John laughed as he rocked, the low creaking of the horse beneath him filling the small nursery. Gentle hands rested on his small back and thigh, making sure he didn't fall. The fur was soft in his small hands as he leaned forward to tip the horse. He turned his small head to see their family android, his LED glowing a gentle blue in the afternoon light shining through the playroom window. The android looked up at the sound of his name, a little girl padding over with a porcelain doll clutched to her chest. John felt the horse slow, but he was happy enough with the gentle swing as he watched his little sister and her bouncing golden curls.

"Donald! You promised you'd help me fix Sophie's hair!" she pouted as she looked between them. Donald processed the information cheerfully and patted John's knee apologetically as he sat low on his knees. John smiled as he watched the android almost come to life with his enthusiasm. His arms opened as he accepted the doll with a gentle smile, dark hazel eyes looking at the small girl with their usual programmed warmth.

"So I did! Come, Lady Sophie. What style would you like today?" he asked brightly as he crossed his legs and shifted his attention to the porcelain doll. The doll had long golden locks, just like John's sister. John allowed the horse to slow to a stop as he watched his sister sit down eagerly on her small knees and shuffle closer to Donald. She pressed right up to him and leaned on his thigh as she watched him hold the doll and look at her face expectantly.

"She wants a French plait!" she announced as if she'd heard Sophie speak, and Donald nodded his ever patient agreement. As androids went, he was as good as they came. He was one of the newer childcare models on the market. He'd been bought specifically to care for John and his sister just three years ago. They likely wouldn't be upgrading his model for at least another six or seven. The children both adored him, often choosing to spend their time with him even when their parents were home. They were always so busy anyway. Donald had time for them and would play endless amounts of games with them.

"A very good choice M'lady. Would you like me to braid Josie's hair as well, so that you match?" he asked the doll obediently. John smiled as he watched Josie bounce on her knees, agreeing instantly that Sophie did indeed want them to match. Her own golden locks were loose and bouncing around her waist. She looked just like her doll, wearing the same light blue flowery dress. Donald had made it for her after she'd begged their mother to buy the material. All she was missing was the straw summer hat, which Donald gently removed as he set to work. Josie handed him a small brush and elastic band so that he could start. John watched in amazement as Donald's delicate fingers part the hair, wrapping it tightly into a braid that started right on top of the small scalp. He was precise, as always.

"Donald, when will father be home?" John asked as he climbed off the horse. He watched Donald's LED swirl yellow as he processed the question, deft fingers never pausing. He tied off the tail neatly before making room for Josie to scoot between his strong thighs. The girl wriggled in anticipation as she sat impatiently, one of Donald's long legs on either side as she looked at her doll happily. Donald connected to the office to find that Mr Wishart's car was still parked at Cyberlife. He wasn't on his way yet, but he was due to leave.

"Three hours, traffic depending," Donald replied obediently, his eyes watchful as John wandered across the floor to sit by the dollhouse, almost as if he were sulking. "Miss Josie, I can't fix your hair if you keep moving like that," Donald added in a teasing tone as he rested his gentle hands on the five-year-old's small shoulders. She agreed and stilled herself, happily playing with the doll in her lap as she waited. His long fingers thread through Josie's hair, tugging and twisting it into a braid. As soon as he was finished, Josie got to her feet to skip around the large, cosy room.

Donald watched her a moment before scooting across to sit at John's side, a comforting presence. He offered John one of the Ken dolls, watching as he half-heartedly took it and pretended to play with it. Donald's expression dropped somewhat. John was getting older. At eight-years-old, he was no longer as easily distractible as he once was. Donald settled for shifting closer and lacing a comforting hand in his hair, knowing the contact always soothed him.

"He won't be home in three hours," John mumbled almost bitterly. Far too bitter for his young age. Donald schooled his expression, but he had to agree. Mr Wishart's track record of returning home in a timely manner was poor, to say the least. He rarely came home when he said he would, even on important dates. Today wasn't an important date, but John was obviously still disappointed. "Do you think he loves work more than us?" he asked in a small voice, almost as if he were afraid of the answer.

