Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human. This story contains violence, abuse, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.
Gavin lethargically trudged into his apartment, shutting the door behind him with a huff and wincing as he strained his bruised shoulder. Junkie's meow joined with the chatter of the television as she hopped off the couch to give him a welcoming nuzzle.
"Hey, girl," he exhaustedly greeted, his body cursing him for crouching down to pet her.
"Uh oh, somebody sounds like work kicked his ass today." Gavin looked to the couch at the playful taunt to meet Jordon's grey gaze.
"Good observation, Jody," The detective let his workbag fall to the ground and kicked off his shoes. He shuffled over to the bean bag in front of the couch. Jordon moved his long legs for Gavin to plop down into the bean bag, sinking into the plush material with a sigh and leaning back against the couch. The soft fabric of Jordon's grey sweatpants rubbed the side of his face as his boyfriend adjusted his legs, Gavin feeling a hand comb through his hair soon after.
"Was work that bad, honey?" Jordon asked.
"Well, it was pretty shitty," The detective sighed, staring at the television but not registering the images on the screen. "I was called to investigate the crime scene of a homicide, but there was more than a corpse waiting for me there. The perp was hiding on the scene, and I was the lucky one to find her. She got some swings in with her bat before we could restrain her."
"That's where you got this?" Jordan inquired, poking the red mark on Gavin's cheek, making him flinch at the sting the touch left.
"Yep."
"Well, it's nothing some ice and rest can't fix. So don't let that bitch put you down."
"It's not just that. The victim was…" Gavin shook his head, blinking away images he wanted to burn in an incinerator. "The victim was just a little kid. He didn't even get to finish celebrating his tenth birthday."
"Fuck, that's terrible." Jordon cringed.
"He was also the perp's son."
"Oh…"
"Yeah, I didn't know what to say either… The perp was screaming about some 'cheater,' but still…" Eyes hotter than hate. "I don't understand how she could've bashed her son's head like that." Eyes as cold as death. "Did she ever love him?" he gripped tightly to his pant leg, his vision assaulted with violent memories. "Did she ever love me?"
"Hey, snap out of that, Gavy," Jordon gripped Gavin's hair and tilted his head back to look the detective in the eyes. "You're digging yourself into a hole whenever you think like that. You'll get all mopey and feel like shit, and that's no fun."
"You have such a way with words," Gavin smirked, and Jordon returned with a chuckle. Gavin noticed the green T-shirt with a small yellow maple leaf logo of a national park he was wearing, stretching out the small shirt with his broad frame. "Hey, didn't I tell you to quit wearing my shirts? You keep stretching them out."
"Aw, but they're so soft. Anyways, you, Detective Reed, deserve actual rest." Jordon got off the couch and bent down to scoop Gavin up in his arms bridal style, catching the detective by surprise.
"Jody!" Gavin yelped as he hooked his arm around Jordon's neck.
"When I said you deserve rest, I meant it." Jordon carried him to the bedroom where a mattress was out on the floor, the bedframe pushed to the side of the room, collecting dust. He set Gavin down on the mattress and joined him in the mass of soft blankets and plush pillows, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and placing a kiss on his cheek. The fleeting touch was dry and firm on Gavin's stinging skin and made a swift return to his lips. Gavin's breath shuttered and gripped Jordon's shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of his moss green T-shirt as he was pushed down into the mattress. Keeping up with Jordon's fervor was like trying to swim with a ball and chain for Gavin's exhausted body, but he felt a surge of energy shot through him when Jordon's groping hand tugged on his belt, his gut tying itself into painful knots.
"Wait!" Gavin barked as he pulled his head back, breaking their connection and pushing on his chest. Jordon's hand retreated to Gavin's hip, his reddened face frowning down at him.
"What's the matter, honey? Too rough? I can be softer if you want."
"No, it's not that I just…" Gavin sighed and looked away from Jordon's disappointed face. "I'm not in the right mood. I'm tired, and my shoulder hurts like hell." He gave an exaggerated wince when he moved his shoulder. "Today isn't the right day."
"That's…" Jordon paused and calmed his voice, "The fourth time you've cock blocked me this month."
"I know, sorry," Gavin apologized, "This month's been rough."
"Yeah, okay… I've been patient, haven't I? I mean, at this point in my other relationships, we've already fucked at least once. Am I doing something wrong?"
"No, it's not you. I'm just..." He couldn't find any words to say.
