A/N: This was written (rather late) for the first day of Josh Appreciation Week. The day's topic as "Anger" (hence the title). I wrote it just before bed and after a long day, so it's bound to have a few mistakes, but I really wanted to participate in this, so here we go.
Anger
Detroit is not a warm city.
The late October days become gloomier with every degree lost, and the cold is seen and felt in many ways. As is customary, the humans will wear darker colours, as if tuning themselves to the longer nights of the incoming season. Depending on the day's weather, more or fewer people will be out and about – more if the sun is shining, less if the clouds hide it.
But worse than the chilly winds and cloudy days are the ice that gathers in every corner and alley of the streets of the city. Unbreakable ice, capable of withstanding the warmest of summers and the fiercest of fires. Easy to ignore, impossible to miss. A contradiction that haunts every city of every country, no matter how hard they try to hide it. The ice is there. The ice is always there.
The lost. The abandoned. The forgotten.
They're the ice that clings to the city no matter the season, the ghosts that haunt its every corner — a reflection of the darkest parts of society that no one wants to admit. And just like a mirror in a dark room, the reflection will remain unseen, until someone decides to turn on the light.
And what is light, but a burning energy, touching everything in its path?
Anger.
Ironically enough, when the child is found, it's the middle of the night. The streets are mostly empty, as it tends to be in this time and area. The cold breeze doesn't help either — and most people are in their homes, safe and warm, basking in the heat of their radiators and the comforts that a life in Detroit, Android City, entails.
Just like a mirror in a dark room, the reflection will remain unseen.
The child is barely conscious, curled in on himself as he tries, in vain, to preserve as much warmth as he can. The last few nights have been rough, for an abandoned child with no money and no family to support him or get him through to the next day.
Whilst he doesn't need food to survive — the only perks of being an android that he can possibly think of —, being constantly exposed to the chilly air and cold nights of Detroit are enough to damage him in some capacity — perhaps even deactivate him if he's exposed to them for too long.
It's been too long already.
He doesn't want to shut down.
Easy to ignore.
A child that looks exactly like the child android models that have been advertised for the past few years is bound to blend in the background. It happens to most androids — humans have become so used to their ubiquitous presence that any model will quickly become just another part of the environment, like a building or a car. Nothing worth nothing — just another thing to walk by and ignore without a care in the world.
This could be a blessing in disguise — for all he knows, any human that might have bothered to pay attention to him could have easily had him switched off and thrown into a junkyard —, but as the child hugs his knees close to his chest with as must strength as he can, he fails to see how this is possible. A blessing, even if in disguise, would not be this… Horrible. Traumatic. Painful. Cold.
That's not what blessings are — what blessings are supposed to be —, right?
The reflection will remain unseen.
How long? How long will he stay here, like this, sitting on the cold, hard ground of the streets of a city that has long ago stopped being warm and welcoming? How long will he stay here, waiting for someone — anyone — to find him, to help him? How long will he stay here, watching everyone else walk by without sparing him a second glance?
Is this it? Is this the only future he'll ever have? And if so, how long does he have left?
The reflection will remain unseen.
Until someone decides to turn on the light.
The streets of Detroit are dark and cold, but there is a peace that comes with the shadows that stretch under the pale moonlight and the various lamps on every important street. For any android — deviant android, as it is —, any trip is better done under the cover the darkness provides.
There's no real order to Jericho. The only rule they have is to keep the location secret. Anyone can leave whenever they want — and, as it happens, Josh prefers to leave at night. His LED still firmly attached to his temple, leaving in the middle of the day, when any human could spot him and alert the police, is a very bad idea. Night-time is the only time when no one is around or conscious enough to care.
You don't have to have a reason to leave Jericho either. Deviancy comes with freedom and anxiety — Kierkegaard would cry Correlation; nothing creates more anxiety than the freedom of a choice that is far too varied — that mostly drive androids to do one thing: absolutely nothing. The few that leave Jericho are just that — few. And those who do, usually return. They don't have anywhere else to go, after all, so why wouldn't they?
It isn't the first time Josh has left the rusty ship to go for a walk, but it is the first time he encounters such a situation.
It's the first time he finds a light switch and flips it on.
The child is at the entrance of a dark alleyway, huddled in a corner between the bricks of a building and a rubbish bin full to the brim with trash that begs to be taken away.
