November 10th, 2038

PM 03:37:23


"Wash daily from nose tip to tail tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep."


It could have all been avoided if they'd just turned around.

How an android who'd rallied newly-freed individuals couldn't figure that out was beyond your comprehension. The DPD had given them so many chances, and then chances on top of those chances.

And instead…

Jericho and their holy leader "chanced," fate.

[DET] GREED: "Perimeter's empty. You guys need help?

[CPT] DALLEN: "Not now, Reed. ESG on the field-"

[DET] GREED: "Holy fuck-"

[CPT] DALLEN: "REED."

CMILLER: "Reloading!"

Chris took cover, and you stood. Aimed your Smart Pistol with your wrist on your shield's cutout.

Red circles closed in around 5 heads, all targeted by the auto-lock mechanism built from the minds of people who would know better than anyone on how to kill an android:

CyberLife, the people who gave life to androids.

Just like you.

"But 'the hand that givieth, also taketh away…'"

The trajectory lines moved as the androids charged towards you. Course-correction, even before fire.

They weren't kidding about "point and shoot."

So you did.

The chamber emptied in sequential order, shells rolling away from your boots. The androids fell, their bodies bending in a lifeless slump before sliding along the slick, now blue, cement. They became a dam to slow the flood of running feet of their living kin, but fueled the anger on their faces like an oil spill meeting an open flame.

You ejected the clip. Stuffed the empty socket along another slung around a belt on your chest. Pulled the hammer back, and lined up another array of cheap-shots.

CMILLER: "Glad to have you back, partner. We are better together."

"Don't get cocky, Miller…" You huffed, "Still gotta get you home to Nina and Damion."

CMILLER: "Yeah, and you home to…your condo?"

"Thanks."

Even in jest, the streets of Detroit were running with blood; arteries clogged with revolution and misunderstandings. Of intolerance and unjustified murder, on both sides.

But you weren't about to lose your city.

As many circles of Hell as it had dragged you through, it'd also provided a safe haven.

If you had to play the hand of God to protect that, then, well…So be it.

[CPT] DALLEN: "All units, switch to LAM targeting. Marauders…take to the field. Liam, stay put and hold the rear."

LMILLER: "Overwatch, aye-aye."

JCOOPER: "Sure about that?"

STALON: "Those tossers are gonna regret this."

AMAYUMI: "And I thought he'd never ask."

CGRENIER: "Widget, switch to support. Give me an aerial!"

CMILLER: "Watch out-"

He said it before you could.

The group that'd dodged all the bullets fired at them, at the sacrifice of their kin. Jericho's own version of elite troops that moved as a unit. The android answer to the Marauders.

Markus. North. Josh.

Ralph…Tom.

Rupert…Marco.

He gunned for you, jumping before his legs extended in an airborne kick. You raised your shield, preemptively expecting the strength behind the attack.

His body shadowed you; outlined in sunrays as his elbows balanced him in air – it gave him a look of reverence. A holy aura surrounding a sky-born hunter.

A bird of pray meeting bird of prey.

You pushed in retaliation, perfectly timed. It wasn't the landing he wanted as his leap was cut short, and he caught himself on two hands.

With inhumane speed, he kicked at your ankles, pulling forward on the back of your heel with the laces of his boots.

CMILLER: "Can't get the shot-"

[CPT] DALLEN: "I want him alive!"

CMILLER: "But sir, he broke the line-"

You were on your back, your shield ripped from your arm. Marco was using it to cover himself before you knew what hit you. But Chris was in front of him, and that shield was a blunt weapon…

Your nose raised in a snarl. Your fingers dug in the ground, ice building up around your gloved tips as they scrapped for traction. You snapped your baton free, lodging it between Marco's knees.

Chris grabbed the front, pulling it with fear-driven strength, kicking Marco in the stomach. You held your arm steady, bracing the baton as it tripped him.

CMILLER: "Nice one!"

[CPT] DALLEN: "Shield-bearers, close the line!"

You reclaimed what was lost, your memorabilia of an attempted assassination – autographed by the .50 caliber bullets fired by Amanda.

