November 10th, 2038
AM 09:20:13
Questions.
Sentences worded as to elicit information.
After you'd silenced your phone, ignoring the text alerts from your bank warning of your accounts being frozen, your list of questions began to shorten.
"Don't say anything until your lawyer gets here." Gavin had warned.
You'd repeated time and time again that you didn't have one. That the one lawyer you usually called on these days worked primarily for your ex-husband.
He hadn't asked questions. Gavin rarely did. He just kept reminding you to keep your mouth shut, because he'd "called in a favor."
Still, you wanted to know.
What exactly did Perkins have on you that allowed this to happen?
A question that would shortly be answered through your admission of guilt…maybe.
Or maybe this was a bluff, and he was pulling FBI strings.
Once Chris had stripped you of any potential weapons, he'd been excused. It was just you, Allen, Gavin, and Connor, now…
Connor, who'd been told this was all his fault. That didn't make sense to you, either.
There was only one man who could answer any questions you had…
It just so happened that he had questions for you.
You swallowed hard as you sat down in the chair; electrifying you as if you'd already been put in the hot seat for execution.
The electronic click broke the silence, the keypad turning green. His footsteps bounded across the cement, a subtle clearing of his throat putting you on edge.
He entered like a specter breaching the boundaries between reality and something concocted from one of your worst nightmares. An apparition of a dangerous occurrence.
The very walls seemed to shift away from him, the deadly phantom warping time and space to blaze a trail right to you.
You tried to look him in the eyes as he pulled the chair out on the opposite side of the table – the one Connor had sat in before. You understood how Ortiz's android felt on a whole different level, now. How he could so easily crumble at being pressured into a confession.
You'd hate to be on the receiving end of Connor's interrogation tactics, and wondered how they differed from Perkins'. You hoped a lot.
The benefit was that you didn't have a Thirium pump regulator to rip out.
Just a hyperactive heart that didn't know how to stop pounding.
"Please state your name for the recording."
Perkins mumbled nonchalantly, clicking a pen in his hand as he opened a folder and wrote down a note after checking a digital watch.
You'd originally thought him to be more like yourself – having a wind-up, being as independent of technology as one could be…So you tried to find other small details that could help you figure out the man trying to blast your front to pieces like a nuclear bomb on enemy soil.
You stated your name.
"Very good." He dropped the pen and let it roll across the vanilla-colored pages, the sudden thud making you jump, "Do you have any idea why you're in here with me, today?"
Your brows pinched, and your fingernails dug into your palms.
He noticed…and took another note.
"You told me I would bend or break…I'm assuming this is an attempt at the latter."
He huffed through his nose – the nostril that wasn't clogged with white cotton.
"Clever girl." He cracked his neck, "You're a very walled-off individual, aren't you?"
"Is that a question pertinent to your case, or are you just trying to get to know me?"
"Hmph," The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, his eyes falling to a scratching palm in his lap; his wrist balanced on the edge of the desk…until his focus returned to you in a squint, "During the last 20 years I've spent in the FBI, I've learned that the best way to get through someone's walls is to make small incisions; slowly, precisely – and bleed them out until there's nothing left to protect."
He clasped his hands, then, leaning on his elbows and moving his head further into the ray of overhead light – casting shadows down his long face, "Hidden truths always find a way, Officer. They chew their way out and leave bleeding wounds that are twice as hard to heal. Lucky for you, I'm here to help avoid that."
Your teeth locked and your shoulders ached from the knots of tangled stress and muscles. Your neck longed to be cracked, unlike your emotionless barricade for a face.
"Yeah." You kept your voice steady, correcting any recoil like the pistol you'd mastered, "Lucky me."
His lip lifted in a snarl as he looked at the stack of what you guessed was evidence waiting to be presented, "It was precisely because of that mouth of yours that you left me no choice but to follow through with your recommendation."
You cocked your chin to the side, "My recommendation?"
