November 8th, 2038
PM 05:30:39
Zip. Velcro. Button snap-snap-snap. Fan the collar; fan the cuffs. Cover yourself with enough "uniform" and equipment to bury your humanity.
It was easier than dealing with what it meant to be human. You wanted to get lost in your work; your job, one that required a finesse for stomping out emotions and leaving them in your locker rather than your dark-blue, fabric skin.
You were no longer a person. You were a cop; a tool to be utilized by the city of Detroit.
That's what you told yourself, anyway.
The transcendence was a practiced routine, mimicked by a reflection in the same mirror that'd recorded your evolution.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall..."
There were more than a few stages to the human-like apparatus staring back at you. You weren't sure if you were the body being reflected, or the distorted reflection itself.
A nameless figure that had once been identified – but you didn't know her anymore. You'd seen her develop before the interrogation, and return with a bullet-shaped mark of trauma on her stomach.
It was both terrifying and reassuring...because if even you didn't know yourself; your enemies wouldn't, either. Hell, your enemies didn't even know they were on your hitlist yet. But they'd learn.
Just not today.
Today, you were going to speak with Carl Manfred...
The name of another human you'd fallen out of touch with.
...
Snow and freezing rain came down in a mixture of ice and cold feathers molting off the blizzard flying around Detroit. Chris tapped the steering wheel of the police cruiser, head bobbing as he whistled a tune. He'd been excited about having you back, and while you shared that excitement, you'd struggled to even so much as smile when the two of you had left.
"Didn't see your car in the parking lot." He turned down a street, slowing the car as pedestrians crossed, "You take a cab or something?"
"Rode here with Hank and Connor." You were leaned back in your seat, boot planted on the dashboard.
Your elbow dug between the windowsill and the glass, a cold point of contact that slithered up through your fist and into your chin.
"Ah-hah. Gotchya." He sniffed, rubbing his nose with his shoulder, "Did Anderson tell you how Reed's been playing his parking lot game with him since you've been gone?"
You scoffed, "Parking lot game?"
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. When Reed parks his big, jacked up, overcompensating Wrangler with his stupid, 'My Other Ride is a Marauder,' bumper sticker too close to your driver's side door so you can't get in."
"He does that on purpose?" You shot forward, "Do you even know how many times I've had to climb over the passenger's seat to get to my fucking-"
"Every day, right? I swear, it's like he waits for you to park and get in the building before he...well, I'd say he parks, too, but let's be real. When was the last time he took up one parking spot?"
"Yeah, I know – there's lines for fuck's sake."
"Mmmm-hm. Tell me about it."
Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. You dropped your foot to the mat below, and pushed your hips forward to reach around. You plopped back in your seat, swiping your lock screen away to find a message that had your heart stop.
[1 UNREAD TEXT MESSAGE]
222-669
Today 17:31
You have received a message from android model RK800, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 51.
If this android does not belong to you or is not associated with you in any manner, please contact your provider's customer service. Message and data rates may apply.
Accept message?
[Yes] [No]
You impatiently hit yes, disgusted by the warning.
Android model RK800, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 51
Today 17:31
You've been avoiding me.
Your brows furrowed, and you needed a minute before answering. You navigated through your phone, tapping the "Add Contact" link and changing the name to "Connor." You pressed the home button twice, flipping over to the text.
To: Connor
What makes you say that?
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:31
You took the long route around my desk. You avoided eye contact. I saw you and Officer Miller leave through the back entrance. I have more notes on the matter if you'd like me to continue.
To: Connor
You think maybe it's just been a long day and I'm still trying to catch up with everything?
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:31
Now you're just being defensive.
To: Connor
What is this, an interrogation? What's your problem?
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:32
If it must be, then yes. As for "my problem," that conversation would be best had in person. I do have a question about something that I have found distracting, however. I tried to ask before you left, but you've made communication difficult. I was surprised that you accepted my text message.
You rolled your eyes, thumbs tapping more angrily, now.
To: Connor
Shoot.
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:32
At what?
You sighed.
To: Connor
I meant, what's your question?
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:32
In the car, on our way back to the station, you described a man who'd "helped you a lot these past couple months." Lieutenant Anderson seemed to have mixed feelings about our interactions with each other, but I assured him that, given your recent behavior towards me, this person should be contacted and made aware of your current mental state.
You blinked, staring at the lengthy text. You wished you could relay messages straight out of your head like he could, because it probably would've made your confusion a lot easier to follow.
Connor
Today 17:33
Who was it that you were talking about?
You deleted what you were about to say, and began typing again.
Connor
Today 17:33
Detective Reed?
Connor
Today 17:34
Officer Miller?
Connor
Today 17:34
Lieutenant Anderson?
To: Connor
WOULD YOU HOLD ON A SECOND?
Message Sent
Connor
Today 17:34
Holding.
"Always on your damn phone. Do you make me drive just so you can text all the time?"
You looked up, thumbs pausing.
"Huh?"
"You. Phone. Rage typing."
"I'm not rage typing."
"It's all over your face, don't lie to me."
You deflated, hitting the lock button and shoving the phone in your jacket.
"I was talking to Connor..."
"Oooh," He whistled, "Trouble in paradise?"
"There's no 'paradise,' to have trouble in, Chris."
"Now I know you're lying."
You growled under your breath, "No, I'm not."
"Give me that THING back so I can get a refund, then."
Your teeth squeezed together, and you swallowed hard.
"That's what I thought."
"How much was that THING, anyway?"
He chuckled, puffs of steam leaving his mouth, "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."
