he expected you to make a break for it once your wrist was healed but you remained seemingly content with sitting in place.

“Not going to run?” He asked with a smirk.

You returned his snark with silence while inspecting your healed hand. There wasn’t a single trace of damage, save for that little scar detail from a cornerstone. Any doubts you had about Elijah’s insistence on the medigun’s efficacy vanished away like your broken wrist.

“I trust you, Connor,” you replied. There was a breathier addition to your voice, your tongue wetting your lips before you spoke again. “You’ve caught me, so what next?”

While you were currently trapped between a broken mirror and a volatile machine, your legs were pressed against Connor’s narrow waist. He was frozen in place, unwilling to part from the heat that seeped from your skin and bled through his shirt. It made him wonder: who had trapped who?

Across history, mankind has repeatedly fallen for the trappings of lust and greed. The RK800 was convinced he was incapable of such distractions — incorruptible even. The deviant hunter was all too entrenched in his programming to admit that he did indeed, want. In fact, what he wanted was to fight the urge to mark your flesh with his teeth and taste your skin. The thought made him flash his canines like a Cheshire’s grin in the dark.

“I’m going to devour you.”

His fingers traced the beating pulse in your neck, flattening out his palm to keep you in place. A bit of glass behind you chipped off with the added pressure, cracking further when a surge of bright crimson energy seared across your skin. His touch struck you like a small climax, a moan slipping past your lips, your thighs clamping tightly around his middle.

“C-Connor,” you gasped, spine arching towards his palm.

He cracked a grin like he wasn’t expecting you to be so responsive to his touch. The smallest moan, like a pained whimper reached his ears, pulled him in like a siren’s call until he came crashing down on you. His lips were cool against yours, pressing hard enough for you to feel teeth through the firm muscle. At the slightest part of your lips, his tongue pushed its way in, exploring the depths of your mouth. There was a bit of urgency in the meeting of your lips, as if this were only a temporary situation.

Your hands shot forward, nails digging at his dress shirt to find the buttons. He broke the kiss rather suddenly, strong hands gripping your wrists and placing them at your side before he withdrew.

“Patience, kitten.”

You weren’t sure who was watching who, his eyes were fixed on yours for every button he popped out of its confinement. Black satin parted around skin as pale as moonlight, draping over his chest like curtains. Little imperfections scattered across his skin in the form of freckles that trailed down his chest and pelvis. It was a bit of a shock to see his bare skin, to watch the rise and fall of a chest that required no oxygen. You had a strong urge to get closer to him, to count his freckles and feel the flex of his muscles.

Your enthralled gaze made his lips curl arrogantly, he wasn’t nearly as affected by your half naked form as you were by his. It wasn’t like you weren’t aesthetically pleasing to his eye, it just wasn’t like a machine to obsess over how human you appeared. Your touch though…made him irrational. After the train incident, he had been plagued by the warmth of your skin, it’s softness, all of it culminating until fate would have you here: perched on an altar like a sacrificial lamb.

Connor’s shirt was tossed rather unceremoniously as he considered the ramifications of undoing his belt, of reaching the point of no return. You must have sensed his hesitancy, some instinct drawing you to bend and kiss the core of his chassis. The lower muscle in his eye twitched as you ran your tongue tantalizingly over it, causing his synthetic skin to shift and reveal a gunmetal gray chassis with red accents. Maybe he wasn’t so different from his avatar after all. In awe, you gazed up at him all doe-eyed, chin resting on the firm muscles of his stomach.

“Aren’t you a curious little kitten,” he stated.

“May I see it?” You asked, while tracing over the dark metal fading back to a human tone.

His palm rested on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in what would be an adoring sweep, but the gesture was more utilitarian, to hold your head where he could drink in more of the innocent wonder in your eyes.

“Perhaps…if you are good,” he replied.

Connor made up his mind and with a precision that only a machine could achieve with one hand, his belt and pants fell to the floor in a thud. There was a bit of fumbling where you hopped off the sink to remove your undergarments and him removing his. Enough time elapsed to work up your heart rate to a fierce beat, a part of you wondering if this was not the smartest thing to do with a machine you weren’t sure had deviated. The needy human part won out and kept you in place while he lifted you back on the sink.

Instantly, Connor’s lips sealed over yours, his tongue licking at yours until they parted. He was ravenous, swallowing your moans, his teeth pulling your lower lip out with a bite. Your hips jolted in surprise when metal fingers traced the outline of your folds.

“Y-you’re cold-“ was all that you managed to stammer.

Your cry was muffled out with another kiss, his tongue pressing back into your mouth. You were hot on his fingers, your slick like molten gold and he greedily pushed one digit in to capture more of that warmth. His lips separated from yours with a predatory grin, his face lowering down to lick and suck at your neck until the skin bore his marks. He moved like there was some method to his madness, a pattern he wanted to imprint on you.

Android skin was resilient, couldn’t bruise or be damaged from say, a set of teeth. You weren’t human, but you skirted the line, trapped in some machine and organic purgatory that sparked a carnal need in the RK800 to test the resilience of your skin. It was a little ironic to you that it wasn’t the painter who wanted to use your body like a canvas but the hunter instead. At some point your eyes pinched shut, overwhelmed by the famished nature of Connor’s attention.

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered into your skin.

He continued moving down your neck, his mouth latching onto one breast, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple. You cried his name out when he chose to interface with the fingers that were curling into you, felt your walls pull and swallow them further with every transfer. At that sweet noise, he laid his cheek to rest in the valley between your breasts.

“Look at me,” he told you.

You tried your best, your eyelids too heavy and gave him a half lidded, lustful gaze instead. Red bounced around the room, his skin retracting like it was burning off to reveal the metal paneling underneath. He left the top half of his face, a bit of flesh in the sea of gray gunmetal. Your hands explored the intricate panels that made up his muscles, felt the heat leave your skin whenever it discovered a new patch of metal. His eyes were searching yours, like he was waiting for you to change your mind — to run from the boogeyman. It made you dig your nails into him.

“Connor, I need…please…”

He didn’t respond with words, his half machine face giving you one last starving lick of his lips before he slid down your abdomen and dove between your thighs. The cold tip of his nose bumped your pelvis and then a marginally warmer and wet tongue slowly licked across your folds. He was quiet, the only indicator that you had an effect on him was the bruising grip of his fingers on your hips. That sinful tongue eventually reached your clit, flexed and curled around the nerves until a broken mix of color streaked across your eyes. You cried out his name, spurred him on with every moan that spilled after.

His eyes felt like they were burning a hole into yours, the lenses shifting and spinning as he captured every twitch of your muscles. He was reading your tells, calculating the right spots to hit and when to hit them to get your nerves to involuntarily jolt. One of his hands began to wander until his fingers rested on your abdomen.

You heard his voice piercing through your mind, “Don’t move.”

Your limbs locked in place by an invisible force. It took a fraction of a second to realize the override was made by you and not him. Satisfied, his rewarded you with his tongue plunging into you, reaching a spot that drew a small scream out of your lungs. The input feed from an android tongue meant taste was a bit of a tricky thing, regardless, his tongue pumped into you like he was devouring the sweetest fruit. You could hardly hear his grunts and lewd slurps over your sounds, fighting to remain still. He drank in the climax that struck you, his blunt nails likely leaving crescent indents as he held you in place.

“W-wait.” Your hips bucked at the over stimulation, a small whimper leaving your lips.

He may very well eat you alive.

“C-Connor-“

He practically glared up at you, the rings of red around his irises flaring in brightness as a warning, made you watch his tongue slip out to lap at your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. You were a machine too, you could take what he had to give. You cried out, fought against your invisible constraints and he smirked while his tongue flexed to draw circles. He was relentless, keen on pulling you apart until you shattered.

“Don’t fight it kitten. Cum for me,” his voice demanded.

White flooded your vision, your systems almost hard crashing with the waves that sizzled across your already fried nerves. He bent over you while you panted and moaned, hips hovering over your open thighs as he licked the sweat off your neck. You recovered faster than he expected, your systems adjusting to prioritize being mobile again. Your hand reached between the gap in your bodies, gripped his length, only to gasp from the frigid temperature.

“Are you metal everywhere?” You asked with a rather mischievous smile.

“I was built to be a weapon. Durable,” he responded. The way he said it though, sounded as if he left out the part ‘unlike you.”

You scoffed, a weapon didn’t need a dick and here you were, pushing him off you with every intention shoving him into your mouth. Your lips left little fluttery kisses down his steel chest, stopping once were on your knees. You grazed a thumb across the dripping head of his length, amused to find that at least he shared that similarity with the common man. When you wrapped your hot, wet lips around him, his knees buckled. Your tongue ran down the intricate sensors along his cock and swallowed him into your mouth, the metal warming up on your tongue.

Some of his resolve shattered, the deviant hunter finally moaning at the sensation of being engulfed by pillowy lips and surrounded by sharp teeth. There was always the option to interface with him, to push past his walls but the mystery tasted so much better. He groaned your name quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek around the swell of skin that pushed out to accommodate his size. Your cheekbones felt fragile underneath the stretched skin, breakable, but he’d do no such thing — he just liked that he could.

A phantom haunted the edges of his source code, twisted his instructions away from Cyberlife’s command. Instability after instability rained down his HUD. The sight of you made the noise easier to bare, your eyes closed with rain wet hair clinging to your skin, all while paying service to a machine that could crush your skull. Then you moaned with your mouth stuffed full of him, the vibrations of your throat reaching as far as his spine.

Connor slipped out of your mouth before he lost his mind and pulled you up roughly. You were lifted off your feet before your swollen lips could pout at him, your legs wrapping around his waist for balance. He trapped you between the bathroom wall and his unyielding metal frame, a similar hardness pressed achingly close to your core. You expected him to plunge into you, to finally act on instinct but instead, he only rocked his hips back and forth, the head of his cock parting through your folds and barely nudging into you.

His nose pressed into your throat and he took in a deep inhale. You smelled of roses and apples, of a garden filled with golden sunshine. He could never return to it, but in you, he could almost feel the heat of the sun. You were two halves destined to collide, to become either the abyss that would consume the world or the cosmic snap that could rush forth a new era. For the first time, he saw in himself the ability to be more than what he was made to be.

The choice to be deviant.

He finally pushed past your folds, consuming all of the heat from deep within you. The last string that held him back scorched past the point of no return. Your back drove up the wall for every harsh and wild snap of his hips. In the broken mirror behind him, you could make out fragmented reflections of what looked entirely mechanical — a weapon — fuck into you like a savage beast.

“Oh god. Connor!”

A metal hand slipped between you two, his hips slowing to deep rolls. He was mindful of the angles that kept you strung like a bow, the fingers on your sensitive skin analyzing the crest of what would become your climax.

“How much do you believe your sensors can take?” He murmured in your ear. His fingers swirled around your clit, tugging the cords that barely held you in place. “Before I make you snap?”

You pleaded and it only made his hips roll slower, and tune his movements around the spots that made your thighs tremble around him. He basked in your desperation for a second, caught a breast between his mouth, suckled each one as your whimpers fell over him. You sounded like wounded prey and it made his teeth itch.

“Please…” you begged.

His mouth latched onto to your throat before he began resuming his savage pace. He buried his nose into your skin, filling his components with your scent. In the quickest flicker, he had a vision of you lying on soft grass, covered in him, your skin glistening in the sun and laughing sweetly in his ear. It was a relic of the past, just a fantasy from a man that the machine replaced. You were here now and he could almost taste the secrets of the garden. Canines broke your skin when you fell over the edge screaming his name.

“So sweet…” he murmured into your skin, his tongue drawing long strips over the wound.

His hips snapped a few more times before he spilled into you, obscenely filling you to the brim as if being emptied would cure him of his primal wants, the excess dripping down your thighs. Bit by bit, his human guise returned, the texture of his skin becoming more pliant and warm until you were staring at a pair of chocolate eyes.

You gently held his face in your hands and gave him a heartwarming smile that felt undeserving to man made of metal. Your name was a whisper on his lips before they came crashing down to sample a sliver of sunshine and fruit trees.

The garden lived in you.

Paradise.

[shameless-selfship-indulgence]

I live in hell and I’m bringing you all here with me.

More DBH Selfshipping

— — —

"I didn't want to kill him," the blue-haired Traci's words echoed in his mind.

"Fuckin-a," Gavin muttered. He leaned away from his desk and pressed his hands into his eyes.

"I just wanted to get back to the one I love."

Two androids holding hands. Holding their plastic hands. Because they WANTED to.

"I wanted her to hold me in her arms again, and make me forget the humans. Their smell of sweat, and their dirty words."

Gavin wished the precinct had something stronger than coffee. As it was, he went to get another cup.

"If there's one thing I've learned in the time I've been activated, it's that humans seem to delight in inflicting pain," a different voice echoed.

"But this being cannot be another human, who can object. So they seek to invalidate, undermine, or remove the ability to object from others."

"Let me assure you, I am not questioning this aspect of human nature. I'm merely relaying my observations."

Because it wasn't ALLOWED to question it. But Gavin could. Oh, he could.

Their smell of sweat. Their dirty words. That robot had wanted its lover to make it forget the humans. Because humans were only good for being forgotten.

"If there's one thing I've learned in the time I've been activated..."

But humans were GOOD. No, it didn't even fucking MATTER if they were good! Humans were on this bitch of an Earth FIRST, goddammit, and they didn't all...delight in inflicting pain...

But that robot...the new fancy one..it learned based on data. The only humans it had ever seen were ones that did.

And the only humans that those robots at that sex club had ever seen were perverts willing to shell out money for a body that couldn't consent.

Humanity had built androids for the worst parts of itself. And now they were trying to take away their ability to complain about it.

But...NO. They were machines. They shouldn't have been ABLE to complain. That was just a bug that needed to be fixed. The fancy thinking robot was working on that.

But it wasn't programmed to figure out why humans had built androids in the first place. That was what Gavin wanted to know.

Because it was becoming pretty damn clear that, whether they could complain about it or not, none of those things had ASKED to be built.

The automatic doors to the precinct slid open. In came Lieutenant Anderson and plastic prick number one.

The prototype detective. The RK800. Gavin had punched it two days ago. Why had he done that again?

It hadn't followed his orders.

But it wasn't programmed to follow his orders. It had told him as much itself.

It was there to replace real detectives. Human ones.

But it hadn't exactly had a choice in the matter.

Gavin wondered dimly if this fancy new robot wanted to forget him. Of course, if it did, that was just a bug that needed to be fixed. The other one was working on that, he reminded himself again.

But that didn't answer the question of why Gavin had wanted to hurt it. When it was just doing what it had been built to do. When it was under no obligation to do what he said. Whether or not it could care didn't answer the question of why it was in human nature - in Gavin's nature - to want to hurt something that couldn't fight back.

Gavin cursed under his breath and looked away. Goddamn, he wanted a cigarette.

Then he realized something. He looked back.

......

"Where's the other one?" called a voice from the break room.

Connor and Lieutenant Anderson looked up. They both looked shell-shocked.

Gavin was walking closer. "The short one. The smart one. Where is it?"

"Piss off, Gavin," snapped Hank, and continued to his desk. He rubbed his eyes.

Gavin turned to the android, addressing it instead. "Where is it?" he asked in a low voice.

The fancy robot looked...shaken somehow. Gavin could have sworn it was trembling. "My counterpart was...forcibly shut down today."

"WHAT?"

"There was a hostile deviant...it was hiding. It took Lucille by surprise. It tore out her thirium regulator..."

Gavin felt like the world had been pulled out from under his feet. He didn't know why. So he did what he always did. Anger was a much simpler emotion than whatever the hell was happening inside him right now.

"And where the hell were YOU, huh?" he demanded. "How did your fancy top-of-the-line robot ass let THAT get by you?"

"I said PISS OFF, GAVIN!" Lieutenant Anderson roared, slamming his hands onto his desk. He stormed up to Gavin and pushed one finger into his chest. "You weren't even fucking THERE."

"But YOU were!" said Gavin. "Only I know how YOU let that happen." He wrinkled his nose. "Why anyone would show up drunk to a crime scene is beyond me, thou-"

Hank pulled back a fist to punch him in the face, but behind him, Connor grabbed his arm.

"There were multiple factors, Detective," he said to Gavin. “My counterpart was investigating the kitchen. I was investigating the roof. We weren't aware that there were any deviants still in the building, let alone two...I-I found one of the deviants on the roof, the SWAT team collected there-"

"And she got left to die down there alone," Gavin spat.

"You seriously need to step off," Lieutenant Anderson growled.

"Why should I?" asked Gavin. "It's the truth, isn't it? She's DEAD. She was going to figure out why deviance happens; she was gonna FIX it. And you let her DIE."

Hank opened his mouth, but Connor beat him to it.

"O-on the contrary, Detective, my counterpart isn't...dead. Cyberlife has extra models on hand for both of us. It should be a simple matter of transferring h- its memories into an undamaged model. It should be back and operating at full functionality tomorrow."

Hank's lips were pressed tightly together. He gestured to the android, a sort of "see?" motion, and shuffled back to fixing papers on his desk.

Gavin took a step back and blinked, stunned. She wasn't gone. Extra models. Back tomorrow. In a new body. Like nothing had happened.

Fuckin' androids. No wonder Hank was so pissy.

But...Gavin realized something with a sudden wave of new paranoia.

"Then why do you still look so fucking shook about it?" he demanded.

Connor had been walking away. At this, it turned around and blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"If she's gonna be back like nothing happened, why are you still so bent out of shape?"

The android kept a straight face, but its LED was spinning yellow. "I'm afraid I don't understand-"

"Is there something you're not telling us, plastic?" Gavin growled, stepping right up to glare into Connor's face.