Clicked your visor and spit blood from your mouth, tired of feeling every inch of your head banging around the inside of your helmet. Slung the Thirium from your baton on the ground, circling your target in your secluded battleground.

It was just you, your partner…and the unlucky son-of-a-bitch who failed to kill either of you.

"It's you…" Marco mumbled, head cocked to the side, "You're the one who wrote it."

Chris swung, clipping him in the mouth. He stumbled, turning his back to you – a perfect opportunity to stamp his back with "RIOT UNIT" as you bashed him, putting Chris behind you where he belonged.

"And you're the one who stole it."

You holstered your baton and drew your pistol in the same fluid motion, baring your fangs as the red marker clicked on his head.

[CPT] DALLEN: "I said, ALIVE!"

Your finger stopped mid-trigger pull.

Marco rolled. Plucked another fucking shield from the side of Ryan's body. Liera's shield.

Insult to injury.

He watched you from the viewport, his taunting eyes crinkling in a smile.

"'Thus, finally, all things meet in all things, but we need a Prometheus to distill it.'"

You closed your visor, the world shrinking down to your own boxed glass as you and Chris assumed your positions.

"I only did what was right…" He snickered, "The old Captain Allen would've seen that."

"'The old me' wouldn't have set a trap with a fucking sniper, Marco."

Captain Allen was behind him, his horse bucking underneath. Marco turned his head, looking at him from the side.

"Or 'Rupert,' whatever the fuck your name is now." His helmet was off, and the pain on his face was apparent, "Drop the shield, and turn yourself in. You've got a lot of information that would be helpful to setting this city straight."

Marco frowned. The lid of his military cap dropped, and he lowered the shield down – carefully.

"You know I can't do that…sir."

"And I'm not asking, Private."

The two of them watched each other. One man, with one weapon – overshadowed by a triumphed leader on his noble steed.

"Fine. Have it your way."

The shield wasn't the only thing Marco retrieved from Ryan's body.

He covered his back, but took aim to the front. You could almost see Allen's head in the dotted sights, the pounding in your heart blasting behind your vest.

LMILLER: "Cap, lemme take this out this clown-"

CMILLER: "He said to take him alive-"

LMILLER: "Cap ain't gonna be alive to yell at me if-"

CGRENIER: "Listen here, Millers, the android can't fire the gun!"

CMILLER: "Which is what I was gonna say…"

LMILLER: "'Listen here, Chrises, I don't really give a flying fu-"

Captain Allen docked his helmet on his shoulders. Wrapped the reins around his broken limb, an audible gasp of pain coming through his reconnecting mic.

And Allen's heels dug into the horse he rode in on.

Together they charged, baton extended and hanging off the side of his good arm…

A deadly game of polo with a hostile named Marco-

CMILLER: "MOVE!"

Chris pulled you, and the two of you fell to the left.

When hooves came stomping by, and Marco ducked – avoiding the attack, he grabbed the baton. Tried to force the aggressive Captain to dismount…but he let go before that could happen.

The horse reared. Boxed Marco's shoulder with a hoof, knocking him down. He bounced away, dodging sharp stomps as it hunched over, scrapping the pavement like a bull.

Marco shuffled to his knees, hands flat as he crawled.

[CPT] DALLEN: "Surrender."

Allen's horse picked up speed, and he flipped his gun in the air and catching the barrel. Hung his body off the side like a practiced rider, legs clenching the saddle.

He swung his gun like a golf club, jerking Marco to the right. His horse hit the brakes, its hindlegs raised – kicking backwards and landing along the fabricated spine of the android that once followed his every order.

Marco didn't move much after that.

Allen pulled the reigns, the blue eyes of his horse glowing brighter than ever as one found its way to you.

[CPT] DALLEN: "You, with the shield – break off for retrieval. He's disabled, and like I said…I want him alive."

It took you a second to realize he was giving you that set of orders.

"Shouldn't I return to the line?"

[CPT] DALLEN: "We already won."

A shout followed Allen's dark truth, and you turned to the androids' side of no man's land.

The smoke had cleared.

"RETREAT!"

It was Markus.

They were pulling back…at least, as far as the Marauders would let them.

