November 9th, 2038
PM 12:20:58
A/N: Public Enemy and the next chapters to come hold a special place in this fic. This mission stood out from the rest for me. I've been excited to write these next few chapters since this damn thing started, even spamming the betas, "CAN I WRITE THE PUBLIC ENEMY SEGMENT YET?"
A binder housing Revised Article 9 slammed against the wall. The spine tore only an inch, its pages fluttering as it fell to the floor.
"Is this what you call a solution?"
You lowered your head, shoulders tense and fists curled along either side of your waist.
"Of course, it is. This is all you ever bring me." Elijah sucked his teeth, shaking his head, "Diluted ideas without any structure, all mounted on a floating foundation."
It'd been a few months of the shouting. The condescending laughs, smirks – complete disregard. Your marriage had been on a downslope, you weren't naïve to that. His temper, though…it'd gotten worse since the first android's street date had been announced.
"You'd understand it better if you read it." Your teeth scraped the words off a silent tongue.
You'd had enough.
His lips peeled back. His cheeks lifted. His hands latched on his hips, and he shifted his weight, looking at the floor. You heard the sound before he made it, and the hairs on the back of your neck had already sharpened.
"Tch…" His glasses flashed from the city's lights bleeding in through the windowed wall, "I barely have time to come see you, much less read a fiction novel."
He stalked towards you, footsteps bounding throughout the apartment without much furniture to absorb the sound.
"You can never just be happy, can you?"
You took a step back.
"You got tired of the constant traveling," He held his arms out, "So I designed this complex and gave you the best view in the house." They slapped against his sides as he paused, "And still, you continue to try and undermine the very empire I've built for us."
Your brows furrowed. Your jaw locked. Your tongue curled behind rows of teeth that hid the feintest objection. Your eyes screwed shut as he touched your cheek, your back hitting the window; the only light source in the dark living room.
"I understand you're worried." He guided your chin towards him, his wintery eyes freezing you in place, "And I love your hyperactive mind." He petted your head, landing his palm on your shoulder, "But Amanda and I have ensured that these machines will never…ever, achieve sentiency during their lifespan."
Hearing her name made you sick. The fact that his warm touch on your skin made you miss him, the real him, made you sick. There were so many times you wanted to hate him. Wanted to run. Wanted everything to stop and leave him behind with the rest of this life and end it forever...but hope kept that bullet away. Hope for a brighter future after all of CyberLife's dealings were said and done.
"I hope you're right." You choked, "Because if you aren't, I won't be there to clean up your mess."
He hesitated, anger contorting his face. But then he reeled it in and smiled; huffing through his nose and running a thumb over your cheekbone. He let out a deep-chested sigh as he folded his glasses, setting them on a stack of boxes.
"You know what else I love about you?" His fingertips ghosted across yours, fumbling and thieving through another pocket of your soul that still loved him, "That fire."
Your hips twisted in his hands, and your own pressed against a shuddering pane of the sliding glass door. His palms slid up your sides, around to your chest, squeezing before they traced your arms and tangled your fingers in his. His figure met the curve of your back as he brushed himself against you.
"Don't ever stop feeding it…"
His chin rested on your shoulder, just below your jawline. The bridge of his nose pointed your face at the skyline, and one hand pulled away as he started undoing a button below your waist.
"Even if it means letting this whole city burn."
…
It was like someone was sucking your breath through a straw. A slimy, plastic ring clamped around your mouth like a humid squid. Your arm stung at the crook of your elbow, a bee's sting that had a cord attached to its stinger. The images running through your head were fucked, and you were confused in this lucid state of being.
Water splashed across your skin. It was cold and hot all at once, leaving an uncomfortable, raw feeling as it seeped in your shirt. Had you spitting it at the hazy blob of a figure crouched in front of you and kicking your feet at his shins. He fell backwards, breaking his fall with one arm and pushing himself upright; a knee on the floor, this time.
"She's awake!" Gavin called over his shoulder, wiping his face.
He shook his head in disappointment, screwing a cap back on a water bottle. Gave you the same look Elijah had countless times, as if he was going to quote him with a, "This is all you ever bring me."