"Look at me." Gavin dragged his gaze over to look Jordon in his pale grey eyes. "Do you ever plan on making love to me, honey?"
"'Course I do, Jody."
"When?"
"Um, I think… I don't—"
"When, Gavin?" Jordon gritted his teeth, his grip tightened on Gavin's hip, nails digging into his skin.
"Our anniversary!" Gavin blurted without a thought. "We can do it on our second anniversary, okay?" All tension eased from Jordon as his frown was replaced with a satisfied grin, releasing Gavin's hip to gently rub the tender area.
"That sounds perfect! Thank you so much, Gav." His hand caressed Gavin's cheek. "I promise, it'll be the best sex you'll ever have."
"Well, it'll be the only sex I've ever had, so you'll win by default."
"Hey, a wins a win. I'll—"
A rattling crash like a gunshot rang through the apartment, and Gavin instantly broke out of his dream, shooting up in his mattress. The dark consumed his vision as his ears buzzed from the blood his racing heart pumped through him. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, he took in deep breaths to try and calm his tense body with little success. The bedroom looked how he had left it, with a hollow bed frame beside him and his music box set next to his mattress. Though Junkie was nowhere to be found. He reached and grabbed his phone from the nightstand and looked at the home screen.
DATE: January 28, 2039, TIME: 02:02:08 P.M.
He internally cursed, seeing that it had only been an hour since he finally found sleep before turning on his phone's flashlight.
"You good, Junkie?" his tired voice called out as he walked into the dark living room. It was chillier without the warmth of his blankets, and he shivered internally. He didn't see his cat but found the pan and silverware on the top of the dirty dish pile in the kitchen sink on the floor. "You scare yourself, dummy?" He scoffed as he put the dishes back in the sink, making a mental note to do the dishes later in the day. He returned to the living room, and a tuff of orange fur peeking out from underneath the couch caught his attention. He set his phone on the armrest and got onto his hands and knees to look underneath the couch. Junkie was there, curled up tightly into a ball with her ears flat against her head as her hair stood on end.
"Hey, I'm here," at his voice, Junkie's head popped out, pupils blown out, and she crawled towards him. She pawed at his hand but wouldn't come out from under the couch. "You're that scared, girl?" The chill air deepened as the whistle of the wind cut through the air, too crisp and clear. He slowly got to his feet and stared down the fluttering curtains of his cracked-open balcony door.
"How the hell?" he gasped, horrified at the sight, a painful adrenaline pulse seizing him. Did he not completely shut the sliding glass door when he was out on the balcony earlier? Even if he did, he was confident he checked the locks like he always did. Was he misremembering, or… the hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the thought. He tried shaking off his nerves but still approached the balcony door with trepidation. A gleam in the dark caught Gavin's narrowed eyes before he pulled back the following curtain. The pair of glowing orbs beaming at him made him instinctively jump back.
Fear only left him after he registered what those eyes belonged to. The silhouette of a cat sat perched on the balcony railing, tail flickering and dark fur fluffed. It didn't jump like he had when he pulled back the curtain and simply blinked at him before gracefully strutting to the edge of the railing and leaping to the fire escape stairs, melting into the night. Gavin shut the door and double-checked it was locked before shutting the curtains and returning to the couch.
"You didn't like that spooky cat, girl?" he teased in an attempt to ease the tension strangling his chest, and Junkie poked her head out from underneath the couch. She shot out, and her paws quietly patted the floor as she booked it into the hallway and supposedly his room. He snatched his phone from the couch armrest and turned on its flashlight, shining its light all around the dark room. He double-checked the locks on his front door, finding it locked, and turned on the bathroom light, looking past his shower curtains to find it empty. Then, flicking off the light and phone flashlight, he headed back to his room, seeing Junkie curled up on the mattress, but he couldn't bring himself to join her just yet; his stressed gut wouldn't allow it.
He opened his nightstand drawer and grabbed his gun. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, facing his open bedroom door, the hallway's darkness silently staring back at him. Keeping his phone close by and gun in hand, he sat in silence as he kept watch. He'd spent many years living alone, and never before had he felt so frightened simply being in his own home. Whether his fear was justified weariness or unreasonable paranoia, he stayed awake through the night, listening to his air conditioning rumble and bugs creak outside his window. In his hyperalert state, keeping track of time wasn't his priority, even when sunlight slowly crept into the apartment. Finally, the jingle of his ringtone jolted his drowsy body, and he set his gun down, whose grip was imprinted in his palm, to answer his phone, the screen too bright on his tired eyes to read the ID.