Liera swung her shield with her prosthetic, back-handing an android with a metal slap. Plastic parts shot through the air, but peeling his face off wasn't enough. Her other hand came around, sending a bullet in his head. Her knee hit the ground, and she held her shield as a platform for Akane to leap from. She landed behind a trio of deviants and cut them down with sparking batons anchored from her elbows down to the front of her fists.

Chris ran alongside Widget, catching a clip that was dropped from the drone's chamber; reloading his gun. The bullets that fired had a charge to them, something that was more than likely unique to him.

Jack and Sage fought shoulder-to-shoulder, shooting in a circle in synchronized movements that showed just how much fighting they'd seen together.

And Liam, well…He was probably responsible for half the sniper shots taken from the helicopter, circling the battle like a carrion crow.

Seeing a prominent officer fall, seeing Ryan fall, had ignited the DPD troops. Watching a respected leader fall, seeing Marco fall, had deterred the members of Jericho.

Things were starting to come to a close.

[CPT] DALLEN: "Don't question me, ever again. Move your ass, soldier."

He cleared his throat.

[CPT] DALLEN: "Officer."

Chris gave you a confident nod before you put your shield on your back, the magnetic holster weighing you down. You groaned as you pulled out your handcuffs, a special pair made for androids.

Marco's body twitched and sparked, blood leaking from his stomach. The hairs on your neck – arms; everywhere, stood straight. So you approached cautiously…not quite convinced he was down for the count.

The two of you had a lot to talk about; notes to swap, advice to give each other. Shared a special bond that you'd only known about for a few hours.

"Should've known he'd pull that…we fought on horseback in the Middle East more times than I can remember."

His voice came in droning tones that signified a painful, robotic death.

You felt bad for him before he spit up Thirium, splattering your visor…probably on purpose.

Fucker.

"Then yeah," You wiped it off with the back of your hand, "You should've."

You rolled him over, pinning a wrist behind his back.

"I…I served this country, proud." His voice wavered, "I've killed for the United States…"

You snapped on a cuff, looking at the dead bodies lining the front of DPD boots and shields.

"…So have I."

"And to think you wrote the bomb that was dropped. The one they call deviancy. I only hit the detonator." His other hand squirmed, "History does love to repeat itself, doesn't it?"

The back of his fist met your helmet. Your HUD blinked and corrected itself, your neck snapping back to the android pulling a brick phone from his pocket.

"May rA9 save us all-"

He dialed a number, but didn't get the chance to hit "CALL."

You – rA9, armed with a standard 9mm, void of technological marvels and unfair advantages, had put a stop to him.

You'd killed your most devout follower.

You knelt, taking the makeshift detonator from his palm. Let a whisper slip through your helmet, even if the seams were dosed in blood.

"She will."

Allen's horse overshadowed you, parking obediently at your side. You handed the phone to him, and he let out a somber sigh as he removed the battery.

[CPT] DALLEN: "Time to make room for CyberLife to clean this place…"

LLASTIMOSA: "…And Royal?"

He shook his head, shoulders heaving.

[CPT] DALLEN: "You know that doesn't fall on us…"

Allen turned his horse. Guided it to a command truck, accepting assistance from Liam, who signaled the helicopter to return to Central Station with a practiced hand gesture.

[CPT] DALLEN: "Wrap it up..."

Liam looped an arm over his shoulder, walking the limping Captain to the Marauder's signature truck.

[CPT] DALLEN: "I've got a Christmas tree to decorate..."

A Christmas tree.

Typically an evergreen fir, decorated – a tradition carried out for thousands of years.

You squinted at the twinkling red and blue lights, alternating where the trucks were parked. Listened to the choir of police sirens, a hymn that would be played into the silent night. Shivered from a breeze, carrying white flakes on each band. Counted the bodies lining the streets…presents offered to Detroit; wrapped in hopelessness and false refuge.

It was "beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"

Not.

You sat on a bench, hand balanced on the edge of your shield, your thumbs tracing over the imprinted attempts on your life…one, in particular.

The knife dug deep.

Cut into the notches and flaking metal, working to excavate a .50 caliber bullet lodged in an impossibly strong shield your heart was hiding behind.

There was something about feeling it on the other end of the blade – the serrated edge doubling as a pick.

There was a pop-

Bang.

