The devil knows your Achilles' heel and will [try to] use it.
-- Elizabeth Smith, God Speaks Through Ordinary Things
〇〇〇
As soon as you pulled away from Connor's house, you called Gavin using the car's hands-free Bluetooth.
When you came to an abrupt stop twenty minutes later, you were still on the call with him, and you knew you weren't making much sense because you were wailing. Looking back, that was the only way you could describe it.
Gavin knocked on the window, startling you, and you reached over to unlock the door. When you did, you glanced down at your fingers, which were wet with your blood.
"(Y/n), shit. Nines, get the paramedics. (Y/n), come on. Let's get you out of there. You said he shot you in the arm?"
Did I?
"He-- He--" You couldn't even speak.
When Gavin reached over you to unbuckle the seatbelt, you jerked away from him and grabbed onto the strap with your left hand; you couldn't get your right arm to move.
You sobbed so loud you couldn't even hear Gavin trying to talk you down.
You knew nothing would help, so you just squeezed your eyes shut and rocked against the strap.
Your head pounded, your ears rang.
You were terrified because Connor was gone.
I lost him.
The thought only made you cry harder, something you hadn't thought was physically possible.
"Gavin, you have to--"
"She won't lemme touch her," you heard Gavin say.
The sound of a tactical knife opening got your attention, and you took hiccupping breaths as you looked down at -- Nines.
He was crouching by the open driver door and cutting through the seatbelt with a tactical knife. He lifted his head as he worked, nodding and smiling encouragingly.
"That's great, (Y/n)," Nines said. He cut through the seatbelt, and you felt it slacken around your hips. "Can you keep breathing like that for me? But just a little slower?"
Nines handed the knife to Gavin and held your gaze. "(Y/n)?"
"He-- He--" You felt like you were about to lose it all over again.
"No, no," Nines said, waving a hand. "Just breathe. With me, okay? Watch."
He lifted his right hand, and you watched his chest rise.
As he inhaled, he unfurled his fingers and spread them wide, and as he exhaled, he curled his fingers into a fist.
It took you a minute, but you managed to match his pace.
You glanced from his hand to his face, nervous, but he remained encouraging and patient.
And when you were finally breathing normally, and not like someone on the verge of a psychotic break, Nines put his hand down and pushed the severed belt away from your hips.
He leaned forward and slid an arm under your knees, and then he wrapped one around your torso.
You closed your eyes as he moved you out of the car, and he stood up straight. You were a little disoriented as you looked around; you hadn't realized how many people had gathered.
Nines moved you over a gurney and put you down.
You knew your life wasn't flashing before your eyes because you weren't dying, but it felt like it was.
As you stared up at the black sky, you couldn't stop thinking about the people who'd made you feel like living was worth it, that allowing yourself to be vulnerable with them was better than being alone. Hank, Gavin, and Nines crossed your mind, even Kamski did, but it was Connor--
It was Connor you couldn't stop thinking about -- his boyish smile, his searching eyes.
As you were moved into the ambulance, the last thing you thought was, He'll never look at me like that again.
〇〇〇
December 25, 2041
When you regained consciousness, you knew you were in a hospital because it was bright, even behind your eyelids.
You squinted and looked around.
You weren't surprised by the sight of Gavin sleeping on a couch by the window, wearing DPD sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but you were surprised by Hank walking into the room a few seconds later, Nines trailing behind him.
They both stared at you, and your gaze flickered to Nines's face. Even though you'd grown to separate his face from Connor's, they looked too similar then, and it was painful.
You had to look away.
"You're up," Hank said.
He pulled over a chair to sit by your side, and Nines made Gavin get up. They stood a few feet away, and you realized they looked . . . uncomfortable.
Gavin even looked a little pale.
"What's wrong?" You asked, looking from Hank to the boys. "Where's Connor?"
"I-- I'll get a nurse. Or a doctor," Gavin said, quickly exiting the room.
You furrowed your brow.
It wasn't until you tried to adjust yourself that you realized you couldn't.
You lifted your right arm -- what was left of it.
You went mute as you stared at the gauze-covered stump, halfway between where your elbow would've been and your shoulder.
It felt like the silence went on forever until Nines spoke up.
"You've been out for five days."
It sounded like his voice was straining to stay even.
"You came out of surgery twelve hours after you were shot. And then you went through three more surgeries after that."
You didn't know what to say, so you just said, "He shot me once."
Nines's brow furrowed, and he looked away.
Hank cleared his throat, so you turned to look at him.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but he must've emptied his clip on you," he said. "Means you were probably shot in the arm over fifteen times."
"No," you said, shaking your head. "He shot me once. I -- I would've remembered if Connor -- Connor shot me fifteen times."
You half-expected yourself to freak out, but you were oddly calm. Part of you registered your quiet response as a psychological shock, that the freaking out would come later.
But that was later.
"It was probably the adrenaline," Nines said.
The room went quiet again, and as you mentally went over what Nines said, it felt like something snapped in your chest, and it heaved -- but not because you were about to cry.
You were laughing.
"I-- I'm sorry," you said in between gasps. "I just-- Wow. Connor shot my arm off, huh?"
When you calmed down a few seconds later, you kept your eyes on your lap, not wanting to see Hank or Nines's expressions.
"I'm sorry, kid."
"Don't call me that," you said, shaking your head. "Not right now."
"You're obviously freaked out," Hank said.
He tried to hold your left hand, but you moved it away, holding it up in the air. You finally met his concerned gaze.
"Yeah, fine. I'm freaked out. Does that make you feel any better?" You didn't mean to raise your voice, but you couldn't help it. "What're waiting for, the emotional breakdown? Will that make you feel better? If you're here for it?"
"(Y/n)--"
"No, yeah," you said, cutting him off. "Why don't we all just sit here and wait for me to cry?"
You were about to dig yourself into an even deeper hole, but Gavin returned with a doctor and a nurse.
"Ah, Ms. (Y/l/n), good to see you're awake and loud," the doctor said, checking his notes. "So the most recent surgery went well. We were able to reconstruct the nerves in your arm. It's to help with phantom pain, which, if you didn't already know, isn't always phantom. Usually has to do with the settling of the nerves."
