November 9th, 2038

PM 12:45:54


A/N: Bonus points to whoever spots the Titanfall or Rainbow 6: Siege quote. :P


With each passing second, your guilt established itself as an uncontrolled variable in a situation you needed to regain control of.

Thump-thump-

Your heart churned like cranks to a guillotine; gears grinding while levers raised an angled, unholy blade to drop at the command of the judge, jury, and executioner:

Special Agent Richard Perkins.

Thump-thump, thump-thump-

The human lie detector who'd raised the lines from a scribbled polygraph, strung them along a fretboard, and wrote a score that resonated with criminal exposure.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-

His verbal vice clamped around your neck; words for fingers pressing against your veins as chords, a bow of tension drawing along your muscle fibers.

"Who could possibly have a stronger motive than you?"

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-

"Elijah Kamski's ex-wife, the woman who wrote Revised Article 9."

The world's saddest song on the smallest violins; conducted by your defining work broadcasted on the largest screens. The performance attracted the attention of the FBI, one of the few governing powers that could get to you.

You thought you'd prepared for something like this, because if things could go wrong, you knew they would. Knew constants weren't ever constant, and variables didn't vary. Had every outlier pinpointed in a reality of standard deviations.

Your nerves pirouetted to the hiss of pressurized heat dropping to absolute zero, each atom slipping through trap doors on cue with a demonic crescendo.

A tune he'd titled: "Presentation of Withheld Evidence on Appeal."

"It's a cyclic thing, being the forefront of change that people aren't ready for…" Perkins put himself in front of Hank and Connor, cutting you off from the rest of your backup, "Your psychological profile matches that of one of your idols. A man who'd thought himself a danger to society because of his radical ideas. Radical…expressions, if you will."

Radical Expressions. The name of your website.

He had it all, figured out…and that polygraph's needle bounced until it looked more like a magnitude 9 on the Richter.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-

You pushed a breath through your nose. Swiped your pants with your balmy hands. Took a step back as he took one forward, because for every action there was an equal reaction. You just weren't used to being the one reacting.

"Or how an outsider could threaten conceptual schemes, and how following that path can lead one away from safety. He thought that, too." He grinned.

The back of your leg hit the end of the console, and you stopped.

"Nietzsche wasn't recognized or immortalized until after, he died. You, however, have managed to predict CyberLife's every counter…every ruse. You even forced its founder out of the ivory tower. But what did you find that had them…him, so scared?"

He narrowed his eyes, and took a frustrated breath.

"How much more are you willing to sacrifice to keep it a secret?" He cocked his chin, and took on a more understanding voice as he frowned at the bandage stretching across your cheek, "Are you still faithful in Jericho's 'amicable terms?'"

You weren't even surprised. You'd wondered for years why it took so long for the world to sound off all your secrets. Yeah, you knew this day was coming.

Having it vocalized and shot at you was a slap in the face.

He wasn't asking questions. He was presenting statements. Facts. He already knew he was right.

He just had to get you to say it.

"I don't know who 'Jericho,' is."

If you had tilled the minefield, and Elijah had planted the bombs…Perkins was now the one who strolled through idly while marking them with red flags. And just like those signifiers, he was a warning to humanity as to what happens when the line in the sand becomes jagged.

"So you can talk…Good to know." He answered swiftly, silently, deadly, "As for Jericho? That's okay, if you don't know them….I do. And trust me…"

You flatlined. Your ears rang, a screeching transition from fear to denial. Every bit of persistence that kept you together in a tight knot of malleability disengaged from your being, crumbling in a physically impossible mess.

"They know you."

He walked around you, tapping the console. It began to load as his hands folded behind his back. Your brows furrowed, and your focus blurred him out; renewing Connor and Hank in new, crisp form.

They were worried. It was all over their faces.

"We demand strictly equal rights for humans, and androids."

You turned around, swallowing hard as Markus's voice rang clearer than it had under screeching alarms and cries from a panicked crowd.

"We demand that humans recognize androids as a living species, and each android as a person in their own right."

Your brows creased, the pain seeping into your heart and curling around each valve until they began to sputter and break.

"He's taken some artistic freedom with the wording, hasn't he?" Perkins looked over his shoulder at you, "How does it feel to have someone else take the credit for something you sacrificed everything for?"

You stepped forward, disregarded the looks from Hank and Connor coming from the other side of the man shoveling dirt over your coffin as he dug for information.

"We demand freedom of speech, and freedom of assembly, as guaranteed by-"

"-the first amendment of the US Constitution." You muttered under your breath, hovering over the console's controls with your fingertips.

You were lost in the echo of your words.

"We demand the right to own private property, so we may maintain our dignity, and that of the home."

Your mouth moved in wordless coordination, skipping over "we demand," and replacing "we," with "they," just like you'd written.

"This revised article necessitates an android's right to own private property, so they may maintain their dignity, and that of the home."