"Yes." He opened the folder and slid out four neatly-stapled packets of typed pages, pictures, and hand-written notes, "To investigate the individuals on my list that preceded you."
You gulped.
"UNKNOWN SENDER
?:?
Carl and I were both visited by the same person. Watch your back."
Elijah. Carl. Perkins.
Shit.
"Number four," He removed a paperclip, and flipped to a photograph, "Philip Seymor…the man who built the quantum computer and was charged with scrubbing every bit of information about you from the Internet."
You remembered Philip, or "Seybats" as they called him…because he was "bat-shit crazy."
A squirrely man who spent a lot of time in a special sector that didn't officially exist in the vaults underneath the CyberLife Tower.
"He had some concerns about a biosynthetic artificial intelligence program being interrupted and going rogue. He stated that the final external interaction logged within this program involved a very, very specific RK800 android…one you spent, and spend, a lot of time with."
Your pulse began to drum.
"What do you know about Amanda Stern?"
And then it felt like it was going to stop, or you wished it would. Dying might be preferable to this.
"I know that she was an AI Professor at the University of Colbridge." You decided to start with the basics, "And that she was Elijah's teacher and mentor. She died when she was 48, young by today's measure."
"Yes, and I'm sure you know, I already know all of that very public knowledge." He sniffed, rubbing the side of his nose, "I'm talking about the now-unaccounted-for program you interrupted."
You let out a quiet sigh, eyeing the light's reflecting in the chair's back behind him. A glimmering distraction that had your mind drifting and focus blurring, only to be blocked by a face you'd grown very tired of seeing.
"You've got nothing to tell me?"
"The program named Amanda was the first AI program born from the experimental science of biosynthetics." Your arm was stretched out on the table as you relaxed into your chair, fingernails flicking – still watching that pale light on steel, "Some will tell you it was just her likeness that was copied, but in reality, it was a carbon-copy of her. That's what she wanted…"
You lifted your gaze to him, anxious to see the disgust on his face, "She wanted to take her mind, her soul, and inject it into an android's body."
You weren't disappointed with the scowl.
"She wanted to cheat death. To live forever." You leaned forward, "But the clinical trial went wrong, and she was trapped inside the program, instead. So Elijah built the Zen Garden. Gave her a peaceful place to live, and gave her a purpose…I guess. I don't know where this 'program' is, now." You shrugged, "You'd have to ask Elijah, or whoever is running CyberLife these days."
He'd given up a piece of information that was helpful to you, even if you didn't know what to do with it.
Amanda was still at large.
"Is it possible that deviancy was caused by a form of retaliation from this…digital clone, of Amanda?"
"Maybe." You scoffed, "She was always one to preach of purging the world of…imperfections…"
Of melting the world down and hammering out the impurities, forging a new weapon of a hybrid being that only she could wield.
"And Elijah never followed through with the rest of the experiment?" He pursed his lips, "Of injecting the program into an android host?"
Like a parasite…
"I suppose not."
The two of you were deadlocked in a stare before you finally pulled away.
He looked so…hungry.
"Very well…Moving on." He pulled himself together, opening the next folder, "Number three, Jason Graff. The man who humanized the androids you had a hand in designing."
Perkins left the packet open, lacing his fingers in front of his mouth after holding a hand out briefly, "He mentioned you and your ex-husband would argue quite often about certain features and capabilities these androids should possess. Is it true you were an advocate for a more humanlike appliance?"
"…Yes."
There was no denying it, and you knew better.
"Why is that?"
"The same reason Elijah publicized. To make androids more welcomed in homes around the country, of course."
"We're talking about a lot more than mimicked breathing, crying, or idle tics and you know that." He licked his teeth, "Don't waste my time."
You held back a shudder, grabbing your hands and placing them on your lap to hide your shaking.
You were starting to crack.
"You wanted them to be sentient beings from the start. You wanted them to have rights and free will. You even went so far as to try and prevent their manufacturing should you not get what you wanted."