"I'm sorry, who are you?" You asked.
"Ah, apologies," the doctor said. "I'm Dr. Deloria. I was the head surgeon on all your surgeries. I gotta say, I've never seen that many bullets in an arm before."
"Yeah, well, someone was trying to kill me."
"They did a pretty bad job at it," Dr. Deloria said, looking up from his clipboard. "The bullets were all in one area, near your elbow. If they'd gone any further to your left, you'd be dead. Major arteries, your lungs. Your heart."
"Oh, good to know," you said.
Hank threw up a hand and shook his head. "Christ's sake."
"What?" You shrugged. "I think it's nice my boyfriend didn't actually kill me."
Gavin still looked pale, standing a little behind Nines, and Nines himself looked frustrated, but you couldn't tell why, and Hank just-- Hank looked pissed.
"We're recommending therapy," Dr. Deloria said, handing you a slip of paper.
"Oh, for my arm?"
"No, for you. Well, we're also signing you up for physical therapy, but that's not the point."
You furrowed your brow and looked down at the paper. "You're getting me evaluated? Why? It's not like I'm suicidal. I just lost three-quarters of my arm."
"While I appreciate your . . . current chipper attitude," Dr. Deloria said, "we wanna stay on top of your emotional and psychological reactions. Unfortunately, your clinical depression puts you at a disadvantage when it comes to recovery."
"You're kidding," you deadpanned. "I'm not surprised by that, but . . . I've dealt with myself thus far."
Dr. Deloria sighed, looking between the guys and then finally at you. "Miss . . . It's our job to make sure you don't have to deal with yourself like that."
You blinked a few times and then turned away, resting against the inclined bed.
"Fine," you said, shrugging. "What's my recovery timeline look like?"
"Well, it takes four to eight weeks to heal," Dr. Deloria said. "And then there's long-term recovery. Hence the therapy and physical therapy."
"Four to eight weeks?" You looked at him again. "What do you mean? Technology's given us state of the art prosthetics." You shook your head, genuinely confused. "I just gotta be . . . hooked up to one. Then I'm good to go."
"It's . . . not that easy," Dr. Deloria said. "Getting fitted to such an advanced prosthetic is a long process. Often because it's such a delicate process, and--"
"So when do I get it?"
Dr. Deloria sighed. "In about a month. After your therapies have started."
Therapies, plural.
"Great," you quipped. "I'm tired. I wanna sleep."
"You just woke up," Nines interjected. He stepped toward the bed, looking down at you. "Let's just . . . talk. About stuff. Besides, it's a holiday. We can have a mini celebration."
"I'd rather shoot myself than celebrate anything," you said evenly. When you noticed Dr. Deloria writing something down, you added, "Hey! I was kidding! Come on, can't you take a joke? What're you writing? Hey! Don't walk away from me!"
"Red button on the bed is for emergencies only!" Dr. Deloria said over his shoulder.
He and the nurse left, closing the door, and you scoffed to yourself.
"I meant what I said," you said, looking back up at Nines. "I don't wanna celebrate anything. I wanna go home."
"You can't just leave a hospital," Nines said. "Anyway, the doctor said you'd be in here for a while. Let's make the most of it."
You refrained from rolling your eyes. "Okay, well, what're the updates on Connor? Do you have any leads?"
Gavin finally spoke up. "He's thankfully got a pretty iconic face. A few people said they saw him in various parts of downtown Detroit. Said he was . . . running errands or something."
"We think it's just Rex's way of taunting us," Nines said. "We haven't seen him since."
"You haven't found him?" You asked. "Where are you looking? What're you doing?"
"We practically turned Detroit inside out," Gavin said, clearing his throat. ". . . Sorry."
You licked at the inside of your cheek. "So you're telling me . . . Between the two of you, with four thumbs combined, you didn't get anything done in the time I was shot fifteen times and in a medically induced coma. For five days. Is that right?"
"Kid--"
"Don't call me that."
"You may've lost part of your arm," Gavin said, approaching you, "but that doesn't give you the right to be a bitch."
"Bite me."
"I will. You've called me feral before."
"Enough!" Nines shouted.
He threw out an arm to stop Gavin, but it didn't stop him from glaring at you. You returned it, equally pissed off.
"(Y/n), we're doing everything we can," Nines said. "We even had the FBI come back. Willow's working on recovering Connor's consciousness, and it's a good thing we haven't found him yet."
You narrowed your eyes. "A good thing?"
"If we did find him, it would be because Rex had no more use for him," Nines said. "And just like all the others, Connor would lose the majority of his memories. But because he's still operating, Willow is working on recovering his consciousness through a series of backdoors, or . . . whatever she calls them."
You took a deep breath and finally looked at Gavin again.
He looked crestfallen, and you could practically hear an apology on the tip of his tongue.
But you didn't deserve one.
"Look, I . . . don't wanna celebrate stuff," you said, glancing around. "You can all stay, but I just . . . want some peace and quiet for a while."
Everyone nodded, and so you attempted a smile. "Hey, Gav, you knock on any more wood for me?"
〇〇〇
December 30, 2041
Getting ready was a shitshow, especially because you'd been right-handed.
You had to use a dressing aid to put on a bra.
You kept brushing your teeth awkwardly because you'd never used your left hand for it. (Not to mention getting toothpaste on a toothbrush in the first place.)
And your hair? It was usually a beast to handle, even with two hands, and most days you felt like shaving your head for the sake of your sanity.
But you kept reminding yourself you'd be getting your prosthetic at the end of January. It was something to look forward to, and Nines even offered to come with you.
〇〇〇
January 1, 2042
New Year's Eve was uneventful.
You spent the night at Hank's house with Gavin and Nines, but you knew they wanted to be somewhere else, partying the night away. You would've joined them, too, but you were trying to stay away from alcohol.
That, and you were self-conscious.
Even if you wouldn't admit it.
When you went to the bathroom, you stared at your right arm.
Moved it a little.
A restless feeling wormed its way into your gut, and you let out a shaky breath. You looked from your reflection to your arm until you couldn't stand it anymore.
You turned around and leaned against the sink, pressing a hand over your mouth.