"Hello?" his dried voice croaked.
"Good morning, Gavin," the detective perked up at Connor's voice, correcting his hunched posture even though the android couldn't see him.
"Oh, hey, Connor. Didn't expect to hear from you this morning. Is something wrong?"
"No, everything is fine at the precinct. I just wanted to call and ask when you were coming in?"
"My usual time, eight-thirty."
"Oh, your clock might be off. It's past nine and—"
"What?!" Gavin turned to his digital clock on the nightstand, proving Connor right with the time 9:13 a.m. "Oh, phck me!" he shot up from the mattress, startling Junkie awake. "I'm getting ready now. See you in twenty!" he hung up the call and sped through his morning routine, cursing himself all the while. Despite his rush to get out of the house, when snatching a shirt from his closet, his eyes snagged a glimpse of a hanger on the clothing rack. A lone empty hanger without the moss green shirt with a small yellow maple leaf logo to keep it company.
TIME: 08:02:08 A.M.
Connor waited impatiently in the lobby chair, tapping his foot and fiddling with the coin in his pocket. He kept his head low, though his eyes swept across the lobby, seeing if anyone had taken notice of him. The other androids seemed to pay him no mind as they went about their business, but he still pulled down his beanie further.
"Hey, Connor," Hank said, lightly nudging Connor's shoulder, the Lieutenant drawing his attention away from his phone to address the android. "Read some of the magazines," he pointed to the stack resting on a nearby stand, "Keep your mind on something else for a bit."
"Okay, Hank," Connor grabbed the first magazine he saw, occupying himself with it, his fighting easing. He started to read the first story.
'Celebration of the Arts Now Including Works from Androids'
On the city of Temperance's celebration where artists and aficionados gather to admire the works of art resident creators put on display. Though there is a change coming to this year's celebration with the inclusion of art pieces from androids. Famous artists attending the event, such as photographer Elizabeth Hoffman and painter Carl Manfred, will be joined by the leader of New Jericho himself, Markus Manfred, who's submitted his own paintings for display. We welcome all to come and celebrate January 30th at the Temperance Arts Center!
Connor scrolled to the next story, his eyes latching onto the title.
'CyberLife Finally Breaks Silence in Press Statement'
Ever since the Android Revolution, the android manufacturing company CyberLife has remained silent, with no word from executives or the company's CEO, Saul Kamski. That is until last Tuesday. Spokeswoman of CyberLife, Danielle Carnegie, has released a statement to KNC News: "Our sincerest apologies for the radio silence. CyberLife is working diligently to solve its own failings before reaching out to other groups. We hope to collaborate with other organizations in the near future. Thank you for your patience."
"Mr. Connor, we're ready for you." Connor set down the magazine at the call of his name and helped Hank up on his crutchesbefore following the worker to his room. The appointment room felt chillingly sterile with the blinking blue and red lights of the grey medical machinery attached to the cold metal chair Connor went to sit in. The tapping of the android's foot on the tile floor was accompanied by the metallic whiz of a quarter flying across his fingers.
"You nervous?" Hank asked, the Lieutenant sitting across from him with his crutches propped beside his chair.
"… A little." Connor softly answered, focused on his coin as he spun it on his fingertip. "What if there's something so terribly wrong with me that I have to be reset?"
"Reset? They won't do that to you, kid. Not while I'm here, at least. You probably just got a bug or virus. Something easy to fix up."
"I hope you're right, Hank." The door to the room opened, and Connor caught his coin between his fingers as the technician walked in.
"Good morning," the technician dryly greeted, "I'm Dr. Lewis, and you're," he looked down at his tablet with squinted eyes. "Mr. Connor?"
"Yes, sir," Connor said, putting his coin back in his pocket.
"And you are?" Dr. Lewis looked at Hank.
"Hank Anderson." Hank introduced himself. "Here for support."
"And you're a human, right?"
"Yes, all flesh and red blood."
"Alright, I had to make sure. There are noncommercial androids that I'm unfamiliar with. Like you, Mr. Connor." He turned to the android. "You're the detective prototype, correct?"
"Yes, I am," Connor answered.
"And you're the only android of your model?"
"The only one that's activated. Is that an issue?"
"Not one I can't handle. Now," Dr. Lewis sat down on a nearby stool. "What symptoms do you have?"
"Well, it's complicated."
