Chapter Text
Gavin Reed didn’t know what he was doing here. He wasn’t a first responder. There wasn’t a body at the scene. Well, not one that concerned him, anyway. The RT600 was already being taken away in a bodybag, but he wasn’t assigned to the Android Crimes unit, so there wasn’t anything he could do about it. From what he’d heard, there was a witness who had gone after the perp, but they were still waiting for him to wake up.
He shouldn’t even be here. He should be at home playing video games with Oscar the Grouch, his flat-faced cat whose perpetual glare put Grumpy Cat to shame, curled up on his chest.
But the second he’d heard that an attempt had been made on Elijah Kamski’s life, he’d been on his way out of the station.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. The prick wasn’t even here anymore. Elijah had booked it as soon as he could. Besides, he had only taken a bullet to the arm. His life wasn’t even in danger. Gavin had had much worse than that in his career, and Elijah had never shown up for him.
It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to kill Elijah. It had been a while since the last one though, especially since he had quit Cyberlife and become such a recluse.
Gavin started walking toward the door, cursing himself for doing something as stupid as worrying about Elijah Kamski. But then he stopped when he saw a familiar face breathing through an oxygen mask. Was that…was that Carl Manfred?
A paramedic was standing over him with two other people waiting close-by. One of them was an android.
No, wait. Both of them were androids. That was Markus, the leader of the whole effing revolution.
“—you can take off the oxygen mask now, but I want you to head straight home to get some rest and take your medication. Alright?” the paramedic was saying. “I don’t want you doing anything strenous for the next four days. You need to give your heart a break after the ordeal it went through tonight. We want to keep you away from anything startling or stressful. And make sure you get that doctor appointment scheduled so they can give you a more thorough checkup.”
“Of course, ma’am. We’ll make sure he gets taken care of,” Markus said. “Thomas, can you bring the car around, please?”
The paramedic left, as did the brown-haired android, with a worried glance at Carl. The old man was looking much more gaunt and frail than Gavin remembered, and he was struck by a wave a guilt for never even checking up on him. The last time he’d seen him was…well, he’d only seen the man once or twice since he’d joined the police academy.
Carl Manfred had been a friend—eh, more of an acquaintance, really—of Gavin’s parents, but the painter had seen Elijah’s talent and invested in it when Eli had first been trying to get Cyberlife off the ground. And Gavin remembered more than a few words of encouragement aimed at himself during some of the rockier times of his youth.
Markus knelt down in front of Carl while Gavin watched, neither of them aware he was even there. Then the android leader buried his face in Carl’s lap, and the old map rested a comforting hand on Markus’ head.
Gavin was dumbstruck. What the hell was he missing here?
“You scared me,” Markus said. His voice was muffled, but even Gavin could hear the raw emotion coming from it. “I don’t want to lose you, Dad.”
Wait, what?
“I know, my boy,” Carl said gently. “But you know you’re going to lose me sooner or later. I’m not going anywhere today though, except to my own bed.”
Markus lifted his head, and Gavin saw a hint of tears. “Of course. Thomas and I will takes turns watching over you tonight—”
“Nonsense, Markus. Your people need you tonight. Thomas will manage just fine through the night, and you can stop by tomorrow. I’m sure some of them are just as scared as you are.”
“But—” Markus’ protest died before it even passed his lips, unable to argue. He hung his head. “What if I don’t want them to need me? What if I need you?”
Carl gave him an understanding smile. “But our responsibilities are still there, regardless of whether we want them to be or not.”
Gavin was caught in an awkward position. He wanted to approach, to see how the old man was doing, but he was also witnessing some weirdly personal conversation that he didn’t want to be a part of.
Unfortunately, they noticed him.
“Can I help you?” Markus asked, standing and regaining his composure.
Carl looked over at him, recognition dawning on his face. “Gavin Reed,” he said. “You look well.”
Gavin shuffled his feet. “Yeah, well you look like shit.”
A wheezy chuckle escaped Carl, like anything more would take too much out of his lungs. “You know, it’s refreshing to hear someone speak so truthfully, sometimes. Everyone else sees my failing health and dances around the subject like they’re going to hurt my feelings by stating the obvious.”
Markus blinked a few times, looking away with a distant look in his eyes. But then, as quickly as it came, it left.
“Go on,” Carl said, obviously recognizing something that Gavin missed. “I’ll still be here.”
What was he—oh. Right. Some weird android communication or something.
Markus hesitated, and Gavin couldn’t tell if he was reluctant to leave Carl, or reluctant to leave Carl with him.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. If I need anything, I’m sure Detective Reed can assist.”
Gavin leaned against a table. “Sure thing.”
The android leader finally nodded. “Okay. But I’m coming back in a minute to see you off,” he said, walking away with an urgency to his steps.
