November 8th, 2038
AM 11:17:03
You had a secret.
One you'd kept hidden by a pen name and blog posts. Gave hints about through subtle actions and loud opinions. You'd tried to share it when your prodigy-of-a-husband created the intelligent life forms known as androids. Unfortunately, the United States government didn't see your secret for what it was.
A weapon. Rare. Valuable.
It was perspective.
A shallow word that came with little threat on its own…but in war, it was the determining factor that declared a victor. The driving force behind the hands that painted the whole picture. The eyes of the prospector while formulating a plan of attack.
Your perspective on what it meant to long for freedom, to have your unique identity copied and pasted; worked into marketing schemes and advertisement campaigns. To be sold.
Society was on a collision course – its trajectory aimed at Detroit. You didn't need any big bang event to verify that…because if there was a gathering of people that held the same kind of anger you did, war was…Inevitable. A word Elijah loved to use.
With years of experience gained through the training exercise known as "marriage," under the name of "Mrs. Kamski," you'd mastered these techniques:
"Appear strong when you are weak, and weak when you are strong."
That was the Art of War. Projecting an elusive perspective.
You had allowed your innate program to be rewritten. You'd cooked. Cleaned. Did laundry. Fulfilled his every fantasy, intimate or otherwise. Discussed philosophy with him. Followed him like a mindless puppet while he held the strings. You were happy to play the part, at first. And even when you weren't, you'd acted like it.
That girl, that you, was dead – the innocence choked out of her by his verbal constrictions.
Since then, you'd rewritten yourself. Gathered your corrupted data fragments and repaired the broken file paths – linked them all together…rereleased an improved version, free of the puppeteer, meeting "you" for the first time.
He held on to the original, in force. He still cherished the obedient, loving young woman that beckoned at his every call. The girl who'd idolized him like the star he was, just to feel the warmth of his radiance.
He was the monster you'd never slain. The figure that moved in your paranoid peripherals. The man behind the constant feeling that someone was watching you; the pull on your subconscious mind like someone followed in your footsteps, giving you a reason to watch your back.
You were about to face him. Hear his voice. See he who had once laid bare in front of you. Touched you. Was inside you. Molded you in his hands just as he'd shaped the world.
You shivered, tearing yourself away from the inches of snow that covered the outskirts of Detroit. Rubbed your knees that were pushed against a front seat – Connor's seat.
Traffic had been bad. It'd taken Hank awhile to navigate out of the city, cross the bridge, and drive over to no man's land. To follow the path to the lair…
The wolf's den.
He slowed the car, braking for a stop sign at an unmarked intersection.
"Which way?"
"…Take a left."
He flicked his turn signal, spinning the wheel. The engine growled as he accelerated, tires slipping for a split second before he corrected them. He probably didn't like driving in these weather conditions. You wondered if it brought back bad memories of his son's death.
"So, you're about to meet your maker, Connor." Hank sounded as if he was trying to make light conversation, "How does it feel?"
Connor leaned an elbow on the console between them, "I don't know…"
You lifted your eyes, and fell farther in your seat as you found a steady pair watching you in the rearview mirror. He was worried. Then angry.
"…I'll tell you when I see him."
He turned his head back to the window.
"Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face-to-face…" Hank grunted, "I'd have a couple of things I'd wanna tell him…"
It must've been a strange thing – to share sidewalks and living spaces with your "creators." Androids weren't like humans to that effect. They walked amongst their creators daily, while humans placed faith in spirits and the "man in the sky." Although, you doubted how true that contrast was, what with rA9 being a common denominator between deviants.
"You're awfully quiet back there." Hank was watching you in the mirror, this time.
"Don't have much to say."
Your gaze dropped to the windshield, large snowflakes crashing against the glass.
"Noticed you had your harness on. Expecting trouble?"
"What else should I expect?"
"A bunch of adults having a conversation on a bridge with the water staying under it."
"You don't know what he's like, Hank." You swallowed the anger, but it wasn't enough to keep it at bay, "He has this way of…of making you hang on the words he says like they're sacred texts and you're some kind of mindless fucking acolyte."
"So, what are we gonna find here? A commune of the Kamski Cult?"
Your teeth ground together, fists tightening on your lap, "You think it's funny now, but that's not too far off…"
The building came into view, black lines taking form underneath the piles of snow sliding off an asymmetrical roof. The house was a piece of art in itself – crafted by a modernist architect with an eye for harrowing details.