"Keep it up and your face is gonna have as many scars as mine."
They had a similar way of making you want to punch them in the face and give Gavin more scars. The two of them looked the same in your blurry focus, actually. Probably just the nightmare.
"DPD only has enough room for one 'Scarface.'" Your voice was muffled behind the oxygen mask.
There weren't any paramedics left. Maybe they were with the guy shot in the hallway and knocked out guards behind the desk. You wondered if any of them made it out in one piece…or, you know, not dead.
Gavin ran a hand through his hair, the tips of it damp, "You're an idiot, you know that?"
You tried to catch your breath, glancing around the broadcast control room. Amidst the DPD Officers roaming the perimeter were the same specialists from the Ortiz crime scene, plastic-wrapped in CSI-branded suits; picking away at bullet holes and dropping fresh evidence markers. SWAT team members in all-black gear and assault rifles barred each entrance and exit.
You'd seen all them before.
The people in FBI jackets, however, you hadn't…
Not recently. Not in Detroit.
"You're still not listening." Gavin scoffed, "Un-fucking-believable."
"What do you want me to say, Reed?" You snapped, throwing a mylar blanket off you for what you guessed was for hypothermia treatment.
"Uh, I don't know – start with an apology, maybe?"
"For what?"
"For fucking taking off and leaving Miller by himself? For almost getting yourself killed, again? I don't even know where to start!"
He pushed off his knees and stood, tapping his chest before holding his hands out, leaning over to yell at you, "How did you know those android fucks weren't dangerous, huh? You just left him to go play fuckin' hero up on the rooftop. How many good cops getting killed is it gonna take for you to get your fucking head out of your ass?!"
You sniffed, your cheek stinging under the bandage that covered it, "Watch yourself, Gavin."
"Or what?" He huffed a laugh, "Huh? The fuck are you gonna do?"
Gavin leaned closer, his finger almost stabbing your nose, "Chris was my partner before he was yours, and if he ends up like Deckart, I'm comin' for you."
You ripped the IV out of your arm and smacked the bag hanging off the wall. Threw your mask on the floor, the elastic band snapping against the back of your hand. Pushed yourself to your feet, ready to fight.
"Ooo, tough talk, threatening another cop." You shoved him, "Who taught you that, your buddies riding with the Bandits?"
"You smug bit-"
"Detective Reed?"
A shorter man came up from behind him, the collar of a long coat flared over a striped lanyard and business attire. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, and something about him was unnerving. His hands were locked behind his back, but they weren't stiff; too relaxed when he shouldn't have been. He walked through the crime scene like a stroll in the park.
Gavin took a step to the side, hanging his head over a shoulder with a nod, "And just who the fuck are you, Trenchcoat?"
"Special Agent Perkins, FBI." An unimpressed smile creased on his long face, "Fowler warned me about a warm welcome."
He stopped just short of Gavin, planting his feet and holding his ground as if dismissing him without an order.
"Oh yeah?" Gavin swiped his nose with his thumb, "Why don't you stuff all your clowns back in the bus you rode in on and get the fuck outta' here. DPD's got this under control."
"Heh." Perkins shook his head at the floor before looking Gavin in the eyes, "Tough guy act isn't gonna work for you today, kid. You're not the biggest bully on the playground anymore."
"How about we all play nice." Collins had made his way over, always being the diplomat, "This cop's been through a lot, and this one," He nodded to Gavin, "He's in a constant state of foaming at the mouth."
"Ah. I see." Perkins squinted over a smirk, looking to the side before back to Collins, "Have you ever seen that classic? Old Yeller?"
Unless they'd already met, this was one hell of an introduction. Or lack thereof, rather. Said a lot about…You zeroed in on the badge dangling from the FBI lanyard.
"Perkins, Richard."
Perky Dick.
Hah.
Collins pulled out a handkerchief, blowing his nose and patting it dry, "No, I haven't."
"It's about a wolf who attacks the family dog, Old Yeller. He protects the family, naturally." Perkins eyed up Gavin, his cheek lifting in a snarl, "Except that wolf had rabies, and before you know it, the family had to take him out back and put him down."