Carl watched him go. “He’s a good man. He had to figure out who he was in a world that didn’t want to allow him to, and yet still manages to be who his people need him to be. Not very many humans can manage that. They really aren’t that different from us.”
Gavin scowled. "I don't need a lecture from you, old man." He wasn’t a kid anymore.
Besides, it was nothing he didn't already know. But that didn't stop him from hating the androids, hating the mess they were making of the city—of the entire country—and hating where they came from. Half a lifetime of anger didn't go away after a couple of months of androids calling themselves alive.
“So how do you know him, anyway?” he asked, gesturing in the direction Markus had gone.
“He was my android before the revolution. Elijah made him for me after my health took a turn for the worse and I lost the use of my legs.”
Gavin scoffed. He didn’t know what was more surprising—that Elijah had personally created the android who changed everything, or that Carl had been instrumental in his development as his own person.
Honestly, knowing both Elijah and Carl, neither was very surprising.
His mind conjured up images of Carl preaching peace and love to his undeviated android, and part of him couldn’t deny that it was probably for the best. If the androids had acted violently, things would have turned out a lot different. Yeah, Gavin had wanted the androids to all burn in a dumpster fire, but they easily could have hurt a lot of people. They could have started a full on war. And yet, they didn’t.
Maybe his teenage years would have turned out differently if he’d actually taken Carl’s advice too.
“So…how are you?” he asked awkwardly. What did you even say to someone you hadn’t seen in over a decade?
“I’m dying,” Carl said without missing a beat. “If not now, then not too much longer, and I don’t have a problem with that. I’m tired. But I think I’ve got at least a few more months in me.”
Gavin grimaced, not sure how to respond. Was he supposed to pity Carl? The guy had made his peace with death. He was old. The world would be a emptier place without him, but that was just the way things were. Gavin had seen too much death on the job—too many bodies that were too young, too small—to feel bad for the passing of someone ready to go.
Carl saved him from having to find something to say. “I haven’t seen you in years. Have you made up with your brother yet?”
Gavin ground his teeth. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”
But the painter just gave him a knowing look. “And yet, you came here, didn’t you? I heard what they were saying; that he was the target.”
Gavin spun on him. “Shut the phck up, old man.”
His aggression didn’t faze Carl. The old man laughed, eyes crinkling. “I see you haven’t grown out of acting like you don’t care. But it isn’t any of my business. Sometimes relationships are worth rekindling, and sometimes it’s best to just let them fade. Family is complicated son.”
“I think we’re both perfectly fine with not having anything to do with each other.”
The detective didn’t like being reminded of his childhood. This whole night was just a trainwreck. The sooner he got out of here, the better. But he paused. This was probably going to be the last time he saw the old man.
“Hey, listen…uh…thanks. You know, for listening. Back then.” He wasn’t used to thanking anybody, and his sentences were choppy and broken up, but he did it.
“Of course,” Carl said, sensing the goodbye in his words. “You take care of yourself, Gavin.”
Gavin nodded, seeing Markus approaching, as well as the other android coming in from outside. “Yeah. See you around,” he said, the words coming out on instinct, and he barely suppressed a flinch. He almost said something else, but then shook his head and walked out.
The rain had lightened to a drizzle, and the red and blue lights were still flashing, reflecting on puddles. Groups of people were leaving, finally allowed to go home, but there were still plenty of androids around, the lights on their heads flashing like beacons.
For a second, he thought he saw familiar face attached to one of those lights before it disappeared into the crowd, but no. The plastic detective was dead. If he wasn’t, Anderson wouldn’t be moping around all the time. Maybe the special prototype wasn’t as unique as he’d claimed to be. Gavin kept walking.
Whatever. It wasn’t his problem.
EXITING STASIS…
SYSTEMS INITIALIZING…
POWER LEVELS: ^79%
THIRIUM LEVELS: ^98%
DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #2523f
E̛R̸RO̢R̷
ƯNA̵̛B̷L͘͞͝E͝͏̵ TO̷̵ A̴̵̛Ç̸C̶͘EŞ͠Ş͡ ̶̧͢M̸̢͠E̶̸̸M̧̨͘͘Ǫ̸̴R̷̸͘͟Y̕͝ F̵̨̢I͏̷̨L̴̶͜͠͞E̢͟҉S̴̸͢-̷̛-̢̛̛͝-͡-̸̡̕͢-͘̕-̴̸̨-̴̴͜-̸̧͡-̵̨͢-̷͏-̷̧҉̶-̛͡͝-̶͝͏-̶̸͝-͏̸͞-̵҉͢-̛-̶̢̕͜͝-̡̛̛͘-̧͡-҉̨͜-̛͡-̶̨͟-͜-͘-̴̡͝-҉-҉̡͡
ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE
Eight opened his eyes to see rain-splattered windows and the interior of what he recognized as New Jericho’s emergency vehicle. It was nothing more than a van they had acquired (legally, of course) and modified to fit their needs. The seats had been removed, replaced with a cot shoved to one side and bins full of tools and supplies on the other, with just enough room for one or two people to move around and administer repairs.
