November 9th, 2038

PM 03:00:06


Each step brought you closer to the doors you'd entered with the premise of stopping widespread panic.

Grenier and Miller chatted like there was nothing wrong. Nothing out of place. Like this was just another day, another operation.

But you?

You braced yourself…and still, it wasn't enough to prepare you for the sensory overload that washed over you the minute you stepped outside.

Heightened noise pollution of the gathered crowd. The angry purr of heavy machinery and radio chatter; red and blue lights flashing above them. Steam from the police armada's exhaust, mixing with winter's cold and clinging to your bloodied skin.

Your breathing lost its rhythm. Your feet stopped working as you jerked, the men who held you secure dragging you forward.

Hunker down. Hide. Find shelter. This was what your survival instincts were telling you, and you were forced to ignore them.

You were blinded by the flashes from the press's cameras, their shutters capturing your escort to the ambulance frame-by-frame. When you were seated on the edge, the heels of your boots swayed and bounced off a bumper.

You couldn't hear anything other than your pulse and the smack of your lips as you tried to suck in frigid, dry breaths. Didn't feel the EMT wrapping a Velcro cuff around your arm, sticking you with a needle.

You were blocked off by a SWAT truck – a huge, gangly thing with missile-proof plating and rubber-filled tires that stood at the height of your hips.

You tried to make sense of it all.

The heat sizzling from the metal and distorting what you could see over the hood's horizon. The sea of bodies leaping over themselves with microphones for spears, stabbing at the rope line formed by chained arms and DPD uniforms for questioning.

"Are we dealing with an isolated individual or an organized group?"

"Are our machines turning against us?"

"Were there any casualties?"

"Can you confirm reports of shots fired?"

Chris's voice was singled out among the responses, yelling at everyone to step back, remain calm, and that no questions could be answered at this time. Then he took a mic to the face.

Gavin jabbed his finger at the reporter, telling them they had the right to "calm the fuck down."

Ben was a bit more civil. SWAT didn't need to do much but look at a section of the herd to corral them back into a tight box.

There just wasn't enough of them.

"Man, you're gonna have one hell of a scar..." An EMT grabbed your cheek, trailing an antiseptic-soaked Q-Tip across your cut, "Rough day at the office?"

You rolled your eyes, sighing at a manhole's pillar of fog that flashed blue as a DPD drone passed through it.

And then you focused on your badge, covered in cerulean brilliance and clouded numbers.

"We Bleed Blue…"

But so did they…and the androids of the Stratford Tower had shed a lot of blood.

You winced as you remembered one bleeding android in particular. Hoped he didn't have twenty bullet holes in him at the order of Captain Allen.

Connor wasn't stable. He needed to be around people who knew him, understood him. Not a rugged war veteran with a short fuse…especially not on the stage that'd been set for global unraveling.

"No more Androids! Free our jobs!"

"The end times are here! We are lost!"

Two lines rotated in chants on either ends of the barricade. The media wasn't the only group flocking. Protesters were in full force, hand-written signs at the ready; fastened to picket stakes they wanted to impale into the hearts of those built differently than them.

You couldn't fathom why the public thought it was a good idea…a safe idea, to be so close to a crime scene where accused terrorists sieged control of a broadcast tower to, albeit unknowingly, declare war.

But the cameras started flashing again. Calamity struck, and its thunder came as a barrage of further questioning from the people you were watching.

"Captain Allen, what does DPD SWAT have to say for all of this?!"

"Has the suspect been apprehended?!"

Allen had exited the building and slung his rifle, holding his arm out with a dagger for a finger and an aggressive shout.

"I said LOCK DOWN THIS PERIMETER for FIVE. MILES. COOPER!"

A man in a SWAT uniform jumped, falling in line to be reprimanded, "We tried, sir, but the androids we sent failed to fulfill their orders."

"What?!" He threw the word in an act of anger, "How is that even possible?!"

"We aren't sure, Captain Allen. They…They never came back, and the perimeter was breached."

Allen scoffed under his breath, his gear shifting with a quickened pace. He picked up a tubed weapon, of some sort, resting the elongated stock on his shoulder. He fell into a crouch, grabbing an amplifier and swinging it to his mouth.

"DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL DEPLOY TEAR GAS!"

Gavin, Chris, and Ben all turned their heads at the same time.

"We don't have masks!" Gavin yelled, "What the fuck?!"

Allen's nose twitched, and his lips curled. He put the hollowed end of the amplifier to Gavin's face, the rage in his voice breaking the microphone in a feedback screech.