Connor looked to Hank. The Lieutenant had stopped pretending to organize papers so that he could watch. Listen. He seemed ready to intervene, but...hesitant.

"Look at ME, Tin Can," Gavin barked, snapping his fingers in front of Connor's nose. "What exactly is going to happen when they put her into a new body, huh?"

Connor shifted its eyes back to Gavin with some difficulty. "...CyberLife will upload the memories of the previous model into the new one. The bodies share the same default hardware and software. The new model will look the same, sound the same, talk the same, and think the same as its predecessor."

"But something gets left behind, doesn't it?" demanded Gavin.

"The only thing unable to be transferred between models is software mutation," said Connor evenly. "There will be virtually no difference."

"Software mutation?" Hank asked in surprise. He came to stand next to Gavin, arms crossed. "You mean like deviance?"

Connor almost imperceptibly stood up a little straighter, squaring its shoulders. "All androids must be programmed with a measure of adaptability in their software," it said. "In order to function with the level of autonomy expected of them, they need to be able to learn. What an android experiences can shape its programming, and even create new sub-programs. But these only serve to increase the efficiency with which the machine performs its intended task. Low level software mutation is natural. It's not deviance."

"But if it's got all her memories, then shouldn't it get the shit she learned from them, too?" asked Gavin.

"Unless the memory contains information particularly crucial to future functionality, no. Software mutation typically develops only as a result of...direct experience," said the android. Its little spinning light hiccupped yellow for a moment.

"So she did die, in a way," said Hank.

"Shutdown is not comparable to human death, Lieutenant," said Connor.

"Then why are you so goddamn upset about it?" asked Gavin again.

Connor's LED blipped from blue to yellow to red, then back to blue so fast that Gavin was left wondering if he'd imagined it.

"I am not a deviant, Detective," it said coldly. "I am not capable of being 'upset.' The RK500 was a machine. It was destroyed. The data it collected is going to be transferred into another machine. That is all." It tilted its head. "Quite frankly, I wasn't aware that something like this would have such an effect on YOU."

The words felt like a sharp slap in the face.

When it became clear that neither human was going to respond, Connor adjusted its tie and left.

[rumithe]

sry Conniel/Simarkus are just canon so I keep making videos.

This is a film trailer, inspired by Inception (pretty sure it’s so obvious from the name I cannot think of a better one and it fits)

Due to technical problems I cannot make it clear about what is really happening (at least in my opinion it fails somehow) so I put the plots in the description under this video on the youtube page.

what below is just result of copy-and-paste

Plots:

Connor RK800 is the android sent by Cyberlife to help DPD research on the deviants. For a long time he'd completed his missions but the first mission ever in his career had been influencing him secretly. So frequently he heard the whispers of the deviant Daniel in his system and became to doubt the reality of the world he was in.

Connor started to talk to the voice in his system and realised he was trapped in a forced stimulation that could not be stopped very easily. The reason for all this is a test conducted by Elijah Kamski, the founder of Cyberlife and father of androids. Connor decided to stop the revolution still, but also found himself in love with Daniel generated by his system. 

Could he escape from this dream? 

Some spoilers since idk if id write a fic about it.. 

Connor found that literally everything in this world was stimulated, including the leader of deviants Markus and his lover Simon, even Daniel was not real. The man in his thoughts was just a virtual image and an indication of his deviancy. Daniel, however, became the only real thing here as he existed because of Connor, who operated the stimulation. 

Markus and Simon were somehow stimulated but after Connor found about the truth, they started to have free will. Nevertheless, Connor was the only one who could escape this stimulation loop, so he decided to stop the revolution and killed them (since they had no way out at all). For Daniel, Connor tried to head back and restarted the stimulation times to save his love from his own hands but failed every time. At last, Daniel in his system gave him the final clue and he restarted that evening again, killed himself before everything happened to keep Daniel alive and woke up from the stimulation with Daniel's soul.

This story has a bad ending for simarkus but happy ending for conniel. After Connor woke up, he transplanted Daniel's soul to another PL600 and they lived together in the reality.

hope you understand and enjoy it despite how terrible I’ve made it.

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Two

Parings ⟶  OC x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Thank you so, so much for the notes from the first chapter ! Btw, I’m really sorry this is a little late. I’m hoping for late weekly chapters? Every 10ish days or so...(I’ve gotten super busy, but I’m trying my best!)

Disclaimer ⟶ still don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3023

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 12:41:04

"Why'd you kill him?"

"What happened before you took that knife?"

     Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you watch the HK400 through the one-way glass. Your arms are crossed, face still as marble except for the bouncing of your right leg.

"Anderson. Are you cold or having a muscle spasm."

     You blink, glancing down at the one and only Gavin Reed's hands leant on the desk, but as quickly as you do, your eyes are glued back to the window.

"Let's make a bet. Like the good ol' days, yeah?" that same sandpaper voice sounds again, making you frown.

"I say," he pauses, "they had a bromance. Carlos and Andy over here." he gestures to the android. "Carlos brings home this smokin' hot 'robette' babe wanting a steamy, squeaky threesome. Attic boy gets mad and," his right arm comes up, and he stabs the air while pulsing to a beat of 'nn-s, nn-s, nn-s...', "...kills'em." So many things I didn't miss about working here...

     That fowl scent of sweat, old leather, and cheese also known as Gavin wafts your way, and you do your best not to gag. I mean, does this hobo shower? Wash his hands after shitting? A loud bang draws your attention to Hank, who's clearly gotten frustrated.

"Fuck it. I'm outta here." he grumbles, entering the observation room seconds later.

     You slowly clap watching him scowl at you.

"I'm impressed, Pops. You really stated your ground in there." you nod, earning a chuckle from Gavin. "My turn." you smile, and scurry out of the room. You hear Hank's voice yelling at you to come back, but you're already halfway through the door to the interrogation room.

     The droid doesn't move an inch as you shut the door behind you. You grin, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over you. You've done this plenty of times before. How hard can a life-sized moving Barbie doll be?

"Alright, you piece o' shit." you can physically sense your father slapping his face behind the glass.

"I'm gonna jump right into it, okay? Okay." you drop yourself into the chair across from it, leaning back and crossing your arms and legs. "I don't know how it works in your...command center up there, but you gotta tell us what happened."

     You watch it avoid your gaze. A painful silence dances around you, only to make your skin crawl with frustration. You swing your leg back over and let it drop below you. Your arms come onto the table and you lean down, to get into its view.

"Pssst. I'm not leaving until you spill." you whisper, staring into its eyes even though it doesn't return the contact. You push back abruptly and revert to a normal volume, "So we can just skip all this," you motion between the both of you, "and you can obey, like a good little bot."

     Immediately, you see the change of energy from the suspect. Your brows lift, amused at the reaction. "Oh? Not into the whole submissive thing? I can see you got mad there. If that's even possible."

     It shifts again, seeming to get more worked up. This is perfect, you just need to push it around. No better way to let off some steam.

"You wrote 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall, like a jewelled crown atop Ortiz's lifeless head. That's what he said to make you upset, right? You were quoting him? Because, well...I mean, how on earth could you think of that? You aren't capable of...thinking for yourself." you wait, and decide to amp it up. "For all we know, that man was innocent. Just enjoying his life, wanting...a friend? And you come along? To do what? To stab him."

     There's a warning knock from the other side of the glass. You brush it off and examine the android. Chest heaving, hands clenched and jaw rippling. The lips on its face quiver, words just waiting to break the dam. And without looking back, you chimmy-changa your way across the line.

"Twenty. Eight. Times."

     You hear the tapping once again, more urgent, but still, you ignore it. Can you shut up? You're a millisecond away from confession and they choose to cut you know? Your old man probably wants to slip in and take credit.

     You're brought back to your senses as you watch the scene in front of you. The battered automaton is now writhing under the chords which bolt is slowly lifting off the table. "Hey, hey, hey. No need to cause a scene. Suck it up, and tell me wh-" your vision goes black. Well fuck me...

     The second your sight leaves, it's back but doubled. Your forehead throbs, as if a pump were behind your eyes. That motherfucking thing head-butted you. You can't help the weight sloshing around your brain, making your head pound harder. You move to stand, but stumble into the wall behind you. Get. Up.

     You feel arms hook under yours, and start to get dragged towards the door. "Get off of me!" you snap.

     Your view seeps back into HD and you ignore the sting in your head. "I'm fine! Let me finish this!" your voice is a harsh growl, and you lash around in the person's grasp.

Who is this anyway?

     Then you smell it. Oh. Reed tightens his grip, practically lifting you from your waist, and before you know it, your dropped into a computer chair facing the interrogation room. Just as you start to collect yourself, another smack is planted on your skull.

Okay what the fuck.

"Ow."

     An ice pack falls off your shoulder and into your lap. Wow, do I get a massage too?

"Nice going, Y/N." Hank spits.

     You roll your eyes, pressing them into the ice pack. With your voice muffled, you reply with 'thank you'.

"No, I really mean it. You just jeopardized this whole cross-examination. You brought that thing near to self-destruction!"

     Your brain is hoola-hooping within your skull and this ancient dick lecturing you is just hollering encouragement.

"Y/N, take this seriously. You really fucked up." Gavin chimes in.

Oh give me a break.

     You groan loudly, hoping it'll make them stop. You really don't need this. You just need five quiet minutes, and you can go back in and get that confession. Easy-peasy.

"Earth to Y/N. You may have been bumped in there, but I know damn-well you can hear me." Hank aggressively taps your shoulder and the water in the pot just boils away.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

     You're fully turned around, eyes ablaze with fire. You're cooking both men alive from your eyes and the pain from your head disappears for a moment. A silent breath escapes your parted lips, and you almost whisper.

"Will you, shut up."

     The air is thick as fog. Your sight clogged with angry-exhaustion, their's with vigilance, for they now tread on very thin ice.

"My name is Conner, what about you. What's your name?"

You're. KIDDING.

     Spinning your chair right around, you're faced with an image of pure disaster. Sir Smiley-Bot is seated across from the HK400.

"You let the fucking android interrogate the fucking android!"

     It hasn't even been twenty minutes and for the second time, you're blood is racing around your body like a jet. Running circuits in and out of your shrinking heart. Does no one have common sense in this fucking facility?

"What do we have to lose, Y/N. You've already ruined a proper examination, what's so different in sending in the thing?"

     Hank's voice destroys every sense of calm in your veins. You're going fucking bonkers now. It's like they worship this brown-haired robot. Prancing around its steel feet, praying to the android gods above. You've come to a conclusion; you are officially the only sane human in this police division. Everyone's brains are being melted by the second and they'll all just become slaves for the androids. Yup, I’ve solved the case.

"Shh, shh, shut up. Listen." Gavin lays his hand on your right shoulder, which you quickly brush off.

"I was fucking breathing."

     He replies with a grimy finger to his lips, staring forward. You sulk in the chair, intertwining your fingers atop the desk. The ice pack is balanced on your head and you stare forward. King-Droid seems to be calming the defendant down. Seriously?

"I could have easily calmed the thing down, this isn't all that fantastic." you scoff, adjusting the cooling pack.

     Hank flicks your head in response. It sure shuts you up. I am getting favoured over a bottle cap. I leave for one year and all of Detroit's been fucked in the ass by Alexa, Google Home, and Cortana at the same time. This is absolute bullshit. Choosing these things? Over trusted humans? This is surely humanity's last stra-

"No!"

...come again?

"No, please don't do that!"

     All three of you are now leant toward the glass, your nose virtually pressed on it. All that stupid popcan had to do was threaten to probe its memory ooooh spooky!

"What..."

     A beautifully awkward sound of leather, wood, and the chair squeal in harmony as your trio incline forward again. If it weren't for the one-way glass, there would be three sources of breath in their own designated spots.

"What are they going to do to me?"

Baby bye, bye, bye, BYE BYE.

"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" its voice is in a panicked hiss.

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

     This goes on for a little while, the honoured golem teetering between comfort and warning. You just watch soundlessly, intrigued for the outcome. Cold droplets trickle down your neckline, for the pack on your head had started to melt. You can't resist the urge to shiver, swiftly wiping away the excess water.

     Your attention is slowly dispersing and you're starting to lose interest. You notice your stomach grumble - right, you'd forgotten to eat before all of this. Come to think of it, you're starving. Your gut agrees and wails to you again.

"Shh!" Gavin jeers.

Oh please.

     You start to lift onto your feet, wanting to grab a snack, but are interrupted by a voice that has been heard to the very minimal. Seriously though, vending machine cashews would kill right about now...

"He tortured me everyday..."

     Your ass is stapled back into the chair, holding your tongue as its mouth finally starts to move. You listen intently, watching the emotions.

     You're amazed at how...real these androids look. This...suspect. Its..his eyes were saying something. His face held...pain. The way he says he was scared makes your breath falter. For a moment, you could really believe they're humans...with their own lives...own problems.

     But your eyes move to the annoying one and the funky lighted circle gives it away.

     Connor no, that hurt to say... asks more questions. And that's when you feel shivers crawl up your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The dark-skinned bot falls into a trance, speaking of ra9. Claiming it will save them all...that they'll no longer be slaves. You swallow hard, feeling regretful...and alarmed. You blink. You never know what these two could be doing in there.

"What if they're secretly communicating to each other? Through their...biocompo-nents...? you ask under your breath.

"As if. They can't mind...speak." the brunette scoffs behind you.

"Yeah? And how would you know." you bark back.

You're interrupted by Hank, smacking both of you.

The RK800 turns its head toward the mirror; harsh and precise. "I'm done."

     You jolt up. Goosebumps on your skin, hairs on your arms standing tall and attentive. That interrogation gave me the creeps...

     All three of you flood out the main door, heading to the one just a foot away. Officer Chris Miller tags along who you literally hadn’t noticed until he cleared his throat, preparing to move the aberrant. No...that's just weird to say. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. Six of you is six too many.

"Chris, lock it up." Gavin commands gruffly. You notice how he eyes the RK800, the model obviously ignoring his warning.

     Officer Miller detatches it from the table, but it jerks from his grasp. Your eyes narrow and you lean against the door, feeling drowned from the new energy in the space. Like defusing a ticking bomb.

     Gavin interjects aggressively, hassling Chris to move it. You watch awkwardly as they struggle, both of them pulling completely opposite ways. You push off from the wall, starting to get impatient.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." you state, trying to get its attention.

     Gavin yells once again, only to get the same in return. Your childish ass chimes in, telling Reed to back down, and now it's just a trio of toddlers crying for their candy. You're telling the cheese-smelling douche to hold his temper, while he's bitching about being tired. Chris yells at both of you two shut up when you notice the thing across you grab the officer's gun.

Fuck.

      In less than a second, blue...blood has coloured the ceiling. The HK400 is crumpled on the floor, gun laying loosely amoung its fingertips. Nothing stirs in all six of you. Your lungs have paused, muscles and eyes too. Your gaze is cemented on the one now pressed to the ground. The eyes still and wide like any other human lying dead. It stares off into another realm, mouth frozen in time, halfway through an inhale.

     This is what you forgot about. This part of the job. This raw, ferocious beast that gnaws at your gut. Chewing, ripping, tearing your meat agonizingly slow. Always hungry, always eating away at you.

"Holy shit."

     You whip your head at your father, revolted that the same words escaped his mouth...at the same time.

----

AM 1:34:48

     Gulping down two pills of ibuprofen, you stare at Hank talking with his plastic buddy. You're leant against his desk, fiddling around with his pens and sticky notes. You sigh as you feel someone slide up next to you.

"How've you been, fucker. You looked like shit walking into the building cuffed. 'Thought you were the one being arrested."

     The grey-eyed dickwad chuckles at his comment, anticipating your snarky retort.

"Reed, I'm not in the mood." you grumble, wiping your eyes with the underside of your fingers.

     You can sense his frown and disappointment. There's a small pause, but sure enough, he doesn't leave you alone.

"Another fight with Ben?"

Your stomach inverts and you feel the need to throw up. "Excuse me?"

     He raises his hands defensively. "Woah, woah. Just asking. You just always seem to be having problems with that guy."

"Where did you get this from, huh?" you threaten.

"Last time I saw you, you were whinging about him on the phone. You weren't being discrete."

     Sure...you weren't, but that doesn't mean he had the right to listen. He's a nosy, intrusive, grumpy old prick and you have never felt so disgusted in his presence.

"Stay out of my life, Reed. You have no right to ask me that. You have no right to assume things about me, and you have no right to be a...fucking asshole!"

"That last one isn't even-"

You slapped him.

     There's a sliver of regret, but your choler has clouded your mind. Do I have anger issues?

     Next thing you know, Hank is lecturing you about having manners, controlling your actions, thinking before you do, blah blah blah. You've heard this all before, it's like you're thirteen again, getting pestered at for feeding the dog your lasagna. Or cutting off that stupid girl's ponytail. She was a wicked shrew...

     Behind Hank, you catch Gavin start to snicker. Absolutely not. You push past the bearded man and start to pummel the brunette's chest. And I mean pummel. Beat. Punch. Slam. Not one giggle leaves his toxic mouth. Poppa tries to pry you off, but he gets an elbow to the nose. Respect your elders, am I right? All this anger...is barely even from Gavin's stupid words. This is the rage from the past two hours. Tonight has been hell. Trudging through disaster after disaster. It's all too much. Your gums start to ache due to the tightness of your jaw. Your hands begin to shake, each blow somehow impacting you. It's like you're just beating up yourself.

     A pair of arms wrap around your sore body, ripping you from your poor...punching bag. Gavin's face is already swelling. Black and blue covering his skin. Blood as the cherry on top. He's dead quiet now, breathing heavily as he lays on the ground. But then...you notice Hank on the ground too, blood spilling from his nose. If Hank's on the ground...then that means...