Yeah. Dick. You wished he'd try some shit against your precinct's village idiot.
"You fucking-" Gavin shouted, easing his temper as Collins shot an arm out and impaled his chest with a flat palm.
"Careful, Old Yeller." Perkins gave him a smile as he got in his face, "You're foaming at the mouth."
"I'm not the family dog, Trenchcoat." Gavin smirked, unwrapping a piece of gum before tossing it in his mouth, "I'm the goddamn wolf."
He snapped at Perkins' face, missing his nose by the skin of his teeth. Stayed an inch away as he hovered, because Perkins may have been the only person in the room shorter than Gavin.
Perkins jumped, taking a step back. Gavin just snorted and continued to chew, crossing his arms with his badge clipped to his belt.
"I'll let you know if we need you."
That had him on the retreat, his coat twisting at his knees as he turned his back to you and the two detectives.
"You sure you're not the family attack dog?" Collins chuckled, "Might have some left-over treats from the K9 unit stock."
"Shut it, Ben."
"What kind of dog do you think he'd be?" You asked, rubbing the mask's imprint from your face.
"Hm…" Collins rubbed his chin, eyeing Gavin critically as he rolled his eyes and scoffed, "German Shepard?"
"I might be okay with that." Gavin huffed, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, "Who the fuck is that guy, anyway?"
"Don't know. I put out some feelers from my friends over at Quantico."
"And?" You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, hands working on the sides of the bridge of your nose.
"He's a top-rated agent, hated by his colleagues and only liked by his superiors because of his efficiency. Takes high-profile cases that no one in their right mind would want. Earned him a nickname, 'The Jackal.' Nothing good, if that's what you're wondering."
"More like Jackoff." Gavin sucked his teeth.
You chewed the inside of your cheek, watching the Special Agent who continued to take in the crime scene. He was like an android in his own right, sent by the FBI rather than CyberLife, marked by ruthless ambition and an icy temperament.
"After saying all that out loud, he sounds just like you, Gavin. He even gave you your own nickname." Collins snorted, "Best friends in the making, I tell you."
That got a laugh at of you.
"The fuck are you laughing at?" Gavin reached in the lining of his jacket, pulling a data pad out of a pocket, "Get to work."
He shoved it at you, and threw a thumb over his shoulder, "I'm goin' up to check out the roof."
"You're going up there to smoke." You tapped your login on the screen, moving a cursor along a white box.
"Yeah, so?"
"Tag me in." Collins followed him, "I could use a cigarette after that show."
"But who's going to protect me from the Jackal?" You pretended to whine, giving them a mock frown.
Gavin smirked, "Not this old dog."
He waved over his shoulder as he and Collins left for the stairs.
"So, Ben…I'm thinking you're a Border Collie…" Gavin's voice trailed as they got further away, "Ben Collins…Get it?"
You cringed at the bad joke, reminding you of Chris's own failed attempts. You imagined the facepalm-worthy exchanges that must've happened when they were partners.
A pang of guilt hit you. You didn't know where Chris was, but right now, you were just thankful for a protected moment of peace. An army of SWAT team members had that effect.
It was just them, you, your shitty health, and a mixture of DPD and FBI personnel at a locked-down crime scene. The safest place in the city by today's standards.
You sighed, looking at the data streaming on the pad like a live feed.
CSI Unit 5 – Dropped Evidence Marker #4 on Thirium stain located at Grid Reference 772-981. Click to activate handheld GPS mode. Sample required.
Issue orders?
[Yes] [No]
Which officer would you like to send this set of orders to?
A scrolling list of onsite personnel scrolled before your eyes.
Captain Allen and his SWAT team. Detective Ben Collins and Detective Reed. Officer Miller, Finka, Frank, Smol, Nienz, Cheng, Brown- everyone. Still, you were disheartened at the absence of Lieutenant Anderson and his RK800 partner.
You sent your orders to Officer Smol, the closest to the marked location out of all of them.
[DPD MESSAGE WINDOW (opened by Po. E. SMOL)]
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Conversation log started at 1240 – Personnel be advised; the instant messaging feature is meant for work-conducive purposes only.