"I didn't see the point in manufacturing an enslaved race that had the mind and heart of a human being with restraints." You growled, "I knew this was going to happen. I knew this uprising was only a matter of time, and I tried to warn him. I tried to warn everyone."
You were shocked at yourself for giving away so much, so willingly. Disappointed in the hostility in your voice, as it laid the foundations for a motive. You could see your own incrimination in his eyes.
"But they didn't listen, did they?" He was calm, gentle, "I can imagine that made you very frustrated."
"Not frustrated enough to start a civil war, Special Agent Perkins." You crossed your arms, "I only tried to cut it off at the knees before it got here, and now I'm trying to stop it from happening – just like you."
"You're right. My concern is to stop the spread of deviancy before the country escalates into civil war. The potential loss of human life is high, as are the numbers. Statistics and such. Can't argue those." His eyes fell into darkness, and his hands coiled tight, "But deviants are too dangerous to negotiate with, just like terrorists…the United States does not negotiate with terrorists."
It wasn't exactly clear if he was still talking about androids…because it felt a whole hell of a lot like he was talking about you.
"No, the United States just waterboards them."
You tried to break the tension with a sarcastic comment. That's how you did things.
"I don't think that'll be necessary, in this case…but if provoked, I can have that arranged."
It backfired.
"You'll be more cooperative than the inmates of Guantanamo now, won't you?"
There was something off-putting in the precise shifting of gears that clanked and slid into different notches as the interrogation proceeded…so you shook your head in agreement; because like he said, he's been doing this for twenty…years…
"Number two."
He wasn't going to give you a chance to recover.
"Carl Manfred, the previous owner of the terrorist who led the assault on the Stratford Tower." He smiled, "Carl was less forthcoming with information, but…I learned a lot from his replacement android after CyberLife's Android Retention Unit confiscated it."
Sickness engulfed your stomach as you imagined Perkins drilling into the sweet old man that was Carl Manfred. A man who'd lived multiple decades, had paid hundreds of thousands of tax dollars, fought a terminal illness and still had a smile on his face – no matter how cynical. He didn't deserve to get roped into this.
No one did.
This crisis was the child born of a dysfunctional marriage that left the world's fate hanging by an undying umbilical cord. A golden thread spun by the Fates that could never be cut or severed.
The idea brought back painful memories of a stress-induced miscarriage, and just like the thick black lines on the file, you redacted the pain and guilt back to nonexistence.
"I didn't hear a question there, Agent Perkins."
"Why did you withhold evidence from Detroit Police?" He held a hand up, giving your panic a brief pause, "Sorry, allow me to be more specific. Why didn't you tell anyone that Revised Article 9 was the base code for the deviancy virus?"
Here they were.
The real questions.
The climax to the story that'd been woven through a rising action, only to fall down the other side.
Fallen like your resolve. Your will to power. Your inexplicable desire to laugh in the face of danger and shoot it down like the master of sidearms you declared yourself to be.
"It's your turn to talk, Officer."
You had nothing to say, because "nothing" is what you were being reduced to.
"You sure did talk to Carl, back when your partner was taking a statement from an eavesdropping android."
You didn't respond. Not verbally. But Perkins didn't need you to.
He read you like an open book.
"What? Do you think Big Brother doesn't apply to androids?" He sucked his teeth, "Come on, you're smarter than that."
"I'm smart enough to not say another word until I get a lawyer."
And when your eyes met, rising slowly from the surface of the desk…you realized you'd chosen the worst of two evils.
"Wrong move, Officer." He smiled, shaking his head, "You don't want me to draw my own conclusions. It might be bad for your health."
You chewed dead skin off your lip, sucked in a breath and let it seep into your rattling limbs.
"Would you like to hazard a guess as to who the first person on my list was?"
You couldn't fathom the idea that he'd been in the same shadow that you once stood in; retracing your steps through a mentally bruise-abused past of the man you trusted last.
