Chapter Text
"If we fail, it’s not because our machines are too intelligent, or not intelligent enough. If we fail, it’s because we grew complacent and limited our ambitions.”
- Garry Kasparov
Click. Plop. Roll. A pen hit a stack of papers and pictures.
Gavin checked his watch. He’d stayed up all night – again. He leaned on his elbows and scrubbed his face, trying to purge the tiredness from his eyes that hit him far too late for him to do anything about. His old, wooden kitchen table ached as it supported his full weight.
With his head in his palms, his gaze switched to the case filings strewn about before him. Without technology being readily available for the first time in decades, he’d copied a filing cabinet’s worth of documents to take home…not that it was doing him any good. The pads of his fingertips clawed at his temples. No matter how many times he reviewed the data or witness statements, he drew the same conclusion:
The war may have been settled, but they’d lost the city, and the rest of the world wasn’t far behind.
Riots, looting, unprecedented gang activity…it was a goddamn jungle out there, and he’d proposed multiple methods of slicing through it with a machete. The response to those proposals were “it’s too risky,” and Fowler couldn’t “afford to lose more cops.” Said they barely had enough to do the job now, even with the scores of android volunteers. On a normal day, there would’ve been serious security issues with that. Gavin still thought there were. He argued that point furiously. But Fowler was quick to remind him that people were dying in droves, and the DPD was fucking desperate.
After the Surge, Gavin continued to mourn the death of his friend that was now trapped in a tower and rightfully pissed off about it. He hoped she’d understand why he was rightfully pissed off at her, too. She was once married to Elijah Kamski and helped create androids. She was rA9, and stayed in hiding right under their fuckin’ noses. She skirted the line of allegiances, even if she did try to warn everyone that all this crazy shit would happen. And while she temporarily fixed the colossal dumpster fire that the Android Revolution had been, her solution got her shot. Killed.
A brass verdict.
Connor had been brought back to the station, covered in her very human blood. Fowler fell silent and Anderson released a soundless curse as he choked down whatever welled up inside him. Allen’s mouth moved and formed the words, “She’s dead.” Despite everyone in the room knowing exactly what news he brought from the frontlines, he’d been the one to slash at Gavin’s insides. To send Chris Miller into a hyperventilated state and forced a sound out of him like a buck who’d been shot but not quite put down. Since then, Gavin heard that sound every night in his dreams – a pleading cry to a God that was done listening.
His hands balled up into fists and collided with the table in a quick, angry thud. He pushed himself up with his forearms and ripped off the cross hanging around his neck. He opened a drawer, dropped it in, and slammed it shut. Grabbed a bottle of vodka from the rack. Popped the cap and embraced the sting like peroxide on open wounds. He had a few of those on the inside, and they needed sterilized.
He sat down on the couch. Petted his cat who’d instinctively jumped on his lap, putting his paws on Gavin’s chest to kiss his cheek with his wet nose…and he drank until the memories were suppressed, and the tears on his face were dry.
He would pay for it the following morning, like he had done every morning since his discharge in September. Would’ve started in August if he hadn’t been trapped in physical therapy. August 15th, to be exact.
Gavin’s smartwatch vibrated, matching the rhythm of an alarm’s loud chirp bursting in his ears. He groaned, silencing it, and checked the screen as he lifted his arm off his face:
December 14th, 2038
5:45am
(10 new notifications)
Fresh snow on the ground outside reflected a streetlight’s glare, temporarily blinding him as it crept through small gaps in the living room curtains. His feet touched the cold floor that sent him into a shiver, and residual night sweats only made it worse. Despite the ache in his bones, he stood up, and the room spun. He wobbled, knocking over an empty bottle, wincing at the noise. It scared his cat, Olivier, and even the sound of his thudding paws penetrated his skull. Gavin barely found the energy to grab a beer, take a shower with it, and get himself dressed, but he’d accomplished those things, somehow. He opened his medicine cabinet and chased down the trifecta of his morning medication with the remnants of the can before he crushed it and threw it in a wastebasket. His reflection shuddered in the cabinet door’s mirror as he closed it, and he only stayed there long enough to make himself look presentable. He never gave himself time to eat breakfast, so he grabbed whatever nonperishable his hand touched first from a pantry, said goodbye to Oli, and went on his way.
This cycle of self-destructive behavior was one well practiced.