[]E. SMOL[]: Ewww, really?
You rolled your eyes, thumbs tapping away.
Po. ID#5649 is typing…
[]ID#5649[]: You're just the closest.
Po. E. SMOL is typing…
[]E. SMOL[]: I'm not anymore.
Your brows pinched, and you clicked her name. Her marked location had moved farther down the hall. You scoffed.
Po. ID#5649 is typing…
[]ID#5649[]: Seriously?
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. R. FINKA has joined the conversation.
[]R. FINKA[]: Oh for [TEXT REDACTED BY AUTO_ADMIN#7274] 's sake, I'll do it.
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: WARNING: Belligerent language will not be tolerated when conducting investigations on behalf of the Detroit City Police Department and may be met with immediate action taken by your superior, leading up to termination of employment or otherwise.
Po. E. SMOL is typing…
[]E. SMOL[]: Even here, Rachel?!
Po. R. FINKA is typing…
[]R. FINKA[]: Whatever. Step aside, scrub.
You shook your head, trying to focus on the data coming in. Another notification distracted you.
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. M. FRANK has joined the conversation.
[]M. FRANK[]: I checked my TeleBand and the screen was going nuts. Everyone's laughing in the hallway.
Po. ID#5649 and Po. E. SMOL are typing…
Several people are typing…
[]M. FRANK[]: "Several people are typing…" Oh, god.
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. C. NIENZ has joined the conversation.
[]C. NIENZ[]: What's everyone laughing at?
Several people are typing…
[]M. FRANK[]: Turn back, Nienz!
Several people are typing…
[]C. NIENZ[]: Shit. "Several people are typing…"
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. C. NIENZ has left the conversation.
[]E. SMOL[]: I am not a scrub. I am a delicate fennec with delicate feels.
[]R. FINKA[]: How are you even an Officer if you're scared of getting your hands a little bloody?! You're D U M B.
[]ID#5649[]: Let's all stop messing around and get to it.
Po. M. FRANK is typing…
[]M. FRANK[]: D U M B.
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. M. FRANK has left the conversation.
Po. R. FINKA and Po. E. SMOL are typing…
Several people are typing…
[]ID#5649[]: ENOUGH.
Po. R. FINKA and Po. E. SMOL are typing…
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Po. C. MILLER has joined the conversation.
[DPD MESSAGE WINDOW (closed by Po. C. MILLER)]
[]AUTO_ADMIN#7274[]: Conversation log ended at 1246 – Detroit City Police Department thanks you for your continued professionalism and unrivaled work ethic.
You rubbed the back of your neck. You didn't know where Chris was lurking, but you guessed it wasn't far. He was obviously pissed off, and part of you didn't blame him. You brought the tablet a little closer to your face, trying to hide behind the soft glow of incoming data.
Officer Miller – Ordered the three JB300 broadcast operator androids be stored in the kitchen for further analysis. Requested monitoring for deviant behavior. Officer Nienz responding.
Officer Nienz suggested course of action: "Hit them with a captcha encryption. That'll weed out any deviants."
Accept method of analysis?
[Yes] [No]
Officer Miller responded with [No].
Officer Miller denied request from Officer Nienz to open new chat window.
You snickered at him bringing the hammer down. Maybe you shouldn't have enabled the others, before. You were still learning.
The screen started going fucking crazy, and for a moment you thought it was crashing. Information flooded your brain as you paced along the front of the control panel, unable to stand still. That anxiety skyrocketed when you realized why the feed was going fucking crazy.
RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 – Evidence Marker #4. Fresh Blue Blood. Model – PL600. Reported missing 2036.16.02. Deviant was shot.
RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 – Thompson, Evan. Shot in the brachial artery, located in the arm. Taken to Henry Ford Hospital before statement could be acquired. Employee tried to escape.
RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 – Transcribed briefing between Officer Miller and Lieutenant Anderson:
Po. C. MILLER: Hi, Hank.
Lt. H. ANDERSON: [REDACTED], what's going on here? There was a party and nobody told me about it?
