Disclaimer: I do not own these characters except the OC's.
A/N: This is a Jim and Marcus heavy chapter. After this it'll focus on Marcus and Tom again.
Warning: Dissection, Torture, and Violence
unbeta'd
Marcus' thoughts are turbulent and unsettling. He can't focus on keeping his hand steady or his eye from blinking rapidly. The frayed sensors that run near the bandages covering his wounds make him itchy and uncomfortable.
He's not getting better, he knows he's not, and likely never will. The nanites hidden in his metal skeleton should have repaired some of the damaged areas but they're either working too slow or dead if the lack of change is anything to go by.
Tom doesn't deal with computers or any type of machinery so he's useless in Marcus' endeavor to become whole. Marcus knows this from the way the man avoids technology. It's not fair because it's only a matter of time before he meets his end.
Will he burn out soon?
Worse, will he become an experiment for Jim?
His second maker.
Marcus isn't even sure what he should feel towards the burly man. His first instinct had been to run when they spoke earlier but now he's not so sure. There's only a small amount of relief when the man didn't bother to chase him. Yet, he can't help being a bit curious.
'What if he can help?'
Marcus is unsure of what to do. Jim didn't seem upset or repulsed by Tom's activities and that causes some worry. Douglas had some screwed up morals concerning human experimentation and his fixation on Davenport was unhealthy. However, being cool with human killings and selling body parts through the black market? That just seems strange.
The only reason he isn't afraid of Tom is because the slip of power he felt when they first met hasn't appeared again. Tom thinks of him as if he were alive and an actual person. They actually have conversations where both parties contribute. Before, Marcus would only listen and obey like the good little android he was made to be.
He likes Tom's need to comfort and make him feel wanted. The fact that he grumbles and fights every step of becoming closer doesn't mean he doesn't want it. He craves it so much it scares him.
Marcus growls in irritation because his thoughts keep distracting him. He takes a deep breath and then another until the heat in his circuits cools down and he starts over.
Sedation.
"Just enough to keep them on the edge of consciousness," Tom's voice whispers from memory.
Sedation is the key.
"But not enough to dull the pain completely."
Scrape the meat and polish the bone.
"Right the wrongs inch by inch."
Mend the skin and preserve the organs.
"It takes practice."
Sever the arteries and cut the nerves.
"Caution."
Separate the tissue and wash away the blood.
"Patience…"
Marcus is still too new to this.
He isn't neat and winces when red sprays his face. The lungs still and the heart sputters weakly until there's nothing left of their newest acquisition. The androids limbs are becoming more unstable and his eyesight is growing worse with each passing day. He makes too many mistakes.
'A failure like before, because I'm not good enough,' he thinks, 'I'm not perfect like the others.'
Tom's words reach him before he can tear the body apart with an angry fist.
"Do not think of this as a failure."
He takes another breath to calm down.
"They mean nothing in the end. They are savages; budding murderers, stalkers, and corrupted hearts waiting to steal lives. They are monsters."
These deaths are insignificant, he tells himself. He drops the scalpel and sneers at the open body under his gaze. He sews the skin together feeling the rough texture under his fingers. He grimaces at the blood leaking between the black thread from the uneven stitches.
"But we're monsters, too."
The bruised skin under the left eye and around the neck are the last things he sees before he covers the cold form.
"Next time, you will succeed."
::O:O:O::
The blood doesn't wash out completely but Marcus doesn't care. It leaves a pink tint on his skin and the splatters across his clothes are already dark. He decides to wait on the steps for Tom or Jim, at this point he doesn't care anymore. He's tired of the solitude regardless of the danger.
He passes the time by watching the sun crawl across the sky at a snail's pace until the sound of a rumbling truck pulling into the driveway catches his attention. He braces himself as Jim makes his way around the vehicle only to arch a bushy eyebrow at him for blocking the entrance.
"Been busy?"
Marcus ignores the pointed look at his clothes and stands to dust himself off. His bad knee makes a screech as it locks in place and he loses his balance. He gasps when a strong hand on his shoulder stops him from falling over into a pile of weeds. He wants to push the hand away but he needs answers. Marcus tries his best to look intimidating under the swath of bandages and bloodied clothes but he realizes he probably just looks pathetic.
"Best take this inside."
The android moves away to let Jim walk into the house first and then follows. He stands just outside of Jim's open bedroom door unsure of his decision. He's not sure how trustworthy an old colleague of Douglas' would be.
Suddenly, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to know why he was created or if he's salvageable. Another part of him, the part that fights what he is needs to know. There had to be a reason Jim worked with Douglas to make him. He wants to know if his sole creation for existing is to help someone like Douglas on a quest for power. He wants to know if he was created for something more important. Most of all, he wants to know if the burn out he overheard Douglas mention is a lie.
"Kid, sit."
Marcus sits obediently on an empty stool near the entrance. He watches Jim start up a computer before flipping through a packet of papers lying on his bed. The android takes a look around the room feeling surprise at how bare it seems compared to Tom's across the hall. Tom's room is a horror show of color and is littered with half formed projects and trinkets. Jim's is plain white with dark half empty shelves. The desk, dresser, and bed are the only other pieces of furniture and even their neutral colors feel hollow.
"Ask away."