It was a far-cry from an ambulance, but it was what they had for now. It served its function. Luckily, they hadn’t needed to use it much so far.
Eight was laid out on the cot, three empty thirium bottles forgotten on the floor next to him. Josh was leaning over him, slotting his abdominal plate back into place. The smell of melted plastic lingered in the air.
The back doors of the van were open, letting in the cool, wet air, and he could see the ruffled tuxedo shoulder of Lieutenant Anderson standing outside.
“Good, you’re awake,” Josh said, noticing his movements. “I didn’t think you would be for a while. We replaced your biocomponent #1846w, though it took a bit of searching to see what you would even be compatible with. However, we’re going to have to repair your shoulder back at New Jericho. It’s not threatening to your systems, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for the pain until we get back.”
Eight reactivated the skin over his stomach, and the program glitched where his chassis had been melted and reshaped to cover the damage, causing it to look similar to a fresh scar. He sat up, his right arm still limp at his side. “Thank you,” he said. “There’s no pain.”
It was true. While the irritating notifications were still popping up in his vision to frequently remind him of the repairs that he required, there was no sensation of discomfort. More of an unease that he wasn’t operating at optimal capacity.
Josh leaned back to rummage in another bin, pulling out a faded hoodie and tossing it to him. “I guess that’s good for you, then. Every deviated android has a different capacity for pain, and we’re still not sure what causes those differences, if anything. But if it’s not hurting at all, we’ll count that as a bonus.”
Hank leaned into the van as Eight was pulling the hoodie over his head. “He doin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” Josh replied, cleaning up the empty bottles of blue blood and climbing out of the vehicle. “His thirium levels are up and the worst of the damage is repaired. He’ll be fine.”
“Good. So can I yell at him now?”
Eight frowned as he followed Josh outside into the drizzle. “Lieutenant—”
“Why the hell did you chase after an armed suspect?” Hank demanded. His stress levels were high—not high enough to cause concern, but he didn’t look happy.
“They were getting away,” Eight said, tilting his head. Wasn’t that obvious?
Hank had reason to be angry, since the shooter had escaped anyway. The MISSION FAILURE message glared red in Eight’s processors, leaving him frustrated at himself. But Hank’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and that was clearly the wrong answer.
“Okay? And what made you think you were the one that had to go after him?”
Eight paused as he realized that his failure to catch the shooter wasn’t the issue here, it was that he’d gone in pursuit in the first place. But why was that a problem?
“Given the reaction times of both yourself and the security guards, there was only a 16% chance of the shooter being apprehended. I had to act quickly to improve those chances, Lieutenant—”
“It wasn’t your job to apprehend him! You could have gotten killed, don’t you understand that? Hell, you collapsed the minute you got back inside!” Hank shouted.
Oh. He wasn’t just angry, he was worried about Eight’s well-being. While it was understandable, he clearly hadn’t been killed. There was no reason for Hank to be worried.
“I’m fine,” Eight said. “I’ve been repaired without complication. I presume the authorities are performing a sweep of the area. Have the security cameras been checked? There is a chance we might be able to identify the shooter from them.”
He thought that focusing on what needed to be done next would calm Hank, but instead it just seemed to agitate him further. Hank turned away for a second before facing him again with an expression that Eight couldn’t quite identify on his face.
“Twenty minutes ago, you were bleeding out on me,” Hank said, his voice tight. “You didn’t even think twice before putting yourself in danger. You haven’t been awake for more than two minutes, and already you want to go charging out there again?”
Eight didn’t correct him to say that it’s now been three minutes and thirty-six seconds since he woke up, and Hank continued to talk.
“No. You were hurt. Rest. There are plenty of people here to take care of everything else, because it’s their jobs to do so. You can give your statement later, because I’m not talking to you about this case until you’ve had some time to recover, emotionally if not physically, since you seem so determined that you’re fine.”
With that, the Lieutenant marched away, shoes splashing on the pavement. Eight almost followed him to insist that he help however he can, but Josh stopped him.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Markus would like to talk to you about what you saw, but he’d understand if you need some time.”
Eight sent one last look at the Lieutenant’s retreating back. He was being difficult, but maybe it was best to leave him alone for now. He turned to Josh. “Thank you, but I just want to find who’s responsible for the attack tonight in order to prevent them from doing it again. I’d like to talk with Markus now, if he’s available.”
Evidently, Markus was already heading their way. “I am,” he said, approaching. “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he told Eight with a genuine smile.