Po. C. MILLER: Yeah, it's all over the news, so everybody's butting their nose in…Even the FBI wants a piece of the action…
Lt. H. ANDERSON: Ah, Christ, now we got the Feds on our back…I knew this was gonna be a [REDACTED] day…
Lt. H. ANDERSON: So what do we got?
Po. C. MILLER: A group of four androids…They knew the building, and they were very well organized. I'm still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed. They attacked two guards in the hallway…They probably thought the androids were coming to do maintenance. They got taken down after they reacted…knocked out. Still alive, thankfully.
Your nose crinkled, remembering the two guards on the floor behind the desk; one's hand still unfurled where his gun had fallen out.
A crack of glass. A shout. A thud on the floor and an arm landing next to a stilled body. A gun skidding under a table. Anthony was dead. There was no goodbye, no nothing-
You closed your eyes and shook your head. Refocused on the scrolling walls of text that more than likely irritated the rest of your peers. Connor wouldn't know any better. That cheered you up, a bit…right until you started to hear Chris in the hallway.
"One of the station employees was shot as he was trying to get away…" Chris paused, and you gulped.
You leaned to the side, finding Hank and Connor with their backs turned to you as your partner pointed to the blood stain.
"One bullet straight through the arm, from fifty, feet." Chris almost sounded like he was impressed, his DPD cap dipping from a nod with his tablet in his hands, "Now, that's the kind of shooting only an android could do."
You thought back to your time with Gavin in the range and grinned. You, could make that shot from fifty feet, and Gavin could, too. That moment of fond remembrance was brief.
"How many people were working here?" Hank asked, and the small group started back towards you.
You turned your back to the entryway, tapping on the screen and catching up on the rest of the reports.
RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 – Two armed guards taken down. One bullet missing from a .457 Handgun, Stratford Tower Security issue. Reconstruction results: Evan Thompson was injured in the crossfire.
RK800 #313 248 317 – 51 – Security cameras located in corridor. Incident was captured by CCTV.
FBI Agent Barker – Took statement from security guards. Click to view transcript.
CSI Unit 4 – Dropped Evidence Marker #7 near Thirium stain on rooftop at Grid Reference 771-850. Click to activate handheld GPS mode. Sample required-
You almost dropped the tablet, your motor functions shutting down as your eyes shot up. You swallowed hard. Began to sweat. Realized everyone on the roof might be in danger.
"Simon can't come with us. We need to put him somewhere-"
"Just two employees, and three androids." Chris's answer interrupted your train of thought, "The deviants took the humans hostage and broadcast their message live. They made their getaway from the roof."
"The roof?" Hank asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, they jumped with parachutes…We're still trying to figure out where they landed, but the weather's not helping…"
You couldn't focus, not knowing they were about to be in the same room. Not knowing Simon could still be here. The question was that, if he was still somewhere in or on the Stratford Tower – where?
Other question – Did you want to find him?
You had to look. Had to find him before someone else did.
"He might know something…"
You cocked your head, seeing Hank mosey his way through the entrance leading away from the corridor. Turned your face so your bandage was facing the opposite direction, and chewed the inside of your not-scarred cheek.
That's when you noticed someone watching you.
Perkins.
He hiked his brows, licking at the inside of his bottom lip and giving you a smug look.
Chris cleared his throat, leering at you as he walked up behind him, "Lieutenant, this is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI."
Hank looked at you. Connor looked at you. Perkins' attention never left you. Everyone ignored Chris's introduction.
Perkins pretended to be surprised, turning around as if shocked at being mentioned. It was arrogant, and it rubbed you the wrong way.
Chris nodded at him, then Hank, "Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit Police."
And that's when you felt it. The anger reverberating from Hank's partner, your lover, who seemingly stepped out of a shadow just to drill into you.
"What's that?" Perkins sounded disgusted.
You and Connor both snapped your attention to him.
"My name is Connor." He tried to mask the frustration in his voice, "I'm the android, sent by CyberLife."
He still came off like a smartass.
"Androids investigating androids, huh?" Perkins laughed under his breath, "You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened…"
He held that stupid tone again, the one where he expected everyone to just fall in line from an underlying request. But he didn't know who Hank was. Hank, who shot back a glare that had a silent "Fuck you," embedded in it.