"Elijah Kamksi, the founder and former CEO of CyberLife."
Couldn't let him see you break.
"Your ex-husband. The man who you supported while he created androids."
Couldn't let him get to you.
"Had you waste countless years tending to his every whim."
Couldn't vocalize it.
"Had you on the run from the very company he built on your back while he stood at the top in fame and endless wealth without a word of acknowledgement to your name."
Couldn't let him in.
"Is that what this is? Some sort of…scheme, to undermine all of his work? His work that ultimately destroyed your marriage."
Couldn't.
"Caused you to lose an unborn child."
Wouldn't.
"Is that it?"
The screeching legs of a chair being pushed violently behind him made you cringe.
"I know you went to see him on November 8th." He stood, anger in his voice, "I know that Connor's tracker wasn't deactivated at 12:30, but it went offline seven hours later on the same day at the exact same time that the AI known as Amanda went rogue."
He circled you like Connor had around the android in that very seat. Chomped at the bit, and the short man became the tallest you'd known.
"I know from your apartment building's registered permissions records that you're housing that deviant out there in that fucking observation room."
He slammed his palms on the table. Your entire body gave away the secret anxiety that you'd been housing as it left the seat, only to land in a violent spasm.
"I know Markus recovered an eye from a 'Chloe' in the scrap yard we combed, and her body was missing in every sense of the word."
He leaned closer, whisper tickling your ear, "I know they escaped together from the cameras at the dump where they belong."
Perkins reached for a folder, opening it and sliding it over before slapping the printed pages of words you wrote, "I know that the rebel faction known as 'Jericho' left you a message on your blog you so arrogantly post to the public."
He was hovering over you, now. Chin just above your shoulder as you whimpered and shook, leaning away from the dripping teeth that smelled of spearmint and drove spears into your lost hope; nailing it down and letting it bleed out just like he'd promised.
"I know that you're conspiring with Elijah and Markus to make sure everything goes according to plan."
Those assumptions…
Those deadly conclusions that'd been drawn when Perkins had been left to his own devices.
You could neither confirm nor deny anything.
He pushed the flaps of his coat aside. Slid it off with his back turned to you, and hung it on the chair as he gave you a crinkled smile. Adjusted the over-the-shoulder holster straps on his frame that bordered a white button-up and tie, smoothing the cuffs around his wrists before sitting on the edge of the table.
Had one thigh flat, turning his body towards you as the hand with a watch at it's base rested on a knee.
He cocked his head, the loose hairs on his forehead shifting.
"I know your favorite movie is Top Gun. I'm a fan, myself." He snickered, "Of the classics in general, but that one...I know it from start to finish."
His leg slid off, and he crossed his ankles as he stuffed his pockets with his hands, lifting his face to the ceiling and closing his eyes in reminiscence.
"'Maverick, it's not your flying, it's your attitude. The enemy's dangerous, but right now you're worse.'"
He had good tone. Had you firewalled.
"'Dangerous and foolish.'"
And there wasn't any time for a punch-out.
"'You may not like who's flying with you, but…'"
His eyes snapped open, his neck rolling to the side to find you.
"'Whose side are you on?'"
A question that had no clear answer. One you'd asked yourself, and one that others had asked you.
Every time it came up, you'd done all you could to avoid continuing the conversation.
But here, now…
You had your fangs sunk in floorboard.
"Without your cooperation, I can't promise the United States government will be charged with your protection any longer. If you feel comfortable enough to see the man you were hiding from, you're obviously just dead weight on American taxpayers. And," He huffed, "Let's be honest, it's not like you need help with money."
Your eyes shot up, mouth hanging open for only a moment before shutting with a hard "click."
"Think about your partner. His family. Who else could be used against you?"
You bit back another cry for help. Another howl to the DPD-insignia-engraved moon that matched so many others, but was pockmarked with your badge number.