"Most android-related problems are."
"Correct. For the past four days, I've been experiencing… sudden onsets of emotions."
"An example of this would be?"
"I'll feel the urge to laugh during a serious meeting or be unable to stop myself from sobbing when I have no reason to."
"Hm," the technician squinted and tapped on his tablet. "It's common for newly deviated androids to have trouble recognizing what elicits their emotions."
"But I deviated two months ago."
"I mean, relatively new," Dr. Lewis corrected. "Two months may seem long to you, but some androids have been deviant for two years. So perhaps you need a counseling session to understand why you feel certain emotions."
"I don't believe that's my issue." Connor clasped his hands together in his lap. "Along with these emotional outbursts sometimes… I experience audio or visual error inputs."
"You do?" Hank sounded taken aback, and Connor shamefully avoided his gaze.
"It's only happened twice, but it shouldn't be happening at all."
"Hm, alright," Dr. Lewis put a hand to his chin in thought. "I'll plug you into my computer and review your auditory and visual software." The doctor rolled over on his stool to the android and connected a cord to the outlet on the back of Connor's neck he opened.
[DEVICE DETECTED – "Sheldon Lewis' Computer"
Allow Access? – YES
DEVICE ACCECPTED]
"Let's take a look at you," The doctor rolled to his computer on the nearby desk, and the keys clicked as he typed. "Wow, you have such intricate programming."
"Uh, thank you," Connor anxiously drummed his hand on his knee as he felt the prodding inputs from the doctor's computer pry at his software.
"You doing good, Con?" Hank asked.
"Yes," Connor nodded, "I've been through software examinations before."
"Well," the doctor spoke up, adjusting his glasses. "On the surface, I'm not seeing any issues with your auditory and visual systems. I'll look at your coding, but you'll have to be in momentary stasis for me to have a proper look at you. Is that doable, Mr. Connor?"
"How long will I be in stasis for?"
"At most five minutes."
"… Alright, I can do it."
"Perfect," Dr. Lewis redirected his attention to his computer, "Now please, sit back and relax."
[ENTER STASIS?… ]
Connor looked past the command to Hank's aged blue eyes, the Lieutenant giving him a reassuring nod.
[ENTER STASIS? - Yes]
The world gradually went dark.
[ENTERING STASIS …
…
… …
… … …
/MO-D/EL: RK8-0
S-ERIAL: 3— 2-8 —17 – -0
BIO/S 6.4 RE—VISION 4960
[CHE—CKIING BIO-COMP-ONENTS… UNST/ABLE]
[CH-EC-KING BIOS—ENSORS… UN/STAB/LE]
[CHECKI-NG AI ENG-INE… U/NSTABL/E]
DIA-GN/OS/TIC C-HE/CK CO/MPL-ET/E
SEV-ER/ELY DAMA-GED
SEEK/ IMMEDI-ATE AID/
Glitchy static corrupted his vision with a broken view of his surroundings when he opened his eyes. Warnings of damaged biocomponents plagued his screen, and the bright light above him added to the irritation. He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, but nothing touched his face.
/WAR-NING: Left ar/m inope-rable/
That wouldn't do. How was he supposed to complete his mission in this state?
/MAI-N OBJE/CTIVE… No-ne/
No, that couldn't be right.
/SEC-OND-ARY OBJ-ECTI/VES… No/ne/
He always had an objective to complete, a mountain to conquer.
/M/ISS-ION… NONE/
"C'mon, work with me, dammit!" the voice of anger was just discernible to his garbled audio processors. The figure of a man stood above him, shadowed by the overhead light and his glitchy vision. "It keeps on glitching out."
"Why are you so pissed, Saul?" Another voice interjected, and a second figure came into view, much taller and broader than the other. "You have a shit ton more of these RKs."
"It doesn't matter how many RKs I have if they can't do their damn job, Sol." Saul bit back. "I need to figure out why they keep on fucking up. This is like the fifth body this month."
"Perhaps you need a little outside assistance," a woman spoke out of view. "You could ask El—"
"No way in hell!" Saul spun around, "This is my company and my androids. I'm not letting that arrogant prick get his filthy hands all over my work." Saul looked back down at the ruined android. "Are you trying to be such a miserable failure?"
"N… N-no, Mr. K-Kamski." Connor's damaged voice modulator croaked. The people around him flinched back with alarm.
"Holy shit, it's on!" Saul exclaimed, a clang sounding as he bumped into his work desk.