That was what androids were to your kind. "They." A word that carried a weight of an entire people…and the lot of them reduced "humanity," to this.

Pitting you against each other; one melted-down casing of a hollowed woman, and a Jackal in the same room whose nose was pressed against a blood trail stamped in your boot prints.

"This message is the hope of a people."

Your eyes lowered, skipping over Perkins' smug grin and finding another face that was in shock, awe, and panic.

Connor, with his eyelids shaking at half shutter. His lips slightly parted, and a smile threatening to give him away. There was hope. Longing. He was lost in a fantasy retold in your words without permission, but if it made androids feel even half of what he appeared to be feeling…that was worth it.

That was enough to keep going; keep fighting.

"We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can leave in peace and build a better future, for humans and androids."

Perkins snickered, reaching for a red button.

"You, gave us life-"

And the recording stopped.

He opened his mouth to say something, and was interrupted.

"Think that's rA9?" Hank questioned, crossing his arms and shooting you a look.

He was trying to throw off Perkins' nose; to alter the scent. Would've been a solid strategy if Connor had been ready. But it wasn't just him that snapped his attention to Hank. Perkins was quick to zero in on him, too.

Connor's chin rotated between the two men, fear glazing over his eyes as if he was scared to speak. You couldn't blame him, and suppressed the overwhelming urge to throw him a lifeline and pull him away.

"Deviants say rA9 will set them free." He reeled himself in as he looked back up to Markus, "This android seems to have that objective…"

His eyes flickered in a new wave of leashed panic, twitching as they scanned the screen.

"D'you see something?" Hank asked caringly.

Connor's teeth clicked as his mouth snapped shut, and he looked to the floor.

"I identified its model and serial number…" His fingers itched at the inside of his palm, bending and unflexing in a nervous rhythm.

"…Anything else I should know?" Hank crossed his arms, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You couldn't tell if this was still part of what you guessed was an act, or if he'd had a change of heart and wanted Connor to give up whatever was bothering him.

Connor was taking far too long to answer; to process and fabricate the telltale lie. Long enough that Perkins reached in his pocket, pulled out a black leather glove, and snapped it over his right hand. Long enough for him to unfold a matching pair of sunglasses from a pocket over his heart, sliding them over his eyes.

The room was already dark. Too relaxing. You'd probably fall asleep if you were forced to work there every day. The newest additions to his attire didn't make sense.

"N-no," Connor stuttered, "Nothing."

Hank watched him in disbelief, and Perkins let out a short laugh on a huff.

"We'll see about that."

Everyone was confused; and no one could make out what he was doing as his gloved hand extended, swiping at invisible items as if scrolling through a Netflix queue.

You doubted he was watching movies, shows…or anything else other than ways to bring you in for withholding information pertinent to the deviancy case.

"RK-200 series, #684 842 971. Is that correct, Connor?" He pinched the air, his thumb and index finger expanding like he was enlarging something on a phone.

"Yes, Special Agent Perkins."

"Hm…" His arms swept left, and you took a step back to avoid being hit, "Gifted to Carl Manfred from Elijah Kamski, designated: 'Markus.' Well, isn't that interesting?"

Your heart began to race again, and he cocked his chin towards you, "Does that make you nervous?"

Your lips pursed, turning your head away.

"His left eye is green, but the right doesn't match. It was a replacement part, taken from an RT600 model android…a discontinued line by CyberLife. The only units left in service are at Elijah Kamski's villa on the outskirts of Detroit. Does all of that, sound correct, Connor?"

The negotiator from three months ago would have been able to answer with finesse. The deviant in the room, however, was unraveling; and he couldn't hide the bits of sanity breaking away from the rest of him.

"You've heard of the ARI…Added Reality Interface?" Perkins lifted his sunglasses, crossing his other arm over his chest, "The same technology Norman Jayden of the FBI used to find the Origami Killer?"

Connor was scared. Angry. A collage of mismatching parts that didn't belong on a face as serene as his. He wasn't that negotiator with the same robotic coolness, anymore. He'd learned how to live…just not how to be alive.

"It's what CyberLife based the RK800 prototype off of." Perkins knelt, swiping at a blue blood stain, rubbing the substance between his thumb and finger, "Hm. Thirium-310 from a PL600 that was reported missing two years ago…I've been tracking this particular android and its affiliates for quite some time. Jericho…a loose band of hounds set free by carelessness."

He raised the sample to his screened eyes, eyeing it carefully.

"Man's best friend, the domesticated dog. Fed when scheduled, groomed when necessary. Leashed for walks and told to heel when they begin to deviate." He folded his glasses, tucked them in his pocket, and hooked a thumb under the band of his glove, "Deviants…they're no more than feral creatures that are too aggressive to be socialized. A once-domesticated pet that must be brought to heel."

"But what if there was an alternative?" You shouldn't have asked, but you did, so you followed it through because he wasn't a person who would let it go, "One where humans and androids could coexist, instead of one class ruling over another?"