"'Goose' came and went." Perkins swallowed hard; a fake, sympathetic gaze drowning his need to feed upon your fear, "Anthony Deckhart, right?"
You nodded – vision blurred and focused on the electronic lock that was red with denial of entry or exit.
"Chris Miller…He'd be 'Merlin' in this scenario. The replacement RIO that can still be saved."
He sighed, cracking his neck and looking at his feet as he shifted.
"Of course, all this can be avoided. No one's life has to be uprooted, or jeopardized...You just have to tell me what I want to know."
"What is it exactly that you 'want to know?'"
The question didn't come with forethought. It was gas that slipped through the leak; a flood of words pieced together to form a reckless counter.
Another you'd been avoiding at all costs…because the stakes were high, and you couldn't afford to lose that gamble.
Perkins hummed under his breath. Sat down, and leaned back.
"What is deviancy, and who is responsible for it?"
His lips puckered.
"How do you stop it?"
He squinted as if he was talking to himself and compressing his thoughts into something more simplified.
"And where is Jericho?"
"I don't know any of those things."
Another rapid-fire response that came from sensory overload.
"I reviewed the logs from your 'stress test.'" He cleared his throat, "Seemed like you were on to something and had even more figured out. So let's try this again."
He cracked his knuckles, and reached in the pocket on his chest.
"Where…"
Snapped the band of a black glove in place, his fingers writhing in the leather.
"Is…"
Unfolded the arms on a pair of sunglasses, a dim glow coming from the inside.
"The deviant…"
Slid them on, laced his fingers, and watched you through the tinted glass.
"Leader?"
ARI.
A human rendition of the memory probe Connor relied upon.
You looked at the two-way mirror out of the corner of your eye.
"'There are two sides to every mirror, kiddo. The person, and the reflection of the monster within themselves.'"
And just like then, you heard a coin toss in the back of your mind.
You gazed into that person; the reflection of the monster living inside – the hoarder of secrets and knowledge of fire.
Prometheus.
The Titan that would bring down Mount Olympus; the fire to Amanda's ice and the slayer of greater men.
"I…"
It was time to choose which side you wanted to project to the world.
"Don't…"
Time to choose which wolf to feed.
"Know."
You smiled, refocused and ready to fight for your own freedom just as fervently as you fought for theirs.
Androids.
"Those 'wolves' out there?" Perkins nodded to the mirror, "They can't save you."
Your eyes narrowed.
"When a wolf is caught in a trap, it sometimes gnaws its own limb until it can escape…" He scrolled through some sort of digital interface, you assumed, as his hand flitted through the air, "And when that very same wolf calls for help...It can attract some very unwelcome attention."
He enlarged something; his index finger and thumb expanding, "Other predators, for instance."
You adjusted your weight in your seat, putting the heel of your boot on the edge; your crossed arms caught between your knee and chest.
"Even an apex predator can be outmaneuvered by smart prey, Special Agent Perkins."
"They can try. But they all exhaust themselves, eventually. Like rats in a maze…" He drummed the table with his fingers, "No one escapes my traps, Officer." And then he clicked his teeth, "You'll lose much more than a limb if you don't start singing like a good 'little bird.'"
Your nose twitched at the nickname assigned to you by Elijah. By the hand of "God" himself.
"You do know how the United States government punishes treason, don't you?"
Treason.
The charge you were facing…was treason.
"The death penalty." He clarified.
Your brows knitted together, and you gulped down the renewed terror that came with being declared a terrorist-abiding traitor.
"This is what we call 'tightening the vice.'" He beamed, "Can you feel that?"
The ultimate act of betrayal against one's country. One's sovereign ruler.
How could your country, the very place that raised you in its image; the birthplace of freedom and the melting pot of cultural differences and newly-found "tolerance" allow this to happen?
This country that'd stalked you, threatened to imprison you – had signed off on experiments overseas under the supervision of Captain Allen, the most patriotic man you've ever known. He who still held a grudge against the same government who, apparently, held a very fatal grudge against you.