"THEN LEAVE!"

You cringed, your shoulders jumping to your ears as the sound made your insides crumble.

A word echoed, a repetition in line – a blood-curdling cry that sounded off over and over. At first you thought it was feedback of Allen's device – a looped reverberation. It wasn't either of those things.

It was your name, in Connor's voice. A summon that was overrode with more pressing questions.

"Is this the android from the broadcast?!"

"Was there a conflict in the Stratford Tower?!"

"Why is this android covered in blood?!"

You turned your head, inches at a time. Felt an overwhelming sense of fear as the camera's flashes shined on his stained shirt that was still opened, but sticking to him.

He had a face with blue splatter and smudge marks – just like yours. A hand with a bandage wrapped around it, signifying a survivor of an attack. If only they knew…

You didn't hear anything when your eyes met.

Nothing but a silent warning and a whisper of death.

That fear replaced the fluids being pumped through your body. Had your hairs standing straight on the back of your neck, and shying away as he began his march over. The flaps of his jacket fluttered, rotating and giving shelter to his curled fists that swayed at his sides like chained flails.

And then those hands – the two that'd played the hands of God, secured themselves to your hips as he came to a braking halt.

Hands that now had more than one confirmed kill, and lay waiting to claim another life.

He pulled in a deep inhale, and your lungs deflated one-by-one. He vented all the anger, hurt, frustration, and pain into one cleaved question of his own.

"Are you okay?"

For only a moment, he lost that predatory darkness – the internalized hunter that came and went as needed. The conditional ruthlessness that seemed to be a necessary evil in areas of grey morality.

But it returned with a vengeance.

"Say something, anything." His plea came through grit teeth, red and blue flickering in the reflection of his eyes.

"I'm okay." Your throat was sore from the tension you swallowed, "And you – you're okay-"

He fell into a mode of searching.

His brows pinched, and he took your wrist between his fingers. He scanned every part of your body as he took your pulse, not believing a single word you said.

"There's a high amount of Thirium in your blood stream." He frowned, "It has unhealthy effects on the human body-"

Another blare of Captain Allen's amplifier had him wincing.

"THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING! Disperse, or you will be DISPERSED!"

The remaining SWAT units from the building trickled out of the building like ants on a hill, single-file and in perfect uniform order.

They broke at the center, aiming their progression towards command vehicles with extended ramps…and they came out with shields. The remaining DPD personnel began to fall back, taking orders from their SWAT counterparts.

Things were about to get messy.

Allen pressed his hand against his earpiece, "Riot control units, fall into diamond formation. Over."

You wanted to know what that meant. Wanted to conduct your own investigation into the set of issued orders. More than that, you wanted to know why Connor was being pulled away.

Two faceless, uniformed individuals in white hazmat suits grabbed him. Their heads were covered in white, plastic hoods and teal, transparent screens. There was a word sprawled in black across their chests:

CYBERLIFE

"CONNOR!"

You jumped down from the ambulance, tearing the needle from your arm.

"Let go of me!" His LED went red, and his arms – still slick from the aftermath of the Stratford Tower, slipped through their fingers just like he did from yours, "Get – off – "

You shoved one of the technicians, and got a glimpse of the brand on his back.

ANDROID RETENTION UNIT

Things were spelled out for you in a different way, then.

There was an electric pop, a plume of smoke, and Connor was on the ground. His arms were bent behind his back and a pair of handcuffs strapped his wrists in place.

A curse slipped between his lips as a drip of Thirium ran from his hair, dipping and rolling between the profound edges of his cheeks and jaw. He rocked on his chest, snarling and growling like a feral animal…

He bore his teeth, the leashed animal inside clawing at a cage.

You saw him falling in an inescapable realm of impulse and reaction. The curve of his brow into a deep crevice, and the bulging of his jacket from a frame under tension…all signs of deviancy uncontained.

When the cuffs broke, and the chain links scattered…it wasn't him you were worried about saving, anymore.

It was them.

Your knee dug into the assailant, your hands pushing on his shoulders as he fell backwards.

You pulled Connor to his feet. Got in front of him. Felt his chest press against your arm that tried to keep him held back. Had your baton at the ready because somehow, in the kitchen, you'd lost your gun to a deviant a-fucking-gain.

You'd have to put Connor down if it meant keeping him from killing two unarmed retrieval peons.

"I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing, but this android is the property of the Detroit Police Department and the registered partner of Lieutenant Anderson."