You touched your lips, felt at the side of your mouth where Connor had kissed you on accident.
And then you replayed the moment he'd shot you, over and over again. It was all you'd dreamed about for the past week, and you couldn't seem to let go of it, couldn't get it to stop replaying. It was like the default thought in your head whenever you tried to clear it, and it was driving you crazy.
You didn't want to blame Connor because it wasn't his fault. And yet his was the only face you could picture when you were angry -- when you felt like you'd been fucked over by the universe.
That the one person you thought you loved had, unknowingly, betrayed you to the highest degree.
Unknowingly.
It was the one thing that kept you sane.
Forced you to remember that Connor wouldn't ever willingly shoot you.
You rubbed at your chest, trying to calm down. Without Connor here, it felt like a chunk of your life was missing, like you were walking around without your other half.
You closed your eyes and listened to your own heartbeat.
You wanted him back.
God, you just wanted him back.
〇〇〇
January 14, 2042
Therapy was a bitch.
Regular therapy and physical therapy.
〇〇〇
January 20, 2042
You plopped down in your chair and spun around a few times.
You weren't cleared to work in the field yet, not until you were fitted with a prosthetic and learned how to work with it, but you needed to get out of your apartment during the day.
You'd reassigned Emma's case to Gavin and Nines because it was too personal, but you still helped them with research and whatnot.
And last but not least -- Connor.
There weren't any sightings of him, but Willow (who'd set up shop in the precinct after January 1) was still working on recovering his consciousness.
She said it was difficult and that she needed to work slowly, so she wouldn't alert Rex as to what she was doing, but some memories were better than none.
At this point, you'd take anything you could get.
"Fuck, I'm tired," Gavin said, wiping his face.
You looked at him across the bullpen. "I'll go make some coffee."
"That would be . . . amazing."
You smiled and got up, making your way over to the breakroom. You put a mug by the coffee machine and looked around for the sugar--
"Ah, there you are," you said, leaning over the mug. You didn't want to knock it over, so you stood on your tiptoes to grab the sugar.
But when you pulled back, you rocked into the mug, and you jerked, instinctively sticking out your hand to grab it--
You watched with wide eyes as the mug just fell, shattering into a million pieces by your feet.
You froze, unsure of what to do.
It had felt so . . . real. Like you'd reached out with your right hand -- you thought you'd felt the ceramic on your fingertips.
People were looking into the breakroom, concerned, and you saw Gavin approaching.
You were laughing.
Had been laughing -- just like in the hospital.
Except for this time, you cried.
〇〇〇
January 22, 2042
You couldn't get out of bed.
It felt like if you did, there was some sort of impending doom waiting for you. And to be honest, you were surprised this hadn't happened sooner -- that the emotions had come later.
Waiting a couple of business days (or weeks) for your brain to process shit was your thing anyway. It was like when evidence got back-logged, except this was your life. And your brain.
Both things were simultaneously crashing and burning, but your brain thought it was saving you by delaying an emotional response.
You stared up at the ceiling, knowing you wouldn't be missed at work.
The Mug Incident just made you cringe whenever you thought about it, and you didn't wanna face another day of officers, even perps, giving you looks of pity, which were perfunctory at best.
Faces flashed through your mind and made something clench in your chest, like anger, but it was just frustration. And you were never good with frustration.
You sat up in bed and stared at the space your elbow would be.
You experimentally flexed the muscles in your bicep, as if you were clenching your fist, and you hissed at the dull, throbbing pain.
It turned into something stabbing and sharp, almost burning, like white-hot pain, and you quickly relaxed, but the pain didn't subside.
You panted and lay back down, shaking your head.
You were usually good with pain, but this was an entirely different beast.
You sorted through things you could do to distract yourself from the pain, but a completely different thought made you laugh weakly.
It sounded horrible and wounded because you were still in pain, but it only made you laugh more.
You'd thought about your mother, how she didn't even know you'd lost part of your arm. To your possessed android boyfriend, no less.
God, you just knew she'd have a field day with that one.
She'd always been anti-android, and you doubted she'd changed her opinion of them, even after the revolution.
You sat up, determined to do something, anything, to distract yourself from the phantom pain.
"Phantom" my ass.
Your cat, Princess, meowed from the living room, and you stood up to find her. Not even two seconds later, there was a knock on your door, and you cocked your head to the side, confused.
It was noon, so you weren't expecting anyone from work.
You walked into the hallway and thought, I can just pretend I'm not home. Because, really, your apartment was a mess, and your room was even messier.
You paused at the end of the hallway, simply staring at the door from across the living room. The knocking had stopped for a little bit, but Princess was meowing up a storm, rubbing against the door and clawing under it.
"Hey, (Y/n). I know you're home. Open the fuckin' door before your cat loses its goddamn mind."
Gavin?
You narrowed your eyes but walked over to the door and opened it. It was Gavin, and Nines was behind him.
Princess had never tried to leave the apartment, but she padded into the hallway and rubbed up against Gavin's leg, purring up a storm.
"I think she likes you," you said, moving back.
Gavin and Nines stepped in, looking around, and you felt embarrassed. Closing the door, you said, "Yeah, sorry. It's a mess."
Princess jumped onto the back of the couch, and Gavin started to pet her.
"You're flushed," Nines said as he examined a bookcase. He looked up from it and regarded you with an inquisitive expression.
It reminded you of Connor, and you took a deep breath and looked away.
"Yeah, I'm in pain," you said matter-of-factly. "What're you guys doing here?"
"Wait, what's wrong?" Gavin asked. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just peachy." You walked into the kitchen to avoid their stares, and then, once you were finally behind the island, you said, "It's phantom pain. But that's normal, unfortunately."
You glanced at all the dirty dishes in the sink, ones you hadn't done since the beginning of January.
When you looked back to the boys, Gavin was taking off his leather jacket and rolling up his sleeves, and Nines was tucking his tie into his pocket.
"Oh, you guys," you said, suddenly more embarrassed. "You don't-- No, Nines, put that down. Gavin! Stop. You don't need to vacuum."
Gavin plugged the vacuum cleaner in and started it. "Sorry! Can't hear you!"
You watched, bewildered, as Nines started picking up things in your living room. Princess hated the vacuum cleaner, so she ran down the hallway to your room.