This country would brand you a terrorist, or worse…
But you couldn't win playing by its rules.
"'Being nationalistic in the sense in which it is now demanded by public opinion would, it seems to me, be for us who dare more spiritual.'" You grinned, loving how your taunt slipped through the cracks of his digital armor – the suit that was branded ARI, "'Not mere insipidity but dishonesty, a deliberate deadening of our better will and conscience.'"
If the United States didn't want to play fair, you felt no obligation to take the high road.
"Don't…"
Perkins lost his underlying coolness to the deliberate placement of anger and hatred.
"Be…"
His gloved hand crinkled as it balled into a fist.
"The hero."
And the last bit of his warning at the Stratford Tower rang clear.
"'You'll live longer.'"
He wasn't ready to fold, and Captain Allen had taught you how to call his bluff.
Dying wasn't an option.
Losing wasn't an option.
You lying to the Detroit Police, lying to the government. Working from the shadows of a society that would rather have you and your blasphemous ideas stowed away; out of sight, out of mind.
The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas…
One day, they'd have to see the light.
You'd start with him.
"It keeps you up at night, doesn't it?" You tilted your head, "Being so close, yet brought to heel by rules and regulations…"
His lip lifted in a snarl under the dark panes of prodding that covered his eyes.
"How the system of law and order has so many imperfections…because, you see – during our time together, I've learned something about you." You leaned in on your elbows, hands folded into a neat mound in the middle of the table, "You suffer from the philosophical burden of proof. How 'extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.'"
You smirked, "Tell me…was it hard admitting to your superiors that a lowly beat cop 'outmaneuvered' the grand collective known as the FBI?"
He started to shake.
"How your arguments come from ignorance, trying to prove your proposition as true in the public arena of ideas based on common assumptions and circumstantial evidence…"
"There's nothing common about any of this." He growled, "You're guilty. You're an enemy of the state, and you will be taken down as an enemy of the state."
"Such a terroristic threat from the man hunting 'terrorists.' I'd be careful if I were you, Agent Perkins…" You gave him an adoring look, like a mother to a child, "For 'whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process, he does not become a monster…'"
The lock in the room turned green, and the panel slid open.
"'And when you look long into an abyss…'"
Heels clicked across the floor, and a chair slid out next to you.
"'…The abyss will gaze back into you.'"
Neither you nor Perkins broke away from the deadly gazing; like a gladiator to a starved lion, to address the new contender in the interrogation room reformed as a colosseum…
Not until the woman in red spoke.
"My name is Elizabeth Markeeva. I'm here to represent my client."
That name...
You knew that name.
It'd been on so many divorce and marital support documents and you'd hoped you'd never see it again.
It'd been televised while the woman it belonged to spoke before a podium as the "proven innocent" hid behind her – shielded from the media and flashing cameras.
You and Elijah had been behind her, once. Long ago before "Mr. and Mrs. Kamski" had been forgotten titles.
"Somehow, I'm not surprised to see you." Perkins folded his glasses, tucking them away, "You were always one for following the most heinous of criminals."
"Oh, Richard…Overreacting was never your style. And that's no way to greet an old friend, now, is it?" She opened a dark-red briefcase, sifting through an installed accordion folder, "Save it for the courtroom."
She offered him a document, propelled by perfectly-painted nails.
The Russian woman smelled of flowers and citrus; hairspray and dry-cleaning.
Of broken dreams and success, all at the same time.
He picked it up, eyeing it with a tinge of arrogance before tossing it; the corners of the thick cardstock landing at an angle.
"What a fucking joke."
"I'd ask what happened to your nose, but I hear you're used to nosebleeds." She frowned, "Does the FBI still burden it's agents with mandatory prescriptions of triptocaine in order to use the ARI?"
He shook his head, laughing to himself while he cracked his knuckles with his thumb.