He tries not to fidget under the stern man's gaze. He bites his tongue to keep himself from yelling out questions demanding to know everything.
"How did- wha- I-"
His face heats up from his failed questions. His eye twitches in irritation because he's acting like an idiot again.
"Let me start," Jim sits heavily on the bed facing him, "If you still have questions I'll do my best to answer them afterwards.
"The first of your kind were prototype models designed to emulate thoughts and emotions just like humans. There weren't any real plans for them when we were bouncing ideas off one another. In the beginning it was a matter of whether or not something like you could be built. We were working on pushing the boundaries of artificial intelligence. Douglas was the one in charge of the diagrams. He built frames from scratch and worked on the core directives and hardware. My contributions lay mostly in creating distinct personalities and to find a way for the prototypes to identify and reciprocate emotions. I designed and molded the faces of your 'siblings'."
Marcus can't help the way his hand trembles. He isn't sure if he's angry or not.
"Later, the talk of weaponry came up and then it became constant. I was against it at first but Douglas was persistent. At that point it became my job to find material pliable enough to pass off as skin but durable enough so it wouldn't wear down. After we worked on new designs we planned on presenting our ideas to the government. We were going to use the prototypes as a way to ensure our soldier's safety overseas. We'd be hailed as patriots for protecting our people and the money we'd make would be a hell of a bonus. The only downside was they didn't last long. Everything from the memory chip to the power supply would become unstable over time and didn't last more than a couple of months."
Marcus can't sit anymore. He begins to pace as Jim continues to speak.
"Things got out of hand before any real talks with the military went through, though. The rivalry between Donald and Douglas was just too much. Douglas became obsessed with beating Donald and somewhere along the line he changed. I heard a rumor or two about human experiments and bionics but there was never any clear evidence. I imagine Donald kept it under wraps to avoid any scandals from ruining his company's image. Anyway, after Douglas was pronounced dead in a freak accident in the lower labs I packed my things and never looked back. I took his death as a sign that trying to create something like you was better left alone. Since his death I haven't bothered to work anywhere near my old profession and I don't regret it one bit."
Jim held out the packet of papers for him to take. Marcus doesn't touch them, doesn't even look at them as he glowers at Jim because now he's angry.
"You knew since I came here and you let me suffer."
"Not really," the man scoffs, "Sure, you looked familiar but it wasn't until I found all my old work that I realized what you were. Whoever made you used a face template from the first batch I designed."
"But you didn't say anything," Marcus hisses, "Look at me! I'm-I'm dying and you're just sitting there like it's no big deal!"
"If you were worried about dying you'd of tried fixing yourself by now or mentioned it to Thomas. He doesn't know, does he? If you think you're doing him any favors by keeping this from hi-"
He reels back, snarling, "This isn't about Tom!"
His eye hums as the iris changes to a fluorescent green. It takes a lot of control to keep himself from striking the man.
"You're right, it's not about him," Jim looks indifferent, "What I'm interested in knowing is who made you. Donald had been against this project due to their rivalry and Douglas is dead. "
"Shut up."
"Douglas is alive ain't he? He's the only person on this planet with copies of our work and the weapons system."
"Just shut the hell up! I don't care about Davenport or Douglas!" Marcus is shaking and red faced. His jaw clenches and his eye is crackling with a dark green light. "I don't care about any of them!"
"No, you want to survive and I understand," Jim stands with a sigh, "Listen, I know it hurts but you need to get over it. This pain festering in you from your time from before you came here needs to be put away. If you really want to live you need to be stronger than this. You need to be better than your programing because you are better. I promise I'll do my best to help you but you need to buck up. Now, are you going to tell Thomas about the burn out?"
"No," Marcus grits out.
"This is going to end bad for the both of us if you don't make it. You know that right?"
"Just get to work."
They start with several tests. Marcus shows Jim the cracked eye, the torn ear, and the other ruined parts. Jim documents everything in silence while trying to shift through blueprints. It takes several more days of digging through paperwork to find the right data that closely matches Marcus' frame and hardware. The niggling feeling of fear begins to dwindle when Jim says he can build a new frame and download everything into the new body. Marcus doesn't really care if he'll be weaponless or weaker. He's too excited and for the first time feels hope. The anxiety comes back when Jim says he needs time to gather materials and equipment.
Marcus isn't sure he has any time left.
::O:O:O::
It's Sunday.
Tom is lacing up his trainers already mapping out a path for Jim and himself when he realizes Marcus is joining them. The boy shifts, unsure of himself next to Jim and it makes Tom smile. He's not sure what happened but sometime during the past week the two became closer. Tom doesn't feel jealous, in his past life he would've become destructive over this change, because now it's different.
Marcus is a boy. He's badly injured by the one who gave him life and is disconnected from everyone around him to the point that he feels the need to shut himself away. The boy reminds him of himself and it hurts.
Jim is a misfit. He's constantly judged by society for his looks and silence. He's seen as nothing more than a lumbering fool. Strangers can't see past his gruff exterior and don't see his quick wit or fierce loyalty.
Tom is broken. He knows he is broken. He's a fragment of what he used to be and only holds half of the power he used to wield.
They're a motley group of damaged souls.
Tom grins at them.
Jim looks unamused and Marcus frowns.
This is his family.