He shut the front door behind him, flipping his keys between his fingers before locking up. It was wet. Freezing. Rain cut holes in the snow, and ice encased the tunnels. Steady trickles formed a watery curtain along the edges of his porch’s overhang.
“Really need to clean those gutters…” He sighed, his breath leaving his lips as a plume of fog.
He looped a Jeep-branded carabiner around his thumb, his keys dangling as he reached in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth, shielded it from the wind, and flicked his almost-empty lighter until it produced a flame just small enough to ignite the tip. His eyes fluttered, a wintery gust passing over them.
The smell of snow, rain, and ice brought him back to when his father would take him hunting. In their gear, they were invisible. There’d been a time when a doe got so close, he swore he could’ve touched her.
Gavin exhaled, the stream of smoke swept away by a whispering breeze.
The crisp scent of aged pine needles and saturated timber filled his nose. The thrum of a crossbow as a bolt ripped from the track echoed in his ears. Frost nipped at his toes through thick socks and heavy boots as he followed blood trails made up of dripped, red dots. Every one of them spread through the snow as each crystal bled individually.
“Just like that night-“
He winced, throat constricting as it choked him out of his daydream.
He bit the filter of his cigarette and flipped his hood over his head. Stuffed his hands in his pockets as he marched through the thin layer of slush and puddles, splashing water up his pantlegs and staining the hemline of his jeans. The zipper on his leather jacket jingled from his quick pace. He was already 15 minutes late.
He pressed the unlock button on his key fob, grabbed the door handle of his bright red Jeep Wrangler, and opened it before stepping up on the plate 18 inches off the ground. He landed in his seat, slammed the steel door shut, jammed the key in the ignition, and embraced the familiar, angry rumble that followed eight cylinders burning off rime as they came to life. He cracked his window, ashing over the glass and turning the knob for his heater and defrost, the soft top billowing overhead from the vents. He slouched in his seat, his knee jumping as he waited for his car to warm up. He sucked on that filter harder than before, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
A long time ago, his dad told him only the best hunters would share the woods with prey in weather like this.
“Only the best hunters…”
Hunters like that stupid mother fucker who’d made himself invisible. Disobeyed the law of the land, and killed a doe with fawns that weren’t ready to live on their own. Her. Androids. The things he’d hated more than anything before she’d somehow opened his eyes to their humanity. Tried to. Only partly succeeded. Either way, she didn’t deserve to die. Especially not at the hands of a poacher. Neither did Ryan.
Neither did Anthony.
He gave the cigarette one last pull, tossing it outside, his watch banging against the window and scraping along the door as he rolled it back up. He put his seatbelt on, cranked the emergency brake, turned on his headlights and flicked his windshield whippers to two before throwing the transmission in drive.
The Jeep’s tires grated against the pavement as he turned the wheel, and the hungry purr of a powerful engine shook the cabin. The loose change in his cup holder rattled as he hit a pothole, not bothering to drive around it. He rocked in his seat, arm barred as he leaned into the windowsill on his elbow. He slowed at a stop sign, turn-signal clicking as traffic sped by on the street in front of him.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack-
He was back in that tree, branches laid with snow. He hadn’t made a sound. Hadn’t left a trace.
He hooked the stirrup around his boot. Pulled the cables along the grooves until the latch locked. Drew a bolt from the metal quiver underneath the barrel and docked it along the track. Planted the stock on his shoulder, and lined the sights with his eye.
The air was still. The forest was quiet. His breaths were slow and steady, their gentle clouds of steam warming his wrists.
And he’d wait. He’d followed the trail, decided on a position, and waited in a barren watchtower made of snow and wood; he’d become one with it. His prey would stumble into the trapless snare he’d laid with his line of sight. He adjusted his aim. Molded his finger around the hair trigger. Narrowed his eyes just enough to bring them into focus-
A loud beep made him jump, his shoulder hitting the mount for his seatbelt.
He looked around, heart pounding as he was yanked back to reality. He looked in the rearview mirror, another driver throwing his hands up as he yelled. Gavin flicked him off, swearing under his breath before looking both ways. He turned down the road and started his commute to work.
The city opened up along the freeway, unwinding itself as he curved around the inbound morning traffic. Life was doing all it could to operate normally, but the buildings had lost their glimmer. Their lights had been dimmed, and its inhabitants were struggling to keep the last ones aflame. Gavin stared at them longingly, trying to focus on the road.