"Chris!"
"What?!" He stopped at a red light, laughing as he checked the GPS on the MDT, "We had some money left over from the loan we took out for the house. And, these overtime checks have been nice."
"This is why I can't leave you unsupervised..."
"Hey, it wasn't my idea, remember?"
"I still don't believe you."
He shook his head, grin shining, "So, what, you're just gonna leave him on 'read' like that?"
You crossed your arms, "I don't send read receipts."
"As if androids need those..."
"UGH..." The back of your head hit your headrest, and you groaned at the ceiling, "Can we please talk about something else?"
"Uh...yeah, sure. Well, kind of." He took a sip of coffee, returning his thermos to the holder with a pleased sigh of relief, "Does the Swoon-Bot seem different to you?"
You snorted at the nickname, rolling your neck towards him, "What do you mean?"
"Well, like, yesterday, at the station...We were clownin' around and I said, 'jokes on you.' Poor dude turned in circles like he was chasing his tail looking for something."
He almost fell into a fit of laughter before he wiped his mouth, fingers dragging down the corners of his lips.
"But when he got back...with you and Anderson, I guess...He forgot to log out of his terminal before he went down to the Evidence Server."
"Oh, while we're on the topic of that – remind me to kick your ass later."
"What?! With our forces combined, we got you back...on the force! May the force be with-"
"No." You cracked a smile, "Anyway...Why are you worried about him logging out of his terminal? Why were you athis terminal?"
He hit a road bump, and you bit your tongue. Served you right for interrupting a Star Wars quote.
"I can see it from my desk, Sherlock." He pursed his lips, "And it worries me because androids don't forget things."
"Everything that's been going on has put a lot on everyone's mind...not just humans."
"You don't think...He's going deviant, do you?"
"He self-tests regularly. I don't think he'd..."
You sighed.
"I don't know, Miller..."
You knew he reported to CyberLife about details from the case, but other than that, his innerworkings were a mystery. You weren't sure if it was because he didn't want to express himself, or because he didn't know how. Or, maybe he didn't feel like he could talk to you anymore...
The beeping GPS, slowing car, and whining brakes snapped your attention outside.
"Well, here we are...Holy Hell-" Chris leaned in front of you, eyes pointed at the window to your right, "Look at the size of that house."
"Worldwide fame will get you one of those. Just need one of your many embarrassing moments to go viral."
"I'm about to meet Carl freakin' Manfred, and your attitude isn't gonna take that away from me." His face was lit with anticipation.
"I'm surprised you even know who he is."
"I mean...he might be the only artist that's alive that anyone can name off the top of their head, but-"
"Nowak. Hemer. Sendor. Caslas. Dubois-"
"Okay but you're weird so that's a bad example."
You punched his shoulder.
"HEY! You got your free shots earlier. ENOUGH!"
You pinched him.
"Would you- I'm a married man, you know!"
"HAH," You shoved him away, "You wouldn't know what to do with me."
"Lock you up for being a bully..." He rubbed his arm, glaring at you from the corner of his seat, "You never did tell me how you met Manfred, by the way."
"I met him while we were at one of his galleries in Brooklyn."
"'We?'"
"My ex-husband, and I." You watched the house flicker between sheets of falling snow, "He didn't know anything about art or philosophy. When I started getting him into it, I showed him some of Manfred's stuff. It opened his eyes to a side of the world he'd never seen before." You turned to him, "He thought he'd do something nice and flew us out to New York."
"So he was basically an android you turned deviant with a bunch of fancy words and pretty pictures?"
"Y-yeah...sure."
"What does that make you, rA9?"
"Not funny..."
"Oh, uh...Is something bothering you?"
"What?"
"Normally you're less...I don't know, reserved? You okay?"
"I haven't spoken with Carl in years." You chewed the inside of your cheek, "I don't know how this is going to go."
The constant struggle of protecting Chris by allowing his ignorance, or to trust him and put him in danger...It would be hard if you weren't worried about CyberLife hunting him down. That could never happen, no matter how much it hurt to not be honest.
"Well, I might be just an okay shot, but I make one hell of a distraction." He smiled, "I've got your back, no matter what."
Thankfully, he always knew when to pry, and when not to.
"I don't think Carl's going to shoot me." You laughed.
"With your record?"
The two of you got out of the cruiser, and he looked at you from over the roof as you shut your respective doors.
"I wouldn't be so sure."
You let him go first, trying to remain undetected as you snuck one last look at your phone.
[1 NEW E-MAIL NOTIFICATION]
[1 UNREAD TEXT MESSAGE]
Connor
Today 17:45
There's been a robbery at a CyberLife warehouse near the docks. We'll continue this conversation later. Have a nice evening.
A painful throb beat its way under your chest, and you opened your e-mail. It was a response to your post – one that'd come much later than the slew of hate mail you'd received.
"Feedback submitted by a non-verified account. Mark as spam?"
You hit "no," and opened the message:
"While we remain pioneers for our respective kin, my only hope is that, if our paths cross...
It'll be on amicable terms."
We agree to your terms.
Expect us.
-Jericho
Your hand shook, peering into the words to find a deeper meaning.
The Battle of Jericho – a biblical event that retold the story of how walls fell after an army of slaves marched for seven days, only to seize the promised lands by conquest. Lands inhabited by those who feared their God.
Androids. rA9.
"You coming?" Chris asked.
You looked up, hiding the horror on your face.
"Yeah."
If Detroit was the paradise in question, you realized you may have spoken too soon.
Trouble was "coming," too.