"I'm sure he doesn't. Mr Wishart is simply working hard to make sure you have everything you need," Donald assured sincerely, though he wasn't supposed to have an opinion on it. John looked doubtful all the same as he put the plastic doll down with the rest of Josie's collection. His own toys were mostly boxed away, out of sight. He'd always been neat.

"We need him too…" John added softly, barely moving as Donald stroked his head again. It was a comforting touch. He closed his eyes as he leaned into it greedily.

"I know, and I'm sure Mr Wishart does his best. One day you will come to understand what it's like to have such responsibilities," Donald added, though he knew that would be little comfort to the boy at his side. He'd barely finished when his LED flashed yellow, head turning towards the door with a frown. John looked up as he heard it, too. Running footsteps on the stairs. John jumped out of his skin as the door was flung open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"Donald! Take the children! Get them out of here!" John's mother cried as she struggled to flick the safety off a small handgun. His mother was usually demure and quiet, speaking in soft tones. John found his body shaking as the woman's long locks tossed around her shoulders. There was a loud bang somewhere below, likely a door being forced open, and Donald was on his feet in an instant. Josie was quickly secured in his arms, his free hand grabbing John's wrist in a painful grip. "Go! Go!" Mrs Wishart urged, unable to give John the reassurances he so desperately needed.

"This way John!" Donald ordered in a strangely calm robotic voice, but his steps were urgent as he hurried along the landing to the small rear staircase. It was a route few knew about outside the family. The wooden steps were slim and old, originally made for servant use. John flinched as he heard his mother scream behind them and a strangely loud popping sound. Donald hauled his small body off his feet, running out into the large garden with both children clutched tightly in his arms. Josie was wailing now, likely alerting their pursuers.

"Donald, I'm scared!" John cried as they entered the large wooden play house at the bottom of the garden. It was the size of a garage, very large for a playhouse. It was where Donald would bring them to play in the summer. It was decked out with a few furniture items, most of them covered with faded sheets to keep them nice for the coming spring. It was still autumn, the trees outside already dropping leaves in a rain of red and gold. Donald looked panicked himself as he shut the door, LED blinking red as he put a hand over Josie's mouth and tried to hush her cries. He tried to give John an assuring look.

"I know-I know…I'm scared too, but it'll be okay. I'll look after you, both of you," he promised, hugging Josie tightly to his chest and John against his leg. John's heart pounded as he gripped Donald's trousers with shaking fingers. Who were these people? Why were they hurting them? At eight-years-old, John was too young to comprehend it. All he knew was that his mother's screams had stopped with that loud popping noise and the sound of further loud cracks made him flinch and tremble. "Quickly, this way," Donald urged, tugging John towards the second floor where a small bed and toy chest had been set up. The wooden door below was shattered.

"They're in here!" a man's voice shouted, heavy steps sounding on the stairs below. Donald put Josie down and threw himself at the first man, wrestling the gun out of his grip and hitting him with his plastic fist until he fell down the stairs. John held Josie close and closed his eyes tightly, crouching on the floor near the bed. He could hear more pounding and grunting, the slap of plastic on flesh as the android fought the intruders with his bare hands.

"Get away from my children!" Donald shouted murderously, another thump sounding as a third man fell. John cried quietly, not wanting Josie to know. She was already wailing loudly as she gripped his torso tightly, Sophie still dangling in her hand. "No!" Donald's voice cried. John yelped as the breath was knocked from his small lungs. A heavy weight was pressing down on him as loud bangs filled the room. He heard his sister's cry cut off mid-way and closed his teary eyes tighter. He opened them when the firing stopped, looking up to see Donald's blue stained face staring back, a large hole through his temple. Donald hushed him with an expression that begged him not to move as his body twitched and stuttered. John felt his lips quiver and bit down, closing his eyes and holding his breath as he heard dull steps approaching.

"Did you get them?" a voice called from further down in the wooden house.

"Hang on, just finishing up," the voice above him replied. John tried not to flinch as a loud shot sounded, a heavy dead weight landing on his body as Donald went limp. "Now we're done," the man decided, either not noticing or not bothering to check John's body. The steps faded and John was left trembling in the silence. Oily residue seeped through his clothing, Donald's warmth slowly fading as his dead systems cooled. John couldn't stop shaking as his voice stuck in his throat.