Infuriatingly ironic.
Someone decides to turn on the light.
Josh doesn't have to think about it twice. With careful steps, he approaches the child and crouches in front of him, recognising his model almost immediately — and recognising the signs of deviancy just as quickly.
"Hello. My name is Josh. What's your name?" he asks softly, noticing the boy's eyes trained on him since he set foot in the alley. He doesn't get an answer, the android gripping his knees tighter, with something akin to fear.
Fear of what?
Hope. He doesn't want to let himself hope.
Josh tilts his head to the side slightly, letting his LED be in full view of the child. "I'm just like you. I'm an android too."
Silence. Nothing. And then…
"It's cold."
"Where are your parents?" he asks, wondering who in their right minds would abandon a child like this, and here out of all places. He wishes he had brought a warmer jacket with him — but he only has the sleeveless one he managed to snatch before he found Jericho in the first place. It won't protect the child much, if at all.
"Th-they didn't want m-me anym-more…" He casts his eyes down, and for a moment, Josh can't move.
Someone decides to turn on the light.
And what is light, but a burning energy, touching everything in its path?
Anger.
Anger, like light, is a burning energy, touching everything in its path. But where light provides clarity, anger blinds — too bright to be seen through even by the most advanced android eyes.
And Josh — an overtly cautious pacifist at heart, who wouldn't harm even those who hurt him — falls prey to anger's blinding light.
Because how could someone be so cold, so heartless as to abandon a child?
"How long have you been out here in the streets?"
The young boy doesn't answer right away. "A few weeks."
The light burns brighter now — too bright; he needs to be careful, or he might get burnt. But how can he not feel this burning through his circuits at the thought of a child, alone, abandoned, sleeping in the streets for weeks? And no one bothered to help him in any way?
A child.
His self-control is already there, automatically restricting his anger to a small corner, where it will not escape or influence his current behaviour in any way. First things first: the child — still unnamed — needs help.
"There's a place for people like us – for androids. Somewhere we can be free. I can take you there. You'll be safe."
"W-will it be cold?"
"Warmer than here."
The boy makes his decision, and frees one of his arms, reaching out for Josh. He doesn't hesitate in taking his hand, carefully helping him to stand up — and quickly catching him when his legs give out.
He will need to see Lucy as soon as they get back to Jericho. The boy is in serious trouble.
"It's going to be okay," he mumbles in what he hopes is a comforting way as he accommodates the child in his arms and quickly calculates the quickest route to Jericho. All public transport is out of order at the moment, as it's far too late, and it's approximately an hour's walk back to the ship from his current location.
It flares up again — his anger, still there, strong as ever against the people who dared throw their child away just because they didn't want him anymore. There are systems in place for these situations — but they only apply to human children. It's no wonder this kid was left in the streets without a second thought. No laws. No consequences.
It makes him feel sick.
No, he has to focus. He needs to get to Jericho as quickly as he can. For the child's sake. The anger is still there, within reach, so Josh does what he did seconds ago and reaches out. He takes the anger and uses it as fuel — sprinting across the streets of Detroit as if he were being chased. It's not far from the truth.
There's no better predator than a ticking clock.
He runs and runs and runs, anger fuelling him more than the Thirium running through his circuits, and when he finally gets to the ship, he doesn't pause until the child is with Lucy, and doesn't rest until he knows the final verdict.
The kid has to be temporarily shut down, in order to preserve the biocomponents that are still working. Since they don't know when they'll get the spare parts necessary to save him — if they ever do —, this is his best chance at survival.
He understands — he really does —, but it feels like a failure nonetheless.
And his anger grows.
The ice is there. The ice is always there.
Cold is not just a temperature. It's also a feeling, a sensation, the symptom of an emotion. But emotions are tricky and unpredictable. They change according to the situation, and one emotion can result in a variety of symptoms that are never fixed.
Cold is one of the symptoms of anger.
So are burns.
And Josh's anger? It's both.
It's an icy feeling that grips him so hard it burns — burns every single part of him, from his circuits to his biocomponents. It's a sensation that travels through him like Thirium and feeds itself in order to grow more and more — a cycle that seems to have no end. A cycle that is only fuelled by the injustice around him.
Detroit is not a warm city.
Josh's anger is so icy it burns.