You knew if you didn't really want them here, helping you, you would've gotten them to leave.
But something in you relaxed, the muscles unclenching in the back of your neck. You recognized the feeling as gratitude, that you had people helping you.
Who wanted to help you.
People who weren't Connor.
It confused you because you'd always thought this sort of dedication came from unconditional love -- the love you only see in romantic relationships.
But this was . . . a familial kind of love.
You didn't wanna make a big deal of it, didn't wanna admit that you'd never had this sort of love before.
So instead, you said, "I'll start in my room. We can . . . tackle the kitchen later."
Gavin and Nines nodded, so you got to work in your room.
You brought some bowls and dishes to the kitchen, putting them beside the sink because it was already comically full.
And then you went for the clothes on the floor, picking them up and sorting through the clean and dirty ones.
Half an hour later, you were still in pain, but, hey, at least your room was . . . sort of clean.
You huffed and sat on the floor by the end of your bed. You rolled your right shoulder and hissed -- you felt like you were feverish, but you knew it was just a hot flash, a side effect of the pain, but now you were feeling nauseous.
Great.
You heard someone knock on your doorframe and looked up.
"Ah, Gav," you said. "What's up?"
"You look a little clammy," he said. He walked over and crouched in front of your two piles of clothes.
"Uh, yeah," you said, staring at him blankly. "Pain hasn't gone away yet. A little less bad than before, but yeah. Still sucks."
Nines walked into the room and put his hands on his hips. "I think we're making great progress."
"I thought you guys were supposed to be at work," you said, eyeing them. Gavin started folding some of your clean clothes. "What? Did Fowler send you over here?"
"There was a lull," Gavin said with a shrug. "FBI's still finding new ways to track Rex. And Willow's still working on, err, Connor. His memories."
The right side of your mouth twitched up. "I'm gonna have to get her a thank you card when this is all over."
"Or you can just thank her in person."
You mocked Gavin -- he threw a shirt at you. Nines joined you on the floor, and he was about to sort through your dirty clothes when you stopped him.
"Seriously, I can do those later," you said. You tried rolling your right shoulder again and sighed shakily. "Fuck."
"Phantom pain usually goes away in six months," Nines stated matter-of-factly. "Some amputees report phantom pain years after the fact, but sometimes it's less."
"It's okay," you said with a small smile. "The nice ladies at PT don't stop talking to me. About anything, really."
Gavin nodded and Nines hummed, and silence took over the room. You shifted so you were sitting on your butt and leaning against the bed, and you looked between the boys.
"Thanks, guys," you said. "Really. You didn't have to help, but . . . It's nice. More than nice, so . . . thanks."
"Don't mention it," Gavin said at the same time Nines said, "You're welcome."
You smiled briefly, trying to find the good in the moment, but you were starting to feel nauseous. "I'm gonna . . . lie down. Anyone wanna join me?"
"In bed?" Gavin scoffed. "No thanks. Connor freaks me out when he's intense. I like being alive, thank you very much."
"Oh, come on," you said, standing up. You jumped back onto the bed and shimmied until your head found a pillow. "We can clean the rest of the house later."
You were about to argue with them if they put up a fight, but Nines just sighed and got on the left side of the bed. Gavin looked awkward, but he finally joined you on the right side.
You sighed contentedly, and Princess even hopped up to join, sleeping between your and Gavin's body.
For a few minutes, you got to block out the world -- it was just you, your friends, and your cat on the bed.
The pain still throbbed at the end of your right arm, but you breathed through it.
At regular therapy, you'd confessed to feeling guilty -- that you could've been killed and you were lucky to be alive, lucky to have only lost three-quarters of your arm.
But the therapist had said something along the lines of, "You're allowed to be upset about this, (Y/n). You don't have to compartmentalize it."
And he was right. You didn't have to.
〇〇〇
January 23, 2042
The restlessness was getting out of hand.
You thought you'd gone through a bout of body dysphoria before when you were younger, but this was insane.
Your new therapist had even suggested upping the dosage of your antidepressants because you'd expressed minimal progress -- mentally.
Physically, you were doing just fine at PT.
You grabbed your pill bottle and wedged it between your hip and the counter so you could unscrew it. After you put a pill in between your teeth, you swallowed it down with some water.
And then, without much rhyme or reason, you walked into the hallway and took your mirror down, resting it against the wall.
There was still the matter of your bathroom mirror, but you reasoned you didn't have to use the bathroom. You could always put it off until tomorrow when you were getting your prosthetic.
Ha. "Reasoned."
Okay, bitch. Very reasonable.
You argued with yourself, stressing that everything just felt wrong with you. That once you had a prosthetic and had it working, could have one fucking ounce of control back in your life again, it would be a good thing.
Things would be good again.
They would.
They had to be.
〇〇〇
January 24, 2042
It'd been about a month since you lost part of your arm, and it was coincidentally the same day on which you'd be getting your prosthetic.
You'd been fitted up and down for it at PT. The ladies working there had explained that everything needed to be right and in order for the prosthetic to work its "magic."
But you didn't give a shit about magic.
You just wanted a right hand.
You got ready early because you were still struggling with the dressing aid for your bra, you put on a tank top, and then you did the bare minimum when it came to hygiene, like brushing your teeth and quickly washing your face.
You avoided the mirror, but it wasn't like you were fragile. You just didn't wanna look at yourself. It didn't mean . . . you hated yourself.
You shook your head.
No, I'm fine.
You took your pill before you left, and when you got down to the lobby, Nines had just pulled up. You huddled into your big winter jacket as you walked to his car, and as you got in the passenger seat, you sighed, grateful for the heated seat.
"I didn't know you drove such a sporty car," you teased.
Nines just rolled his eyes as you buckled yourself.
"It's not mine . . . technically," he said, clearing his throat. "I, uh . . . The company sent it to me. To pick me up. And then you."
You furrowed your brow but just shrugged it off. "Weird. But I guess this company is pretty swanky."
The car pulled away from the curb, driving itself even though Nines could've used the steering wheel.
