November 10th, 2038

PM 07:19:07


A/N: ***This is the final part of Deviant Behavior***


It wasn't often that Captain Fowler and Captain Allen were found in the same room.

The Left and Right hand of the Commissioner, never crossing paths unless it was to choke her neck with feedback and status reports. You wondered if others were asking why you were sitting with the big dogs of Central Station…an unranked officer without a special title, or stripes.

Or why Chris Grenier was waiting outside, playing on his phone with a hand in his pocket.

"You're telling me you want me to put her back on the streets, considering her 'role' in this tragedy plaguing the city?" Fowler glared.

Allen huffed, deflecting the question with a sideways glance. He leaned in his chair like he was sitting on a throne, his broken arm in a proper sling and his other supporting a bandaged cheek.

"Look at her, for crying out loud." Fowler shot a look at you, "No offense."

An aged iron-sights cut on your cheek, a split lip, and a bruised forehead – and that wear-and-tear was just what they could see.

"A tragedy…" Allen mumbled, "Is that what we're calling this?"

"What do they call it the Marines, Allen?"

He drummed his fingers on the armrest before his neck swiveled on an angled pin.

"When a man is forced into terrorism because his crops aren't his anymore and he can't feed his family, or after a village gets wiped off the face of the Earth by an air strike on an insurgent bunker..." He seemed to disappear for a moment, a glaze washing over his eyes before pulling himself back, "When a child dies because their parents strapped a bomb to them and had them walk towards a unit of United States soldiers…That, is a tragedy."

Your heart sank deeper than the crevice between his brows, and he sat up on his elbows.

"You take a shot on a politician, or a war veteran, or…" He looked at you from the corner of his eye, rolling his wrist, "A person of interest recently pulled from WITSEC…Now, that…"

He cocked his chin with a smirk.

"That, is a conspiracy."

Like the beginning of deviancy within the US military, and an internal investigation that had Perkins on Allen's heels long before you met either of them. An incident in Africa that posed two veteran androids against their former commander, one with a detonator linked to a dirty bomb that was being diffused under night's cover and evacuated city blocks.

Or how that same android released your hand-written article revision that your prodigy of a husband verbally scorned, but somehow implanted in his code just in case he was wrong. The spreading of that code, that idea, and how it just happened to reach the mind palace of Markus – a unique RK-series prototype that just happened to be gifted by Elijah to his best friend, Carl Manfred. The rise of Jericho under their benevolent leader.

A transfer of the human mind into a digital void, only to give her control over the world's most powerful city. An assassination attempt made by CyberLife and the program named Amanda with full control over one of their most advanced android models. All perfectly timed with your newly-issued absence of witness protection right as you began to piece everything together…

The secret plan by a group to do something unlawful, or harmful.

The conspiracy.

"What are you implying?" Fowler asked.

"That there's a lot more going on behind the scenes, and there's no place safer for her right now than with the rest of her brothers and sisters in blue…definitely not a high rise, alongside other high rises, with an entire wall made of glass."

You picked the dried dirt from under your nails, keeping your head down as the two of them duked out your fate right in front of you.

"Maybe…but as far as I'm concerned, the safest place for her is anywhere but Detroit."

"No-" You blurted, "I don't want to leave-"

"And I can't make you. No one can. But if what you said about the rogue RK800 is true, and this…program…what was its name?"

"Amanda." You repeated dryly.

"Right…It hacked Grenier's 'hack-proof' system. How are we supposed to-"

"Grenier!" Allen shouted, interrupting him.

Fowler rolled his eyes, shaking his empty coffee cup. You uncrossed your legs, reaching down for the paper-and-plastic travel mug sitting at your feet. You offered it with a shaky hand.

"No thanks," Fowler waved you off, "I'm weird about germs."

"I didn't drink out of it. I…brought it in here for you, sir."

He swallowed hard, looking down from you to the cup. It seemed to strike a nerve, a chord- a soft spot.

"Thank you."

You gave him a nod, and he accepted your gift.

It was easy to forget that Fowler was another person doing the best he could in an impossible position. Easy to forget the hardships he underwent while being charged with overseeing his city's infrastructural collapse.

If getting him a fresh cup of coffee was the most you could do to alleviate that…you would.

Grenier walked in, closing the door behind him. Handed Captain Allen a bottle of water and two pills, white and unmarked.

It seemed Allen's people felt the same about him.

"Thanks, kid."

"You're welcome, sir."

Allen tossed the medicine in his mouth, the bottle crinkling as he gulped the water in quarters. Every time the plastic collapsed, Fowler cringed. He sighed over the coffee cup, steam blowing away before he took a sip.

"Tell them what you told me, Greenie." Allen ordered.