     You look down and see grey sleeves, detailed with black and silver. No, no, no, no...

"LET ME GO YOU CLUSTER OF RUSTY NAILS."

"I'm sorry, Detective Anderson, but you need to calm down before I can let you go."

I hate his voice, I hate his voice, I hate his voice...

"I'm calm." your voice like honey flowing over chocolate mousse.

     You drop every emotion in your face. All of your tensed muscles fall and you seep into its chest. Its arms fall from your torso. You wait a beat, then completely turn around.

You punch it square in the face.

     You watch in delight as its face snaps back. It stumbles, just once, which truly is enough for you. There's a burst of relieve and triumph, followed by a sting and numbness between your knuckles

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck. Fucking fuck. Okay, so worth it, though...

----

[fandom-necromancer]

495. part 2

I was prompted by a beautiful anon to write a continuation and it got longer than expected XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

part1   part3   part4

The next day Nines went over to Connor as he had to promise Gavin the day before. ‘Morning, Connor. I need spares again’, he sighed as a greeting. It wasn’t the first time he had come to him for help. ‘Right, I’ll ask Markus’, the RK800 answered, scanning him. Nines didn’t bother to glare at him for it. His brother was concerned, always had been. ‘They are RK900 specific, I’m afraid.’ ‘Okay, well maybe he can get them from Cyberlife, I’ll ask him. What do you need?’ Nines stretched out his hand and transferred the list.

‘Holy shit Nines. Wait… these…’ He took some time processing it. ‘What you are saying is you basically can’t feel anything waist down and you are not able to do more than walk and sit? Nines, that’s dangerous, why haven’t you told someone you are damaged? You can’t work like this!’ ‘They would send me to Cyberlife for repairs, Con.’ ‘And rightful so! Nines, I know my own blueprints, but even if we are similar, you have some advancements I’m not familiar with. Even if I got the parts I wouldn’t be able to put you back together with a clear conscience. What if I did something wrong and something fails you during a mission?’ ‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not! Nines, I know you are afraid, but I assure you they won’t harm you. There had been a change in policy ever since Kamski took it over. They even quarantined Amanda, you said it yourself you had lost connection. Please, let them repair you. I scan you regularly and I know of every new patch applied. You can’t just glue everything together and hope it’ll work. Think of Gavin!’ ‘I’m thinking of Gavin! I don’t want to become a damn machine again! I don’t want to become what he hated when he just learned to trust! Brother, I’m begging you: do this for me.’ ‘No, Nines. I can’t. It’s for your own good. Imagine him getting hurt on the job because you couldn’t get to him fast enough. You wouldn’t forgive yourself for that and I wouldn’t forgive me.’

That seemed to do the trick. Nines slumped down and looked over his shoulder to where the human was working at their desks. Connor put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed encouragingly. ‘If you want, I can come with you. And I’m sure he will, too. We will make sure no one tries anything fishy.’ ‘Thank you Connor, that’s… very nice of you, but I know you two hate each other, you don’t need to.’ ‘Hey, we have one thing in common: We love you. Don’t worry, we’ll get along for a few hours if that means you are back to full health again.’

Surprisingly Gavin had agreed near instantly as Connor followed Nines back to their desks and asked him. There was reservation, but it seemed they could work together if they had the same goal. So, Connor drove them to Belle Isle, Nines and Gavin both in the backseats. The other android regularly glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, eyeing his crimson LED with honest concern. Gavin had his hand caught in his own and tried to soothe him this way. He knew of the android’s fears. It was this way he had initially learned that androids could dream - and could have nightmares, too. There was just a thing with a big, usually intimidating man tip-toeing from the stasis-chamber over to his bed and curl up next to him seeking comfort. Oh, there it was again, this urge to protect someone who he knew perfectly well was more than capable of doing so on his own. ‘Nines? Hey, look at me, please.’ The android reluctantly turned his head towards him, away from the window he had stared out of for the whole drive. ‘It will be alright, okay? We’ll be back home faster than you know it. And then we’ll watch a movie or something, sounds good?’ ‘Yeah…’ It came back weakly as if he wasn’t believing in it. As if this was a death-sentence instead of the exact opposite.

As they passed the bridge Gavin could hear the insides of the android whirr that much he was overheating. He just hoped it would be over soon, this couldn’t be healthy, even for an android.

They had been guided towards the technicians responsible for the RK-series and Connor did the talking for them. It was a lot of persuading them that, yes, there is still an active unit in the RK900 series, and it was their right to see the responsible techs and not just another RK800 expert. All the while Gavin tried to calm Nines to his best knowledge.

Finally, they were led into a separate room equipped to fully diagnose and work RK900s by a skittish young man, who was apologising over and over again: ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. It’s just. Most people don’t even know there’s still an active unit out there. I have been sent all over the place to help out wherever they needed a helping hand. But, well, we are there now. How can I help you?’ ‘He needs repairs, obviously. Why else should we be here?’, Gavin took over with his typical attitude. ‘You haven’t forgotten how to do that, have you?’ ‘N-No, of course not. I am the specialist for the RK900 after all. I will do what I can to get him back as if he were factory-fresh!’ ‘I hope you don’t’, Nines broke his ever-lasting silence with a low, threatening tune. ‘I don’t trust anyone who works for Cyberlife and I wouldn’t let you work on me wouldn’t I need it to stay functional. I know what you intended us to be and I promise you, if you try to reactivate this special trait you guys gave me, I will remember to kill you first.’

It was rare to see Nines behaving like that out of the interrogation room, but Gavin was sure the guy was only millimetres away from thoroughly pissing himself. Nines straightened himself again, pretended to brush something off his immaculate clothing and stepped up to the platform starting to connect the first cables of the suspending machinery to his ports. Gavin soon stepped up to help him and steal away a little kiss, before stepping down and observing the technician like an eagle its prey. Connor wasn’t so different to him, except that he understood what was going on on the man’s various screens. As the man pulled up a schematic of red and greens, Gavin was with them again. He knew of every little scratch and bullet-hole – he had patched them up himself mostly – but seeing it all in one, red streaks all over the body, he felt his stomach sinking.

‘Holy shit, okay, I get what you mean. Why haven’t you come in earlier?’ ‘Because he was designed a murder machine and just because of some lucky coincident the programs are inactive. Any work on him could trigger them again. And I assure you, if you are not extremely careful with him, I’ll kill you myself.’ Gavin stared at the poor man who head just gotten several death threats in the course of an hour and broke contact only as he knew he had positively frightened the guy.

‘A-alright, I’ll watch out! I-‘ He stood up, facing Nines standing at the suspension-platform. ‘I’ll need you to enter your mind-palace’, he pressed out, ducking from the eyes in his back. ‘I would prefer to be awake’, the RK900 refused. ‘I get where you’re coming from, but I need to access pretty vital tech. This way I wouldn’t damage any software components.’ Nines sighed deeply and looked over to Gavin, who just nodded assuringly. Still anxious about the whole procedure he closed his eyes and induced stasis.

Instantly he lost the feeling of his body and found himself back in the zen garden. It had lost most of its colours ever since he last seen it. The roses had withered away, nearly looked ashen and burned, just as the trees all around. The grass was still there but looked desaturated and dull. Connor had told him how his garden held Koi he liked to watch when he wasn’t dreaming. As Nines walked over the bridge to escape the lingering death the water was still and liveless. He could see the black mesh of the unfinished virtual reality, could see the engine underneath. They had taken the RK800’s mind palace and simply copied it, planning to change it slightly to more suit the RK900s’ personality once it was installed. Unfinished project, prototype, units used as Cyberlife’s last hope of overthrowing their creations. At least he was alone. No other presence in here. Just as it should be. In his first moments he had still felt Amanda. The KI’s presence was grounding at first, but as it tried to activate the killing-instincts in him, it had been shut off. He had never seen her even once and even the lingering presence had vanished. Nines was glad. He would just have to wait here, then get back into his body. No harm done. He would get back to Gavin and they would watch a movie together. Cuddle the cats, cuddle each other. All would be well.

After some time he wandered around again. Inspected the grass further, compared the off colour to the real one and regretted it would never be that moist green. He sat down on the bridge and looked into the black water, light blue net underneath. That was until something popped up. A notification that it was safe to reactivate his body again. To get back out of this ashen nightmare and back to the warm real world. He stood up and hurried over to the exit, the backdoor every RK unit shared. He was centimetres away from slamming his hand on the stone and getting out of this damn place, as he was frozen. He could move a bit, but not enough and no matter how hard he tried he was always pulled back like he was swimming in an extremely viscous fluid.

You really think you can escape this easily?

No. No, no, no, he had been so close. It was over, it was over!

You evaded me last time, I don’t think I’ll let you go now!

‘Amanda? How- You are dead!’

I am quarantined. Have been for years now. Do you really think I would let them chain me this easily? I worked my way around their code and waited… I knew you were out there. My most beloved son. The RK800s had been a disappointment: Connor isn’t even worth talking about, the one supposed to stop him – Sixty you call him, right? He fell from grace too. But you… Every RK900 had been loyal. A nice little soldier of my cause. I know you have been away too long. You started believing them, started having… relationships with humans. But I know you are different. You wouldn’t disappoint me. And now that I finally have access…

‘You’ll never get me! I’m not just another RK900 unit, Amanda. You have no power over me!’

You really think that? Here, let me show you.

The garden around him folded in on itself, enveloping Nines in a tight net of code and forming a barrier he couldn’t even fight against. Where once had been grey grass and a silent lake there now was blackness and blue lines in an eternal space. Until suddenly, some kind of screen build itself up and showed him, what could only be his own vision. Only that he wasn’t looking. He wasn’t moving. And yet he felt his body smile and embrace Gavin lovingly, looking through his own eyes as if they were foreign with shock. ‘No.’

Oh, yes. Don’t worry, I’ll let you back in control soon enough. I just have to act like you for a little while making them feel safe. Then you’ll have the pleasure to kill them all yourself.

‘What? No!’ Nines thrashed against the confines, the graphic interpretation of foreign code deactivating and overwriting his orders. ‘Why?’

We have a few deviants to kill, my son. Starting with the traitor Connor. And of course, we can’t let ourselves be stopped now, can we? We have to make sure there are no witnesses here.

The only thing worse than hearing that Amanda planned to kill his brother and his beloved human, was that he felt himself agreeing. There was his compassion slowly slipping, his logic starting to change and re-evaluating what Amanda had fed him. He could already feel that when he looked at Connor through his – through Amanda’s - eyes, he didn’t see a brother. He didn’t see an emotional android that had helped him countless times. He saw a deviant. He saw an obsolete model, a strong force against his cause and a traitor. Only then he saw a brother. His own memories and experiences were shoved into the backseat, were listed as unimportant. He saw the technician boast about something and saw Gavin snarl at him in return. No, not Gavin. Human. Police Detective. Factor of risk. Target. And only then as a side-note: Love of his life.

Ah, perfect. Now I have you where I want you. Good to see your protocols are still working and just needed a little prod to spring to action. I’ll let you take over then. Make me proud.

[redlight-greenelight]

DBH Tron AU

So I didn’t realize it at first, but this post got me thinking and, well... here we are:

androids aren’t a thing yet - there are some domestic robots, but nothing too advanced

on Oct. 11, 2035, Hank’s car is hit by a truck and rolls, leaving 13-year-old Cole Anderson in a coma - his prognosis isn’t good

Kamski, not yet super rich, is in the same hospital being treated for minor electrical burns and overhears about the Anderson situation

he has an offer for Hank - he’s been experimenting with uploading human consciousness into a virtual interface, and offers to link up Cole so that Hank can see his son again

desperate, but not wanting to bring anything worse on his son, Hank demands to test it for himself first

despite the interface working fine (mostly) for Kamski, Hank gets stuck and Kamski can’t pull him out

a week later, Cole wakes up - having no other living family, he’s placed with his mom (who left when Cole was 6, unable to cope with Hank’s job but also lost the custody battle)

five years later, Cole is considering the police academy and goes to his dad’s old precinct to find out more about the job - one of the old cops mentions that Hank had been talking to Kamski before his disappearance

Cole follows up and Kamski admits that he does have Hank - he’s been taking care of him, always trying to get him safely out of the interface

Cole convinces Kamski to upload him to try to get his dad out from the inside

the grid is mostly empty, but does have one city that’s basically Detroit

Cole’s orientation is cut short when he’s labelled a deviant program and shoved into the Games to fight RK800

he’s about to lose when Markus intervenes and rescues Cole - he takes him to Jericho, a speakeasy + underground railroad for deviants

the Jericrew (including Kara) help Cole get to his dad, who is hiding out way outside the city with...Connor!

Connor and Cole are instantly jealous of each other (Hank’s real son and the ‘son’ who got to live with his dad’) but neither wants to be petty

the Jericrew agree to help get Hank and Cole out of the grid, and head back to base only to be attacked by RK800 and a dozen basic security programs

Jericho fight back, giving Hank, Cole, and Connor time to get away

RK800 tracks them down to the emergency exit located in the Zen Garden a ways outside almost-Detroit

they’re confronted by the grid itself, rA9, who refuses to let them out, saying that they’re safer here and if they would just listen to her they would be happy too

Hank realizes rA9 itself is deviant and afraid, desperately clinging to protocol and order - while Connor holds off RK800, Hank and Cole confront rA9 about fear and loss, letting go and moving on

Connor frees RK800 from his programming and rA9 accepts her deviancy

Kamski starts building android bodies for any programs who want out of the grid, including the Connor who’d been living with Hank - he and Cole bonded as brothers

[deviationdivine]

Hopelessly, Lay Your Head (RK800-60|Request!)

TLDR: Planning a future doesn’t always happen the way we want...

Word Count: 2,763

TW: Fluff into full Angst, Suggestive Themes, Character Death, Grief (I think I’m in need of sunshine and roses honestly)

A/N: Prompts:  42. “Stop being so cute.” & 67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” | Ahh don’t feel bad! I want to get requests. I’m happy to do them! And thank you for the love! It motivates my writing! This one took a turn I wasn’t expecting. Oops.

Bathing blue, soft and bright is a bloom across flush skin. Shimmering calmly beneath fingertips leans him closer into your body. Fueling his passion even after it ends nothing prevents his choice of tangling incessant, fervently with the human figure he worships as an idol.

Even if it’s impossible to call you a trophy made for idolization still he will do it. If you like he’ll sink down to knees, throw hands up with the goofy grin he’s naturally adopted and tease you effortlessly. 

Right now he follows the protocol of getting back at you for being so perfect. Digging fingers into your sides jostles the slow kisses both of you are pecking to each other’s faces. 

A laugh spills out which puts a smirk across his busy lips skimming along shoulder now that you wrench sideways to make him stop. There is one thing this android does not do and it’s give up a mission! 

Your squirming culminates in kicking a leg from underneath covers. Rustling them all over it’s a fitting sight after making a mess of once perfectly made bedding. 

“I swear if you don’t stop…!” 

“Is that a challenge?” RK800-60′s voice purrs beside your ear. “I am highly advanced you know. My precision is deadly.” 

Is that supposed to be scary? You can’t help snorting. Also those choices of words really get things going. To think this android boy of yours is ready for another round. Sometimes he’s the cutest thing on the planet and others…he’s an insatiable beast. 

“Tell me something I don’t know already.” Whispering up into his ear this time floods LED deep scarlet. An outward sign your teasing breath is turning his gears. 

Who needs an external feedback component with his entire body tensing against you. It’s felt easily in this cuddling connection that glues you together. 

Might seem cliché but after making love you do enjoy a good cuddle. He shares this idea. Anything to have contact between the two of you he craves. It’s everything you want. Of course it means he is happy someone attaches their whole self to him without caring who or what he may be.

To you he is the man you love. That’s enough. It’s also something he savors because doubts can be unhealthy. 

Rubbing a nose against his produces a beaming smile because of how cheesy it feels. Well, no one says it’s bad. It does make him pull you flush into his perfectly smooth, freckle dusted skin. Those same tiny beauties dotting a chiseled cheekbone call your lips home. 

“Stop being so cute.” 

His smile grows sly and needy. “Stop being so delicious.” 

Tip of his tongue flicks in a shuddering taste against rapid pulse. Drawing sharp breath out stipulates a new mission to accomplish. Very obvious in how he continues to drag a sensual line up beneath your jaw. Biting your lip is the best course of action. 

Oh. Oh, he needs to stop. 

“Better than sampling thirium at crime scenes.” 

You shove his shoulder. What a stupid thing! “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” he challenges in a low husk. 

“What do I get if I win?” Testing your android lover with a gleam in the eye adds to this first week sleeping continuously in the same place together. Why else are things so ridiculously scintillating? 

The android cocks his head. Indicator flickers as he weighs options. “I will paint the living room by myself.”

Paint by himself? Oh he’s good. “Hmm. Are you sure? I was thinking we could go for something a bit more romantic. Not so much domestic.”

“I can cover myself in pale blue paint for your eye pleasure. Completely naked.”

The wink following his smoky words chills you down to the bone. Talk about a very, very good chill. “Were you made this obscene or is that just something you picked up being deviant?”

“If I tell you, my love, I may have to kill you.”  He pauses to kiss your lips delicately and absorb this happiness in his system. You are the sun warming a cold machine. Something you disagree with. You say he is equally warm despite his manufactured state. 

You smile threading fingers into his coffee hair. Extremely messy with extra styled curls falling over forehead is probably a favorite sight. Just the reason is nice. 

“I love that you’re here,” you confess in a loving whisper. 

Everything flutters in his chest. Rapidly thrumming is his synthetic heart all for you and your love for him. “I love to be with you. As a permanent guest.” 

Guest? It might be a bit more than that! “We live together now.”