You made light conversation as the car sped over a self-driving highway, and in a few minutes, it was coming to a stop. You hadn't been paying attention, half-expecting the car to take you to a hospital-esque building, but you were . . .
"Wait," you said, looking around. "We've been here before."
Nines laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Yeah. You're right."
"Wait . . . Nines. You can't be serious."
You looked to Nines as he shrugged, smiling ruefully.
You scoffed as you got out of the car, looking up at the building, the one with Kamski's penthouse at the top -- there was no way this was a coincidence.
You turned to Nines as he handed the car keys to a valet.
You spluttered, pointing around, trying to form a coherent thought.
Nines fixed his black tie as he guided you toward the building, and you finally found your voice when you were both alone in the elevator.
"Kamski makes prosthetics?"
"He does," Nines said, glancing at you. He was smirking, and you gave him an incredulous look. "You see, I pulled a few strings. Got your insurance company to cover something experimental. And I chipped in, of course."
"What--? Nines! What the hell?! Why didn't you tell me?" You were genuinely shocked. "And you shouldn't have paid for it! Or anything!"
"Oh, don't worry about me," Nines said, waving a hand. "Money accumulates, and I usually have no use for it. Well, I donate a large chunk of my salary because I do not need sustenance. But I still have a lot left over."
"I -- I don't know what to say."
"You can start with 'thank you,'" Nines said, shouldering you lightly. You couldn't help but grin, and you went in for the hug, squeezing him as much as you could with one arm.
The elevator dinged open, and you turned around, instantly facing a pristine open area. You'd expected a front desk and hallways, but this floor was . . .
"Is this all open space?" You asked, walking forward.
You spun around, looking past all the machinery and empty tables, all the racks filled with power tools and whatnot. And to be honest, you were most excited about the floor-to-ceiling windows because they revealed the city in all its cloudy glory.
"It's Kamski's . . . playroom," Nines said.
You gave him a dubious look, and he returned it with a charming smile.
"How do you know Kamski?" You finally asked. "Like, for real. I'm intrigued."
Nines's smile turned into a wider grin -- he simply guided you around the elevator, and the cylindrical shape of the floor revealed even more tools and workspace.
"He's a friend," Nines said with a small shrug. "We know each other."
"Yes, but . . . how well?" You raised a brow.
Nines shoved you lightly. "I can't have secrets?"
You scoffed. "I bet Kamski'll tell me."
"He's only talkative when he's drunk."
You scoffed again, incredulous. "I feel like I don't know you."
Nines rolled his eyes in response, but he was still smirking.
He brought you over to a cluster of tables, one of them looking like a medical table, and he told you to make yourself comfortable on it.
You did, and he walked away -- but not far.
He moved over to a raised car and stepped on the edge of a creeper, and when you looked down you realized there were legs under the car -- that it was Kamski.
Nines toed the creeper out from under the car, and Kamski yelped, sliding across the floor until he planted his feet down.
"Oh, you're here!" Kamski shouted -- he was listening to music. Nines made a funny face, and Kamski cleared his throat, taking out his earbuds. "Ah, sorry."
Nines helped Kamski up, and you pursed your lips, trying not to smile.
You could see them together. For sure.
"Ah, Ms. (Y/n)," Kamski said.
He approached you and moved a cart to the right of your knees. He looked a little flushed from working on his car, and his usually neat hair looked messy, strands falling out of his topknot.
"I wasn't expecting you for another hour," Kamski said, giving Nines a pointed look. "But don't worry, I have everything ready. Nines, since you decided to come early, be a dear and fetch me my, uh . . . My computer stand. The one with the computer on it. You know which one I'm talking about."
Nines dropped a hand on Kamski's shoulder and smiled. "Of course."
Kamski gave him a look as he walked away, and then he shook his head.
"You two are cozy," you said, keeping your voice even.
Kamski inhaled deeply. "Don't."
You grinned despite yourself. "I was always curious as to what your relationship is with him."
"Not 'is,'" Kamski said, removing a sheet from the cart. "Past tense."
"You're not dating anymore?"
"You're lucky Nines is here," Kamski said. "I once said I wasn't your fairy godmother, but Nines? Cunning motherfucker. He knew exactly what he was doing when he . . ."
"When he what?"
"Yeah, when I what?" Nines asked, returning with a cart. It seemed to be stocked with a computer, monitors, and a bunch of cords.
"When you wheedled me into doing this," Kamski said with a cough.
It was alarming -- just how docile Kamski seemed to be around Nines. It was throwing you off.
"Wheedled you into making me an arm?" You asked.
"This isn't a normal prosthetic," Kamski said. He gestured to the cart by your knees, and then he opened a black box and revealed the most cyborg shit you'd ever seen.
It was an arm alright, and it looked almost identical to your left arm -- save for the clear glass paneling and thick cords running through it.
You couldn't look away from the hand.
Some paneling was made with the same material of an android's chassis, and it made your stomach twist around a brief, sad feeling, remembering when Connor exposed his hand for you to hold.
"This is a state of the art prosthetic," Kamski said, holding up your new arm. "It's only a prototype, but it costs a small fortune. So, please, I'm begging you. Don't damage it."
"What am I gonna do? Stick it in a blender?"
"Ha." Kamski put the arm back down and moved the computer cart so it was to the left of your knees.
You felt a little crowded on the medical table, but you weren't about to complain.
Something came to mind as Kamski started the computer, and it made you chuckle.
"What?" Nines asked. He leaned against the end of the table.
"Nothing, I just--" You stopped yourself and swallowed around a lump forming in your throat. "Just reminds me of Connor, y'know? He was a prototype. Cost a small fortune."
You smiled, but it was hard.
Nines pressed a hand to your upper back, and you turned to face him.
"We'll get him back," he said. "Don't worry. I promise."
You didn't wanna say making a promise like that was dangerous because it gave you hope -- so you kept your mouth shut, nodding.
"Okay, let's get this going," Kamski said, typing a few things into his laptop.
He turned back around and grabbed the arm, putting it by your right hip. It clinked against the table, and you wondered what it'd feel like when you had it on -- when it was up and running.
"Now," Kamski said, "there are a few things I need to explain."