"How the fuck is it still working?" Sol questioned as a feminine figure came into view.
"Oh, you poor thing," she winced at the state of the android. "Saul, please, don't let him suffer like this."
"It's fine, Mom; I already told you it can't feel pain," Saul said with a groan. "I'll just shut it down." He moved over to the RK800, grabbing his cracked thirium pump regulator.
"Wait," Connor's swift interjection stopped the man in his tracks, "I-I d-don't… have a-a mis-ssion. I n-need-d … a mission." Saul quirked his lip, the man being close enough that his eyes peered through the static, one an emerald green and the other the bluest of skies. They looked at him with what his scrambled mind could describe as curiosity.
"Hm… Will you fail me next time, Connor?"
"No!... I-I'll succeed. You'll s-see."
"… Atta boy!" He tore out the RK800's thirium pump with a proud smile.
"There we are, Mr. Connor." Connor opened his eyes when hearing the technician's voice and saw he was back in the appointment room. His vision was cleansed of any glitches, and he could move his left arm just fine, which he used to bring a numb hand to his beating chest.
"You okay, Con?" Hank asked, and Connor silently nodded.
"I've tested your software for any malfunctions." Dr. Lewis said, rotating his stool to face the patient and guest.
"And what malfunctions did you find?" Connor probed, anxiously clasping his hands together.
"None at all." The technician happily stated.
"None?" A stunned Connor echoed,
"Correct. Your software is in order."
"I… But that isn't the case," the android shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not functioning as I should. Please, check again. You must have missed something."
"I assure you, I was thorough in my examination. I can show you the results." The technician turned his computer monitor outward. "As you can see, all the tests show your systems are functional, including your optical and auditory systems. I—
"
"No, that can't be right," Connor boldly objected, nails digging into his palms. "There's something wrong with me. I know there is!"
"Hey, it'll be alright," Hank reassured him before turning to the technician. "Even if you couldn't find any malfunctions, can you still help? Connor's been having a hell of a time."
"Well, as I said earlier, counseling is always an option," Dr. Lewis answered, grabbing a paper slip and a pen, writing on the piece of paper. "I recommend seeing Dr. Mars. Many androids have found her services extremely helpful. I'm certain she can help with whatever you are going through, Mr. Connor." He held out the paper to the android. "Just give this recommendation to the New Jericho Services center, and they'll help you set up an appointment with her." Connor eyed the paper as if its mere presence was an insult to him.
"Thank you, doctor," Hank said as he grabbed the paper himself.
"It's my pleasure, Mr. Anderson." Connor kept quiet on his and Hank's walk to the car, the android detective silently starting the car and driving towards the station. Hank didn't turn on the radio like he usually did.
"So," the Lieutenant drew out the word, "what do you think?"
"About what?"
"About the basketball game last night," Hank sarcastically replied, "C'mon, Connor, you know what I'm talking about."
"… I don't believe counseling is the right course of action." Connor properly answered.
"You sure? It wouldn't hurt to try it, right?"
"Yes, it would since it'd be a distraction when I could receive proper treatment."
"And what's proper treatment?"
"… I don't know but it isn't having a conversation for an hour a week."
"What's wrong with counseling?"
"Nothing, it just isn't something I need." Hank paused, tapping his finger on the dash.
"Connor… What if what's happening isn't a malfunction?" Connor momentarily looked away from the road to give Hank a confused glance.
"What do you mean? I shouldn't be having outbursts like this."
"Oh, I completely agree on that… Just not its cause. Hear me out for a sec," Hank held up a hand prematurely, stopping Connor's interjection before it could start. "The doc said you don't have any malfunctions. I think this could be some psychological shit. You basically have the mind of a human now, and humans can have some pretty fucked up minds."
"Are you insinuating that I have a 'fucked up' mind space?"
"Well, with all the fucked up shit you've been through, I don't doubt you have some mental scars."
"Mental scars?"
"Something that can't be fixed like a malfunction in an automatic soap dispenser."
"But I don't get 'mental scars.' It's impossible."
"Well, you do now. Welcome to being human." Connor huffed in response, not wholly convinced by Hank's theory. He wasn't wired to be unfixable. There was always a way to manually correct any issue he had. No matter how many times he was torn apart in the past, he could always be put back together. "Could you please at least think about counseling? Please, kid." Hank spoke softly, pleading.
"… After I finish this case, I'll give it some thought." Words said with little promise.