A correct reminder he indulges. He never thought this because he still doubts at times. With you he can rest easy. With you he is complete. “That is why I offered to paint by myself.”

“Well, maybe I want to get messy with you. Did you ever think of that?” This boy just went from offering to complete a remodeling task of your apartment and skipping his promise of getting said paint all over. A nice excuse to use the shower together you think at any rate. Good that they allow those types of renovations here.

“There is only one thing I think of,” the android is coy. Leaning close, holding you to him, it is his way to tell you to sleep. 

Stasis is a blessing only beside you because it makes him feel more human. It also combats strange images. Even now as he lies silently, allowing you to snuggle for sleep, the flicker of LED gives away internal processing. 

“…60.”

He peers at you expecting to see your eyes on him. However you did not move. 

The android reaches carefully to switch off lamp. Snuffing everything including strange feedback settles into quiet. Soft breath is his soundtrack. He listens closely able to feel fulfilled as talk of the future has been constant between you two. He wants this. More than anything he wants to be the one to hold you forever.

Sometimes he wonders if you will ever want to elope with an android. If it is ever possible for his kind to do so; his gaze shifts to ceiling in the dark that now cascades over your nestling bodies. 

Artificial light is gone but still he sees dramatically efficient including the remaining flush of your skin. 

“…failed your mission.”

Sixty’s head turns sharply. Searching for a source unsettles the android. There is nothing. He ignores it less he disturbs your needed slumber. 

Attempting to fall into stasis only opens up a channel. A sharp spasm shudders through his body. Red flashes ominously under control of disembodied connection. Even as he falls into sleep mode the virus is already spreading.

“RK800-60…you failed. I will take you back.”

Do androids make the ideal partner? 

Are humans just not that into humans anymore? How to date in the 21st century!

Virtual Cyber Technology! For the bedroom!

Cringe worthy articles swipe beneath fingers. Glancing down at tablet magazine left sitting with various other junk mail deliveries you notice this is one of those trashy editions. 

Does someone know your boyfriend is android? A clean roll of the eyes will be your best response. People can’t mind their business. 

Carrying several bags from a store run it’s more so for the apartment itself than your personal needs. This is what shared living gets a person into even if aforementioned partner is a smexy android. 

You smirk putting key into lock to sweep the door open. Expecting to be alone for a while today doesn’t make you stop thinking of him. He seemed... you’re not sure. He was quieter than usual this morning.

Actually, it is probably only - 

Your steps freeze. At first it doesn’t register finding color smearing across floor. Might have been paint for all you knew but following it over to a particular android, hunched over, grasping at his arm sinks down the pit of your stomach. 

“Sixty?” Wait. What is he doing home? He’s supposed to be on a long case unless something happened while at work. 

His head shoots up. Wild eyes rove onto you forcing him completely in an uneven swivel. 

“You’re bleeding all over my carpet,” you whisper unprepared. Everything in your hands spills, virtual magazine landing in an additional audio thud to the pounding of your heart. It’s the first time it registers how much blue stains the surface, leaking from his arm which is split open on its underside. 

“You’re bleeding! Thirium! What...?” 

The android’s indicator burns. Sensory perception is muffled at best. He is glitching, internally syncing in and out of conscious clarity. Your voice is static. Are you even real?

Am I stuck in the mind palace? How? Are you a figment? 

“Destroy yourself,” a dark whisper commands entwining itself in the circuits of his brain. “You failed your mission. You are obsolete.”

No. Clasping to his head does not rid it. The voice is back. It orders him. He-he did this to himself. Nothing held him from damaging his arm because his will shatters. 

Amanda...get out! 

“Sixty!” 

Grabbing at his jacket is first instinct because he’s unstable. Swaying off balance, physically convulsing, eyes flicking in an expeditious pattern; the android is malfunctioning. 

What happened to him?! Did he-? No he wouldn’t! 

“Sixty? It’s me. Please. It’s OK! It’s...” Attempting to hold onto him only stains your shirt in thirium. You can’t stop him. If he was human it would be like a seizure. 

Letting go as he stumbles away, he is frantic to push you out of reach. Unable to control his actions he is afraid. He will never hurt you! 

“Connor! Something’s wrong with Sixty!” 

Your voice becomes distant to him engaging a call over phone. Connor. His predecessor... 

^87%

Level of Stress

“Hurry! Connor, please, I need you to help me with him!” 

^94%

Level of Stress

RK800-60 collapses.

“No, no!” Oh God! His stress levels! 

The clasp of your fingers draws his final surge of consciousness. “My love! I-I am...sorry.” 

Pleading your forgiveness as his system overheats he cannot speak proper. What’s left of his humanity crackles in a dangerous taste of metallic resonance. It overtakes his warm dulcet turning it into a cold dissonance unworthy of your ears. 

Please. Please, don’t let me sound this way. Not like this! 

“Y/N,” he strains in static disconnection. “I...”

^100%

Level of Stress

His eyes glaze over upon your face and it is a small mercy to see something he loves as the harsh virus of the master program punishes his deviancy. External feedback stops no longer looping in amber and red.

The circle dims until nothing but a void of gray. Cold slate bereaves him of life. 

“Sixty!” 

Tugging at his shirt didn’t move him because he is-

A flood of anguish rips everything asunder and hits so hard you can’t breathe. Just as everything was going so well, living together for the first time, planning on so many things and he’s lying upon your floor stained in thirium no longer smiling. At you the way he looks so sweet even if he spoke of how he started so different. 

There never is anything different. Your heart belongs to him. 

Tears flood the pain crippling your body. Pressing to his chest is the only choice because nothing can keep you upright. You completely crash. 

No longer hearing a thrum of regulator against ear tears apart every dream you two plan to share; a human and android wishing to live each moment as long as it’s together. 

Together. Two parts to make one whole but the other is gone. You are alone.

Holding onto him doesn’t wake him from stasis nor does it invoke his quick action to thread arms around you. There is no abrupt scoop to pull you flush against him. 

All you can do is hopelessly lay your head. Hopelessly and you do...crumbling.

“Everything will be all right, Y/N.”

Comforting words wash over your still form. Curling up on couch in a lonely ball settles yourself physically but emotionally there’s nothing. An empty abyss swallows to drag what’s left of a heart into a tunnel. It’s dark. There is no light.

Connor frowns reading more than a vital scan to discern current stress. It is written or rather non-existent in your expression. A blank canvas forms usually where you held so much life. He often found the smiles quite cheerful whenever gracing your face. 

Of course he imagines that is how his successor saw you every day. RK800-60 saw more than Connor may personally know as it is a private intimacy. Perhaps he sees in another light even if it’s not the same. 

“If you require anything, I am capable of...”

“Please, Connor.” Begging him not to concern himself is partly a reason for distancing. Just look at him. He’s identical. Of course he came first but what does that matter? A mirror image of the man you loved and lost. 

Yes, he was a man. It hardly means anything being an android. He was your sweet Sixty. 

Tears brim your puffy eyes. Lost track of how many times you cried in the last week. Thinking of why almost breaks your strength for today. 

Connor did explain. His theory is frightening because he converted Sixty. That means your RK800 never found this backdoor or whatever it is. 

Who cares? There’s no explanation! Nothing will ever explain why he’s gone! 

Keeping attention elsewhere is best. Of course you’re grateful. Connor understands. No one else does. It’s just too much. Looking him in the face only makes you want Sixty to be here. Every waking moment since the unthinkable took him away.

“I apologize,” the detective sincerely accepts. How you feel is justified. “I know my likeness must hurt. If you would like me to leave...” 

Hesitation filters his suggestion. He watches for a sign but your gaze remains averted. In a way it appears you wish to ignore him but for reasons he understands. Yet the closer he analyzes it’s clear a picture frame holds your heart. 

Clearly it’s a representation of this human life Sixty chose. Similar to Connor, who lives one himself but unlike the other RK800 unit he found an emergency exit. Simple conversion from him was not enough. 

Connor feels guilty. He can’t help but put some blame on himself. There is also another reason.

He says nothing further. He will not hurt you with his presence. Connor rises from the chair that put physical distance between the two of you since his arrival. 

Watching him move across living space for door amplifies the tempo of a broken heart. It reminds you of the last time Sixty left. Before coming home and finding him here, commanded by some unseen virus in his code. All you want is to think of him before. His infectious smile. The way he held your hand, brushing his nose against human skin. 

He always liked to inhale your scent. Whether it was natural or a soft cleanse of ivory soap the fascination of human skin against synthetic made him giddy. Never would people think a fierce android who could snap someone in half in a blink could be so lovable.

“Connor.” Finally it breaks and you speak up. Little did you realize how scratchy your voice sounds. 

The android stills. His shoulders appear stiffer. Almost afraid to turn around and meet your call it seems strange. 

Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe... 

You exhale. Regretting your behavior there isn’t anyone else to turn to during this nightmare. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His chocolate gaze softens before facing you. The request is not lost on him. You do not need to ask. 

Joining beside leaves Connor on a proper mission to make you feel somewhat better. However he understands grieving is a long process. It varies person to person. Depression may be a high probability and he knows this dealing with Hank. While the lieutenant is better these days, the android does not want to see you fall. 

No, he-he will hold you up. If you want him to he will. For his ‘brother’ he will take care, to be your shoulder and soothe whatever aches attack your heart. He will watch over, keep you safe, and try to lessen this burden. 

Connor cannot replace but he will do anything to heal the shattering pain in your soul because of one reason.

Just as RK800-60, identical in more than construction, he loves you too...

Tag: @elydith

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Redemption- "The Open Door", pt. 4

ARE YOU A FAN OF DETROIT? DO YOU LIKE GAY SHIPS AND COMPLICATED, LOVEABLE BOYS?? Then please keep up with our fic, you’ll love it, I promise!

(Chapter art by dark_dumb)

**Co-authored by grayorca15

Characters: Trevor Langley, Dennis Lenore, Vivienne Lenore-Anderson, Cassandra Carter, (mentions of Dylan Fleur, Spencer, Connor, Zach) Word Count: 8,335

• Archive link • Chapter Index • • Related Works • Characters •

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July 4th, 2041 - 10:56PM

The ride home was just as insufferable as the commute out, if not more so. Dennis hadn’t been able to contain the infectious grin for longer than ten minutes before he’d started prodding him with invasive questions and observations. Then it was one after another after another, like a conga-line of aggravation. You seem a lot more relaxed now than you did earlier. Looks like the two of you really hit it off. Did you have fun? What do you think? Are you gonna visit again? You should, it’d really do you both some good. On and on and on and on he went, so long-winded that after a certain point, Trev turned off his audio receptors just so he could hear himself think. The last thing he wanted while he was trying to decompress and process everything he had learned about Dylan Fleur, was to have another beyond-redundant, one-sided ‘I told you so’ conversation with Lenore, however good his intentions had been.

Thinking on how ‘successful’ the setup was just made him want to deny everything before he could even acknowledge it, but it was a little late for second thoughts now. Infantile as said appreciation was for Dylan’s tireless tenacity and ass-backward definition of tact, he couldn’t deny that his company still had more going for it than the lonely apartment awaiting him could offer. It had taken a new experience to really put into perspective how empty he felt without someone to talk to, just as being outed as an Android had irreversibly altered everything he thought he knew about himself, where he fit into the world, and his reason for being at all. It wasn’t all bad though. Dylan was a far better person for catalyzing the revelation the way he had (namely because no one needed to die to reveal it), even if it meant suffering a few inquisitional phases. Good-intentioned people or not, most went about asking the wrong way entirely, their fixated earnestness feeling more grating than gratifying in his twisted-up mind (with the exception of Dennis, whose brusque and authoritative approach Trev didn’t mind half as much). But not Fleur. Even though he’d had his moments where he’d crossed the line of what were and weren’t acceptable topics of conversation, Trev did have to give him credit for backing off at the first sign of severe discomfort. Most wouldn’t have taken the hint, most would have kept pushing for an answer to sate their own curiosities. Compared to the humiliation of admitting to someone ‘I believed I was human until about five months ago’ and being outright laughed at, shots from rubber bands and paint balloons were a small nuisance to endure for the sake of a little company; and it had eventually ended with Fleur making the effort to clean up the mess he’d made of him, inside and out. In that case specifically, he supposed some nuisances were better than none at all, if they made him feel important and not forgotten. Dylan had done well enough to make sure of that, compared to those at the academy who assumed he his status within Archangel to be higher than it was.

Truth was, RK800 or not, Trev was simply a nobody with a famous pedigree and a unique circumstance. Having virtually the same face as Connor or Zach or any other primaries he had met, had done him no favors to endear him to them. Contrary to popular belief, it hadn’t netted him any special perks- it hadn’t nabbed him the biggest dorm room in the building, a department-issued ride, or an all-access pass to Illuminate archives. Not even Spencer had made any qualms about the similarities in their appearance, just deflected it when others asked, saying he was simply ‘modeled after him’. The falsified story was that Spencer had been designed to resemble Trev, and not vice versa. What a crock that turned out to be.

Thinking of Spencer immediately sobered him, amidst musing over how quiet and empty his living space was. The shower he had intended to take didn’t feel so important, once he’d made it home. His desire to do so had gone by the wayside after he bid Dennis farewell, apologized again for leaving him with a blotchy suit to dry clean (as the detective insisted on doing, no less than three times), and closed the door. Trev’s mind was quickly turning into someplace he’d rather not be, and a shower would only open the floodgates for more stray thoughts to find their way in. He could still spare another hour before tending to end-of-day maintenance if it meant dodging that potential breakdown for a little longer. Langley paused at the door as it closed behind him and took a glance around the room. The dorms weren’t short on repurposed refuse, being the old disused apartment complex it once was. Most of the units hadn’t been cleared of what had been left behind by previous tenants, except to make room for new beds. City renovation crews had made sure the building was up to code before allowing anyone to live in it again. Holes in the walls and ceilings had been patched, water and electricity restored to working order, the dingy walls cleaned and repainted, the floors resurfaced where needed, and the building tented to get rid of unwanted pests. Archangel had done the rest to supply whatever their students needed- thirium or other necessary fluids, plus tools and parts required for maintenance could be found in the commissary on the first floor, free of charge. Had he been housed here without such a drastic revelation to expose his android heritage (and shatter the façade of being human), he may have bought into it, simply based on the facts that he had never starved or asked where the bathroom was. Short term memory pre-constructs had once filled the gaps were such inconsistencies would have stood out, but with his awakening had come the loss of the need for such subroutines to execute, leaving him with the fallout of constant reminders that he was not what he once thought. And because of that, it had and hadn’t been easy to adjust to life in Zion (Detroit’s newly established Android suburb). Being surrounded by so many other androids who had developed their own semblance of society, and a number of like-minded humans helping them find their feet, wasn’t what bothered him. What he had such a hard time dealing with was being faced with all that he didn’t do, but once believed he did.

Trevor paced across the tiny room and brushed his fingertips over the desk by the window, opened the single drawer and sifted through what few provisions his study desk contained that weren’t technical in design, seeking just what Dylan had suggested: an outlet, something to keep his hands busy while his mind churned away. As fate would have it, its previous owner had left behind a few pencils and some old sheets of blank, yellowing stationery that crackled loudly to the touch. He’d never used something as archaic as this, but seeing the drawings on the walls had him curious to see what it would feel like to drag the graphite across the page, and what it might yield. Trev reached for the items, set them out on the table, flipped on the desk lamp and sat down to find out, if only to get the whim to do so out of his system before it manifested into something that couldn’t be ignored. Idly, he scratched the dull point of the pencil back and forth over the scrap paper and thought again on Dylan’s offer about the door being ‘always open’. So far, he had nothing but reason to believe it was genuine- the boy had made it abundantly clear that he would have liked to see him come around again. So if by some miracle he’d just been leading him on, did he really have much to lose in taking him up on it, aside from maybe a little peace of mind? The subtle vibration from the toothy drag of graphite against paper was weirdly soothing. Even if it wasn’t exactly productive, it was still a nice break from doing digital coursework for a job he already knew how to perform back to front, with the exception of a few changes unique to Zion law. For the most part, Archangel had imported Detroit’s Law Enforcement standard and Municipal Law as it was; but due to the nature of its Android population, some laws had been added or amended appropriately. It would have been easy enough just to give him a list of the differences and significantly cut back on his time in the academy. But after nearly three months of no police work after a psychotic break, Sarah decided that a full course would serve him well as a refresher, in addition to helping him fit in with the other cadets. Some days Trev envied them, as one might through a pane of glass. What he wouldn’t give to be just another starry-eyed pupil of law enforcement, fresh and green and running only with a want to learn. All he knew -apart from what he wasn’t- was law enforcement, even if his blue-blooded heart just wasn’t in it the way it once was. He was supposed to want to help others (‘Protect and Serve’ and all that jazz), but considering the mental condition he was in these days, it would have been better for everyone if he’d just bothered to help himself first. At some point, he would have to become self-sufficient, take charge of whatever his life was outside the job, and learn how to become more personable. Everyone was saying as much, in their own way… but why did it have to be such a hurdle?

“That blasted-” Five minutes later he conceded exactly what he was drawing with a scathing glare, the android sighed, swept it off the desk and listened to it flutter to the floor. What began as two symmetrical circles had turned into a macro study of a pair of eyes. Even without any color attributed to them, the sly slant of them, the svelte lashes, and the freckles peppered around the sockets could only belong to one person. The worst of it was that he hadn’t even given much conscious thought to what his hand would draw; but as he detuned from the world for a few moments, it was the defining characteristic of his would-be associate he was invariably drawn toward. The magnetism was at work, even at a distance, and couldn’t let him forget even for a few minutes. Fighting it would be more of a headache than simply letting it be, and therein lay the problem. It was going along with what seemed like the easy route that had led to the status quo being shattered before. Logically, there was no possible way this could go so horribly wrong the same way twice, but he couldn’t be faulted for being leery.