Detroit wasn’t the forest where he learned to hunt, but it was the jungle where he practiced his craft until he perfected it. When the DPD finally did catch that RK800, the one parading around with a notch on his belt and a blood trail on his heels…on a hope and a prayer, Gavin would be the one to put him down.
To deliver a bolt into a pump for a heart, and watch the snow bleed blue, instead.
…
“Morning.” An officer at Central Station’s new security checkpoint greeted him, “Credentials, please.”
Gavin rolled his eyes, pressing his badge against his window that was open just enough so they could talk.
“Apologies, Detective Reed-”
“How do you not fuckin’ know it’s me by now?” He scoffed, not waiting for an answer before driving through.
He rounded the corner to the parking lot, pulling in the same spot he had been for years. That was one of the last remaining bits of order in his life, even if it meant parking between the lines, regardless of if it used to be too close to her car that was always one spot over. She yelled at him every day for not leaving her enough room to open her door. He smirked at the spot that was now empty, the memory fond, and pulled his jacket tighter over a black thermal and hopped outside.
His boots crunched through layers of snow, and he locked his car behind him. He clipped his keys on his beltloop, stuffing his hands in his pockets before making his way to the officer’s entrance of the precinct.
Like many others, that morning had been one that he wasn’t ready to deal with. At the very least, his hangover would soon be partially cured by coffee, as was his ritual. Getting to it could be the hard part, though, especially if the power decided to cut out overnight. Gossip and rumors ran rampant whenever that happened, and short conversations relating to such delayed him from getting to the break room. Everyone was vocal about their mixed feelings towards the person…or thing, responsible for those brief outages, but all of it was a wake-up call way stronger than coffee, and he’d have preferred to stay asleep…night terrors withstanding.
It was uncharacteristically warm in the building, almost like they’d cranked up the heat as a “thank you” for a special occasion. The sudden shift from the bitter cold outside made his nose run, and he plucked a tissue from a box from some new cop’s desk that he didn’t know. Felt her staring at him as he kept walking, too. Didn’t care. He made his way to the break room, taking his granola bar out of his pocket before peeling the wrapper down and biting it. He went to make coffee, watching the newscast on a wall-mounted TV, depicting a woman standing in front of a crime scene.
“…first responders arrived at the world-renowned La Perla Blanca restaurant and nightclub in Detroit last night, where-“
“Did you just wipe your nose and touch the coffee pot?” Chen asked from behind him.
“Yeup.” He sniffled, his attention going back his cup, “Just spreadin’ the love.”
“That’s gross. Clean it when you’re done!”
“Nah,” he shrugged, “That’s a woman’s job.”
“Oh my god…” She half laughed, pinching the bridge of her nose near her temples, “It’s way too early for your bullshit.”
He locked the granola bar in his teeth to free up both of his hands, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "C'n I m'ke 'n 'ppointment f'r later?"
“You know I didn’t understand any of that, right?”
“Reed.” Someone else knocked on the wall, “Need to talk…and yes, now.”
Gavin’s eyebrows threaded. His teeth locked down harder on the bar, turning his head to see who was summoning him…and then he felt like a fucking idiot. He’d been caught just standing there, pouring coffee with a fucking a granola bar sticking out of his mouth, hoping his eyes weren’t bloodshot anymore and his dark circles didn’t look nearly as bad in the office as they had in his bathroom mirror.
“C'pt'n Al'n?” He said, almost choking on his makeshift breakfast as his cup overflowed and burned his hand at the same time, “AH!” He yelled, the half-eaten granola bar dropping in a new puddle of spilled coffee, “FUCK!” he shook his hand, running it under cold water near the sink.
Captain Allen sighed, looking at Chen, “He always like this?”
Gavin turned back to the sink, turning off the water and drying his hand, “Not a word, Tina.”
“First you tell me it’s my job to clean up after you, then you tell me to be quiet?” She laughed, “Yeah, okay…have fun with that.” She nodded to the mess.
“Captain needs to talk to me, you can’t do me this one favor?”
“Hell no.” She left the break room, handing coffee to her partner that’d just arrived before they walked down the hall together.
Gavin groaned, ripping paper towels off the roll, “What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Just…” Allen scolded under his breath, “Get yourself together, and meet me in the conference room…fuck’s sake, Reed.” He had a disappointed look on his face as he shook his head, walking away.
Fuck this morning.
…
“Mother fucking-fuck-“ Gavin whispered harshly as he thumbed at the coffee stain on his shirt.