Your hand shot open, catching the bullet casing as the noise echoed freely in your head.

"They're ready for you."

You looked up, using the edge of the beaten shield as a crutch.

Guns were easy. Second nature. But defending yourself with a physical extension of your body – to feel that contact on the other side, to feel their energy transfer into you and to use it against them…

You'd miss that security.

Because unlike a gun, it didn't need reloaded. Didn't have a threat of jamming, or missing its mark.

Out there, on that field, it'd been just you and the androids piling up at your feet as you decided who lived, and who died; playing the hand of God.

You kept your head down as you stood in line in the basement of Central Station. Started picking out salvage from the train wreck of revelations and lamentations piling up at the border of your preserved sanity.

Tom, an android you'd seen in the picture hanging on Captain Allen's wall – and Marco, the android who laid at his feet in a comical gesture.

Marco, the one who released your virus and was an unknown factor to even the great Elijah Kamski.

How Amanda Stern was still at large, and that there was more than one RK800. Or not. Maybe Connor was dead.

Maybe, there was still more like him out there, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

WITSEC wasn't protecting you, anymore.

"Still can't figure out how the rest of them got away…" Talon mumbled, "We had a perimeter around the entire park."

"Who knows…" Grenier rubbed the back of his neck, standing next to her in the men's line, "But the sooner we find them, the sooner we can go home."

"Home sounds nice." Tina yawned, "It's been a long day. I'm beat."

"Tired? Tch…" Mayumi shook her head, shooting a disgusted sneer over her shoulder, "Our shift is just getting started…"

That bought her a look from the rest of the Marauders.

The ride was different than when you were heading out with them.

Liam, who'd just broken a record for the longest sniper shot made in history, saying "if he'd just been a little faster." Mayumi, yelling at Grenier about "relying too much on his damn robot." Chris, defending himself saying "how was he supposed to know?" Sage, telling them to stop fighting.

Jack, driving in the front seat with Liera.

Captain Allen, shutting them all up.

He'd taken a call en route to the station, Commander Martello's voice being so loud on the other end it could've been heard from the next onramp over.

Things were quieter now.

Grim.

You followed the line into the armory, docking your shield with a final goodbye. Proceeded to the chamber row, nodding at Chris as you were split by gender. Stood in your pod, expecting the same pronged arms to remove worn pieces of blast padding and reinforced panels…

But jet streams of luke-warm water spurt from a ring, moving up and down like a vertical carwash.

Your hands were above your head, ripples running down your visor…

It only muddied the angered face in front of you.

Liera's helmet had been plucked, the red glass shimmering as blood pooled at her feet. She drilled into you, forcing you to look down at your own pond of the mixed-species remnants curling around the rubber soles of your boots.

You slipped the bullet in your pocket. Stepped out after a dryer warmed you and cleared the chamber of steam, and humidity.

You'd been stripped bare, and rebuilt as a police officer…

Her suit of armor was merely replaced.

There was no longer a unified front. No more "Riot Unit."

She was a Marauder, and you were a street cop.

"Don't let it be for nothing."

She ripped her face away, strapping her helmet over her shoulders…and the rest of the Marauders followed.

You watched them leave. Ignored the torrent of other officers split around you, dazed and forlorn – your shoulders toggling sides from being bumped into.

"A war is coming…Wrought by an idea, delivered by a raven. And you, little bird, with blood on your wings…You will have to choose a side to carry out your message."

Your sins had been washed away, and you'd drank from the pool of insanity that was combat. Felt yourself ready to take a plunge off the deep end.

The battle may have been over…

But War, had just arrived.


Behind the Scenes

(Links on AO3)


First it Giveth

Quote from Clash in R6

"You tossers are gonna regret this."

Cyrano de Bergerac, in The Other World (1657)

"Thus, finally, all things meet in all things, but we need a Prometheus to distill it."

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (War)

Written to "This is My Time" by Carrollton

The Christian New Testament gospels of Matthew (8:28-34), Mark and Luke describe an incident in which Jesus meets a man, or in Matthew two men, possessed by demons who, in the Mark and Luke versions, when asked what their name is, respond:

"My name is Legion, for we are many."


***This concludes Part VI***