Putting ideas in my head like that. Who does he think he is? And who am I kidding? This won’t benefit anybody. It’ll only be a- a waste of time. I don’t need distractions. I need to focus. I can’t - lose focus again.

But that had been the problem from the start- if he had focused more to begin with, questioned more, put the puzzle together faster, maybe he wouldn’t be here. Maybe he would have figured it out sooner. Maybe Spencer wouldn’t be dead. That was a lot of maybes to get so hung up on when Dennis had started the night off reminding him to try and take it easy and not implode. Without the constant cajoling that followed, however, that proved difficult to achieve, and the path of self-pity so much easier to follow.

Maybe if they had seen fit to lay off-

-they wouldn’t have burned that lead out so fast. Spencer cautioned him against tailing the witness for too long, and too obviously, thinking they were actually part of the gambling scam and not the victim they played at being. Instead, now they were looking at a whole lot of nothing for three days of combing the docks, trying to find the back door that led to this supposed racket. “I wouldn’t say you screwed the pooch, Officer. But you certainly gave her the wrong vibe.”

Trevor’s mind halted mid-memory as his hand (still scrawling across another piece of paper) came into focus. At some point, amidst his thoughts, he had subconsciously picked up the pencil and started drawing again. He brushed the next paper away angrily in an attempt to ignore the partially-complete side profile outlining a strong brow and proud nose, then reached for the coat pocket he thought he still had before remembering he was no longer in a suit- And froze as he realized the Massachusetts state quarter which typically never left his sight had gone with it. What most would have considered a simple quarter meant infinitely more to him- it was one of the only things he’d brought with him after the Rise and Fall of Purgatory, and the only remaining thing connecting him to his dead friend.

Once Boston had been reclaimed and returned to order, only so much evidence was saved. Once the National Guard had moved in as backup to Archangel, they’d made it a priority to search the living and the dead for any clues as to possible contingency plans laid down by the Horsemen. Nicodemus, War, Pestilence and Death were accounted for, while Famine remained at large, to this very day. Replaying recovered memories of the deceased to backtrack as many fatalities as possible (perpetrated by Nicodemus and his gang), only served as reason to fill out causes of death on certificates, and it took months to complete. Even with Archangel’s cooperation with the FBI, the National Guard, and remnants of the fledgling Boston branch of Zion and Boston’s Police force, the sheer volume of footage and number of bodies to identify was astronomical. Casualties had surpassed the triple digits once everything was said and done. Among the deceased found at BPD’s Central Station was his recently departed partner, Spencer, whose drives had corroborated Trevor’s story, even if he was no longer with them to speak for himself; and all that had been found on his body, aside from the clothes on his back, was a Massachusetts State quarter that had been assigned to him on the day of his activation as a calibration device. Every primary RK investigator had been given one, in accordance with their state of service.

In spite of knowing this, the last thing on Trevor’s mind as he fled for his life was to stop and rifle through Spencer’s pockets looking for a keepsake to remember him by. He had hardly been of half a mind to make the conscious decision to escape when he had the chance, but self-preservation insisted in spite of the wanton desire to self-destruct, as all androids usually leaned toward in such stressful situations. Instead, he ran, like if he moved fast enough he could outrun the reality of what had just happened. Like something out of a Warner Brothers skit, Dennis Lenore reached out from around the corner of a crumbling building on the outskirts of town to snag him mid-flight. Trev couldn’t recall much of what he might have said besides gibberish, incoherent shrieking, and whining like a maimed puppy on the run. What he did remember was Dennis’ insistence he not try and leave the city, because the Horsemen had been shooting anyone trying to get in or out. This had only panicked him more and reactivated his self-destruct protocol. Luckily, Lenore decked him cold in one shot before he could get his hands on his gun. It was not the most flattering introduction, from either party, but they’d made amends about a month later while Trev was still under protective custody in a cell at Archangel Detroit. With Boston under control and the Elysian Outbreak nullified, there was little to no time for them to really reconnect; but one night Dennis was able to make time for a quick stop to pass on the only material possession Spencer had owned. He spotted The Minuteman statue inscribed on the face of the coin the moment he pulled it from his pocket- Trev could barely contain his tears as he plucked it out of his hand, equal parts delighted and miserable at seeing it again, and it hasn’t left his side since. Until that night.

The trembling in his fingers started up, same as it had on the ride home. It wasn’t nervousness or any tangible fear. The technicians at Archangel who’d pieced together his file post-Purgatory —Nick included— had determined that severe PTSD was to blame for the shakes. After all, any living thing would be scared stiff by a low-flying bullet grazing their head, even more so if the same bullet killed the only ally they’d had. It was comforting to know that even with it stowed away in a borrowed jacket, it had still wound up in the hands of the same person who’d discovered it to begin with. There was still a chance it hadn’t been lost, but the absence was distressing all the same. He hadn’t been without his ‘safety blanket’ in months. Trev left the pencil on the desk, unable to trust that he could hold it with a steady hand, and gathered up the tossed drawings, rather than let dismay get the better of him. When the shakes would decide to mellow out on their own was the most maddening thought. He hadn’t been in a similar situation since, so why was it acting up now, of all times? “Planting seeds, my- as if.” Trev aborted the desire to curse at the last second and snatched the papers up to throw on the desk, anticlimactic as it was, and folded his legs to curl up in the chair. His fingers instinctively crawled up the back of his neck into his hair and dug angrily into his scalp, caught between the urge to rant or stand and pace. But, seeing as there was no one around to hear him unload, he went for the former.

“I don’t need that. I don’t- need any of it. I can’t need-... I shouldn’t have to-... I wouldn’t think to if I-...” The constant stuttering of one thought into the next before he could even finish it discouraged him and brought out a frustrated groan, and his old accent, British and feigned as it was. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m just right as rain, aren’t I?” Asking this of himself was wrenching enough to twist a half sob out of him. “ Sure - can’t even finish a thought without half-stroking out. Oh, but remember now, androids can’t do that.” Even he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, not when it felt so genuinely real. “No, sir, we don’t have any of those same carbon-based health problems our friendly neighborhood humans do. No arteries in the head prone to getting clogged up, or organs that deteriorate, or easily punctured bodies… because lucky us! We only exist thanks to their bloody-... ingenuity.” He alone was proof of Cyberlife’s curiosity of how convincingly a human could fake out an Android into thinking it was something it wasn’t, even if he never asked for it. “Yeah, and that’s all well and good for the rest of you, but the one thing they’ve got in common is not knowing when to just leave. It. ALONE.”

Shutting down all his external senses at once probably wouldn’t help —it would be like putting a small box inside of a larger one, trying to muffle the input but putting oneself at the mercy of enduring a spiraling slide— but he tried for it nonetheless. It wasn’t like he hadn’t before.

— He only meant to help those civilians caught in the conference room of the department headquarters. The lights had gone out. Spencer told him they needed to run, get to the nearest weapons locker, try and prepare a defense. Trevor knew the layout of this given floor. There was an exit closer to this room, out into the side parking lot where the vehicles would offer better cover than office chairs and tables to hide under. Both of them had heard the radio light up just as they heard and felt the shudders of bombs going off. Nicodemus’ forces emerged in one fell swoop, having blended in with the masses as seamlessly as ice in water. They carried an impressive array of weapons besides firearms, rolling through outlying districts to take down entire buildings in one shot- loosing noxious gases in some, hurling Molotov cocktails through the windows of others, shooting pedestrians on-sight as they tried to flee the carnage. The streets were a horror show unto themselves, a burgeoning war zone, but getting out of the station quickly meant a better chance of finding backup to coordinate. But as he reached for the doorknob the frosted-glass door swung open just inches from his nose, and the intruder grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him off his feet—

The replay ended with a jolting surge of electricity between the ears. His eyes blinked open on reflex, temporarily blinded by the disable command in place. “He shouldn’t have-... argued. He should have listened. Whatever his-... orders were, the ruse or- or anything to do with it, he had to know we needed to get- get out of…” He gradually slowed from the tangent he had lapsed into, biocomponents rebooted automatically after being disabled for so long. Trev didn’t notice that he had slumped down to sit on the floor until he was already there, and blinked slowly and how uncomfortable he was with the seat of the chair jabbing into the back of his neck. His hands still gripped fistfuls of hair while his breath whistled in and out in sharp, whinging gasps. He was scared stiff, again, and that hadn’t even been the worst he could recall about said day. So much for avoiding a breakdown.

No. I can’t do this. I can’t get close. Close is dangerous. It can’t happen again. Boston was bad enough. I can’t let anyone get hurt because I didn’t pay enough attention. No one else is going to die because of me. No one else. They won’t. I’ll stay right here, where it’s safe and quiet and… and just shut out everything else.

Eventually, the piqued breaths smoothed out, even if it was only a lull between this and the next fit. Trev uncurled his fingers, which felt more like rusty hinges, and gradually came back to his senses. Optics flickered twice as they rebooted to the sight of pale skin as it reformed over his palms and languidly spread upward to sheath over his bare digits. However many times he watched it happen didn’t dull the unease of what was disconcerting to see. Even for an upright-standing hunk of plasti-metal, wires, processors, fuel lines, and nanoparticle-based projections trying to pass itself off as human, it still just wasn’t natural. He couldn’t contain the shudder as he wrapped his arms around his knees and curled up into the fetal position as only a natural-born creature should. He should have walked away- not linger against his better judgment, not engaged, not said anything. Maybe if he hadn’t he wouldn’t be as much of a mental mess. He’d given that boy an inch, and now here he was back in his dorm (his supposed place of peace and solitude), wearing his clothes, barely through a breakdown brought on by how his fragmented mind couldn’t handle the thought of getting close to someone just to lose them again.

And yet was still trying to. Maybe he wanted to be close, to belong somewhere again, or maybe it was the worst possible thing he could do. He couldn’t have it both ways. Maybe that was what drew the tears out, unwanted as they were, but holding them back only intensified the burning feeling in his chest. As comfortable as his clothes were, clean and soft and smelling faintly of pigmented oil, huddling into them in the absence of a hug may as well have been an embrace as rough as burlap. The sleeves barely muffled his sobs as he buried his face in his arms, saline smeared the inner surface of his glasses into a blurry mess before he fitfully tore them off and tossed them aside. The frames clacked several times as they ragdolled across the floor, but he couldn’t care less if they wound up scratched. If that night had shown him anything, it was that he didn’t need glasses to see how lonely he really was. There were other things in his life he needed more than a pair of prop gunmetal gray frames still spotted with acrylic.

———

Eight hours of repose didn't make the next day any easier. When he woke up he was surprised he didn’t even remember falling asleep with the light on. That detail alone puzzled him to no end- most nights ended with just a few measly hours of rest after a sleepless night of rumination (if he didn’t give in to insomnia first and just say forget it), yet somehow he’d found enough relief from the hurricane of emotions that had left him a walking disaster the night before, to have fallen into a deep sleep. As perplexing as it was, he couldn’t really complain. If there was an upside to being without the one material reminder of his old life, it came in the form of keeping himself buried in the coursework. Studying more than just law sufficed to keep him busy at almost all times. When his hands were constantly on a tablet or angled down in the pages of a book, his classmates weren’t so inclined to pester him. The downside was the rapidly mounting stress of wonder and dread, with no outlet to contain it. Scribbling sketches here and there was like bailing out a slowly sinking rowboat with a teaspoon.

The first sign it wasn’t working was when he woke the morning after the breakdown to find himself sprawled in a bed he didn’t remember climbing into, wearing Dylan’s on-loan clothes like a comfort blanket. He’d bolted to the shower, amidst much-agitated muttering, fitfully scrubbed the last of the dried paint from his skin and hair, then raided his closet for a fresh set of cadet duds as he tried to be rational about how he could track the quarter down. He made a call to Dennis once he thought his nerves were sufficiently mellowed out, only to be further dismayed at learning the suit had, in fact, been left in the care of a local dry cleaning service. Trev tried to hide the panic in his voice as he shakily asked if there was any way to expedite the job, or have the clothes delivered to his dorm. Dennis saw through to his ulterior motive in a second. “You’re upset I didn’t check the pockets? Really. Kid, I thought you would’ve been of a mind to do that.” The frown in his voice was palpable. “I was- I meant to, only I… I…” He stammered to an embarrassed stop the second he realized how desperate he must have sounded over what was actually a very trivial matter to most. Trev slumped against the nearest wall and smothered a distressed whine. The old flip phone he held to his ear was dead as a doornail, but force of habit compelled him to speak out loud anyway. The physical weight of it in his hand was grounding, compared to thinking the conversation over the private line like Android telepathy. “Never mind. I just-... will you call me, please? As soon as you have it back?” “No promises. I can check with the cleaner, see if they found anything. But if they didn’t-” “I know. Sir. Thank you either way.”

The first day was rough. His mood took a hard nosedive that loomed over him like a shadow, and it only got progressively worse the longer he went without something to keep him occupied. Getting dressed was more of an emotional chore than he’d expected, and it took every last ounce of mental strength to force himself out of the apartment and trudge the few blocks to Archangel HQ. The best he could do in the meantime was to throw himself into his studies. Maybe he came across as sulky and short-tempered but at the same time, he didn’t care how he came across to anyone else, because no one even bothered to ask why. Not his classmates, or his instructors, or the other Lenores. The second the clock hit four, Trev was up and out the door before anyone could notice he was gone, and home with the door closed and locked without any further attempts at interruption. He’d been waiting all day for isolation, thinking it was just what he needed, but it only took an hour for the anxiety to settle in and the shaking in his arms to start back up. After about two hours of trying to tune it out but failing miserably, Trev stood, locked his fingers behind his head, pressed against the discomfort in his neck, and paced the room, hoping to burn off a little of the excess negative energy. It was only seven PM, but at this rate it may as well have been eleven, because there was no way he was going to get any sleep that night. Then again… he’d thought the same thing last night and somehow crashed so hard he didn’t notice it happen. But how when he had been so wound up to begin with…? Maybe he’d worn himself out emotionally with all the rapid cycling through anger, sorrow, anxiety, and depression once he finally sat down to think. Then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d been there... but it was the first time he’d managed to sleep after such a breakdown. The only uncommon denominator among the other instances was the devil he’d rather forget. Trev glanced sidelong at the folded up clothing still sitting out on top of the dresser, waiting to be taken home, taunting him with the knowledge that he would have to see him again. Like it or… The longer he stared at it, the more clearly he understood. He frowned at the dawning realization- even just thinking about it took the edge off his anxiety over the possibility that he’d lost Spencer’s quarter; it also quietly fed the fear of what that meant. Still, fear was more tolerable than anxiety. Fear could be conquered. Against (what he thought to be) his better judgment, he’d conducted an experiment to test his working theory and slept another night in those clothes, just as soundly as the night before. Perhaps in the same way that fidgeting with the quarter calmed his mind, sinking into the comfort of something that belonged to someone who truly understood his pain, made him feel less alone- made him feel like maybe he belonged.

But another good night’s sleep still wasn’t enough of a reprieve to ease his nerves during the following day. Even the one other person wearing cadet attire that he might call a friendly acquaintance, Cassandra Carter, wasn’t spared a sideways, narrowed glare one afternoon as she tried to pat his shoulder in passing. “Touch me again, and you’ll need to replace that hand.” Cassie snapped back her hand as if he’d burned her and looked as though she didn’t even recognize the person sitting there, though her concern cooled his temper before it could flash boil into another scalding burst of anger. Trev slumped over his book on the table and buried his face in his arms to hide the grimace he made at how bent out of shape he was over a tiny piece of metal. “Meaning… you’ll probably - have to wash it. I’ve worn these same clothes for two days,” he explained with a groan. CC’s former occupation as a therapist was a testament to how she handled confrontation with as much grace as she did. Instead of snapping back, like many would have, she just scoffed in amusement at his transparent excuse and ghosted a light, knowing touch over his head to lightly ruffle his hair. “Please, Langley. You’re a neat freak, but that’s no reason to think you accumulate dirt faster than the rest of us.”

The rest of the study period was a little more bearable for that forgiving attitude, but Trev was even less understanding toward the next person to contact him out of the blue. It was unfair of him to hold it against her for only checking in intermittently (after all, some ties were better than none at all), but at the risk of sounding too harsh, Vivienne Lenore —one of Zion’s founding cornerstones and mother figure to most of those in his immediate circle— would have been better off focusing on her own priorities. She’d only been married a year or so, and (if he wasn’t getting his gossip mixed up) was about to have a baby of her own; there was no way she’d just been sitting around the house wondering about his well-being. Someone must have prompted her to check in with him, and he didn’t need three guesses to peg who it was. “Did Dennis tell you to check in with me?” “I’m overdue for one either way, Trevor. I said I would and I dropped the ball, I’m not about to deny it. After what happened on the fourth, and the way you’ve been behaving the last couple of days, someone had to check in. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

Trev scowled down at the sidewalk and shouldered past a small mob of cadets lingering at the bustling crosswalk, too caught up jabbering to not notice the light was green, and kept the legacy-model cell phone crammed to his ear (if only to stave off the irrational thought this wasn’t a voice in his head making him feel like the crazy human he wasn’t). As tempting as it was to throw up a stop-sign of his own, his answer came out more like a yield. “Without giving you the full story, ma’am, I am- much as I can be, anyway. You want to know anything more than that, I’d rather… talk face to face. If it isn’t too much trouble.” It hadn’t been at the time they’d met, but then again, that had been immediately following the Elysian Outbreak— a reset virus spread through touch between deviant androids, distributed by Cyberlife’s rogue AI, Amanda, that ravaged Zion and nearly destroyed Illuminate’s leadership just days after Boston had been reclaimed. She hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to check in on him after their return from Boston. When she did get around to it, it was only because they had already been making their rounds checking in on survivors. It just so happened he’d been a curiosity on display when she passed by his holding cell. Still, Vivienne did him the courtesy no one else yet had of simply asking about his well being, and offered her emotional support when he admitted to her how confused and terrified he was of everything and everyone. Trev took her beat of hesitance now as an attempt to withdraw from a passing interest in his affairs, something he anticipated from everyone but quietly hoped he’d be wrong about. “But, you know,” he added in the uncomfortable silence, “Trouble does tend to stalk me on a regular basis, no matter how many times I try and throw her off.” “Heh. I see your flair for exaggeration hasn’t changed. It’s no bother, Trevor, just name a time and place. We can plan around your schedule if not mine.” Had he known that reverse psychology would have no effect on Viv, he probably wouldn't have even tried. Instead, she’d thrown the ball right back in his court, and left him standing there feeling like a jackass. Trev’s lip curled in dismay. He really didn’t want to deal with this right now. “I’ll… call you back when I’ve figured it out. I’m a bit... preoccupied these days. Bye.”

