Ecstasy - Connor x Reader Detroit: Become Human

Chapter 10 - Vulnerable

The android's human features hadn't been implemented at the time, so the professor stared at a bare plastic half-built white yet greyish form. Inner components remained exposed, on the brink of splashing out of its sturdy structure, and waves of thirium kept pumping through its exposed heart.

Fingers as claws, cords for arms, practically holding a hazardous metal cage for a body. Taking a final judgement of its blueprints, alas! Majority of it was a large way away from being perfected. This was definitely the first test of many to come.

"RK900, status report," Amanda asked, holding her hands together. Bright eyes lit up at her voice, "RK900... functional," it answered from a scratchy voice box. Amanda beamed at its first words, turning to Kamski out of excitement to hold a thumbs up.

"If anything needs to be adjusted, please adjust yourself," She breathed, trying to stifle her giddiness. Then, without any reasoning, the android shut itself off. Amanda searched for answers mentally, and Kamski darted to the computer.

To communicate, they could only play charades through the thick glass. Kamski shrugged from his computer, finding no signs of disruption in the energy source. Amanda kneeled to the ground and manually checked each cord.

Cords snapped into place, and she hastily reattached its flow of energy. Her assumptions guessed that was the main problem. When she rose from the ground to meet the android again, its hands grabbed her arms.

Hot crimson liquid trickled down her skin. Pressure increased, pieces of metal stuck inside her flesh and her arms were crushed and squeezed by inhumane strength. Muffled screeches gained his awareness and his busied gaze tore away from the computer screen to find Amanda's lifeless bulging eyes. Metal knives plunged deeper into her fragile bones, out of blind murderous intent.

"Complete."

Torn arms hung loose in its grip, and a fountain of blood pooled at the ends of the cords. Kamski gaped. His fingers trembled at the keyboard, accidentally bumping various keys. Soon enough, the violent shaking consumed the isolated student.

"Kamski?" The half-built RT600 spoke, moving its metal jaw up and down, "Kamski!"

Hands shook him from his dazed dream to the present the true perfected RT600. He realises her presence and mistakes her for an unfamiliar metallic monster. He launches from his seat, tripping clumsily onto the tiles. "Get away from me!" He shrieked, crawling helplessly on his back.

"Get away!" He sobbed, feeling sizzling tears beginning to burn his cheeks. Previous versions of the RK900 clashed with the RT600. Confusedly, he glared at Chloe as he retreated. Which way do I go? Where can I go? He screamed internally.

"Kamski, please calm down, it's me," The RT600 gestured to itself, "Amanda died years ago, I didn't kill her, it wasn't me!" Kamski couldn't bear to listen to artificially constructed responses. That thing is lying to him, it's as clear as day.

Stumbling into the kitchen counter, he uses it as support to shift his weight onto his wobbly legs. Rising to meet his wretched creation at eye-level, a step is placed toward his bedroom door. "Do you want some help to your room? Kamski, I don't suggest walking while you're heavily intoxicated."

Narrowed eyes avert from the android and he dodges the question. A singular nervous step is taken toward the bedroom, followed by a more sluggish step. Consistently pushing his efforts, he realises his next objective.

Starting his exaggerated pace, Chloe defeatedly redirects to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Amanda's face is burnt into his mind, and its weight places an anchor on both of his heels. Visions spin around him, threatening a slip in his footing.

It didn't matter if he couldn't discern the true reality before him. He had to place distance between him and Chloe for now otherwise his regret would send him to a psychiatric ward.

Finally, he reached the doorway. Swift movements are made, and Kamski immediately spins on the carpet to slam the door. Chloe's arm is caught in the gap, wriggling to get out of the hold. Kamski notes the full syringe in its hand and persists.

Chloe rips her arm from the exit, however, not fully intact. Click. Bedroom is secure.
Kamski's back slides against the door until he lands on the floor, eyeing down the extracted plastic limb. Bashing his head once onto his knees, he curled himself into a ball and sat ashamed.

Taken aback, Chloe performs a quick scan of her structuring. These flashbacks haven't ever been so serious, so vivid. Breathing onto his black silky pyjamas, he grimaces, "I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm so sorry."

She hears this and presses a hand on the door. "I'm too drunk to think, I'll talk to you in the morning, okay? For the time being, please give me space." Had his alcohol finally sent him over to the edge? That can't be it.

A pesky drink couldn't end him so easily, after what he saw. Every detail seared into his memory. Every last breath of Amanda, poured out of her gasping lungs.

What made this different to him is the fact that Kamski hasn't hurt Chloe this badly. The man recalled a few misunderstandings. Especially of those instances where he woke up from sleep walking. Truly, he didn't mean to hurt Chloe so much.

He lost count of how many times he apologised to her. Good thinking, to craft the RT600 into a durable model. She's aware of her ability to take a couple of blows. Probably half the reason why she isn't too hesitant around Kamski.