Non-verbal communication at its finest.
"Whatever," Perkins rolled his eyes, swallowing a yawn, "The FBI will take over this investigation, you'll soon be off the case."
"Pleasure meetin' ya." Hank rocked in place, a condescending grin over his beard, "Have a nice day."
He turned to walk away, Chris and Connor shifting in unison. They were both perturbed, and if you'd been closer, you probably would've caught angry swearing from Hank and quirky, smart-mouthed agreements from Connor.
"And you watch your step." Perkins' head rotated with him, still at ease and unthreatened.
If any of that hadn't happened by now, it certainly would've after that.
Hank's mouth hung open as he turned slowly, but Perkins just gave him an overly-confident smirk, "Don't fuck up my crime scene."
Perkins glanced at you from over one spiked edge of his collar. You didn't know what about you had him so fascinated.
It would have bothered you if Chris wasn't bee-lining towards you. You would've laughed at Hank's breathless, "What a fuckin' prick," if you weren't scared for your life at your partner's discretion.
"You made me choose."
You unfolded your arms, confused by his low declaration.
"You made me choose between a dying civilian, and you."
He grabbed your uniform and shook you, his fists tight under your chin.
"What is wrong with you?!" He was fighting back tears, and Hank gripped his shoulder.
"Not here, Chris." He pushed him back with a strong shove, "We've got eyes on us."
Chris was hurt. He was angry and sad and disappointed and genuinely disturbed as Hank fought to get him away. Every time he'd touch him, Chris would swat at his hand. Every time his arm would bar around his waist, he'd roll out of his embrace.
"Goddamn it, Chris-" Hank pulled him by the back of his vest, "I don't need this right now-"
He tossed him in the direction of the farthest wall. Chris straightened his jacket out, mouthing profanities and fixed his hat. He took his data pad out from under his arm, grumbling as he stationed himself in a corner and lost himself in work.
You sighed, rubbing your throat and wishing you'd just glitch through the floor and disappear forever.
You could practically still feel the boot indents under your chin. The gun slipping out of your grasp and trading hands into the possession of someone who wanted to end your life. Being at the other end of a barrel didn't even scare you anymore. It was just another fixture in the backdrop. It was becoming normal.
Chris being mad at you, was becoming normal. From his missing leniency in the DPD chat, how he shut down the fun instead of jumping in. How he put his hands on you and shouted in your face, like it was the only way to get you to listen, anymore.
Connor stood with his hands clasped behind his back, not saying a word as he silently threatened your life with eyes like barrels of his own.
You wondered how long it would be until he exploded, too.
"Leave you alone for one second, and…" Hank caught his breath, "And there's an android on every screen in the goddamn city declaring 'freedom and justice for all.'"
He pointed his eyes at the ceiling, shaking his head in rhythm with his sarcastic tone.
You looked away from Connor, mustering up the most professional voice you could, "Afternoon, Lieu-"
"Don't you even fuckin' think about it." He held up a finger, "You know you're in all sorts of fuckin' trouble."
Your eyelids fluttered, nose dipping as if you'd been disciplined with a spray bottle.
"I deserve that."
"Damn right you do." He growled, "And now you're rubbing off on Chris. What in the hell were you two thinking, running up here without backup like Maverick and fuckin' Goose?!"
"We're still alive, aren't we?"
"Barely. Just fuckin' look at you." He flailed his hands.
You deflated, hanging your head and tapping the data pad awake, "You'll have to yell at me later. There's a lot to look at, here."
"Bet your ass you're getting a fuckin' lecture. Your wingman, too…Come on, Connor. Let's have a look around…" Hank turned on his heel, "Let me know if you find anything."
Connor didn't budge. He stood there, rigid and fuming. A tense "Ok, Lieutenant," was all he could give.
But Hank stopped mid walk, and Connor's frustration was redirected.
"You have a history of getting pretty banged up, don't you?" Perkins blocked your view of the rest of the room.
You swallowed hard, dropping your hands to your sides. Put your war paint on and faced him.