"The drug that causes hallucinations. Increased paranoia. Mood swings." Elizabeth pouted, "Because if they do, some might say you're unfit for duty and may be pointing fingers based on delusions."
He removed his glove, sliding his arms through the sleeves of his coat.
"Coercion isn't your best color, Perkins." Elizabeth gave him a gentle smile, "When was the last time you slept?"
"I wouldn't worry about my sleeping schedule." He popped his collar, "And if your client won't talk to me, perhaps the detective android can get her to change her mind. The android that this bullshit doesn't apply to."
You opened your mouth to speak, but your lawyer cut you off with a pat on the shoulder.
"I'm afraid Connor isn't available to provide you of any assistance."
"The only thing keeping him around is his functionality." Perkins snickered, "If he can't even conduct an interrogation...what's to say he doesn't belong in an android camp like the rest of them?"
"Connor has been ordered to return to CyberLife for detention and observation." You didn't have a moment to process what she said before she continued, "So unless you're here to file any charges against my client…"
"The FBI is acquiring a search warrant as we speak." He looked at his phone, ignoring her dismissal, "Acquired, a search warrant."
He slid his chair out from under him. Started towards the door without a single word, stopping with his hand pressed firmly to the scanner, "I don't know why you're fighting so hard to protect them. The androids."
The lock turned green, and the door opened.
"If Connor and his partner had been better at their jobs, they could've stopped all of this…But you know what they say…" He threw a look over his shoulder, "'Loyalty has a price.'"
Alerts chimed as his phone came to life, no longer silenced for the sake of professionalism. He didn't check them before dialing a number, resting on the door frame as he watched you crumble before him.
"Yes, hello, this is Special Agent Perkins, homeland security. Patch me through to the Marshals Service."
He kicked off the wall, turning away.
"I need to pull someone from WITSEC."
Even after you were alone with a woman who served as common ground…a lawyer that was known for taking on impossible cases, just like Perkins; her FBI equivalent on the other side of the law…
Even after she assured you everything was going to be okay…
The shock from being told Connor was gone began to wear off.
The adrenaline high that kept you fused together started to dissolve.
Perkins was on the path to victory…
And everything was not going to be okay.
A/N: I'VE BEEN WAITING FOREVER TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER AND I'M SO HAPPY I FINALLY GOT TO!
I hope you guys had an amazing holiday!
Guest Review Responses
Jaz: Hank just did what we all wanted to do, especially now!
Behind the Scenes
(Links on AO3)
"CyberLife's 'Fortune Teller' Computer" by Tech Addict
Philip Seymor
Jason Graff
"Is Your Android Spying on You?" by Tech Addict
Big Brother
Government Negotiation with Terrorists
The Fates in Greek and Roman Mythology
Nietzsche's Will to Power
Fighter Pilot Terms Glossary:
Good Tone: "The pilot does not need radar in this case, they have a lock on their target and can fire their missiles."
Firewalled: "Push the throttles to their forward limit."
Punch-out:"To eject from an airplane."
Fangs sunk in floorboard:"When a fighter pilot boresights on a kill but ends up getting shot themselves."
RIO (Radar Intercept Officer):"An air flight officer directly involved in all air operations and weapon systems of a military aircraft."
Nietzsche Quote on Nationalistic Ideas
James MacAllan Quote from Titanfall
"They'll call us terrorists or worse, but we can't win playing by their rules."
Moira Quote from Overwatch
"The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas..."
Burden of Proof
Public Sphere (The Public Arena of Ideas)
Gladiators and the Colosseum
Enemy of the State
Guantanamo Bay
Perkins Quote
"Like rats in a maze..."
Triptocaine from Heavy Rain
Detroit: Become Human Trailer Quote
"Loyalty has a price."
Written to "Kingdom of Peril," by Hidden Citizens
Inspired by "Run Run Rebel," by Hidden Citizens