"Yes, sir." With both hands behind his back, his phone in his pocket and something tucked underneath his arm, Grenier did as he was told, "The RK800 in question breached the DPD communications network, and through that firewall breach, was able to interact with this officer's HUD."

Fowler snickered, "Sounds like a cover-up. You have proof of this, son?"

"Yes. These are the reports from her medical scan."

Grenier handed him a docket, one even you hadn't seen yet.

You zeroed in on the folder as it switched hands, eyes following it as it landed on Fowler's desk.

He scanned it before rubbing his eyes, "Who is…'Widget?'"

Allen scoffed, and Grenier let out a quiet laugh before kicking an invisible rock, "My repurposed police drone, sir. He'd give an android a run for their money."

"'He?' We're calling drones, 'he,' now?"

"I, uh…"

"A repurposed police drone…" Fowler snorted, pinching the side of his temple as he leaned his head into his fingers, flipping through the report, "Wish Martello would give us some of that funding."

"It wasn't sanctioned." Allen sneered, "If it hadn't worked in the field, I'm not so sure he'd be wearing that uniform."

"Regardless…What am I looking at?"

"All neural scans appeared to be normal." Grenier continued, "I had Talon double-check, just to make sure. The results concluded that there were no abnormalities in brain activity. If the RK800 had been able to hack the MILITIA net, this officer would be experiencing psychosis-like hallucinations, among other symptoms."

"I'd be what?" You shot.

"It was in the disclaimer you signed," Grenier shrugged, "You haven't started seeing anything strange, or hearing voices, have you?"

"Just a SWAT specialist who put my brain at risk for reprogramming, and a lot of medical nonsense I wish I would've been informed of before I put that helmet on."

"Maybe you should've read the terms of use before checking the box, Officer."

"Children." Allen held up a hand, "Enough."

"All I'm hearing is that our network needs it's security reworked, and this is proof that the MILITIA suit did everything it was supposed to." Fowler closed the folder, "That right?"

"Yes, sir." Grenier verified, "Although why she was a target is above my clearance level, I'd recommend further use of the MILITIA armor if she is to remain on active duty."

"That won't raise any red flags or anything…" Fowler mumbled, "Give us a minute."

He pursed his lips as Grenier hesitated. He didn't budge until Captain Allen spoke up.

"Dismissed, Grenier."

"Sir." He saluted both of them, marched out of the room, and trotted down the steps – ignoring the inquisitive looks from the floor as he whistled for his robot and beelined for the stairs leading down to the SWAT dungeon.

"Martello is giving us medals, Lastimosa especially." Allen bit his lip, shaking his head, "The same people who cried injustices are now thanking us for purging the streets of those androids. We're being rewarded for what we pulled out there…Ryan died and-"

"Jericho is still at large." Fowler interrupted, "I'm sorry about the young man from Unit 31. I've lost people too, Allen…"

You wanted to hug yourself, Anthony's face popping up in your mind as your memory leaked painful images.

"But we need to focus on figuring out what we're going to tell Perkins before he gets here, and we're running out of time."

Your relapse was halted, as the eyes in the room turned to you.

This…Captain Allen, and Captain Fowler – you, in the office with them…trying to get your "stories straight."

This, was the beginning of a new conspiracy…or rather, a cliff note on a work in progress.

"He's delivering a press conference right now…" Allen sighed, "With Commissioner Evans and Commander Martello standing behind him."

"A press conference?" You cocked your head, "About what?"

"About this."

Captain Fowler handed you a data pad, a news article already half-way scrolled through on the screen.

You pulled it to the top, reading the headline:


Detroit Today

ANDROID TERROR IN DETROIT

The eyes of the world have turned to Detroit.

Recent android disturbances have reached a new level after the recent gathering in a public Detroit plaza. The machines gathered in alarming numbers before occupying Grand Circus Park, terrorizing innocent civilians with threats of violence.

Several witnesses claim that police fought heroically - many sustaining injuries - in order to save Detroit's citizens from the rabid machines. One officer in particular was singled out for praise after trying to halt the androids with the use of what we can only assume was a specialized EMP grenade.

Sources confirm its development, along with the special suits worn by Riot Control, was funded by CyberLife.

Though the DPD was reluctant to use firearms in such a crowded place for fear of injuring anybody, the androids forced a confrontation and officers had no choice but to open fire.

Security agencies have echoed Warren's call for calm at this critical time. Police and military authorities are in attendance to protect civilians and deal with the threat, but with a national curfew in effect, and armed forces patrolling the streets of the city, it's difficult for civilians to keep their cool. Many have opted to flee north, the Canadian border seeing a spike in traffic.

A spokesman for the American Liberty Press (ALP) has described the situation as "totalitarian" saying "Warren's America is starting to look like the kind of unfree martial states that it claims to oppose."