"I was under the impression we've just met."
"And yet," He squinted, pursing his lips as he licked the inside of his teeth, "I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."
Your eyes narrowed back, challenging the man whose FBI badge dangled from the lanyard around his neck; a reminder he had more authority than you, "I'm pretty sure I'd remember any dealings with the FBI, and I haven't had any."
"Hm…You sure about that?" He lifted himself on his toes for a second, his shoes clicking as they returned to the floor, "Think long and hard before you answer, Officer."
He observed your every movement. Made you question if he could read you like Connor read his suspects, looking through them and turning them inside out. Dark-blue shadows hung on his features, being cast by the large screen and dim lighting in the broadcast control room.
You preferred a different sort of mood lighting, but hoped it made you look just as intimidating.
"If you've got something to say, Special Agent Perkins," You mocked his title, "How about we skip the small talk and you just say it?"
He huffed through his nose, "Alright, then. Tell me what happened on the roof."
"I responded to a reported shots fired with Officer Miller. He stayed behind to provide first aid to a wounded civilian. I pursued the suspects. They-"
"They. How many were there?"
"Four."
"And where did they go after they jumped off the roof?"
"I don't know."
His eyes flickered, still trained on you, "What provoked this altercation?"
"They resisted arrest."
"And you just thought it would be a good idea to engage with four terrorists? Four android, terrorists?"
"How about we do this later," Hank grabbed your shoulder, twisting you around, "After, you speak with her supervisor, Jeffery Fowler. Maybe you've heard of him."
"I have. I spoke with him this morning as my plane landed. Much like Detective Reed, he warned me about you, too." Perkins snickered, "DPD's finest sure is rough around the edges. I'll be sure to include that in my official report."
"You know where you can stick your official report?"
"Hank-" Connor tried to interject.
"No, I don't." Perkins challenged him, "Please, tell me, Lieutenant."
"Those androids didn't shoot to kill. I was there. And I'm still here." You interrupted, preparing a question of your own, "Don't you think you're jumping the gun with the 'T' word?"
The three of them halted their bickering, all returning their attention to you. Seemed to be a trend.
"Interesting…" Perkins hummed, nodding as his intense gaze deepened, "I reviewed the details of the August hostage situation before coming here. One could argue that 'Daniel' didn't shoot to kill, either. Heh, well…not with you, at least. What was his name?" He looked to the ceiling, then back to you, "Officer Anthony Deckart?"
Your fists tightened, still bruised and beaten. Your lip must have busted open at some point, because it hurt to bite it.
"It's curious how you keep showing up at the most crucial times during this whole…android uprising, series of events, isn't it?" His shoulders rolled as he paced, hands still resting on the small of his back, "It's almost like you know these things are going to happen, before they happen."
"If I was a fortune teller, I'd be making a lot more money than I do being a cop."
Your attempted deflection backfired.
"Yes, money. Interesting thing. Always leaves a trail." He grinned, "Your salary doesn't even begin to cover the suite you call home. How'd you end up there?"
Your heart sunk, hitting rock bottom. He wasn't fishing for information. You were already hooked, lined, and sinker.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, that you're hiding something…And I'm gonna figure out what."
You hadn't had time to subdue the rising panic before Connor tried to cut the line and set you free.
"Excuse me." He sounded polite, but you knew it was feigned, "I must acquire a statement from her, our key witness, before I may continue my investigation. These four deviants are still roaming the streets of Detroit. Time is of the essence, Special Agent Perkins."
Perkins gave a low chuckle, shaking his head at the floor, "This is a joke…"
You slowly lifted your eyes to Connor. His LED gave him away as the golden circle spun on his temple, staring at the bandage on your face. Perkins' mocking dismissal seemed to be the least of his troubles.
"You're that prototype everyone's talking about, aren't you? The…what was that catchy name they gave you…" Perkins asked, "'Deviant Hunter?'"
"Correct." Connor's LED returned to its normal blue.
"You're so anxious to track this group of renegades down, but…how many deviants have you successfully recovered, exactly?"