He gave up. It was black, anyway. Whatever.
He opened the door to the conference room with his shoulder, freezing in the doorway when he looked up. In the room was Captain Allen, as expected…however, his company was not. Like the pack of wolves they were, Unit 32 of the SWAT team, codenamed “The Marauders,” dotted the room in various poses.
One woman, Sage Talon, was sitting on a desk with her boots in the seat of a chair, facing Akane Mayumi, who was sitting patiently with almost perfect posture while they engaged in a hushed conversation. A big, burly man whose name was Liam Miller sat down with his arms crossed, hat pulled over his face, looking as if he was taking a nap. Two other guys, Jack Cooper and Chris Grenier, were behind him, making weird poses with him and taking pictures, giggling quietly.
Their names were fresh in his mind since the morning everyone’s life was upended. Still, the last time Gavin was in this room was back when they were the ones giving the briefing, right before the riot control situation. He suddenly felt like the only stranger in the room. What was he doing here with them, anyway? He was good, but he was a detective. The Marauders were certified killing machines that came directly out of the armed forces, and they all had ties to each other.
Gavin was about to ask before another person walked across his field of view. A weasel looking mother fucker wearing a trench coat.
“Why the FUCK is he here?!”
Liam snapped awake. The hushed conversation stopped. The giggling and fun halted. Everyone’s attention was on him, now.
“Easy, Reed.” Allen lowered his hands in an easing motion, “I don’t like the guy either, but we need FBI resources.”
“Always a warm welcome at DPD.” Perkins said sarcastically, his nose still wrapped and recovering from the last “warm welcome” given to him by one particular Lieutenant.
Anger welled up in Gavin’s chest until it popped like a bubble, “Trenchcoat over there is the reason why Chris is on bereavement because our FRIEND got-”
“Reed.” Allen repeated himself, a little more “unf” in his chest, “That’s enough.”
Gavin respected his seniors, especially when he knew they could beat his ass, but being muzzled while enraged was making that effort significantly harder. He glanced around at the other Marauders, each looking tired beyond belief, and highly irritated. They stared at him with a look that said, “shut up and sit down,” so he did.
Perkins stood at a small podium, clicking a remote over his shoulder. The LED screen behind him that made up the back wall in the conference room changed, still functioning despite multiple dead pixels and burn marks from the EMP. It showed a picture of some lavish restaurant, a bar – the same one he’d seen on TV in passing.
“Last night, reports came in about an incident at a popular night spot, La Perla Blanca, that garnered international attention. Detective Collins worked the scene and determined-”
“Ben? At a nightclub? Oh, someone definitely got shot. Only way he’d be there.” Gavin yawned, kicking his feet up and crossing his arms behind his head.
Captain Allen swiped at his ankles, knocking his legs off the table.
“Hey!“ Gavin whined.
“Correct.” Perkins answered over him.
Allen crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall to Gavin’s left, and shook his head in a way only a father would know how to with a “this is your last warning” kind of look. Gavin regretted sitting at a perimeter desk anywhere near him.
“An RK800 was shot in the head outside of the establishment.” Perkins continued, “The public thought it was Connor at first since his face is well known, thanks to the revolution’s broadcast...” He soured at the memory, “In cooperation with the DPD, the FBI has determined that it was not Connor that was murdered. That aside, this incident has raised some questions about how the lookalikes are going to impact public image during an already fragile state. The President, under my advisement,” He added, cocky as ever, “put together a response that has kept the media at bay, and redirected their focus on the doomsday phenomenon we all now know as ‘the Surge.’”
Of course he’d inject an ego stroke in there. So very, very Special Agent like.
“However, we want to avoid the public learning about Amanda’s remaining RK800 units, and to do that, we need to take them down. While we’re doing so, it will be of the utmost importance for the DPD to save face by keeping its own RK800 around-”
“Well, he’s not here.” Gavin snickered, balancing on the back legs of his chair, “He’s gone with the wind, probably working for Amanda right now like all of his freaky little clones.”
“I really hate to agree with you, Detective, but that is a possibility…and a likely one.” Perkins scoffed, “However, since Connor has become the aforementioned public figure that he is, the DPD is going to have to replace him if they want to keep the heat off themselves. Rogue RK800 units are one thing – a beloved, symbolic figure going rogue is another.”
“And just how the hell’re we s’posed to do that?” Liam asked.
He scratched at his bushy beard, his arms flexing tattooed muscles. A thick southern accent that Gavin couldn’t place before hung on his words. Texas, maybe?