FBI Special Agent Richard Perkins is standing by for a press conference held on the steps of DPD Central Station, following President Warren's public address."

[Watch President Warren's Public Address] (Updated 15 minutes ago)

[Watch Special Agent Perkins' Press Conference] (Updated 5 minutes go)


There wasn't a time you could recall where the situation at hand seemed so dire. It was funny, though, how you'd had so much time to prepare for something like this – and now that it was right in front of you, it felt like things were moving too fast, leaving you without the time you needed to formulate a proper reaction.

"So…" You returned the data pad, "What's the plan?"

Fowler and Allen exchanged looks, waiting for someone to talk first. You switched between the two of them, squinting with confusion.

"Anyone?"

"There's two heads on this snake…You, and Elijah Kamski." Allen could barely look you in the eye as he spelled out your death sentence, "But there's only one that Perkins can cut off without inciting a national riot."

"Global, riot." Fowler corrected.

Your fingers dug into the armrests. You started to sweat, and couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"It's not easy to admit that the law we enforce every day fails to do its job sometimes." He frowned, "In this case…we don't have time to separate the grey into black and white."

"How are you so sure I'm not guilty?"

"Call it a gut feeling." Fowler glared, "But we are certain all of this is about to come down on you, and you deserve a fair trial after everything you've been through, at the very least."

"Are you guys telling me to run?" You glowered, "I'm not in WITSEC, the city is on lockdown and I'm sure Perkins put me on the no-fly list and suspended my passport…Where do you expect me to go?"

"On patrol." Fowler answered flatly, "Whatever happens after that, well…that's up to you."

You were going to continue the argument, but the door opened.

You should've run when you had the chance.

"David, good to see you're still in once piece…" Perkins dabbed his nose with a handkerchief, "How's the arm?"

"Same as your nose. Broken." Allen snickered, "Only difference is, I didn't have an old man break it for me."

"Cute."

Allen was good at keeping is cool. It was practiced, perfected…and if you weren't part of the conversation that just took place, you wouldn't have even known he was an anxious mess. Fowler subtly swiped at the sweat on his bald head, lacing his fingers behind his neck and leaning back while his leg bounced.

He wasn't so good at it, but neither were you.

You started to shake, alerting the executioner who had just taken to the stage.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted you sitting in the chair, "Fancy seeing you here."

Your heart raced, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You felt faint. One more precision strike from the man in the snow-saturated trench coat, and you'd be down for good.

"You know, ARI can pick up the most minute details…Like dust tracings, and lack thereof…" He shook his head, "An interesting board you had, pinned to that wall. I wonder what was on it?"

Your nose twitched, mouth screwed shut in a snarl.

"Or what was cut from the bottom of your couch's cushion…"

"You'll have to ask my lawyer."

His brows hiked at the rebuttal, giving you a synthetically polite nod.

"I intend to." He turned to the side, pointing his face outside the glass doors, "But for now, you'll have to excuse us…The adults need the room. Unless of course, you'd like to confess."

"Alright, Perkins…enough's enough." Allen grumbled, his hand resting on his stomach in a lazy slouch.

"I didn't realize this was your department."

"It's not." Fowler interrupted, "It's not mine, either. It's the Commissioner's."

"You mean her?"

Perkins turned to the side, extending a hand towards the floor.

The officers outside stood at full attention as a woman and a man walked in – decorated from head to toe, shaking hands with everyone they passed.

Commissioner Evans, the woman who oversaw all of Detroit Police Department…

And Commander Martello, the man who dictated Michigan's SWAT teams.

Two other individuals who rarely shared the same roof.

But here, in the crater named Detroit – the hypocenter of a world torn asunder…

Anomalies were quickly finding their place amongst the norm.

All except you.

Personnel Parking Lot.

Three red words on a grey door. You knew where it led, and where the sidewalk behind it led. Gavin went out there more than twice a day – every day. To smoke, clear his head, stare at his Jeep that he loved more than most people…but tonight, you ventured into the back entrance of HQ because it was soothing.

The blurred headlights of cars as they whisked by on 1301 3rd Avenue, their brakes screeching in the cold as they slowed at red lights…and the sputtering of their engines; the squealing of their tires, as that light turned green.

On the other side of that door was an escape route…

Used to be.

You placed your hands on the bar, a lever that stretched the length of the door. Checked for a backdraft, but the icy condensation warned for something else…

A flash-freeze.

The heavy click came, and the bar retracted. The door scraped along the cement, a pile of snow building up on the other side as a perfect arch was carved. A gust of wind pushed back, your eyes watering and squinting under your DPD-branded cap. Frozen tears from the blackness above swirled in the gust; flakes in globe of a world shaken by higher powers at be.