"Two." His brows twitched, and his mouth formed a hard line, "Daniel, from the hostage situation, and the murderer from the Ortiz investigation."
"And how many other leads have you pursued?"
Connor blinked rapidly before answering, "Three."
"Looks like you're the losing horse in this race." He studied him intently, "Would you like to know how many deviants I have successfully recovered?"
No one answered. Hank just grunted, his shoulders jumping as he crossed his arms.
"Fifty." All the humorous, taunting, and arrogant vibes drained from him, "The same number of leads I've pursued."
"Did the FBI give you a gold star 'er something?" Hank scoffed, "Because if they didn't, I'd be pretty pissed if I were you."
"No." The Jackal turned his attention to you, "They gave me a case file the size of a dictionary and sent me to Detroit." And then he addressed Connor without so much as looking at him, "Run her badge number and report your findings."
Connor's neck snaked back, "Excuse me?"
"I didn't realize androids required a human to repeat themselves." Perkins crossed his hands in front of him, now, "Perhaps 'Defective Detective,' is a more fitting title."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Hank unwound his arms.
"The most successful investigator assigned to the deviancy case, Lieutenant."
Hank and Perkins were gridlocked, but Connor struggled to keep his composure. He didn't have a whole lot of time with this "feeling emotions," thing. Being put on the spot by an FBI investigator wasn't the time to learn, either.
"I'm waiting." Perkins held his ground.
Connor would have to give him something. Anything. But no matter what he said, you knew Perkins would use it against you.
"Her badge number is 5649. She moved here from out-of-state, and joined the police force a few years ago. Her previous partner was Anthony Deckart, pronounced dead at the scene in response to a hostage situation on August 15th, 2038. She's received multiple disciplinary coachings, but more commendations, and is well-respected within the Detroit Police Department. Officer Chris Miller, the former partner of Detective Gavin Reed, is currently assigned as her partner. What else would you like to know, Special Agent Perkins?"
"I'd like to know something I can't find from a Google search."
"I'm afraid I can't provide any further information."
"And why is that, 'Connor?'"
Connor's LED flashed yellow for a brief second before stabilizing, "Her file is protected under WITSEC."
"Right, right…Now I remember." Perkins kicked the air before circling away from him, stopping just on the edge of your view, "The persons of interest list was a long read. It made the flight from DC go by faster, I'll give it that. But you were at the top…number five, if I remember correctly."
You wanted to panic. Lose your cool. Let loose the absolute "what the fuck" trapped in your chest. But you'd had a lot more practice hiding all that than Connor, and when dealing with an FBI investigator, it was a great time to put that skillset to use.
"Number five, huh?" You smirked, "I'm insulted."
He tried to look past it. Tried to tear down those walls you'd thrown up at his prying.
"You should probably start with one through four."
You'd dealt with people like him before on the opposite end of cross-examinations in countless courtrooms. He was on your home turf, here.
"I tried to tell my superiors they'd made a mistake in their numbering scheme…because who could possibly have a stronger motive than you?"
He leaned in, the smell of musty cologne making your eyes water. The demolition of all that protected you crumbled under the detonation of carefully placed charges coming in the form as a whisper in your ear.
"Elijah Kamski's ex-wife, the woman who wrote Revised Article 9."
And just like that, over the course of an afternoon and a tense conversation…
You'd shifted from an unsung hero, to public enemy number one.
A/N II:
1. I'm going to start this off by saying I KNOW SOME OF YOU DON'T LIKE REED900. However, Cerulaine, Deviant Behavior's newest beta, is working hard to bring some quality content to that corner of D:BH that revolves around more than smut and all the other usuals that come with the pairing. Please give it a chance, because I personally can't get enough of it.
You can REED "Captcha Encryption" on AO3.
2. Once again, I wanted to really take a moment to tell you all how incredible you are. Your comments pick me up when I'm feeling down. You keep me going through this time of complete and utter fuckery that is my life right now, and you have all made me feel validated. And while I do "mourn" for my suspended projects at times, having all of you with me during this incredible journey has made everything worth it.
So, for the 2938429837th time: from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Now, pardon me while I go regret my life choices on this 120-page college project.