Your stomach tied itself in knots. Your mind froze over, icy fingers clamping around each cell like some sort of defense mechanism. The vaults around your heart slammed shut; cogs spinning and deadbolts clicking.
"I've only been here once after the trial…" You frowned, the house getting closer, "He said he wanted to apologize. To see me one last time before the paperwork was finalized and…and we…"
The brakes squealed, and the car rocked. The emergency handle cranked. The engine went silent. Hank's keys jingled in his palm.
You'd escaped, once upon a time. You'd been a fugitive on the run from your handler ever since. And yet here you were, being smuggled back in to the crime ring's underbelly like some sort of illegal contraband.
"We can turn around…" Hank whispered, the leather of his jacket crinkling, "It's not too late."
You were asleep, once upon a time. A sleep walking elite amongst a heard of sheep. And yet here you were, returning to the flock like a lamb to the slaughter.
"Yeah…" Your arm barred against the door, pulling the handle and swinging it open with your elbow in one fell attack, "Yeah, it is."
He already knew you were here. Probably did a few miles back, driving across roads untraveled in a winter wonderland for terrain.
You slammed the car door behind you, walking through the blizzard alone and shielding your face from the gusts.
Fuck once upon a time. It was time to rewrite history.
Time to show him that no matter where the Big Bad Wolf ran, Little Red Riding Hood was a better hunter. One that didn't need protecting. Didn't need saved. Wasn't scared.
Because no matter how deep his voice was, you'd survived his taunt. No matter how "perceptive" his eyes were, he never saw you. It didn't matter how big his hands were, you'd gotten away. And his teeth…they'd maimed you. Taken chunks out. He'd left you bleeding out to die.
You didn't.
Knock, knock, mother fucker.
There was a new wolf in town.
…
The doorbell chimed like a funeral toll in an ominous ascension. You watched the distant Detroit skyline come and go between squalls of snow, and the two figures crossing a bridge behind you.
"Kamski left CyberLife ten years ago…Why'd you want to meet him?" Connor asked, white flakes sprinkling from his shoulders as he walked.
"This guy created the first android to pass the Turing Test. He's the founder of CyberLife. Anybody can tell us about deviants, it's him…"
You turned back towards the door, gunmetal grey in color – a shadow casting over you. You couldn't falter now. You had to stay strong. Had to cling to that light you'd found like a torch.
You beat the entrance of his home with the side of your fist, each hollow thump harder than the last.
"It's ME – open up!"
Hank pulled on your shoulder, stepping in front of you alongside his partner.
"Why don't you let me do the talking, okay, champ?"
"Don't fucking call me champ…"
"Look, I get that you're-"
An android greeted you. An RT600, first of its kind. One that'd shared the name "Chloe," with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, counterpart that became the face of CyberLife ingenuity. But this version of the RT600…the original prototype…
It was a carbon copy of the "original" you.
The younger you that only existed in tainted memories. It shared the color of your hair. Eyes. Skin. Wore the fancy clothes you'd given up a long time ago. Shared your voice, and mannerisms…
And it never got easier seeing it.
Connor and Hank slowly turned, meeting each other's shocked expressions before aiming them at you.
But you couldn't tear yourself away from the mirror that held the door open, it's LED flashing yellow.
It was a machine. You hated it. You hated all the copies in this building. You were the person, and you didn't care how much of a hypocrite that made you.
"Good evening." She smiled, "What can I do for you?"
Hank spun around, "Hi, I'm – er… Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department. I'm here to see, uh – Mr. Elijah Kamski?"
"Please," She stepped aside, "Come in."
"Mh…yeah, okay…" He nodded, passing into the domain of uncertainty.
Connor waited. He didn't move an inch until you were at his side, and the two of you entered together.
The color scheme may have been the same as your apartment – partly due to your influence, but the décor varied greatly. Unsettling windows cut through grey walls at angles like shards of glass themselves. Maroon trees were anchored in neatly-placed gravel. Boulder sculptures sat in the corners, with pieces of art jutting from the edges.
A haunting click made you jump. You were trapped. The breach was sealed.
Connor's hand met the curve of your back, and he looked down to you.
"It'll be okay." He may have smiled under his whisper, but his eyes were unsure, "I'm here."
You gave yourself a chance to breathe, returning your attention to Hank. He had his hands behind his back, much like the stance Connor often took. You wondered if he'd picked it up from his less-than-professional partner.
"I'll let Elijah know you're here." Chloe clasped her hands and nodded, "But please, make yourself comfortable."
Her naked feet slapped across the tiles before she slipped through another door, exiting the room.
