November 6th, 2038

PM 04:32:04


Valet-service androids waited for you at the podium on the edge of the roundabout. You threw your transmission in park, pulling the keys from their slot and shoving your notebook in your jacket. You got out of your car, using the roof and edge of the window as an ergonomic crutch.

"Good evening," An android greeted you by name, "How are you doing this afternoon?"

"I'm alright." You gave him a gentle smile, "How are you?"

His LED blinked yellow, "I am well."

"Glad to hear," You tossed him your keys, giving him a pat on the back, "Go easy on her. She can be temperamental."

You turned your head, eyeing the vehicles that cost a small fortune lining up around yours. The people in suits and dresses that left them; cell phones glued to their ears – not even looking at the androids as they dropped their keys in their palms. The people who gave you weird looks, silently judging your attire and transportation relic behind you.

"As always, miss."

"Thank you. I'd tip you, if I could."

The android froze in the middle of taking a seat. You imagined he hadn't heard the words from anyone other than you, over the years.

"Tips are unnecessary, as androids do not receive monetary compensation." His LED corrected to blue, "But you are most welcome, ma'am."

You walked in the apartment tower's entrance hall, boots leaving wet footprints on the red mat and squeaking on marble floors as the receptionist gave you a warm nod. She was also an android you've had pleasant conversations with.

You entered an elevator and pressed the button labeled "S," the floor that hosted penthouse apartments; those with high-end amenities, private balconies, and exclusive rooftop access. You tried to huddle in a corner – your clothes damp with a musty smell to match. Your black-tie-affair neighbors boxed you in, a woman's purse jabbing your sore spot. Your jaw clenched, your hand instinctively splaying across your stomach.

You hated this place. But this place was home.

Kind of.

Article Title: The Free Spirit

Publication Date: November 6th, 2038 (Draft; Auto-Save Enabled)

Author: Vangu4rd

Humans are fallible beings.

Perhaps it is for this reason that we put various societal standards into motion. To simulate some kind of consistency; or perfection. We try to corral the world in neat, nicely tucked borders of black and white; but an old friend once told me, "Color finds a way to bleed, no matter how much you try to press it into a canvas."

I remember a time where the older sections of the city were a concern. Instead of allowing nature to reclaim abandoned parts of Detroit, we sent bulldozers and cranes to build mega-centers and assembly factories.

We live in a society completely overrun by technology.

Digital magazines, data pads, self-driving vehicles, automated taxis, smart watches with credit chips, computer terminals…

Androids.

"Machines" that help us build our autonomous empire. They who sustain the society that has escaped our grasping fingertips, continuing to evolve faster than we could have ever anticipated while we bask in the glory of their creation.

For it wasn't enough to abuse the planet we live on, but we've chosen to abuse the technology that we depend on. That of which is now integratedinto the very concept of Earth, as a whole. The technology that has shifted our societal standards and ideologies.

On the morning of November 5th, a pastor preached these ideologies in the Greek District Park. He said to his audience, "We made them [androids] in our image, but they reflect the darkest part of our souls."

A few minutes later, an android left a paint shop; Bellini Paints, to be exact. On his way to the bus station, he was attacked by a group of unemployed protesters. I had to scare them with fines for property damage and idle threats, because questioning their humanity wasn't enough. When I asked the android if he was alright, he didn't say anything.

The silence was deafening.

You see, he didn't answer me because if you're an android who breaks away from your programming, you're a "deviant." But in today's society, if you're a human who shatters the mold being cast around you, you're a "free spirit."

You know what I think?

I think they're one and the same, and we're scared of androids who "deviate" from their script, writing themselves to be free. The variable colors that now bleed into our black and white borders of society, no matter how much we oppress them.

And we should be scared. We should pray that the androids have more mercy upon us, than we've had with them.

The pastor was right about one thing, though: We made androids in our image…But they don't reflect the "darkest part of our soul" in their sheer existence. They are simply mirrors that reflect the evil we can truly show while the good in us fights to resurface.

If you're one they call a "deviant," reading this article…Just know this:

Some of us are rooting for you. Some of us also deviate from the beaten path.

While we remain pioneers for our respective kin, my only hope is that, if our paths cross…

It'll be on amicable terms.