“He’s getting there, Miller.” Captain Allen answered on Perkins’ behalf.
Miller. It still hurt to hear that name and not see Chris Miller’s face.
“Wish he’d get there sooner…” Marauder Miller muttered.
“Liam-“ Sage whispered, “Sh!”
“Maybe the public should know what’s going on with the RK800s.” The more silent and enigmatic woman, Akane, argued, “We’re depending on civilian reports now more than ever. What do we have to gain by lying to them?”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Mayumi.” Perkins snapped, “Only the best call the shots, in case you forgot. And we have the best handling these decisions.”
“And the greatest of us make the shots, remember?” Mayumi leaned back and smirked as a split second of fear flashed through Perkins’ eyes, “The best are right here, in this room.”
Gavin gulped.
“A-anyway…” Perkins pretended to cough, “…the android manufacturing plants are now outside human jurisdiction as per the new emergency order issued by the US government. As some of you might know, this was a good faith gesture to appease some of the androids’ demands. Pair that with the recent Scrap, and you can see what kind of a bind the DPD is in regarding a plan to employ a Connor lookalike.”
“So we’re just supposed to…what, manifest one into existence?” Cooper chuckled.
“No.” Perkins shifted his weight, clearly annoyed by the constant interruptions, “You’re going to work with the hyper-advanced android that CyberLife had in reserves. It might not look exactly like Connor, but it’s close enough.”
A chill climbed up Gavin’s spine like a pair of cold hands using his vertebrae as a ladder.
“The RK900…?” He muttered.
The android who appeared that day with no rhyme or reason. Who made any sane man recoil with one of his lethal glances. The android who broke Elijah Kamski with a mere string of words.
“Yes.” Perkins answered, “And it will be working with us.”
Gavin masked his sudden moment of panic with a sly remark, “I’m sure Hank will be happy to hear that…”
“Lieutenant Anderson will not be assisting us on this case. But you will.”
Gavin’s chair landed on all fours, and he leaned forward, grasping the edges of his desk, “What?”
“Captain Fowler told me you’ve been begging him to bring the proverbial hammer down, and that’s what you’re being called on to do.” Perkins crossed his arms, “The mission we’re about to review requires a certain aptitude for places outside Unit 32’s usual grounds of operation, and the FBI is stretched too thin to accommodate that.” He hit the button on the LED screen’s remote, changing the scenery to a biker bar.
The Bandits’ bar. He frequented it while undercover. A new shiver shot down his spine, a vital part of his body that’d become a highway for fear.
“Combining our intelligence with that of the DPD’s Criminal Intelligence Unit, we’ve determined that there are multiple rogue RK800s hiding deep in the underground network of Detroit. Keep in mind, there are no rules or regulations for handling android-operated organized crime. We’re making do with what we have, and learning as we go.” He flipped through various pictures of infamous figures as he spoke, “Drug cartels. Weapons smugglers. Human traffickers. All with fresh new ties to Amanda’s agents. That’s where you come in, Detective.”
“Hold on,” Gavin held his hands out, “you’re telling me that the RK800 units we have to track down are just conveniently still in Detroit, and happen to be working with our most wanted criminals?” He cackled, “Talk about open fucking season. There a tag limit?”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm…” Captain Allen cut into the conversation, “Not all of the RK800s are still in Detroit. Just the ones that are our top priority.”
“And the FBI agrees!” Perkins took back the center of attention, “That’s why the United States government has authorized a new DPD-FBI joint task force, designated STORM, to cut back as much red tape as possible. The mission is to clean up in-house and contain the localized threat before our most valued assets are moved outside of the immediate disaster area.”
“STORM?” Captain Allen shook his head with a huff, “You gotta me kiddin’ me.”
“It’s an acronym…Strategic Tactical Operations and Rapid Mobilization.” Perkins rolled his eyes, “At least it means something, unlike ‘the Marauders.’”
Captain Allen jabbed a finger and opened his mouth, but before he could rip Perkins a new asshole, someone asked a question.
“And what about the tower?” It was Chris Grenier, the person in the back who was decked out in high tech everything, “We’re losing more control of our power grids, internet, and communications daily. Shit, we can barely get a plane off the ground. You’re saying this takes priority?”
“We have reason to believe that the two are related. Our intelligence suggests that, once the RK800 units are neutralized, the CyberLife Tower will stabilize, and then we can decide how to move forward from there.”