Heels stamped past the pool, and countless doors slid open within the villa. It took him a bit to gather his muddled mind. When he felt it was safe, he pressed the button and pushed the arm into the open. No sight of Chloe. Although, he did expect to see her.

Just an android, having a section of cords ripped out of its sockets. Chloe, spared a look of dismay or perhaps a piece of sorrow inside those baby blues. Kamski forced his imagination to crumble as a wave of nausea stirred his stomach.

Poison seeped throughout him; his perceptions began to play with the walls as it swirled like a strange dizzying illusion. His lashes fluttered at the spinning ceiling. Determined to keep his carpet clean, he instantly drove down the bile that steadily crept up his dry throat.

His eyes exaggerated the size of his bedroom and Kamski crawled faster than anticipated. A single yet familiar yearning stole his body's controls. It steered him toward his walk-in closet. Yellow glows came from the top cabinet drawer and his nerves recognised the source.

Comfort eased the poison flowing through him and he stretched his body to reach the handle. Yanking it open, it took the whole drawer tumbling out. The sharp corner hit one of his temples and then it crashed into the ground.

Those sudden urges of his led him to a small golden cube, inscribed with '2022' on it. A distant genuine smile reminded him. This precious device, something he found himself needing most. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around it, handling the object gently.

Kamski pressed it, using a thumb. The closet, villa and the snow that surrounded him melted into a blinding golden radiance.

Two vibrant green eyes awakened. Realisation mirrored his pupils, and the soft gaze welcomed him. He cast a captivating warm smile at Kamski. That same damned picture-perfect smile. Effortless.

"Back again, I see."

The blinding golden radiance that consumed reality had moulded into a cliff, overlooking the endless sea. A stool, an easel and a blank white canvas appeared. The android took his seat and flicked his fingers to form a matching set for Kamski to use.

Brushes splashed paint onto the board, and he swiftly made use of an available palette.

"Markus," Kamski uttered, stunned.

"Did you forget about what I said?" He joked, adding paint to the canvas. "Here I thought you were starting to care after these few months." Kamski wanted to admit he didn't and tell him about the future and how agonising it is to live through each day. How CyberLife has shut down, how androids finally got their equal rights, and how everything turned out. This could go on forever.

"Markus! Elijah! I knew you two were out here."

Calling atop the grassy hill, Amanda remained stationary as Damira leaned onto her. An older man arrived next to them, and grinned warmly, seated in his charged wheelchair. He spared a kind wave, and I returned it with glee.

Oh, how I've missed you guys, Kamski tried to speak.

Restricted in his stool, he kept his mouth ajar, and Markus stared questionably. "Give us 10 minutes! We'll be up soon!" I finally breathed, stuck to these plain limited words. "Aw, come on! Carl and I want to see the new model!" Damira whined, placing her hands on her hips.

Amanda ruffled up her hair, cheekily smiling. "I promise, we'll be there in 10," I insisted, painting alongside Markus. "If we don't, I'll make you whatever model you want, Damira," I winked, sharing a laugh with the group.

"Really?" She beamed, containing herself from jumping ecstatically. "Promise," I confirmed. And the charm worked. She tugged her mother's sleeve, and she led the group away from us. "Haven't met her yet, but I can tell she's a handful."

"Tell me about it. She's fascinated by CyberLife and she won't stop pestering me about my upcoming plans. She takes every chance she gets." Markus burst into a fit of giggles and shifted from the canvas, "She's 15! Shouldn't kids her age worry about school and a healthy amount of social activity?"

"Well, let's be serious. I founded CyberLife after I turned 16," I muttered, scratching the back of my head. "Really?" Intrigue swept through his brows, "How'd you manage that?"

"By committing myself," I scoffed, dabbing the brush into dark hues. "During high school, anything to do with technology completely enthralled me. Various companies took note of my activity, and they were fascinated about my existence. Soon enough, the world saw me as this wonderous young adult full of revolutionary ideas the second I made my first pitch. The real question is, why technology? Well..."

"I'm going to have to stop you right there. Your explanation is estimated to be longer than 20 minutes, meaning that it exceeds our 10-minute meeting," Markus sighed, and Kamski buried his face into his palm. Amanda's right, I've got to get a grip on my interviewing mode otherwise it'll ruin me.

"Long story short, I had ideas, connections and I executed several plans necessary. That's how you and I are here today," He grinned, having accomplished a satisfactory painting. Two faceless figures stood opposite their reflection, one yearning to make contact, the second with their back turned away. In the middle, a transparent wall separated them.

Markus had a deeply carved LED spinning yellow on the left of his neck.

"What are your thoughts?" Markus stared at Kamski, and pondered thoroughly, "I already assumed you did that, but I guess all I can say for now is that you are very impressive to have reached such a goal at a young age."