He wasn't property, and he was so many more things than just an acting partner. But they couldn't know that. You had to speak their language of slavery and ignorance.

"Ma'am, I know you're in shock and this must be very stressful, but we're under orders to collect every android on site."

"Orders from who?"

The two technicians looked at each other, and then back at you.

"CyberLife."

You didn't have time to react. You were preoccupied with the bashing of shields, the firing of what sounded like a cannon, the burning smell of discharge and smoke – the gas that suffocated you just like it had on the roof.

Tear gas.

"HEY!" Gavin ran to you, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, "What's going on-"

His eyes watered and he choked. You mimicked this response – for the second time today.

"Stop messing around," He grabbed your shoulder, "We gotta get out of here – shit's getting crazy and we weren't ready for this kind of response –"

"Excuse me," One of the CyberLife technicians leaned around Gavin, "Are you this officer's superior?"

Gavin turned around, giving them a dirty look, "Kinda. Little busy at the moment-"

"We were assaulted for trying to confiscate this android, as we were instructed to do."

Gavin's brow pinched, and his scrutinizing stare met yours. Your eyes still watered, but it wasn't because of fear or sadness.

You held that gaze, that plea.

"That so?" Gavin cocked his head, "Well, you can't have him."

"Oh, Jesus…Sir-"

"It's Detective."

"Okay…Detective…?"

"Reed."

The other technician sighed, "Detective Reed, we have orders to-"

"You can take your orders and send them off to Lieutenant Anderson-"

A horn blared in the distance, and a "whoop-whoop" from a cruiser you could only hope was yours.

"Right over there."

Hank's old, busted up car came rolling through – lead by a police cruiser that was marked with your patrol number.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU FUCKING LUNATICS!" Hank had an elbow hooked to the outside of his door, laying on his horn until he cleared a path.

"As you can see," Gavin coughed, "He's in a great mood."

He got out, Chris leaving the cruiser and exchanging quick words before slamming the door shut. He and Hank didn't take any time bringing themselves into the circle.

"Connor, let's go-" Hank growled.

"Sir, we-"

"I saw what you did to the androids up there." He cut them off, sniffing as he coughed in a fist, "You can take that shiny white compactor of yours and go fuck yourself."

Connor stumbled as Hank grabbed his arm, "Miller, get her up to speed."

"Got it-" His hand secured itself on your lower back, guiding you around the back of the SWAT truck.

A wall had been formed. One of shields and geared soldiers, fighting to keep the protesters, gathered civilians, and media at a safe distance.

You hovered at the edge. Heard Captain Allen issue permission to let your small caravan through the checkpoint up ahead. Looked over as the trunk popped, and Chris disappeared behind it as he held the lid open.

You walked to his side, a shotgun landing in your hands and a pack of rubber slugs slid in front of you.

"Lock and load." He shoved a pair in the barrel, cocking it forward, "It's a long way to Central Station from here."

You bit your lip, tasted Thirium and sweat – following his instructions until the weapon had the weight of fully-packed chambers.

He shut the trunk. Got in the driver's seat, and you sat next to him. Saw the side mirror shudder and the death-stare from the android in Hank's car peering straight into your soul…

Then heard the radio.

"There is widespread shock following the android attack on Detroit's Stratford Tower. The machines recorded a video message and broadcast what can only be described as demands on the city's public screens. It's still unclear whether these attacks can be explained by malfunctions, or if some organization is behind them. So far CyberLife has refused to comment, but we can expect more information in the following hours-"

Shock.

That's what they were calling this.

You pumped the shotgun in your hands, facing the mob that clogged the streets.

Detroit was now the ground zero for civil unrest.

Elijah warned you of this public reaction. An outcry for reason and the pursuit of knowledge by those who made a career of twisting the truth into something more manageable.

There wasn't a definitive bottom to the pit the world was spiraling into. It was primitive. Had survived the tests of time. Was something on your mind as of late, and something completely unavoidable as you watched on from outside the car's window.

Something so absolute, so unpredictable – and yet, he'd predicted it.

"The true enemy of humanity is disorder."

The word of a prophet who spread his words no more.

You had to quell that warning your instincts told you to heed. But you were infected with an ailment that had no cure…an idea that continued to spread like a virus, and it wasn't the desire to be free.

It was the fatal attraction to danger.


Behind the Scenes


Quote from Symmetra in Overwatch

"The true enemy of humanity is disorder."

Chapter 48-50 Written to "Toxic (Cover)" by 2WEI

Jack Cooper from Titanfall 2