Your fingers tapped along the edge of your desk.

It'd been a trying day from start to finish. The protestor incident, the crime scene, the interrogation, getting shot…and everything that came after.

You looked to the right, studying the mad-science project on your wall. Newspaper clippings with sloppily written notes, thumb tacks, and strings connecting the push pin dots to where one event coincided with another:

February 5th: First DCPD case file opened on "deviants."

August 15th: Daniel takes Emma Phillips hostage after owner orders replacement.

September 14th: An (AV500 #234 777 821) android waiter attacks guest. Motive undetermined.

October 22nd: An (AP700 #480 913 802) android attacks her owner in their home and escapes. Motive undetermined.

November 5th: Body of Carlos Ortiz discovered; android (HK400) killed him after being brutally tortured for years.

November 5th: Following a 911 call regarding a potential break-in at the Manfred residence at 8941 Lafayette Avenue, Leo Manfred reports he was attacked by Carl Manfred's android, (RK200 #684 842 971) a prototype model of an unknown series. The android goes by the name "Markus," according to the victim's statement. Recorded log of 911 call saved for voice sampling. Appearance not on file. Suggests prototype information is confidential, withheld by CyberLife. Company failed to provide statement. Android was shot on site and scrapped. Aggressive android behavior may be related to blacklisted break-in details. Leo Manfred's medical history, including the following hospital visit, may provide answers. Other options include speaking with Carl Manfred directly. Markus's motive undetermined. Further investigation required.

November 6th: Report filed by Todd Williams. An (AX400 #579 102 694) android by the name of "Kara," takes Alice Williams and flees home after father continued to abuse them. Alice closely resembles a YK500 android. Both Alice and Kara's LED markers were removed. Unsure if Kara is aware of Alice's nature, or if in denial. The father also appears to be convinced his "daughter" is a human. Father exhibits symptoms of Red Ice usage and withdrawal. This could explain irrational behavior and aggressive tendencies. Speaking with Todd Williams directly and reviewing his past or medical history may provide answers. Further investigation required.

2038 had been the year of deviancy. But what started it, or who? rA9? Who was rA9 to them? What caused deviancy, and what were you going to do about it? What could even be done?

Your TV chimed, and a breaking news report fluttered in scrolling white text along a red, thin banner. Another warning about World War III; the main contenders being the United States and Russia.

You sighed.

"Television: Off."

A notification blinked on your computer screen. You minimized the draft article for your blog, "Radical Expressions," and opened the chat window.

[DPD MESSAGE WINDOW (opened by Po. C. MILLER)]

[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Conversation log started at 1640 – Personnel be advised; the instant messaging feature is meant for work-conducive purposes only.

[]C. MILLER[]: Hey, partner. How you holding up?

You smirked, placing your fingers on your keyboard.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: I'm managing. The diclofenac Doc has me on helps.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Damn. That's strong shit. Hard on your liver. What dosage?

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: 50mg, three times a day. And please, my liver and I have been conditioned. This is what we've trained for, all those nights at Jimmy's.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Part of me wonders if drinking the pain away would be healthier.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Probably. More expensive, though.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Yeah…I've seen your tabs.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Nothing compared to Hank's.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: LOL, you're not wrong.

You let out a small huff, cracking your neck.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: How come your name doesn't show up in the system?

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Long story.

You cringed, deflecting the inbound questioning.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: How's the case coming along?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: It's going. You make any headway with…You know.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Time and place, Chris.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Did you like my little warning?

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: TIME AND PLACE, CHRIS.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Anyway…as far as the case goes, we [TEXT REDACTED BY AUTO_ADMIN#7274]

[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: WARNING: Discussion of confidential information is strictly prohibited and may be met with immediate action taken by your superior, leading up to termination of employment or otherwise.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Way to go, ass clown.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Let me try this again. Connor and Anderson just got back from a call-in. Anderson seemed upset about something…

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Doesn't he always? Probably just mad his lunch hour was cut short.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Yeah, but…I don't know. He left a half-hour early after Fowler said we could go at 1700. Doesn't want us getting burned out. Still, I kinda feel bad for Connor…

You swallowed hard, your brows creasing.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Why? What's wrong with him?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Well, he's at the empty desk, for starters…

You knew the one; it was connected to Hank's. Your old partner used it. It was just an empty space with stark counters, now.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: I offered to let him use yours, you know, to keep him company with Anderson gone. Figured you wouldn't mind.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: No, of course not. Why didn't he?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: He said it was yours, and he felt like he'd be "encroaching on your personal space."

