The wide, tall and sterile expanse of CyberLife was eerily empty in the aftermath of Markus' demonstration and the RK800's mass conversion of their latest stock. It had cost the company millions, which was nothing compare to the plummet their stock had taken after the deviants attained public support.
The population wasn't interested in purchasing an android that could potentially become a person, and none of them wanted to become complicit in what had effectively become its own form of slavery, whatever the buyer's intent.
Without funding, without resources, the employees of CyberLife were swifly dismissed, its equipment redistributed to android clinics and other help centers for the newly awakened, or even for those from home lives that left them shaken, displaying symptoms of trauma and stress. Markus had even taken strides to establish support groups for those deviants, going so far as to reach out to human therapists sympathetic to their cause.
Those left behind bustled about, darting from room to room with purpose, though what that purpose may have been was anyone's guess.
Perhaps it had something to do with an assortment of custom parts and clothing delivered to the premise. The postman wasn't certain, but if asked, he would have guessed that it was the last package delivered to the facility. Most packages were heading outwards now, scattered to the wind, but this had been light-weight and stuck out in his memory due to the long expanse of inactivity before and after the delivery.
It bothered him in a way he couldn't explain - that lone package. But thinking about such things didn't get the mail delivered, so he put those thoughts aside, and carried on with his route.
Markus sat alone in what had been designated his 'official' office space. The high-backed leather chair he sat in fit him well, which was fortunate because hours of making phone calls, sending emails, and attending video conferences would have been torture without proper back support, even for an android. Sometimes, he found himself missing the days when he was Carl's caretaker, when the most that was demanded of him was to stand to the side and be silently appreciative as interviewers asked for insight regarding the renowned artist's thought process and method.
Carl was always so good at dealing with the press. Effortlessly charismatic and likeable. Even if he did have a tendency to grumble once the cameras were off him and the microphones pointed elsewhere.
Propping his head up on his desk with his gaze still glued to a computer screen showing a stream of trending data he'd long since given up trying to make sense of, he allowed himself a moment to revisit the memory of that last unveiling, smiling as Carl recounted the night with his usual curmudgeonly charm.
Through the shutters lowered over the window behind him, streams of the sun's last light filtered in, casting long shadows that crawled further up the walls with each passing second.
Markus didn't notice how dark the room had become until a figure silhouetted in shadow stretched across the entrance. Frowning, Markus called out uncertainly, "Josh? Is that you?" It was too much to hope for, really. The form was too wide in the shoulders and torso to be Josh.
There was a pistol hidden in the top drawer of his desk for occasions like this.
Surreptitiously slipping out the firearm, Markus rolled back his seat and stood in fluid motion that hopefully concealed the sound. "Who are you?"
Attempting to turn on the lamp proved fruitless. The intruder must have hacked the grid to block the current, perhaps even redirecting it so the others would continue to have power in the rest of the church. Desperate, Markus attempted to reach out to North, Simon, Josh, only to reel at an unexpected presence in the channel that attempted to take advantage of the connection by infiltrating his systems. Shutting down fire walls and closing the channel, a departure would hopefully draw some attention in itself, Markus aimed the pistol at the center of the form's torso.
If it could do these things, then at the very least, it wasn't a human. That didn't rule out another assassin, though.
Setting his jaw, Markus demanded, "Why are you here? Who sent you?"
And the form paused, cocking its head slightly in an oddly… deviant gesture. Then it charged soundlessly, bearing down on Markus with a speed that startled him into pulling the trigger.
Plastic shattered. The bullet took the side of the android's facial structure without slowing it down. It lunged across the desk, cold fingers wrapping around Markus' wrist, and in one swift movement… ripped out its own audio processor.
Instinctively, Markus reached out to stop it from hurting itself, stopping only when he saw-
A vibrant green optic. Artificial stubble spread evenly over a strong jaw.
Clothes identical to his own.
A series of clicking vocalizations issued from its mouth, and it smiled with his lips, his teeth, before grabbing its own thirium pump and yanking it out of place. A red blinking started up in its chest, alerting them that it was entering low power mode due to the damage it'd inflicted on itself.
Horrified, Markus attempted to tear his arm from its grip, his own stress levels approaching critical when his synthetic flesh peeled back from where the android's fingers squeezed into his panels without his consent.
Changing gears upon seeing that escape wasn't an option, he pressed the barrel of the gun to its arm at the elbow joint. "Let. Go."
The android's manic smile widened, stretching the skin. "No." And Markus fired, blasting its arm to pieces with a horrific crack.
Transfer Complete: 00:05
The android barely seemed to notice the loss, and the process didn't stop. Markus swiveled, spotting the android's remaining hand, bare of its synthetic flesh, encircled around his other wrist. The gun fell from his fingers as his body lost control of external functions. He couldn't move. "North!" Terror colored the shout, as well as a flood of garbled static. His processes were being hindered by the transfer. Most of them were already - "Josh! Simon! I need-"
Transfer Complete: 00:00
"...h..e..l..p."
A/N: I spent some time without a computer and so often entertained myself with crack ideas, of which this came out as the 'hey, let's try actually writing that' winner. Still getting used to this new computer, so if you see a lot of typos or have any advice about my writing, please let me know.
Anyway, thanks so much and I hope you enjoy it.