He picked up the arm again, showing you the part that would connect to your bicep. "This is where it'll be attached to your arm. Now, this isn't like a regular biomedical prosthetic. Most people need electrodes in their arms, but this is new technology."
Kamski revealed a few more things from the cart on your right, and he looked to you for confirmation to get started.
"Let's do this," you said, straightening.
Kamski slipped a sleeve on your arm, one that matched your skin tone, and then he slid the arm over it.
He plugged the arm into the laptop with a few cords, and then he pressed a small and indiscernible button by your right wrist, making the arm whir to life and tighten securely around your bicep.
You were a little freaked out, but this was . . . cool. Nice. You had nothing to compare it to, so it was only natural to be nervous.
Kamski produced a piece of metal and rubber that looked like it belonged on your shoulder. "This connects to the arm. So, you know, it doesn't come off. The grip on your bicep works for any regular person, but I know you work in law enforcement. But . . . you also shouldn't be dangling off of any building with this arm, got it?"
"Yeah, sure."
Kamski attached the shoulder and flipped over a piece of it, and he pressed another button by your wrist. He turned back to the laptop and typed a few things in, and then your arm lit up with soft blue light, the cords inside it glowing.
Your eyebrows shot up.
The shoulder piece secured itself to your shoulder, and then the arm itself unlatched a few pieces of metal, like teeth, and attached to the shoulder.
You looked up, nervous.
Nines was smiling encouragingly, and Kamski typed a few more things in before unplugging the arm. He stared down at it, expecting something to happen, and you were too.
The arm made soft beeping noises before spreading the white chassis of androids over its surface, covering the cords and whatnot.
"You can have skin that matches your complexion," Kamski explained. He gestured to the hidden group of buttons by your wrist. "The buttons are pretty intuitive, but I'll give you a little guide before you leave."
"Before I leave?" You asked, caught off guard. "Surely that's not all."
"No, yeah, it is," Kamski said, waving a hand. "You should try moving."
"What if it doesn't work?"
Kamski raised a brow. "I mean, that would be embarrassing. For me, not for you."
You sighed and shifted on the table, and then you made the thought to move your fingers. You felt the muscles moving in your bicep, and the fingers moved. Your fingers.
You smiled breathlessly, looking up at Kamski and Nines.
You lifted your right arm, and things were going great until you felt a shooting pain. You weren't sure what kind of sound you made, but you flinched back like you could slip out of the arm, but it was securely attached.
"You okay?" Nines asked.
"Yeah, it's just . . ." You trailed off and tried to move your arm again. You could, but there was a dull pain. "I just gotta break it in."
"I wish I could ensure no pain, but it's part of the process," Kamski said. "Even with older biomedical prosthetics, there were complications with electrodes and nerves. This technology tracks muscle movement, mostly from your shoulder, and it's not unlike how an android functions.
"You see, the shoulder tracks muscle movement all the way down to your bicep, and it relays messages to your arm via sensors. The rest is up to coding. Code that I made from scratch, thank you very much."
"So my nerves are freaking out because . . ?"
"Very small electrical currents," Kamski said, waving a hand. "They're not harmful. You just have to get used to the arm, and it'll even learn over time. It's like AI, except it's learning from you. It's now . . . a part of you."
You raised your arm, and this time the pain was barely noticeable. It was still there, prodding, but you chose to ignore it for now.
If it was manageable, you could handle it.
"I wrote down everything you need to know in this manual," Kamski said. He produced a small but thick wad of paper. "And don't skip out on PT. They know how this thing works, and I'm expecting results."
"Aye, aye," you said, taking the manual.
You'd used your right arm for it, and it felt weird to hold the manual in your white palm, the chassis glistening a bit. You didn't have sensation, but you weren't sure you wanted it anyway.
Not when your nerves were still calming down.
As you hopped off the table and put your coat back on, you listened to Kamski and Nines about something inane. You weren't focusing on their conversation until something caught your attention, and you turned to face them, cocking your head to the side.
"What did you . . . just say?"
"We're talking about support groups." Kamski emphasized a few words sarcastically, and Nines sighed, giving you an exasperated look. "There's a support group for everything now. Even android-human relationships."
"Where are they?" You asked. "These groups?"
"I don't know, there's a bunch in Betrys," Kamski said. He threw up a hand and shrugged, reorganizing his carts. "Some of 'em are kind of culty. Don't recommend them."
"Culty?" You narrowed your eyes. "You went to one?"
Kamski and Nines glanced at each other.
"You both--?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "So you were dating? And you went to one? Together?"
"They're not very useful," Nines said, his tone clipped. "As you can tell."
You felt like you were intruding on something private, but you felt like you were onto something -- in regard to Rex. "I'm only asking because those groups would be the perfect place for Rex to find his next couple."
Nines blinked a few times, obviously processing something.
"I just sent a message to Willow," he said, gesturing to leave. "We should meet up at the station. I think you're onto something."
You started forward and then stopped, nodding at Kamski and offering a small smile. "Thank you. So much. I -- I really appreciate it, and--"
"Just don't get it destroyed," Kamski said. "At least, not until I can get another one built."
You waved goodbye and started toward the elevator with Nines. As it dinged closed, you turned to him, unable to keep yourself from smirking.
"So you were dating."
"Ugh. You're insufferable."
〇〇〇
"So what do we have?" You asked.
You and Nines were just walking into the private room on the second floor of the precinct -- Willow was already there with Gavin and Luna.
"There're three support groups in Betrys," Willow said, gesturing to some papers on the desk. "But I narrowed it down to one. It has some . . . interesting reviews."
You unconsciously reached out with your right hand -- it clanged against the edge of the table.
"Shoot," you muttered. You grabbed the papers and inspected the support groups, and when you looked up you realized everyone was looking at your prosthetic. "Oh. Yeah. I got this today."
"How fascinating," Luna said, genuinely intrigued. "I didn't know prosthetic companies were moving into something more advanced."
"Well, they're technically not," Nines cut in. "At least, not yet." He gestured to your right arm. "This arm was designed and built by Kamski. He wants to get involved with technology again."
Luna and Willow's eyebrows shot up, surprised.
"Dude, that's fucking awesome," Gavin said. He reached out to touch your arm, but he stopped himself. ". . . Can I?"