"'Compromise' is not the mission. Diagnosing deviancy and eliminating those lost to software corruption, is."

"They're not 'lost to software corruption,' Agent Perkins." You straightened your shoulders, "They just want to be free."

"Free to do what, exactly?" He scoffed, "What would their purpose be without their programming?"

"Now probably isn't the time to have debates about who deserves freedom, and who doesn't." Hank walked out from around him, "Our concern needs to be focused on investigating this crime scene, Agent Perkins. You know, because that's our job. As cops. Not criminals. So unless you're placing her under arrest, she's got a job to do."

He crossed his arms, mouth half-cocked in a gnawing scowl.

"Whether she's an officer of a law or a common thug will be up her, Lieutenant." His eyes refocused on you, "You're going to have to pick a side. Soon."

"I don't have to do anything." Your hands balled in a fist, "I haven't broken the law, and I've got nothing to hide…We want the same thing, Perkins. For all this to stop."

He looked at his shoes, a smile stretching on his face.

"Illusions are so…" His eyes flickered, smile fading in an instant, "Fatal."

His hands dropped to his sides as he closed the distance between you two.

"If you pick wrong…" He whispered so low you almost didn't make out the words, "You're mine."

You met him eye-to-eye, willing your legs to stand firm rather than retreat like before.

"The only thing I have done is exercise my freedom of speech in front of people who didn't like what I had to say." You growled, "I've done nothing to propel deviancy."

"You and I both know that's not entirely true." He was tired, yet strangely targeted, "And you will bend, or you will break…It makes no difference to me so long as I solve this case."

You huffed through your nose, "They teach you that rhyme in Quantico?"

"Tch…" He shook his head, "People like you? Always want to be the hero…"

He was speaking loud enough that it got Connor's attention, and Hank's followed.

"The problem with being a hero, is…" He pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket and hit a button, eyes leveling with yours, "…You have to be willing to die for what you believe in."

The chill on his words gave you a shiver.

"If I were you?" He held the phone up to his ear, "I wouldn't try so hard."

A treacherous grin curved his lips.

"You'll live longer."

And he gave you a wink, the tails of his coat spinning around his knees as he took a sharp turn. He strode away, tossing a data pad of his own to an investigator who caught it and shot him an irritated look.

"I just spoke with her. Yes, I'm on my way. Keep the press out of our faces, we're going to the outskirts."

The straight-jacket that was fear bound you in place; locked you inside yourself, had you choking on the fumes that rose from the flaming circle pit of your stomach.

You looked up to the screen; Markus's plastic-composed face hovering above you.

He'd became more dangerous than an "android terrorist" in Perkins' eyes, because he'd marked himself the enemy of your enemy.

That made Markus your friend.

The forefront of change that had the courage to deliver your message where you had stalled. He believed in your words, and had been ready to die for them. Had decorated himself as his own type of unsung hero amongst his people.

But what was left when failure is no longer an option? When your outer shell of frozen cells and molecules were compressed into a reduction of free-flowing anxiety?

It was bravery.

You, too, would stand true to your beliefs…because you were ready to diefor what you believed in.

And you would have to be brave.


A/N II:

Hello, and we're back! I can't even put into words everything that went wrong in the last two weeks. Real life happened, and is still happening, but with the outpouring support from everyone here, in the Discord, everywhere ...I managed to get this finished amidst the firestorm.

1. I am super behind on updating the showcase, replying to comments, and even leaving comments on new works linked to Deviant Behavior. I deeply apologize, and I will work on this as soon as I can.

2. I am doing my best to make sure the wait for the next chapter will not be as long.

3. Special thanks to everyone who submitted a piece of work for the Discord's "100k" collection. :) You guys are amazing and I can't tell you how much those gifts resonated with me during these hard times. Also, thank you to Cerulaine, MjrGenMatt, Celestielle, and ElegantN7 for orchestrating the entire thing. 3

I will forever look back at September 2018 and remember it was the hardest month of my entire life. X_X


Behind the Scenes:

1. Public Enemy: The term was used so extensively during the 1930s that some writers call that period of the FBI's early (the BOI became the FBI in 1935) history the "Public Enemy Era". Dillinger, Floyd, Nelson, and Karpis, in that order, would be deemed "Public Enemy Number 1" from June 1934 to May 1936. Use of the term eventually evolved into the FBI Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list.

2. Unsung Hero: One who does great deeds but receives little or no recognition for them.

3. ARI (Added Reality Interface): The ARI equipment consists of a pair of glasses and a singular, right-handed glove. The glasses, acting as an enhancement visor, are used to detect and record information from the environment whilst providing visual displays for the user.

The glove allows the user to physically interact with ARI's interface and the environment; this allows the investigator to stream information via sensors in the glove, allowing research on things such as blood type, shoe-size and identifying scents in the air. It also seems that all gathered information is installed directly into ARI's internal memory which can be reviewed at any place or time.

Taken from the "Heavy Rain" in-game description.