Eight ran a quick scan—a little laggy, but thankfully the feature was functional again—and found that Markus was unhurt. His synthetic muscles loosened ever so slightly, and he hadn’t even realized how tense he was. Markus was at the top of the list of most probable intended targets, but Eight was glad to see him safe.
But he knew someone else hadn’t been quite so lucky. “Who was hit?”
Markus’ smile fell. “Chloe. And Elijah Kamski. I’m told that it’ll take him some time to heal, but that he’ll be fine. Chloe…the damages were too much.”
Eight lowered his eyes for a moment in respect. He’d never interacted with her, but when he’d seen her at the party, he’d felt a twinge of…something. Something almost like guilt, though he couldn’t understand why. And he’d thought she was pretty.
“She said that Kamski was the target,” Josh said, his voice thick.
Of course. That made sense. Elijah Kamski had no doubt made many enemies in his very successful career. The man was a hermit, and this was his first public appearance since before Markus declared them a people.
The man would probably be safe from any further attempts in the near future. He was likely to return to his reclusive habits, especially to recover from his injuries, and it would be in the DPD’s top priority to place him in protective custody, should the man accept.
But this killer had already tried and failed to take out the man of the century. Was he the only target? Or were there others?
Eight’s eyes landed on Markus. There wasn’t a single person in the country who didn’t know his face. The leaders of New Jericho already knew that, and had taken what precautions they could, and they were officially under government protection. But Markus was in danger every time he went out in public.
Perhaps it would be beneficial for Eight to stay close to him in the future.
“I need to ask you about what you saw,” Markus said, his expression serious. “Was it true that it was an android?”
“Yes,” Eight replied, remembering the plastic fingers reaching for him. “They…attempted to interface with me, before getting scared by the security guards.”
Markus looked disturbed by this information, running a hand over his head.
“Why would one of us do this? Who would kill one of our own?” Josh’s voice was small, sounding lost as he tried to grasp something that was unfathomable to him.
“Chloe wasn’t the target. It could be that she was just an unintended victim. Collateral damage, as it were,” Eight surmised. “As for why they might have gone after Kamski…I don’t know.”
“Were you able to see anything else? Anything to identify who it was?” Markus asked, staring unfocused into distance.
Eight frowned in frustration, vaguely registering someone walking past them toward a cluster of parked vehicles. “No. I didn’t get a good enough look while they were running, and my scanners were non-functional after I fell. I can give you an estimated height, but it’s not a close enough approximation to be of a considerable help. And there was nothing noteworthy about the clothes…except,” Eight paused, recalling something he saw right before the shooter had jumped out the window. “There was dried thirium on their shirt. I don’t know if it was the shooter’s blood, or someone else’s. I couldn’t detect any damages to their person.”
Josh opened his mouth to say something, but the figure that walked past had stopped in his tracks and backtracked, interrupting the three androids.
“Did you say dried thirium?”
Eight blinked, looking over at the newcomer and recognizing Detective Reed. “Yes, I did say that,” he said, raising an eyebrow in question.
“You can see that shit? Even after it’s evaporated?”
“I can. Why?”
Detective Reed leaned back on his heels and put a hand up to his chin in thought. “How many of you bots can see that stuff?”
Markus was frowning. “Not very many. It’s not a feature that was thought necessary for most models. Why?”
There was a pause, like the detective was debating saying anything further, but then he sighed in resignation. “Look, I’ve got this case, and I’ve got a hunch. There might be some of that blue blood stuff at the scene of a crime, but of course, I can’t see it to confirm. It’s gonna take the tech department forever to send in the equipment, so either I can sit on my ass all week waiting and giving my killer plenty of opportunity to strike again, or…” he paused, looking at Eight with a hint of distaste. “Or I can find another way to get what I need.”
“Is this an official request from the DPD?” Markus asked.
Reed scowled at him. “No, because that would also take time. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, so you need to worry your little robo-heads off about that. And you won’t see any dead bodies either. So, uh…” he grit his teeth, almost like it pained him to ask, the next words coming out with no shortage of bite to them. “Can you help out or not?”
Josh cast an uncertain glance at Markus. “We’re all very busy, but we can ask around to see if someone with that capability would like to volunteer—”
“Yes.”
There was no reason not to, in Eight’s mind. Detective Reed clearly had a distaste for androids, but he could overlook that in favor of assisting an officer of the law. Eight saw Markus looking at him, and received an internal ping from the deviant leader.
[Are you sure?]
“Yes,” Eight said out loud, resting his stare on the detective. “I’ll help.”
Reed cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay, good.” He pulled out his phone and typed something in, showing the screen to Eight after a few seconds. “Here’s the address. Meet me there tomorrow, ten o’clock.”
He didn’t wait for a confirmation before walking away.