You smiled and held up your arm, and he lightly held your hand.
"Can you feel that?" He asked, gently squeezing your fingers.
"No?" You shrugged. "Kamski hasn't really focused on sensation yet."
Gavin gave you a quick smile, and you did a small double-take. He looked more than happy; he looked proud. There was a softness to his face you hadn't seen in a while, and it made you smile back.
"I gotta get changed out of this tank top," you said, putting the papers down. "But Gavin, Nines, and I can check out this support group . . . They call themselves Timeline?"
"Yeah, I don't know," Willow said with a shrug. "Weird."
"Thanks for the help, Willow," you said, touching her shoulder. "It means a lot."
She smiled. "Anything for you guys. Don't even worry about it."
〇〇〇
Fortunately, when you arrived at Timeline, there was a support group meeting in a few minutes.
The place itself was wedged in between boutiques and shops, and the openness of the area reminded you of a studio apartment. There were big windows by the sidewalk, so any passerby could look in.
"It's kind of nice," you said.
You'd changed into a black blouse, and it'd been somewhat of a challenge with your new arm, but you got it to obey your desired movements.
And Kamski had been right -- it felt like most of the time the arm was moving before you'd even made the thought to move.
"Hello!" A young woman in her late twenties approached the three of you. She was petite and had black hair, and there were freckles all over her face. "Welcome to Timeline! You all look new!"
"Err, yeah," Gavin said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Well, welcome! My name is Faith, and this," she gestured to the open room, "is Timeline. My pride and joy!"
You forced yourself to smile. "So where do we get started?"
"Well, you and your boyfriend can come over here," Faith said, gesturing to you and Nines. She turned to Gavin and said, "Are you waiting on your partner?"
Before Gavin could even splutter something indignant, you said, "We-- We'd like to sit together. The three of us."
Faith's eyebrows shot up, and then she smiled with a knowing look in her eyes. "A throuple! How intriguing. You're our first polyamorous relationship, how exciting."
Your mouth parted, and you looked from Gavin to Nines.
"My human partners are a little nervous," Nines said, moving in between you and Gavin. He swung his arms around your shoulders, and you forced out a good-humored laugh. "So, Faith, where should we sit?"
The hostess had the three of you sit in a small group near the back. You picked up a pamphlet on your seat and looked through it with Gavin and Nines.
"What the hell . . ?" You skimmed through it, genuinely confused. "They preach a lifestyle in which the android partner is permanently terminated when the human dies. Isn't that . . . a little morbid?"
"Or culty?" Gavin added.
"It's becoming more and more popular," Nines said. You raised a brow at him. "Well, as a concept. It's only been four years since the revolution, so . . . humans in android-human relationships are still relatively young."
"You're serious?" You asked. "This is a thing?"
"We'll have to give it a few decades," Nines said with a shrug. "But I've been interested in the idea. Well, once I find a human partner."
Your chest spasmed. "Nines, you can't be serious." When Faith started speaking in the middle of the room, you whispered, "We're talking about this later."
You gave him a serious look, but he just rolled his eyes.
Faith ranted about Timeline's mission statement, and you glanced at Gavin. He was scrolling through notifications on his phone, so you placed your right hand over his screen.
A flare of pain, though dull, shot up your shoulder. You did your best to ignore it.
"Come on," Gavin whispered. "You're not my mom."
"We're here for a reason," you said. "Talk to some people when she's done, okay?"
Gavin nodded and put his phone away, and when Faith stopped talking, he turned to his right, talking to a couple. You and Nines turned to the left and started talking to two women.
Their names were Brielle and Ivy, and they were also new members. They'd only been to two meetings so far, so they weren't sure if they liked Timeline or not.
"Their mission statement is a little morbid," you said lightly. You crossed your legs and leaned into Nines, holding his forearm. "It's like, I just can't picture my lil' munchkin dying after me."
You felt Nines stiffen at the term of endearment.
"Yeah this place is a little culty," Brielle said.
Her girlfriend, Ivy, gave her a look. "It's better than the last place."
Brielle barked out a laugh. "Yeah. Compared to the last place, this is normal."
"Do you mind telling us the name of it?" Nines asked.
"Yeah, sure," Ivy said. "It's called Paradise. We were never fully inducted or whatever. We just . . . got a bad vibe from it and left before we got involved."
"Yeah. Very sus," Brielle added. "And we stopped seeing our therapist because he was the one who recommended it."
An uncertain feeling pooled in your gut. "Therapist? Do -- Do you mind if we ask for his name?" When the couple gave you a weird look, you added, "You might have mixed feelings about him, but we're, uh, desperate."
"Name's Cayne Shaw," Brielle said. "Creepy fucker. I'm telling you now I don't recommend him, but it's your choice.
Nines had a faraway look in his eye, and you just knew he was researching Paradise and Cayne Shaw.
You thanked the couple and stood, tugging on Nines's arm. You shook Gavin's shoulder, getting him to stand, and then you all left Timeline -- you were practically dragging the boys because you were walking so fast.
"What happened?" Gavin asked, confused.
"Got some intel on another culty place and a therapist," you explained.
"I sent information to Willow," Nines said.
Your phone rang, and you answered the call from Willow, putting it on speakerphone.
"The therapist has purple eyes," Willow said immediately. "Right now, I'm only doing surface-level research, but what are the odds that Cayne Shaw and Rex have identical eyes?"
"He's obsessed with himself," you blurted out. "He -- He would keep the same eyes. I just know it. Willow, do they have similar faces?"
"There are some differences in the jaw and nose, but otherwise . . . They look eerily similar.
"And get this! Because Cayne Shaw's an android, I can track his movements. It . . . seems like some of his movements have been tampered with and deleted, but he spends a lot of time and money at Paradise. Like, a lot."
"We have to go there," you said, looking between Gavin and Nines. "Connor could be there right now."
"You--" Nines stopped himself, shaking his head. "You just got your arm today. You don't even know how to shoot with it."
"We have to go," you said, standing your ground. "We should at least check it out. Do some scouting."
Nines inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine."
"Guys, there's more," Willow said, and you could hear her typing away. "Cayne Shaw's girlfriend was killed a few years ago, but he was never tried for the murder because it was caught on CCTV. It's just . . . the 'murderer' didn't have Cayne's face. It was Rex's."