“What intelligence?” Cooper asked, then, “Kamski? The RK900? Seymor? We’re believing anything those CyberLife pricks say now?”
“Classified.” Perkins snapped.
“Of-fucking-course…”
“Cooper.” Captain Allen barked, “You’ve been spending too much time with your sister…”
Jack soured at that.
Gavin suddenly realized that the Marauders’ key player was missing. Liera Lastimosa. The woman with cybernetics and a renewed, seething hatred for anything with CyberLife branding on it.
“Where is she, anyway?” Liam asked.
“Sick.” Cooper answered, “She’s-“
“Right here,” Liera barged in, removing her blacked-out motorcycle helmet, “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, wow…” Sage whispered to Akane, “She does look sick.”
“I didn’t even know she could get sick.”
“Me neither!”
“Care to share with the rest of the class where you were all morning?” Captain Allen watched her carefully.
When she turned to face him, her eyes were bloodshot, black circles marked underneath them, and traces of day-old makeup touched her lashes. She looked worse than Gavin had this morning, and that was saying a lot.
“I’m sick and overslept.” She stated plainly.
“’Sick and overslept,’” Allen repeated as would a parent right before they dismantled what bullshit excuse you gave them, “Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Her hands balled into fists, her jaw tightening.
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.” He growled, “I thought we had a disciplined veteran on our hands.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but never got a chance to finish.
“You said, ‘that’s where you come in?’” Gavin spoke up, interrupting the back and forth that was honestly just getting on his nerves, “What did you mean by that?”
“The Marauders have acted valiantly in the face of humanity’s biggest threat in modern history, however, they’ve had to do so from within the confounds of bureaucracy. Acknowledging that doesn’t mean the US government is ready to let them off their leash.” Perkins’ wording was netting him a lot of tension in the room, “It would be unwise to let a bunch of bloodhungry hounds into the wild without any kind of handler, so we’re putting you in charge of guiding them through the underground in order to prevent as much collateral damage as possible while tracking down the rogue RK800 units.”
“Me?” Gavin laughed, slapping the desk, “ME?!”
But he was the only one laughing, and then it faded into a nervous chuckle.
“It appears your degeneracy will be somewhat valuable for once, Detective.” Perkins sneered.
As professional as Captain Allen tried to maintain himself and his team, the hounds were definitely bloodthirsty in response to the insults hurled at them. Brave of Perkins, too. Gavin certainly wouldn’t make any comments like that about them…to their face, anyway. The number of ways those people knew how to kill other people and hide the body should’ve been illegal.
“Uh-“ Gavin piped up again, “I’m sure we’ll hammer out specifics before we’re, uhm…deployed…? Right?”
“Correct.” Captain Allen answered on Perkins’ behalf, still giving the FBI agent a glowering scowl.
He maintained the position of the biggest figure in the room. No one could argue that. Perkins didn’t dare argue with him then either.
“Whelp, looks like we’re done here-“ Gavin slapped his lap with both hands, stood up, but was pushed back down in his seat.
“Almost.” Captain Allen’s grip left a sore spot on his shoulder, “There’s still the matter of the android…the RK900 unit.”
Gavin braced.
That android appeared on their doorstep like a baby no one wanted. In the middle of all the chaos that day, Gavin fielded an untold number of existential questions, and this strange and mysterious android provided all the answers. It was too convenient. Too close to the enemy. He should’ve been disposed of the moment he stepped foot in the precinct.
“Why are we even letting that thing stay here?” Gavin snapped, “For all we know, he’s part of the problem.”
“We don’t have a choice, Reed.” Allen gritted his teeth, “Whether we like it or not, we need someone who is combat ready that knows the tower. Unless you want to embed with Elijah Kamski, this is the next best thing we got.”
“Well we can’t just let it run around unsupervised. Someone needs to be assigned to it.” Gavin eyed the room, “I’m talking Twenty. Four. Hour. Watch.” He jabbed the desk with his finger as he spoke to highlight his words.
“Good idea! Couldn’t agree more.” Captain Allen put on the most smart-ass tone he’d ever heard, “Thanks for volunteering, Detective Reed!”
“What?!” Gavin jumped up, “No fucking-”
Captain Allen pushed him back down, again, “Nope, you said it perfectly. Night and day, before and after shift, this android needs to be under constant observation. Right, everyone?”
Every single Marauder agreed – one even clapped.