You couldn't help but grin wide at that.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: How sweet.

You panicked, formulating a response before Chris could say anything.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: So, Fowler is giving you guys the night off, you say?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Just our unit. He knows we haven't got much sleep between responding to last night's crime scene and today's fiasco. Can't say I mind. Feels like I haven't seen my family in weeks…

You went to answer, but he kept going.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: The doctors at the hospital said I need to be around during Damian's first couple months. He probably thinks he only has one parent, at this rate. :/

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: I'm sorry, man…This'll all be over soon.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Hopefully…With this deviancy crap, at least…You see the news lately?

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Yeah. The whole world's going to shit.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Mhm…

You chewed the inside of your cheek, looking out the panes of glass that formed your living room wall.

The rain outside had stopped, giving you a clear view of Detroit's skyline. The colorful buildings twinkled like gemstones – amethyst bordering sapphires and digital emeralds, set in golden sunlight. The diamond windows cut to size. Crystalline waters shimmering along its border.

It all looked so beautiful from a distance…right until you remembered the growing tension in the streets.

The world was definitely going to shit.

Three blinking dots tore your attention back to your laptop.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Sorry, Connor came to ask me about something. You, actually.

Your brows perked up.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Me?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Yeah…Soo, uh…I don't know if I said the right thing…

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Spit it out, Miller.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Well, I mean, he's leaving at 5 like the rest of us…I don't know where he's going, after that, but…He asked if I'd be free after work. I explained how I needed to go home to help the wife out and spend time with my kid. Then I told him your door's always been open to a friend in need.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: So, you volunteered me as his counselor?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: I guess that's one way to put it. C'mon, you can't tell me you'd be mad if Detective Swoon-Bot made a house call.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: You're a dick.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Judging by the look on his face, I'm sure he wouldn't mind being your "appointed welfare officer," either.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Look? What look?

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Wouldn't you like to know?

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: TELL ME!

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: All I'm gonna say is, maybe you won't have to stop at Eden Club to explore those "curiosities" of yours.

You should've been irritated by his teasing, but you couldn't help but laugh.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: I seriously doubt CyberLife equipped him for that kind of "house call."

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: So the thought HAS crossed your mind.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: No, I just want you to know how ridiculous you sound.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: You do realize that "extra equipment," can be arranged, right? But you'll still have to make the trip to Eden Club for one of those.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: You are the literal worst. I hate you.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: No you don't.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Yes. Yes, I do.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Uh-huh. Well, I'm gonna finish here and pack up. Wife is making steak tonight, I'm not missing a minute of that. Feel better!

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Thanks…enjoy your meal. And wife.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: I will. ;) no fake you-know-whats, happening tonight.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]ID#5649[]: Ew.

Po. C. MILLER is typing...

[]C. MILLER[]: Play your cards right, and you might get lucky, too. "Plastic can't be beat," as the tabloids say.

Po. ID#5649 is typing…

[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Message failed to send.

[DPD MESSAGE WINDOW (closed by Po. C. MILLER)]

[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Conversation log ended at 1652 – Detroit City Police Department thanks you for your continued professionalism and unrivaled work ethic.

You rolled your eyes, returning your focus to the view outside.

An advanced society, once nothing but black and white buildings with stains in the canvas. The "World's Forge," painted over in shades of color that couldn't be decoded; couldn't be washed clean by the rain that only made it shine brighter.

You lifted your arm, smelling underneath. The city wasn't the only thing that needed washed clean after being rained on. The stains on your shirt were looking pretty colorful, too.

But first, you had an article to post and a partner to text…

"Asshole."


A/N: Thank you to my betas 3 Thank you to you lovely readers 3 And thank you x2 to Matt who called Connor a "Swoon-Bot," in random conversation. LUL

AND sorry to Archon_Priest, a good friend of mine who thinks he can stop me from hiding "Of Steel and Stardust" references in this fic. Spoiler Alert: YOU CAN'T, ARCH!