"That's it," you said, walking to Nines's car. "Willow, cross reference any recent disappearances with members of Paradise. And I don't care if you have to do some illegal hacking. It'll be on me."
"So you really think Rex is operating out of Paradise?" Gavin asked, hurrying with you.
"I'm more than sure it's where he finds his next victims," you said, hopping into the passenger seat. Gavin got in the back of the car, and Nines settled in the driver seat, glancing between the two of you.
"We're going there to look," Nines stressed. "That's all."
You took a steadying breath and said, "Yeah. Just to look."
〇〇〇
"It's on Saffron Street," you breathed as you approached the skyrise that was Paradise. "Nines, this--"
"Can't be a coincidence," the android said. He shot you a worried look and swallowed thickly. "I know."
"This is fuckin' crazy," Gavin grumbled. "We should've done this at night. I feel too exposed."
"The sun sets in an hour," you deadpanned. "We're fine."
The three of you jogged up the concrete stairs, passing fake flowers and shrubbery. The first place of Paradise was a busy hub, consisting of one singular hallway and multiple elevators.
You gravitated toward the front doors, but Nines grabbed your arm and gave you a disappointed look.
"(Y/n), don't," he said. "We can come back with a warrant."
You looked away from Nines and tilted your head back, looking at the top of the building.
Something painful settled in your chest, making your breath hitch.
"Nines, he's here. I know he is."
"Even if we did find him," Nines said, "we still don't know how to get rid of Rex's virus without completely obliterating Connor's memories." Nines grabbed your shoulders, making you look at him again. "(Y/n), please, listen to me."
You were about to argue, but Nines cocked his head to the side, processing an incoming message.
"Jericho's at the station," Nines said, tugging you and Gavin away from the building.
"What?" You and Gavin asked at the same time.
"I'll explain later," Nines said, making his way back to his car. "We need to go. Now."
〇〇〇
Your mind was a mess of thoughts as you pushed into the station with Gavin and Nines. You weren't speaking -- were only following them to the second floor.
You were trying to process everything -- everything you'd learned.
Rex was also Cayne Shaw, a therapist, and a potential cult leader. Paradise was on Saffron Street -- because of course it was. And Jericho was at the station, and the timing was too coincidental for it to be for a good reason.
You clenched your fists as Nines opened the door to the private room, revealing Markus and his entourage -- North, Simon, and Josh.
You'd never been formally introduced to Markus, the leader of the android revolution, but you'd heard things about him over the years -- sometimes from Connor, sometimes from the news.
Captain Fowler was there, and so were Luna and Willow.
"Nines," Markus said, approaching the three of you. "Connor's told me about you. It's a pleasure."
Nines and Markus shook hands, and Markus introduced himself to Gavin. And then Markus turned to you, his hazel eyes softening.
"It's been brought to my attention that Connor's been compromised," Markus said. "He's been a good friend to me, and Jericho wants to help in any way we can."
The android reached out to shake your hand, and you did the same.
"Prosthetic?" He asked. "You must be (Y/n)."
"Uh, yes," you said. "It's new."
You exchanged a look with Nines -- you didn't wanna have to explain the reason behind it.
"We need to get this meeting started," Fowler said. "This is huge, but we gotta keep it under wraps."
Everyone sat at the table, and you held your hands in your lap.
"Detective (Y/l/n)," Fowler started, "was the lead detective on two, almost three, homicide cases. We now have reason to believe that these cases are related to an android named Rex, otherwise known as Cayne Shaw."
"Jericho's been investigating missing androids for a couple of months," Markus said, and everyone turned to him. "We think they're connected to Paradise, a cult run by Cayne Shaw, an android who preaches android supremacy."
You furrowed your brow, thinking. "So . . . why stage homicides?"
"We think he's targeting members who wanted to leave," North spoke up. "We don't have much intel on the cult itself, but we think Shaw is trying to legitimatize it."
You turned to Nines, a bad feeling twisting at your gut. "Connor. He wants to use Connor."
"Unfortunately, that's what we think as well," Markus said. "Connor isn't as popular as he used to be, but he has an unforgettable face."
"And he led an army of androids," you said, things clicking together. "Rex -- I mean Shaw -- must think he can use that to his advantage. That Connor would . . . turn against Jericho and preach android supremacy."
Your leg bounced nervously. "That's why he was after Connor. All this time." You wiped at your face, feeling sick to your stomach all of a sudden. "I'm gonna puke."
Gavin reached out and held the back of your neck, and you leaned into his hand. You both shared a worried look as Markus kept talking.
"We also think Shaw is responsible for other things," he said. "Like creating android slaves, interacting with crime families, and human trafficking."
You pulled your blouse up and over your mouth and closed your eyes.
You couldn't listen to this, couldn't even begin to imagine what Connor was going through.
You just hoped he wasn't conscious for any of it.
Willow straightened as something pinged on her laptop, and she bolted upright, turning the projector on. Everyone watched in silence as she turned to a news channel.
Your heart nearly stopped when you saw a video of Connor being played. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit, and his hair had been slicked back and to the side.
Connor renounced his peaceful views when it came to androids and humans, and he even made demands for certain things. It reminded you of Markus's announcement at the beginning of the revolution four years ago.
"Just because androids are superior doesn't mean we can't live in harmony with humans," Connor said.
He regarded the camera coolly, and you were reminded of the moment he shot you. How he'd looked right through you -- like you were nothing.
"In fact, this is a message for (Y/n)," Connor said. "(Y/n), if you're listening to this . . . I love you. Please, come and find me. I can help you learn your role in the world of androids. Only then will you experience true paradise."
Nines stood up and turned the projector off.
I love you.
The silence in the room was alarming.
I love you.
You felt like your pulse was in your ears, echoing and echoing. Your chest heaved, but gently -- a controlled fury you'd only felt a few times in your life.
You couldn't get Connor's face out of your head, his words.
I love you.
Gavin said something, but you weren't listening. You got up and calmly walked out of the room.
It was the first time Connor had ever said those three words.
And it was to lure you in.
So he could kill you.