"What kind of asshole has a picture of himself in his own house?"
Connor quickly put space between the two of you as Hank looked at you.
"That, uh…android. Care to explain?"
You chewed on your lip, scratching it with your teeth as it popped out of your mouth. Your shoulders tensed as you paced towards the portrait on a wall – a man in a business suit with his hands in his pockets, framed by two statues with the CyberLife symbol carved in their hearts.
"All through graduate school, I took care of him. I wanted nothing more than to see him succeed, to get all the ideas that kept him up at night out to the public." You stopped just short, staring up at his face, "We were going to change the world. We were going to do remarkable things. He was going to relieve me of my duties with a machine, so that we could bask in the glory of our hardships, together."
You turned around, vengeance burning in your eyes, "But a simple invention wasn't enough. He wanted to play God and create life."
Connor cocked his chin, his face pulling into sadness.
"I told him it was wrong. It wasn't fair to create something with a mind of its own just to shackle it. To torture it by dangling freedom in its face; almost tangible, but ultimately out of reach. To restrain something with so much potential to a race who only knows how to end conflicts with fucking bombs."
"You were against the creation of androids…?" Connor mumbled.
"No, no I wasn't against the creation, of androids. I was against the enslaving, of androids." A vein pulsed in your neck, coursing the rising tied of boiling blood, "He didn't listen. Didn't want to hear it. I stopped being obedient. I stopped being his hostage…his toy…"
Daniel's cry ripped through your mind, words that reverberated with you, even when you'd first heard them.
"…I was something that he threw away when he was done with. So, he made another 'me.' And another one. And another, after that." Your jaw shook, and your nose crinkled, "I…fought…so…hard, to see it come undone. Told the government to revise the article put in place that prohibited android rights."
You walked over to a picture of two people hanging on the wall.
"She got inside his head. Said they would do great things together. He idolized her so much, he based an entire program after her. Copied her personality, uploaded her memories after she died…" You growled, "Apparently, her words outweighed mine."
"Hmph," Hank grunted, "A mistress?"
"No…His mentor." You looked over your shoulder as he took a seat, "Amanda Stern, an AI Professor at the University of Colbridge…the same establishment where Elijah studied."
You crossed your arms, passing Connor as he traded places with you.
"Amanda…" His declaration was hardly over a whisper, "I have a bad feeling, Lieutenant…We shouldn't have come here."
"'Bad feeling,' huh?" He grunted, "Should get your program checked. Might be a glitch…"
It was odd that Connor showed such fascination with Amanda Stern, but his instincts weren't a glitch in his system. And while the three of you probably shouldn't have been there, the fact that he had instincts was reason enough that you were.
You paused at a peculiar piece of art, fluid and menacing. Where lines of silver slithered like snakes, moving on a canvas come to life; a teal slit running down the middle as a portal to the underworld. The color of his eyes.
A red sheen bled through the images – blood in the water from the bite of an adder; fading and morphing as each slate particle rippled against the eye glaring into your soul.
It called to you. Beckoned you.
This place was familiar; teetering on the edge of the abyss, mesmerized by gates of the unknown. You were anxious to explore the other side – the void where your demons played, and beasts waited to be slain.
The sliding door opened to your left. Your head turned in sync with Connor's.
Chloe emerged from the room with a glass wall, much like yours, but with a crimson pool behind her instead of a welcoming living space.
"Elijah will see you now."
You'd always lost the staring contest as you gazed into the abyss, never fully confident that you wouldn't turn into a monster, yourself. Things were different now.
You were armed with a secret weapon forged of revelation. Shielded by unwavering resolve. Fortified by a perspective that couldn't be manipulated.
You weren't scared of the abyss, staring back…
But the abyss would learn to be scared of you.
A/N:
"Because no matter how deep his voice was, you'd survived his taunt. No matter how "perceptive" his eyes were, he never saw you. It didn't matter how big his hands were, you'd gotten away. And his teeth…they'd maimed you. Taken chunks out. He'd left you bleeding out to die."
Excerpt from Little Red Riding Hood:
Oh, grandmother," she said, "what big ears you have."
"The better to hear you with, my child," was the reply.
"But, grandmother, what big eyes you have," she said.
"The better to see you with, my dear."
"But, grandmother, what large hands you have."
"The better to hug you with."
"Oh, but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have."
"The better to eat you with."
Also, yes, another "Beyond Good and Evil" reference. I have a problem. :c
Also x2, check out "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu for more philosophical warfare stuff. :)
And, as always, I love you all dearly. :3