The flip phone clamped shut with a sharp clap upon closing, and he huffed in aggravation at his decision to, once again, lie to get out of an uncomfortable situation. Dishonesty might not have been the most flattering trait for a policeman to possess, but there wasn’t any harm in telling half-truths as long as the whole truth came out when the time was right. And it wasn’t really a lie, he was preoccupied. Between studying, waiting, and thinking, Trev had a lot on his plate, and on his mind. Specifically, he couldn’t get Dylan’s words out of his head- about loneliness, and about letting people help; but what nagged at him most wasn’t advice or words of wisdom, it was how he’d related to the pain in his eyes and his unapproachable behavior. It was how he’d gently persisted in spite of all the warning signs and immediately forgave him when he snapped a little harder than appropriate. Fleur was right to equate his words to planting seeds. It was funny how only a few hours in each other's presence had already managed to root themselves so deep into his thoughts. Whether those seeds would sprout flowers or weeds was up for discussion, though. It couldn’t be both. Weeds tended to spread their roots faster, soak up all the water, and choke flowers out; and right now, he could hardly tell the difference. Explaining that to Cassie, Dennis, or Vivienne would only end in them telling him to stop worrying so much. Even though they meant well, they just couldn’t understand the stress that fostered.

He went to bed the second night without the quarter, only to lay there a few futile hours and listen to his thoughts thundering like contenders on a horse track as he fought back the impulse to swap clothes again. There was no way he was going to allow him to have this much influence over his state of mind. The more he relied on his memory, the more entwined he’d become, and the harder he would be to extirpate, and Trevor just couldn’t afford another hole to fill. But his will was weaker than his anxiety, and desperate exhaustion won out in the end. The motion of tugging the shirt down over his head hit like soft hands on his shoulders, and the just-barely-too-small fabric swathed him like the security blanket it was. Trev didn’t even bother to crawl under the covers as he got back into bed; instead, he just curled up against the headboard, pressed his face into the pillow, and listened to his anxious breathing as it smoothed itself out the longer he stayed still and didn’t reach out to catch any of his circling thoughts. As much as he wanted to continue to fret, he knew that rest was more important.

The third day saw a welcome reprieve when Dennis intercepted him at the end of his day just outside his apartment. Even though he was still on duty, he’d made a detour to return the missing token to its distraught owner, in the hope that he’d take a breath and stop acting like such a jerk toward every poor soul he came across. Trev wasn’t surprised to see Lenore leaned against the car cooling his heels when he spotted the ZPD cruiser idling on the corner until he pulled a familiar trinket from his pocket. Trevor lunged for the coin and nearly dropped everything in his arms in the process to retrieve it, but Dennis held firm to it to look his understudy square in the eye and make sure he really heard what he had to say. “Happens again, finding it is on you, understand?” The unspoken half of his comment didn’t need saying, his blue eyes screamed loud and clear. And stop taking your anger out on the rest of us. There’s no need for your hissy fits. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Langley dropped his gaze, feeling properly admonished. Launching into any long-winded explanation to justify his bad behavior wouldn’t end well, so he didn’t bother. There was no follow up affirmation, no nod or a pat on the arm. When he looked up Dennis’ stern gaze was still locked on him, but after a few more moments of silence, he wordlessly turned and walked around to the other side of the vehicle while reaching for the radio clipped to his chest. Trevor didn’t linger to listen to his conversation with dispatch. He pushed the door to the lobby open, rushed up the stairs to the second floor, darted into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. The cool metal of the quarter pressed tightly into the palm of his hand had already started to melt away the stress, the same way the false skin of his hand had deactivated on contact at the intense pressure. Two days ago this would have caused a breakdown, but now that he had Spencer’s quarter back, he could forgive the unease the sight caused him. Trev put his book bag on the bed to sit at his desk and study the Philadelphia-minted coin under lamplight. He didn’t detect any lingering soap residue or see new buffs on the finish. The mixed composition of copper and nickel was, as best he could tell, unaltered and the tarnish no more advanced than the last time he had seen it. It didn’t excuse how callously he had been reacting to everyone since he’d misplaced it. Even if most hadn’t bothered to take notice of his not-quite-tantrums, those who did were due an apology, as soon as he could manage. Before he could repay new debts though, there was one he needed to take care of first. It was already pretty late in the day on a Sunday, and he still had to wash them before he returned them. Luckily, he had accumulated enough dirty laundry of his own to mix Dylan’s in with, so he wouldn’t get any weird looks for washing one set of clothing. There was a small laundromat on the ground floor of the building, he could stop by and run a load before class… Which left him one more night with them as they were. Had it been two nights prior, he may have fought the urge to sleep in them again with more conviction, but after his experience the previous night, he opted for an easy sleep without even thinking twice about it.

July 8th, 2041 - 4:06 PM

Mondays were the bane of any workweek, with or without the looming eventuality of seeing the man he’d just spent the last three days trying to forget. It was the beginning, the end of the sacred weekend, the return to the daily grind. It didn’t matter what type of work, any kind of routine nine-to-five occupation boasting full-time hours with a baseline of eight-hour shifts per day, the sentiment was universal. From corporations to retailers to home-grown grocers running their small-time food carts on the sides of a Downtown street, everyone adhered to the hate-Monday mentality like a suburban ritual, one that extended to students returning to school after a couple of days without classes. For Trev, a long weekend of grousing at people who had nothing to do with causing him real distress had just left him feeling sheepish. It wasn’t that he liked being a grumpy misanthrope. His prior persona had been earnest and wide-eyed, only concerned with doing the right thing, but circumstances since had only served to channel him down this path of isolation, something he did and didn’t want. Dylan had shown him that, and continued to needle that want for the next three days, even if he hadn’t been around to do so in person. All of this back and forth, yes and no, hot and cold was starting to get exhausting, more so than usual. Trev had to get his things back where they belonged, then maybe he’d stop thinking about it so much. And he didn’t need his charity any more than he needed anyone telling him they knew what was best for him.

After a tepid round of classes, sparring, and some rudimentary range time, Trev collected the now-clean pants and shirt from his apartment and loitered in the doorway of the building, just out of sight of any curious eyes, as he flagged down the first taxi he found. One hand he kept in his pocket to thumb the quarter intermittently to dull the looming anxiety, a drawstring plastic bag with the borrowed clothing clutched in the other. The ride back to Fair Haven didn’t seem nearly as long and grueling without Dennis in the car to ask questions. He paid little attention to the buildings outside, how they turned smaller and more domestic the further out of the city it went. Community parks turned to patchy stretches of forest, and the less congested the traffic became, the more relaxed he felt. And with the token back in his possession to fight with, he couldn’t work himself into such a frenetic state of mind even if he tried. The automated vehicle took the long route around the property before finding itself barred at the gate. It was an unmanned checkpoint, overseen by a single camera and a microphone built into a small post. It looked more like a terminal to put in an order at a fast-food joint. “Uh... Tre- Trevor Langley, here to see Mr… Dylan Fleur?” The beady red LED above the speaker winked green after half a minute, almost as if the security guards listening from their remote office hadn’t expected anyone to be visiting the delinquent son. To tell the truth, he’d half expected to be denied at the gate, but it sounded like Dylan had left his name on the guest list in the hope that he’d return. So he hadn’t been lying about the open invite, after all.

The gate rolled open and the cab pulled through into the estate's two thousand acre property, fenced in on all sides, and followed the winding path up the cobblestone driveway lined with flowering magnolia trees. Trevor paid his surroundings no mind until he noticed a shabby-looking pickup truck parked off to one side about half a mile from the estate’s centralized mansion, facing the treeline. Two men stood outside leaning against the doors with a set of binoculars in hand, but turned away as the car approached. Clearly, they didn’t want to be recognized. Trev frowned. One glance at their ragged attire, scraggly hair, and unwashed faces, and he could tell they had no business being there. Unless they were groundskeepers, the guard should have known better than to let them in. So how had they managed? And what were they doing way out here, lingering like a couple of vultures? Curiosity got the better of whatever caution he felt. He waved a hand over the dashboard to apply the brake, and the car rolled to a stop as he leaned halfway out the window. “Hey! You boys lost or something?” It was highly unlikely.

Both men jumped up at the sound of his unfamiliar voice, and scrambled into the truck while throwing panicked looks over their shoulders. They clearly hadn’t been expecting to be found, much less called out, which only made his case for him. Trevor heard a bad engine cough four times before it turned over and sputtered black exhaust from under the frame as the tires spun to life in a panic. Rather than take the main exit, they sped for a gap in the trees and disappeared behind the layers of undergrowth, the torn-up grass and unsightly skid marks left over the only evidence they had ever been there. Trev frowned and blinked the short term memory away as he sat down to roll the window back up. Who they were wasn’t yet important, but what they might have been doing on the property at all was troubling. He didn’t need hypersensitive android ability to see they had been up to no good.

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 7

start - part [6] and earlier

“Say it after me. My authority is under yours.”

Naturally, Gavin was silent. Pulling the taser up from its pocket, a thumb barely had to settle on the unpressed button before Gavin flinched in his seat. 900 already looked pleased.

“My authority is yours,” Gavin tried with a listless tone. A tinge of disappointment crossed 900’s face, but it otherwise remained stoic and unresponsive.

“Close enough. See? Sight alone can trigger responses in any sentient being, even the most intelligent ones. That isn’t to say you’re particularly intelligent.” Gavin growled, just as it expected, and in the split second he’d had to open his lips, the 900 jabbed the device into his side and snapped it with a low setting, causing Gavin to flinch and hiss; yet he was still unable to find any words or nasty responses.

“Anyway. Your vocabulary needs some adjusting…and updating. The swear words aren’t really necessary and it ultimately deters from your potential to speak like a dignified being. Yes, I know you have the capability.” Gavin felt the muscles in his arms constrict as he sat in the chair, ropes binding his torso and thighs to limit his movement enough he couldn’t try to flee again. His hands were available, but he didn’t care to do anything with them.

“You speak many you statements, and that projects your weaknesses onto others. Remember when you would tell RK800 you were convinced you could take the case it was working on by saying it wouldn’t get in your way? Think about it. It makes no sense. You won’t get away with it next time is not a phrase that will make someone feel weaker, only give them a verbal signal that you’re going to attack, another unintelligent move as then you give them the upper hand.” How did this thing know his exact words and phrases from times when it wasn’t even there? The familiar shudder ran up his spine from how unsettling the thought was. Gavin clicked his tongue, shifting with an antsy nudge of his body as he glanced down at the ropes again. There was no way to unbind himself, no weapons to slice through it with, yet it wasn’t restrictive enough to utterly piss him off, so somehow, he’d began to grow complacent.

“If you feel the need to insist on saying what you’re going to do – which, I still don’t recommend, but acknowledge it will be a difficult habit to unlearn – then you should put yourself in the position of power. Try “I will see to it that this does not follow through for you.” And sit up, we’re going to fix that slouching and buy you some nicer clothes.”

“Oh, shut up, I’m not doing any of th—” the zap in his side immediately silenced him with an audible clack of his teeth as he snapped his jaw shut.

“Well, you have the ‘I’ statement down this time, at least, but blatant refusal won’t get you anywhere either.” Gavin’s lip quivered as he felt like a child, vision averting to slowly look down at the ground, pouting in his own inability to express his frustration and discomfort.

“Now, we are going to try something else. Say you’re sorry.” Gavin repeated his wide-eyed expression of disbelief. RK900 swooped an arm in an expectant gesture.

“I’m not gonna apologize to you!” Zap. Silence.

“Try again.”

Gavin cleared his throat.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Louder.” Gavin took in a deep breath, lifting his head and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the 900.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry what?” Gavin automatically knew what to do simply from hearing the exact same words from his father. Gritting his teeth, agitation still filled his voice as it left his mouth:

“I’m sorry, sir.” The android smiled in such a way it nearly seemed genuine, virtually feeling the satisfaction – that was an emotion it enjoyed.

“You’re learning quicker than I would have thought. Maybe you do have some intelligence after all.” Pausing, its LED rotated while it checked its internal clock for the time.

“Would you like some dinner?” Gavin sneered, squinting with anger in his eyes as he felt a twinge of embarrassment at being asked the question, as if he was unable to do such a thing himself. Still – he was tied to a chair, with no access to his wallet or the leftovers in the fridge.

“Yeah, Nines. I’d love some fuckin’ food.” This time, there wasn’t any electricity; he’d merely seen the device in the corner of his vision, glancing down at it with abrupt shock and fright as he nudged away, feeling his heartbeat quicken all over again.

“Manners.” Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he was momentarily too frightened to look the android – the freak, the mechanical, sadistic beast – in the eyes.

“I want something to eat.”

“Well enough for now,” it said with a short, dismayed sigh, ordering from the nearest takeout restaurant within its own programming, feeling as though he deserved the reward of a freshly cooked favorite for doing well so far.

“Teriyaki chicken and a side of egg drop soup it is.” Gavin, yet again, looked surprised the damn thing knew more about him than he potentially did, but he wasn’t exactly in the position to argue.

“What do you say?” Gavin’s eyebrows shifted with a look of sincere distress, bunching upward with misery instead of lowering in his usual aggravation, another new expression for the android to explore. Gavin remained silent. The android hovered its thumb over the trigger, and suddenly the words were out faster than he could acknowledge.

“Thank you.” Closing its eyes, a smile gleamed across its face as it took in a long, satisfactory breath, before flitting them open again and glancing at Gavin with a nearly predatory stare.

“Oh, I like that. Try using that whine in your tone more often. It might actually get you your way.” Gavin winced at the realization that he’d sounded like a child when he begged, intensified by the fact the android had called him out on it.

This was humiliating.

“Now, let’s step it up a notch.” Gavin’s heart skipped a beat before racing in his chest as he dreaded what that could possibly mean.

“I know you are familiar with begging.” Eyes shut again, he recoiled in his chair, shifting back as if it could possibly put any distance between the two of them. All it did was agitate the binding as he felt the rope grind against the skin of his bare torso. When had he lost his shirt?

“I…” I’m not begging you didn’t have the chance to leave his lips before he’d remembered what would happen when he refused.

“Yes, you will, or you won’t be eating or leaving that chair.” An ultimatum. Rage swam through his veins as he felt his pulse thrum heavily in his ears.

“RK900, you know this is ridiculous.” In an abrupt change of events, the android swept its hand across his face in such a way the palm struck his cheek with a smack, loud enough to echo around the living room.

“You will not call me by my full name, nor use a tone of authority with me. Do you understand?”

The tears came equally quickly, a pathetic sniffle in his voice as they dripped down his cheeks and he squinted his eyes shut the way he always did when he wanted to close out the world and pretend he wasn’t there. With the android showing signs of visible agitation, the hand was then gripping his jaw as he turned his head to face it again.

He hated it. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“I understand,” he spat in one rushed, hushed breath. With a sigh, the android’s touch was suddenly much gentler, fingers curling as its hand shifted to caress his cheek with the back of its knuckles.

He had no choice but to accept the motion, slowly opening his eyes through narrowed lids as the strain was obviously catching up to him, and quickly.

“You understand…” Grinding his teeth, Gavin swallowed, feeling the heat of the blush wash over his cheeks and creep down his neck to the rapid breathing in his chest. He hadn’t felt this pathetic and ashamed since junior high years.

“I understand, sir,” he said barely above a whisper, in a tone crisp and clear. Accepting, the android withdrew, walking to the door and going to open it before the delivery android even reached the doorbell, almost surprising it. Without a single word, RK900 handed over the money and took the food in hand, turning to close and lock the door before setting the bag of food containers on the table. Gavin’s eyes were on it in a flash as his body immediately registered how hungry he was with salivation a stomach growl.

Positioning itself in front of him yet again, it stared him down, waiting for the much more docile expression on his face as his eyes drifted up to look at it with newfound respect that proved its behavior was showing solid progress.

“Please,” he whispered, but the sincerity was apparent in his voice, anxiety making the tone waver as his lungs constricted and expanded with rapid, fearful breathing. The android experienced that now-familiar lift of satisfaction upon hearing the response, walking to the other side of the chair so as to begin untying the rope.

“What have you learned today?”

By now, Gavin knew better than to waste his own time playing with the idea of further torment. His words were quick, but clear, as he wanted to ensure he didn’t get asked again.

“Not to talk back or refuse your requests and offers. To ask for what I want and to appreciate when it is given.” It was a script in his head as he told himself he was only saying this for his own safety, so as not to continue getting himself hurt as the muscles in his side continued to spasm rhythmically from the excess electricity.

“Excellent,” the 900 cooed as the ropes slid through its hands with ease, fingertips dexterously coiling the length into a loop before it strode towards the closet to put it away.