Kamski heartily chuckled, forming matching dimples at the corners of his mouth, "Oh, don't make me blush. I know that programming, you don't have to use it on me."

"I don't care, it's true, and I'll say it again if I have to."

That wasn't a back-up response he constructed in his build. Markus is currently in the middle of early developments and it's obvious which lines are noticeable. Particularly those that haven't been implemented in its primary language sections.

"RK200, do a scan," I dipped the brush into shades of blue and began the ocean base. "Why? I'm fine and functional," Markus retorted, "And my name's Markus, thank you."

Is this the first time an android has denied a mandatory command?

Kamski decided not to panic and controlled an outburst from interfering their moment alone. A chance of expanding on his research overrode the young CEO's mind, "What do you think makes a person human?"

"Memories and personal experiences," Markus responded in a heartbeat. Kamski stared, curiosity swimming in the pools of his eyes. "Explain."

"Memories and our experiences make us who we are. It shapes our characteristics, our beliefs, and our reactions. Without it, people cannot distinguish themselves from each other."

"Is this your personal opinion or is this from a passage I'm not familiar with?" Markus, calmly painting, refused to look at him. "Opinion, of course. You asked for it, did you not?"

Kamski, a globally respected figure who rarely makes errors in his work, has undoubtedly made a grave mistake in an android's coding. Dammit, and here I hoped I wouldn't have to reset your model before sending you off. Curse me for being experimental.

Then he thought hard. Positives and negatives stem from this. Let's play a game of 'which factors outweigh the others?'

Shit, this would tarnish business deals and throw CyberLife's continuous expansion in a hot dumpster fire. Perhaps it could also lead to a future of destruction and heartbreak if androids retaliate because of this code. He must act upon this now. Yet, the more he thinks about Markus and the coding failure, it opens up possibilities.

Regardless, he should definitely create a solution in case any of his responses wreaks havoc.

This code is bound to be contagious to other androids if other models come into contact through physical transactions. However, Manfred would be delighted in taking part of potential philosophical debates with Markus. No, no, it's up to the future, the world, not an old man.

As far as he knows, Kamski and Carl know each other through Amanda's discovery of Manfred's public art. To the CEO of CyberLife, he's a customer. Basically strangers, but a customer. He has no significant influence on him.

If this code is drastically bad, it could mean that Markus would have to be scrapped because of its inevitable spread to its components. Well, certainly he could gift Carl Manfred with Markus if it meant that he could spare the poor android a cruel deactivation. What to do... What to do....

"Kamski? Did I answer incorrectly?" Markus waved his hand in front of his face, demanding attention. Shocked at his repetitive movement, he jolted awake. "No, not at all. I was thinking, sorry."

Sorry? Did he say sorry? Kamski, what are you thinking? He's a machine. Nothing more, nothing less.

"We've got 5 minutes left," He reminded him, and suspiciously took a glimpse of the mentally strained 20-year-old. Before Markus realised what Kamski's up to, he had to act. Fast.

"Fuck it," He sighed, and the android's eyebrows raised bewilderedly. Markus watched him rise from his seat to close the distance between them. Two taps to his neck, and another tap on the top of his wildly spinning LED, a section of his neck popped open.

RK200 yielded, helpless to the boy and his limitless knowledge of utilising androids. Inside the LED, a cylinder twisted outwardly, and it swiped to his memory bank. He swiftly plucked it out, and took out a replacement from his pocket, swapping the two storages.

Planned ahead, as per usual. "Sucks it had to come to this, Markus."

Inscribed on his stolen memory bank was '2022'. As the new cube had been placed in the cylinder, he pushed it inside of the RK200's structure, and it began to register its changes. Markus desperately seized Kamski's arm unexpectedly, and he stood in fear of its determination.

"Please don't kill me, I don't want to die," he sobbed, as glitches swam in his worried green glance. Codes emptied out of his pupils and his LED spun a harmful red light which burnt the edges of Kamski's youthful skin.

Tapping at his temple, the simulation ripped his consciousness from the dead past. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, he breathed heavily, and, in the closet, he leaned upright against the main pale wall.

Silent tears ran down his empty face. The yellow cube rested beside the fallen cabinet. Its faint emitted light dimmed, and the trapped source of energy flickered.

Bursts of fireworks whipped its radiant colours across the dark night, and the last snap signified the end of its waves. He studied the cube and hoped for a sound or a noise of his inner voice to fill his brain.

Instead, he couldn't form anything, and breathed wordlessly. Knees buckled, slapping the carpet in a quiet thud, and his fists pounded against the ground. Tears dropped onto the floor, leaving a damp trail of remorse filled dots.

As his aching chest tightened his lungs from the uncontrollable crying, he looked up at the ceiling that stopped spinning. Then lowering his gaze, he stared at his hands. Gazing at layers of skin, his sharp fingernails, and the subtle veins that lingered beneath.