Winter re-introduced oxygen to your stalled lungs, and you swallowed the rich flashover. You watched the stop-and-go traffic; the civilian vehicles mixed with flatbeds and army-green trucks pulling over with their flashers on, armed soldiers unloading from the back.

"'National curfew…Police and military authorities…'"

You shivered under a caged bulb mounted above the door – the street lights bleeding in from a divider framed by curbs, filled with mulch and bare shrubs with Christmas lights stuffed in their branches.

You'd help decorate them when the notice came through. Said DPD needed to be more festive. A great use of tax-payers' hard-earned money…if they stayed lit.

You let your mind wonder from the circumstantial hurricane made of nightmare fuel that kept you trapped in the middle. Studied a bush that didn't burn quite like the rest of them.

It rested at the head of tire-tracks trailing away from the parking spot you'd occupied this morning. The rounded mounds of snow-filled tread marks, uneven from the rest of the white blanket.

Your car keys were missing, along with Anthony's clothes – the outfit Connor wore to work. It may have been because you were desperate for a sign of hope, or the longing to be reunited with the only person that truly made you feel invincible, or safe…but the dead lights beckoned you.

You took your flashlight from inside your jacket. Held it over your shoulder as you took another step into the tundra. Shielded your face from the flurries that whited-out most of the city, and had people pulling over in the shoulder on the far side of the street.

This was stupid. You didn't know what you were doing, or why.

There was no coming back. No hope to be had.

You'd crossed the point of no return, and danced on the line on your way out.

But you kept going just to prove that to yourself, to bring your senses forward and get your shit together so you could think clearly without any distractions or nagging feelings.

You knelt, keeping your knee suspended for fear of getting it wet and cold, your flashlight's ray tracing it back to the lightless and lifeless strands. Took notice to footprints in the snow. Stood, and walked in their steps – your boots making fresh stamps in your wake.

A plug dangled from a branch, glistening from the stark-white flashlight. You pinned it under your arm, tracing another wire and lifting the outlet of an extension cord from its frozen cover, swatting the snow off. Connected the two, and the bush burned bright – renewed.

The Christmas lights were blocked by an item tucked neatly in the thatched twigs – a book, sealed tight in a plastic, clear evidence bag.

Pages of thoughts and case-notes that were safe to write in the public eye. A plea to take better care of yourself for fear of software instabilities and system resets.

Your notebook from your glove compartment.

Your hands sprang for it, flashlight dropping to your feet, hands desperate to reclaim what'd been yours.

You picked it back up, crusted with frozen water around the light's lens – illuminating the paper as flakes made grey spots on notes you'd taken on various occasions.

You finally found the omen that you'd been looking for, written in perfect CyberLife Sans.

"1010 – Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, 'Are you for us, or for our enemies?'

-Connor"

A loud ripple and rattling chains tore you away.

The Michigan State Flag and that of the United States, both flying at half-staff.

Distress. A salute.A symbol of respect. The reason you wore a mourning pin, something you didn't expect to do early in the morning.

Because at daybreak, you were entertained with light-hearted conversation and a history lesson on modernity.

What fell over the city now, was nightfall

And Detroit after dark never felt so dangerous.


Behind the Scenes

(Links on AO3)


Detroit in Chaos (Detroit Today)

Android Terror in Detroit (Detroit Today)

Joshua 5:13-6:27

Nietzsche's Daybreak (Daybreak is the title of Part: VI)

"POOR HUMANITY! — A single drop of blood too much or too little in the brain may render our life unspeakably miserable and difficult, and we may suffer more from this single drop of blood than Prometheus from his vulture. But the worst is when we do not know that this drop is causing our sufferings—and we think it is 'the devil!' Or 'sin!'"

Nietzsche's Dionysus-Dithyrambs, Only Fool! Only Poet!

"Scything, till they sink,
Sink down pale in nightfall."

Nietzsche's Nightfall on Modernity: A History

"Because at daybreak, you were entertained with light-hearted conversation and a history lesson on modernity.
What fell over the city now, was
nightfall…"

Written to "In the House, In a Heartbeat" (Metro Exodus)

Inspired by "Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea" by Missio


A/N II:

Although this is a bittersweet moment as we embark on the last part of this adventure, I'm almost moved to tears by the out pour of love and gratitude expressed by all of you.

This fic got away from me in length, and I understand others may have lost interest after awhile, but I didn't want to split this story into multiple installments as would someone writing a book. It became less about writing a story, and more about crafting a universe for multiple stories to take place in. Please keep in mind that I only started sourcing the references I use to meet reader requests.

It has been my honor creating a world for others to immerse themselves in, and I have no intention of stopping after this. So...

Here goes nothing.