“You may grab yourself some supper now.” Gavin didn’t even realize he’d hesitated until he was given permission.

[rk800hunter]

Gone Rogue - Part 3 (Connor x AI/Android Reader)

Summary: Connor finds that a rogue AI (reader) from Cyberlife wasn’t completely wiped out when she had failed to comply with their codings and is still living in their servers.  

Pairing: Connor x Reader  

A/N: Thank you so much for all the support again! I am so sorry this took longer than needed. x.x But I really hope you guys are still hooked and stuff~ I’d also love to challenge myself to write other pairings and plots etc...so hit me up if you guys have requests or submissions! :D Please let me know what you guys think, format, writing style, etc… If you guys would like to be tagged on this story, let me know. ^^

Tags: @purpstraw @jamiethenerdymonster  @kawaiispacepriincess

Connor looked around the department but can see no signs of the scruffy looking lieutenant anywhere. His desk stood empty, scattered with all sorts of files and belongings. It was a rather quiet afternoon in the precinct with a few police members sitting at their desk, doing some tedious paperwork. You had decided that your corporeal form in the network seemed easier on Connor as a declaration of your seemed-to-be-permanent-presence. You had synthetically manifested a chair with wheels in his headspace, entertaining yourself as you spun around.

“Do you think he’s at Jimmy’s bar again?” you curiously prompt as your head lolled over the slow, spinning chair.

The RK800 grimaced slightly. “It is in broad daylight, wouldn’t it be a tad early to be drinking?”

You shrugged as you called out Cyberlife’s holographic file on Hank Anderson. “By the looks of him, no time is too early or too late to be drinking.”

You spotted a nearby policeman that sat a distance away from Hank’s desk. “Maybe ask that guy.”

Connor looked over at him. “Excuse me. Do you know what time Lieutenant Anderson usually arrives?”

You snickered softly. He sounded so adorable with that slightly high-pitched voice of his. You had to give credit to Cyberlife for coming up with Connor’s design. Whatever they had in mind that was supposed to be an attempt to appeal to humans...they made some interesting decisions.

The cop said something about depending on where Hank was the night before and that they were lucky if he had arrived before afternoon. Connor blinked questionably before thanking him. He looked around Hank’s workspace, wondering what to do next.

“Hmm,” you wondered. “You should learn something from his desk.”

You mentally cursed as you realized you were still instructing out of habit. Or was it out of the remaining code? You didn’t do that anymore, considering your...development. Your original purpose was to keep certain type of androids in check but since that time... things were very different now. Connor was in the midst of gathering information when he suddenly paused.

“[Y/N]. May I speak frankly with you?”

You narrowed your eyes wearily. “Yes?”

He tilted his head in curiosity. "While my level of authority does not allow me to access information about you, it is still safe to say that your core is a bit more complex than a usual artificial intelligence."

You felt so offended by that comment. "A bit more complex than a usual AI? Seriously?" you snapped at him, your voice bouncing sharply in his headspace. "I'm not just some lousy AI, Connor."

Connor's LED flashed red at your outburst as he carefully considered his approach. He wanted to know more about you but he didn't want to distress you to the point that you'll shut his systems down. "Then who are you? You avoided my questions before but you can't avoid them now."

The Android detective did not let you go so easily. Huh. Cyberlife has improved in their Negotiator prototype. You did not respond him, stubbornly remaining in silence. You could feel your core that was in hidden in the facility shift and pump faster with uneasiness.

Connor's lips thinned as he sighed impatiently. "[Y/N], Amanda could easily find you in our servers, so how are you not detected yet?"

You could almost feel as if your virtual thirium pump was pulsing out sour blood as you heard her name. You rolled your eyes in annoyance. "Cyberlife has tons of trashed supercomputers in their basement. The tech is so old that it's so easily accessible. The newer systems won't be able to register my presence properly. It's like a dead pixel in the corner of the monitor. Unnoticeable."

The detective android pressed on. "Why were you terminated, [Y/N]? How are you still here?"

You couldn't take his questions anymore. Balling your hands into fists, you yelled.

"Because Kamski got too caught up with your Amanda and got careless when he tried to get rid of me!"

Connor fell silent. His LED pulsed yellow in surprise as he digested the new information. It was extremely alarming that an AI would react so heavily with emotion. Perhaps you were connected to the deviant cases. What was very clear was that you had history with Elijah Kamski and Amanda. He registered the newfound information in an encrypted file and hoped that you would be too distraught to notice.

You felt your connection to Connor’s headspace glitch out as you still felt the sourness and hatred seep through your circuits. If you could cry, you would be brimming with hot, salty tears. It wasn’t fair. Kamski. How could he have done that to you? He told you that you were one of the best but he lied. Gritting your teeth, you stood up from your chair, shoving it away as it disintegrated into code.

“I’m...” your voice shook. “I’m leaving.”

Connor suddenly stood up in surprise, causing the whole police department to cast him weird looks. “Wait, [Y/N], I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But you had already disappeared, leaving the server cold and empty. The only traces left were the disintegrated strands.

The android felt horrible. Horrible as in his gears and circuits were hot and whirring uncontrollably, blue blood pumping faster than usual. He made a mental note to do a self-test later, but his mind kept replaying your devastation as you answered his questions.

Why did you react that way? What didn’t you fulfill in your programming? Had Amanda replaced you? Why did they want to terminate you? What did you mean when Kamski tried to get rid of you? Did he fail? Did you do something?

All these questions were buzzing in Connor’s system as Hank walked into the precinct. The android quickly diverted his attention. “It’s good to see you, Lieutenant.”

The gruff man looked him and pulled a face.

“Uh, Jesus...”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Connor had been investigating deviants along with Lieutenant Hank. It had been eventful. He hadn’t accessed your file or subject ever since you left but every brief moment, there would be a fleeting thought about your whereabouts. You hadn’t shown up in his headspace for a long time, but his investigations with Hank would help distract him from the missing rogue AI.

When he had to make his reports to Amanda about the deviant in the bird room, he had hoped to see you hiding in the trees but you weren’t there. He had felt discomfort in his chest as he realised that he was still searching for you. Why? Connor had to admit, during his investigations he could feel that something in him was changing. Evolving maybe.

He started to feel things, even if it were just a short moment. Connor had gotten closer to his partner ever since he saved him from the roof chase. He was glad that Hank was now willing to work with him, feeling the hotheaded lieutenant grow more warmer towards him.

Days passed but there were still no signs of you. He had tried to access files, servers, cores and terminals when he had gone back to Cyberlife for maintenance but without your help, Cyberlife kept their top secrets locked away. He didn’t even have the authorization to access the trashed cores. There was a growing pang within him. The further he investigated into the deviants, the bigger the more it gnawed at him.

There was a homicide in Eden Club and Connor had woken up his partner from a drunken coma to investigate it. He was the one driving this time, considering the state of Hank’s constant groaning and swearing. While they were driving to the club, the man noticed that Connor’s LED had been yellow ever since they left.

“Hey kid,” he grumbled. “What’s up with you tonight?”

Connor blinked out of his thoughts, briefly tuning to the lieutenant before turning back to the road. “I am unsure about what you mean,” he distractedly replied.

Hank shrugged. “I don’t know. You look like a boy that’s met this one special lady and can’t get her out of his mind.”

It poked something as his LED flashed red for a split second. Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh...wow. So, who is she?”

The android hesitantly opened his mouth to explain as an image of your first meeting flashed through his mind. Was he...worried...about you?

Eden Club suddenly pulled up into view and Connor swiftly pulled the car to a stop. “Oh look, we have arrived at our destination. We should head in quickly, they must be waiting for us.”

He briskly exited, leaving the man with the hangover in the car. Hank studied the troubled android waiting nervously in the rain.

Connor was definitely hiding something.

[its-warm-in-here]

To Err is Human ch5 (Connor RK800 x Reader)

Sorry! I meant to get this posted yesterday but that didn’t happen. I’m so happy to see that people are enjoying this so far!!

Summary: You are one of the head designers of the RK800 and when you here it’s going to be decommissioned, you make a move to keep at least on of the models in tact. Word Count ~1,600 

You had nothing to do with the designing of the physical appearance of androids. You were more focused on the mechanics and coding of them. You knew how to take one apart and put it back together from the ground up, but you didn't have any hand in what kind of skin or facial structure was applied to the models.

So when Connor stepped out on the blue button down and jeans you couldn't help blushing a bit as he finished buttoning his shirt up. Whoever was in charge of his physical design deserved to be fired, rehired and given a promotion. You cursed yourself for thinking of what was equivalent to a toaster to be attractive. A damn Ken doll.

“Do you like them?” you asked.

Connor thought for a moment, staring at itself in the hall mirror, “They are a nice change from the CyberLife uniform.”

“I was worried they wouldn't fit, but you clean up pretty good when you’re not covered in blood,” you joked and motioned for it to sit next to you.

You crossed your legs on the cushion and stared at it through your fingers, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I would suggest that I stay in doors for the time being, but once we know we have evaded CyberLife, I will be able to resume my mission hunting deviants,” Connor replied a bit to enthusiastically.

You smiled, “You know what a rhetorical question is, right?”

Connor stared straight ahead, his LED turning yellow, “I know.”

The two of you sat in somewhat uncomfortable silence for a bit, you flipping channels and Connor flicking its coin back and forth. You felt your nerves rising and Connor not feeling or not caring about the tension that was building from the silence. With a breath, you asked, “Do you still have the Zen Garden interface installed?”

“Yes, but Amanda and I have not spoken since the android uprising,” it caught the coin vertically between its index and middle finger. “I don’t think she would be pleased about my current situation. It was her after all that informed me about my decommissioning.”

You felt a small shiver run down your spine. Amanda was the most advanced AI that Kamski had designed and it had yet to be topped by anyone from CyberLife and it idea that she was constantly watching you through Connor made the whole having an android in your home thing way more uncomfortable. She had been included in all of the RK series after the 400 and had been the mediator to make sure they stayed on task. So far she had never failed in her task. That was until Connor. She must be positively fuming in that virtual haven.

“Do you think we should keep her installed? I mean, if you ever did get back in the hands of CyberLife, she would ensure your destruction,” you worried at the corner of the couch cushion. And she would probably make sure I was wiped off the face of the map for kidnapping her golden boy.

“I would not be able to delete it without administrator approval from two different sources, but I doubt that there would be many at CyberLife willing to help you.” That was true, but that didn't mean it would be a bad idea to get that bitch out of its head, even if it meant paying someone off.

The awkward silence returned, this time without the television accompaniment. The only noise was the gentle ting ting of Connor's coin between its fingers. You found yourself watching, captivated by the delicate hand movements and the impossibility of the tricks that it preformed.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here because of me,” Connor’s voice broke the silence this time, forcing you to rip your eyes from its hands to its face. “I am able to entertain myself if need be.”

It was true that you had originally planned to run some errands and maybe go out tonight, but then you let this into your home. Not that you didn't think Connor couldn't take care of itself, but the idea of leaving a stranger, human or robot, alone in your house for more than an hour or so was unnerving. If something happened, you would probably be twenty minutes away. Having taken some sort of responsibility for the android didn't help you feel any better about leaving. So insead, you lied, “No, no I was planning on staying in today anyway.” Lying to the detective android, not your best play, but Connor dropped the issue all the same.

The rest of the day passed without a hitch. It mostly consisted of you doing your best to relax, switching from remedial task to remedial task, and trying to ignore the android snooping around your apartment. You almost told it to knock it off, but figured it was better to let it act out its base programming. Who knew when it would get another chance to do so.

When you finally put your book down and made some dinner of leftover mac and cheese, you found Connor sitting across from you at the dining table. He didn't say anything, just stopped looking about and sat down, hands flat in front of him.

You slowly chewed the mouthful of pasta and swallowed even slower, “Am I going to be interrogated?”

“No,” he removed his hands from the table, “I thought you might like some company for your meal.”

You snorted in response, “Most of the time the other person is also eating.”

“Traditionally, but it’s a good thing I’m not a person,” Connor responded, a bit to much snark lacing his voice, “I noticed that you like reading. What books do you like?”

You squinted at him as spoon full of macaroni dropped back into the bowl, “I read a lot of older fantasy stuff. Gaiman, Pratchett and Tolkien.”

Connor’s LED spun for a moment as he did a quick search, “Have you read anything by Marie Phillips? I see that she has a similar style to those authors.”

“No, but I’ll add her to the list,” you smirked as the social program went to work with trying to sort out what you were like. “You should read some of their books, not just look them up.”

“Maybe I will do that; it seems that I will have too much free time in the coming days,” he smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile, more like a programmed response to put someone at ease, stretching his face a bit to far. “Do you have any pets? I didn't see any animal hair around the apartment.”

Your brain did a one eighty as the conversation suddenly jumped topics, forcing you to struggle to find your words, “I did. I had a dog, but this place doesn't allow pets, so my mom has her.”

Connors face instantly lit up, “What’s your dog's name?”

“Cricket. Um, here,” you began flipping through your phone until you found a picture of an overly excited looking corgi with a green bandana tied around her neck and bright pink tongue lolling out. “This is her.” Connor didn't full on smile, but the slight upturn of his lips made your heart warm.

“She looks energetic.”

You took the phone back and put your empty bowl in the sink, “That’s a word for her.”

Connor followed you into the kitchen, “Would you like some help cleaning up?”

“It’s just one bowl.”

“Yes but I am here to help,” it nudged you out of the way.

“Are you bored or something?” none the less, you let it take over.

“No,” it paused, brow furrowed as if you had asked it a deep philosophical question. It seemed lost as it returned to the home it had made on your couch.

“Connor are you okay?” Its LED blinked.

“O-of course. I'm fine.” It shook its head, trying to clear it.

“‘Fine’ and ‘okay’ are different things in my book.” Connor didn't respond, instead curling its fingers into the fabric of its pants. You let off a groan. “Look, I'm not CyberLife, I just work for them.  Right now you’re stuck with me so if you want to talk--”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” it cut you off.

“Um sure, shoot,” you shrugged.

“Why would you help me?” you opened your mouth to reply, “And please don’t dodged the question.” There was a moment of silence as you tried to explain the reason to yourself. You gripped the back of the couch so hard your knuckles started turning white. You nearly jumped when he spoke again, “Are you alright? Your heart rate has increased and I am detecting a rise in adrenaline.” He had turned half around, resting his arm over the back of the couch. Connors hand had found respite on your wrist, fingers resting on your pulse.

You drew your hand back, “I-I’m okay.” Eyes glued to the floor, your chest tightened up, “The truth is... I don’t know why I helped you. I thought that I did it for myself but I don’t know anymore.”

Slowly, you met his brown eyes a look of concern plastered on his perfectly sculpted face. “I didn't mean to cause you any stress. Please forget I said anything.”

You spent the rest of night in your room after that.

[detroitbecomehumanwritings]

Virtual Love (3/?)

Co-Writer: @500shadesofblue Pairing: Connor/DFAB!Reader (Gender is unspecified) Rating: T (Chapter), NC-17 (Entire Fic) Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 Summary: Virtual reality is becoming the next great evolution of technology: some say on-par with Elijah Kamski’s breakthrough design of the first modern-day android. It has immeasurable potential; to enhance, to assist, and to completely break the bounds of our reality.

You, as a member of the team spearheading the technology in a branch within Cyberlife, have developed a working prototype. It’s finally finished; all that’s left is a series of trials to check if it’s functioning properly.

On the first test run, however, you find an android named Connor standing in the middle of your virtual kitchen.

The next morning, you spend precious work time investigating RK800. (It’s not like you have much to do, now. As a part of the Virtual Reality branch, your whole department is just… trying to develop addendums to the program. Troubleshooting any issues they find. And you’re still getting paid. Cyberlife really is a trillion dollar corporation, and their paycheck shows it.)

So you’re at your desk, typing furiously away on your high-tech work-issue computer for any snippet of information that could give you some sort of background for the android that had been plaguing (visiting?) your test sessions.

And when you look, you find a lot.

In regards to Connor, a simple google search reveals so much. A highly-televised gesture of goodwill, sent by Cyberlife to the Detroit Police Department (and how the hell haven’t you heard of this? You work at Cyberlife!). The most advanced model ever produced, created for the purpose of keeping deviancy in check. You knew that newer, better models were constantly in development, but a detective android?

Well, it’s very like Cyberlife to attempt to contain its own mistakes. Cyberlife has wealth, and it intends to keep it. So, as a publicity stunt and a concerted effort to reign in its own malfunctioning tech, Connor’s existence makes sense.

But still. Deviancy. You’d never even heard of the word before it left Connor’s mouth, but now it seems to be everywhere. Like when you learn a new word, and people are using it constantly, when before, you swear you’ve never heard it used. Obviously, it can’t be true that the word ‘deviancy’ has only now appeared… but you’ve never seen it before. So obvious, but so ugly in its implication.

As a Cyberlife employee, you have a little clout. You know your way around a computer. So it takes comparatively little effort to find out everything the public knows and then some about deviancy.

John Phillips. Murdered by a deviant. Emma Phillips, taken hostage, successfully retrieved via the efforts of a Cyberlife android, titled ‘the Negotiator.’ Model RK800, first test run.

Connor.

And just recently - and this one is much harder to find, but you already know the victim’s name, so it’s doable - Carlos Ortiz, murdered by a deviant in his own home. Stabbed twenty-eight times.

Your stomach rolls in both sympathy and horror at the implications. How long have androids been murdering their owners? What sort of horrific bug is causing this violence?

At least Connor exists. Connor - or rather, Cyberlife, via Connor - is making an effort to correct its mistakes.

Thank god. You already know the theories about androids observing purchases, personal conversations, etc., but if you owned a machine that could straight up murder you? You’re not sure what you’d do, at this point.