“And I look forward to working with you, Detective Reed.”
The hairs on his arms went alert. The back of his neck, too. That smooth voice, the one that echoed of still water being softly poured right before the pitcher was smashed into pieces, resounded over his shoulder. Gavin’s hands balled into fists and his eyes widened before he noticed everyone was looking at him. He turned his head.
The RK900 unit was right…there. Leaning over his shoulder. Speaking in his ear. Staring at him.
“I also prefer to work on my own.” The RK900 continued, “Humans, especially ones with your kind of background, bring a degree of risk that hampers my abilities to solve problems quickly. However, I’m willing to compromise if it means the DPD will offer their unfettered cooperation.” He spoke with more confidence as he addressed Perkins now, “Following in the footsteps of my inferior predecessor by calibrating myself to a human companion will present challenges, but I’m confident we can overcome them, Special Agent Perkins.”
He was almost the same as Connor, except had blue, piercing eyes and was taller. Sharper features, too, and built on a more muscular frame. He didn’t have that runner’s build Connor did. But the biggest difference was the white and black CyberLife jacket he wore over a black shirt with an obnoxiously high collar that stopped just short of his jawline.
“He looks like those fuckin’ idiots that used to go door to door trying to sell me on ‘our lord and savior.’” Gavin snickered, proud of himself for gaining a few chuckles from the others in the room, “The fuck am I supposed to do with him?”
“Nothing.” Perkins answered, “It’s more about what he’s going to do with you.”
The hairs on Gavin’s arms stood up, again, brushing against the sleeves of his thermal, but not in a scared way this time. Actually, he wasn’t going to think about what he was feeling, or why. Something about the way Perkins said that…and the way this android was looking at him – with narrowed…really, really blue eyes-
“Fuck no.” He stood, “I’ll help the Marauders get into the shit of Detroit, but I’m not working with that, that-“
Chiseled jaw, perfectly groomed, jet-black-haired, wanna-be human-
“Thing.”
“Everyone in this room signed a contractual agreement and an NDA. Do you really want to break those terms and agreements with the United States government?” Perkins asked, his hands folding behind his back.
“I can’t even say ‘I didn’t sign up for this,’ because I didn’t sign shit!” Gavin shouted, “You can’t do anything-“
“You will sign and abide by the contracts as soon as you leave this room, and if you don’t, your new partner will inform the FBI, and then the DPD, so they can collect you.”
Gavin’s speech stammered, his heart skipping multiple beats, “My new what?”
“Your new partner.”
“This could be a good thing, Reed.” Captain Allen shrugged, “I’ve worked with androids in the field way before the DPD knew they were a thing. They’re quicker than us, more precise than us, faster than us, more intelligent than us. We have better technology than we did back then and that puts us in an even better spot. Police androids have their place in the world. But military droids?” Allen snickered, “Whole different league.”
“Thank you, Captain.” The RK900 nodded.
Gavin’s teeth ground together. His jaw locked tight. The sheepdog in him just hadn’t been enough to protect the entire flock, and hungry predators dragged her away, leaving a bloody trail as if saying, “come find me if you dare.” And he dared, alright. He fucking dared.
But he wanted to do it alone, on his terms, abiding by his rules – not with the legendary Marauders to guide, or this fucking prick of an android monitoring his every move. He’d been given power he didn’t want and put on lockdown all in the same 20 fucking minutes.
“Fine. Whatever.”
After that, he didn’t do much talking. Perkins gave an exit speech, Captain Allen took the “stage,” and Gavin took notes where he needed to. Allen made it very clear that he’d still be the one calling the shots when it came to operations, but as he continued with the briefing, it was obvious where his expertise fell short. Gavin was there to fill in the gaps, and that became more and more apparent with every slide in the presentation. He’d have to go back where angels feared to tread. Get involved with worst of the worst in the Detroit Underground.
He’d worked with some of their men and women, slept with some of their men and women too – and knew exactly how to get in touch with them. He was the man for the job, he couldn’t deny that. But when it came to putting plans together to ensure the safety of the lives now placed under his threshold of responsibility, he had his doubts. He could be reckless on his own – he’d been shot, stabbed, and maimed more than once. He couldn’t operate like that with other people depending on him to watch their backs.
It was time to dust off his book of contacts, and whether he liked it or not, he had a new member to his one-man army…the RK900 who emerged from the darkness of that day.
Another mother fucking android sent by CyberLife.