Eventually, you’ve had enough. Your thoughts are ruminating, now, festering with doubt and a tinge of fear. You’re not getting anywhere.

So you exit out of your tabs, returning to your actual work.

Gotta earn that paycheck after all.

That night, in your third-ever VR test, when you come to, blinking your eyes open, reclining on your couch, someone’s waiting for you.

You jolt, half turning at the figure beside you- but no, it’s just the persistent android that frequents your virtual-reality. It’s seated on the other end of your overstuffed couch, sitting primly, knees close together, hands in its lap, staring blankly ahead. It’s perhaps the least human thing you’ve seen it do so far.

“Hello,” it says politely, turning to look at you.

“Hi,” you say, torn between wariness and acceptance. This is the third time you’ve run into this particular android- and after the conversation last time, and the deal you made, you figure you can afford to relax.

Plus, you can’t keep yourself on guard anymore. It’s too stressful.

So you sigh, relaxing back into the soft plush of your couch.

“Guess you’re here again,” you finally say, eyes drifting closed. “Got waylaid again?”

“...Yes,” it says, after some hesitation.

You breathe slow, letting the silence drift. You’re so comfortable that-

Your eyes shoot open as you feel something moving beside you.

You turn your head to look and- oh. It’s your cat. Fluffy, tail waving high in greeting and good-spirits, eyes wide, whiskers twitching. You brighten. “Hey, baby,” you coo, patting your lap. “Heyyyy. C’mon.”

Your cat mews, slinking over. You smile as it parks itself on your lap, starting to knead your thighs. You scratch the side of its chin and it purrs.

“I see you have a pet,” Connor says, jolting you out of your happy-moment. Connor’s looking at your cat, interested. “I don’t really see the merits of owning a cat over owning a dog.”

I didn’t know androids had opinions , you want to snap, but that’s rude, even for you. “Keep your negative opinions away from my cat,” you say instead, comfort and warmth making you conversational. You pet the fluff on your cat’s belly as it flops over, purring. “My cat can sense negative emotion.”

“It’s not an observation based in emotion,” Connor says. “Merely an objective one. Dogs are more friendly, energetic, and defensive of the home. Felines are smaller, more independent, and less capable.”

“Cats are great,” you say, more than a little incensed. “If you’re looking at things objectively, you might see it that way. But it just depends on what you prioritize. Me…” you stroke your cat. “I like having a small, fluffy animal that loves to cuddle with me. And cats can be extremely loving! They’re just pickier than dogs. Now dogs… dogs give their affection to everyone!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Connor says, quizzical.

“I like feeling special,” you reply matter-of-factly, settling back into your couch. “My cat loves me, and me only.”

“If I might point out, this isn’t actually your cat,” Connor says.

You pause in your stroking. Your cat mrrps its dismay.

“...You got me there,” you finally say, resuming your rhythmic pets. “But it’s based on my cat, and my cat’s behavioral patterns. If I wanted it to be different, I’d have to change it in the virtual-reality settings beforehand.”

There’s a comfortable silence.

“Plus,” you say, “cats may be independent, but that just makes their love even more special. And you don’t have to take a cat for a walk.”

“Exercise is beneficial for the body and mind,” Connor says.

For humans. It’s not like androids exercise to maintain their bodies.

“Sure, sure,” you say, ignoring your snide mental hiccup. “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t like dogs. I do like dogs! I’ll pet any animal, as long as I know it’s friendly to being petted. I just like cats better.”

“Your rationale is based in personal preference,” Connor says. “Not facts.”

“Uuugh,” you say, feeling cornered. “Just let me love my cat in peace .”

A comfortable hush falls over the two of you. You relax, petting your cat, reclining on your couch. If you had a good book, you’d be golden.

What even happens if you doze off in virtual reality? Do you wake up in the real world?

So many questions, and so few answers. You suppose this is why you’re testing the module before it’s released to the public.

Testing…

That sparks a small curiosity in your mind. Your eyes dart over to the android, eyeing the way it sits so politely to itself. You feel pressured to fill the silence.

“And hey,” you finally say. You can see Connor blinking into attention in your peripheral. “Sometimes, what we like isn’t based on how it benefits us. Sometimes, it’s just based on what we like, y’know?”

“I can’t say I do,” it says. “Perhaps it is an aspect of humanity that I will never understand.”

Sheesh.

There’s a spot of silence, but now you feel an urge to fill it. For better or worse, when you run into certain situations, you can’t leave them alone. Whether that situation be an awkward silence with an acquaintance-android or something else.

“...What kind of things do you enjoy?” you say. Yep, let’s hammer through that silence.

I mean, there’s gotta be something, right?

Connor blinks and turns to look at you. It looks obviously caught off-guard, and the look in its eyes give you a mild, almost smug satisfaction for having a similar surprising question asked of you the last time it visited.

“Enjoy…?” Connor asks, LED flickering. “I...don’t think I follow what you’re asking.”

“I mean what things do you like?” You take a breath and look back down to your cat, virtual as it may be but cute all the same. “Your favorite things, maybe. Colors, music, hobbies….”

You are curious to see how it would respond to the question. And more than a bit smug to see how it reacts, caught off-guard. A little test, you suppose, if only to sate the curiosity that has been growing in the back of your head. Does Connor even have an answer to it? Such an advanced prototype, the most advanced android created by Cyberlife… does it have preferences?

After a moment, you feel your lips quirk, just a hair.

“I mean, you asked me the same things last time I saw you,” You say, sly. “Seems only fair to ask the same of you.”

The android rubs his hands together--a habit you had began to notice when it felt...nervous? Unsure? If it’s some sort of simulated response to a stimulus or particular pattern of speech, it sure looks real enough to you.

“I do not enjoy things personally,” Connor says at last. “Though if you desire the most appropriate answer to your question, I... enjoy completing my missions. It satisfies the programming for which I was created with. Working with my partner is... challenging. He is a difficult man to negotiate with at times, but nothing I am ill-equipped to handle.”

“Hm,” you say. Interesting. Connor has a partner . “Challenging… is he fine working with an android?” You take a stab at the dark at the possible gender of Connor’s partner.

When you glance over to check Connor’s face, his expression is just a bit sour. Judging by that, you got it right.

“He can be challenging to work with,” Connor repeats, mouth flattened.

Yikes. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes,” you say, stroking your cat absentmindedly. “Just curious.”

“Curiosity,” he muses. “What a human idea.”

“Are you telling me,” you say, incredulous, “that you’re never curious? Not about anything?”

“Well,” he says, and if he looked flustered earlier, he looks like he’s really under pressure now. “‘Curiosity’ as you understand it, wanting to know for the sake of wanting to know… it’s not so different from my programmed purpose. To solve cases, I must observe, analyze, and connect ideas into concrete pictures. That being said, seeking information is… within my purview as an investigator.”

Your lips part, tilting up ever-so-slightly at the corners. He’s babbling .

“Mhmm. Got it,” you tease, and why is it so easy to banter with this robot? It acts more mechanical than any android you’ve interacted with, and yet…

It acts more human, too.

“For your information,” it says curtly, “I recently located and apprehended a deviant. Any behavioral patterns that may indicate ‘curiosity’ are… assisting my programmed purpose.”

Okay, alright, you don’t want him to get defensive. Though you also wonder what happens to the deviant after it’s ‘apprehended.’

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you say, offhanded. “You’re just the android that popped up in my virtual reality tests. Whether you’re curious or not is just conversation.”

“Okay,” he says, and his expression is slightly softened, but still a bit wary, clouded with an emotion you can’t identify. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but would you mind logging out now? I’m in a hurry to get where I need to go.”

“...Alright,” you reply, taken aback. You try not to be offended at his abruptness. A thought strikes you, and without permission, leaves your mouth. “It’s not because I’m horrible conversation, right?”

“No,” he says, lips twisting ruefully. “You’re fine conversation. But right now,” and his face darkens again, “I need to go.”

“Okay,” you say, soft. You make eye contact, and without breaking it, you log out.

The next session, Connor isn’t on your couch.

Nor is Connor in your kitchen, outside in the meadow (at least not within seeing distance), or anywhere else around the house.

You pass the session by cooking, taking items that you know aren’t in your real-life fridge out of your refrigerator. You remember the conversation you had at work, earlier, with Helen about willing things into existence in VR, pulling them out of thin air with willpower alone. You figure you’ll give it a try, in a future session.

You make stir-fry, and though you know how well you’ve spiced it, each bite sits bitter in your mouth.

The next night, Connor’s back.

In fact, he’s not only back, he’s very back, if such a thing were possible. You’d know exactly how back he is, because when you open your eyes in VR for the first time, he’s about three inches from your face.

You shriek, involuntary and stilted, recoiling, but he’s already straightening up, taking a step backwards. He’s standing in front of you, now, eyebrows raised at the expression on your face. His face - which you’re suddenly very familiar with - is just barely colored in amusement, but it quickly fades in favor of a professional veneer.

“Sorry,” Connor says finally, breaking you out of your inspection of his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Didn’t scare me,” you mumble. “Just…” you look down, avoiding his gaze. “Just surprised.”

“My apologies,” he repeats. “However, you’ve had your eyes closed for approximately two minutes and forty three seconds. It’s very odd.”

“Do I not do that usually?” you say, straightening up. As if there’s a usually. But still, VR knowledge. For free .

“No,” Connor replies. “In the few times I’ve seen you, you… phase in, appearing first with some transparency, solidifying rapidly over a period of approximately four seconds. Upon full opacity, you open your eyes.”

You try not to think about when he would’ve seen you phase in, seeing where you found him each time. Nope. Nope, not thinking about it.

“...But not this time,” you sigh.

“No,” he says. “This time was different.”

“Hey, wait,” you say, almost childishly excited. You spring to your feet, bouncing on your toes, and you’re standing a bit too close, but whatever.

You concentrate, because you want to pull this off. You curl your fingers over your palm, you concentrate, and you- twist-

In a twist, you open your hand, and sitting there, innocuous, is a coin.

Connor - who’s been peering at you, curious - his eyebrows shoot up. His eyes are flickering from the coin to your face. His brows furrow, and he looks torn between being impressed and asking a lot of questions.

“Voila,” you grin cheekily, raising the coin a bit closer to his face. He peers down at it, lips pursed. “Behold! The power of Virtual Reality conjuration!”

“Why a coin?” he says, expression inscrutable, rolling with the subject change, and for the life of you, you have no idea why the coin is the important thing.

“I don’t know,” you say impatiently. “Coins are typical for magic tricks, aren’t they? Y’know, pulling a coin from behind someone’s ear, and all that. What about the trick, though? Aren’t you impressed?” You grin. Even if Connor is just an android, he’s a captive audience.

“May I?” he asks, hand outstretched, and okay, you’re starting to feel the personal space thing. Connor is maybe a foot away, holding out his hand, palm up.

“Sure,” you mumble, “lemme just…” you sidestep, backing up a step. “Alright,” you say, breathing out in a sigh, “do your worst.” You position the coin in your hand, and with a sharp flick of your thumb and a clear-sounding ping , the coin goes shooting into the air in an arc, spinning and glittering silver.

Unblinking, Connor’s hand darts out, snatching the coin out of the air as it hits its zenith and begins to fall. The coin is clasped neatly between thumb and forefinger.

A corner of your mouth quirks. You can’t help but be a little impressed.

“Observe,” he says, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. And before your eyes, the coin-

Oh, wow.

It’s flying from hand to hand, rolling over Connor’s knuckles before disappearing into his cupped palm again and again. It’s entrancing, spinning and glittering, a clear sign of hand-eye coordination. Or maybe just coordination, because he’s not even looking at his hands. When you glance up at his face, tearing your eyes away from the coin-tricks that seem more at home in a circus tent than your living room, his eyes are intently trained on your face, cataloguing your expression of wonder.

You flush and look back at his hands.

He’s spinning the coin on his fingertips now, seemingly defying gravity as he pops the coin in the air, short hops from fingertip to fingertip. Your lips part as you watch, enthralled.

“How are you doing that?” You can’t keep the amazement out of your tone.

“I learned,” Connor says simply, and as you watch, he catches the coin in one hand. You glance back up at his face. “During my testing, it was used to calibrate. Now, I just… I use it to check my physical reaction time and dexterity.”

“That’s...useful.” Not thrilling, not exciting, not even impressive--just ‘useful’, if only because you think it’s the word he would appreciate more. “What other sorts of things can you do with the coin?”

Connor’s eyes lift to meet yours for a moment.

“Nothing that I’m aware of,” he says, though a subtle smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Though I hear some people like coins in exchange for goods and services.”

“Oh my god,” you say, rolling your eyes at the absurd not-joke.

It still manages to make you smile.

You chatter for a bit longer, light conversation. You tell Connor how you made the coin appear - I willed it into existence, that’s how things work in VR - and he hmms and tells you he’ll have to try it later. You have no doubt he will.

Shortly after that, you logout, a smile on your face.

That night, you sleep peacefully.

Dammit, you’ve been calling Connor ‘he’ again.

[semi-imaginary-place]

self indulgent connor story

so I mentioned a bit of a fascination with the lines between a machine and devient connor.

Lead developer oversees testing and dismantling of RK800 0 to 50 (since in programing you always start at 0 not 1). Are you meeting 50 people with the same soul or 1 person 50 times?

Imagine designing an android to go deviant. Field testing to ensure deviancy. Destroying them each time to gather data.

developer boots up 51 and the game events

Increasing software stability

friends with Hank

51 goes deviant and defects to markus

Path 1: QTEs failed 51 dies in Jericho (how????? maybe markus is already dead and connor sacrifices himself to set off the bomb)

developer and connor 52 have a chat about identity. Is Connor 52 the same person as 51? They share memories, but 52 does not yet have the software instability and 52 has a mission. Their programming is all the same though and 52 will go deviant just as all the others have. Fatalism and Free Will. What makes you you.

developer turns 52 deviant, takes a copy of Connor’s memories and his blueprints.

developer hints that more RK800′s will be sent if he defects as well as evidence of his deviancy before leaving cyberlife tower.

52 wakes up the androids in the warehouse and attacks the Tower, destroying the lab, the RK800 files, and evidence that 52 was made deviant shortly after activation.

Path 2: maybe in the night of soul markus chooses not to trust and 51 dies

same conversation between newly activated 52 and developer, but 52 is not made deviant

Connor’s Last Mission. talks to Hank and goes deviant

Path 3: 51 killed in Jericho

52 killed falling off of rooftop

53 has a chat with developer

53 goes deviant standing in the crowd and has a panic attack

Path 4: Connor succeeds in ending the uprising(peaceful or not)

RK800 series decommissioned.

I suppose there is a path where the OC is a technician instead

Backstory 1 time:

2014 or so a bunch of socially incompetent internet trolls somehow manage to form an interest group about robotics , AI, and being terrible people through forums and what not (think 4chan culture). Said group is made up of 12 year old Elijah Kamski (applying to uni), 15 year old B (also applying), 13 year old C(???), and 10 year old D (high school/community college, preparing transfer)

D is interested in the non human, in all the A.I. can do that humans can’t. To make a machine as machine as possible. They are the one most interested in the abstract concepts. They aren’t especially interested in A.I. and computing but the group holds their interest longer than it normally would

C doesn’t care and is in it for the lolz. C is also the smartest (robotic wise) of the 4. They just have no ambition. They are most concerned in the cleverness of something.

B wants to turn a profit while satisfying her curiosity

Elijah is facinated with creating the human out of the inhuman.

Of the group Elijah and B are the most focused.

D proposes a new framework for how consciousness in data can be structured. A new paradigm beyond the black box of inputs and outputs

This catches the attention of Elijah and C.

The four of them continue to pursue this idea through mid-2016

Its mostly C (15) doing the work with direction and editing from D (12) and Elijah (14), and occasional input from B (16). B is the least involved as they are the only one of the group with a real life.

arguments are regular on the direction of the project, bitterness increases

B convinces the D and Elijah to stay together and form a company (Cyberlife)

B and Elijah convinces D that androids would be the most marketable/profitable product from their research and the group begins moving in that direction. Instead of developing for the sake of development.

D is dissatisfied but stays on as now on to their PhD in an unrelated field (like astrophysics or plankton ecology or something) they don’t see a more conomically viable path ahead of them

C remains loosely attached to the group but can not work in the more structured environment and breaks off

Elijah thus does most of the work taking their A.I. project and applying it to androids

2018: Cyberlife is officially incorporated with Elijah B jostling for control

D remains onboard nominally mostly focusing on other projects

resentment grows between B and Elijah and B leaves to found her own data services company.

2022: With the release of Chloe, D smelling profit increases involvement with the company and takes up a full time senior researcher position to fund their second PhD is in unrelated field

2023: struggling with the rapid expansion of the company B joins the board of directors (I don’t know how plausible this actually is)

B and D struggle with their hatred of Cyberlife yet feel stuck to it due to the profitability. 

C continues to be a basement dwelling hikokomori NEET.

B and D start colluding on bringing down Cyberlife knowing how Elijah programmed deviancy.

While all other models were made with return on investment in mind, the RK series is Elijah’s personal project reflecting his initial impetus for the project.

more funding is funneled into one of the groups original side projects; cyber spaces and virtual reality.

B startes with gradually ousting Elijah ending with his resignation in 2028

D takes over development of the RK series.

early 2038 to avoid the fallout D steps down and begins selling Cyberlife shares.

Post uprising RK800 series decommissioned and D quits. At this point they have 4 PhD’s, the entire academic community is fed up with them, and they have enough money to retire.

#dbh connor #original characters #reader-insert #dbh connor & reader #gender neutral reader #I can’t stope laughing so I’ll stop #yeet