This was quicker than usual... don't get used to it lol.


I'm not going nowhere
I'm just sitting right here
People watching
— People Watching by CeeLo Green


There is a child in line in front of him.

It shouldn't be an issue, there's nothing objectively wrong with the kid. He looks around nine or ten and is wearing a garish neon green dinosaur hoodie that only a kid would buy, with jeans and light-up sneakers. The kid's hair is a coppery red, a few shades darker than the hair of the woman holding his hand, whom he would refer to as the kid's mother if not for the detail that's making him stare in the first place.

The child has an LED on his temple.

Tony likes to think he's been adapting well enough during the last month, especially since there's been minimal alcohol consumption – more out of a need to be sober to work than a lack of desire – and he's been making some progress at establishing himself in this new reality, but the androids always seem to give him pause. He's objectively in favor of their existence, of course, especially given his work with AI and the fact that some of his first choices of company are his bots, but to see them everywhere while walking down the street makes something twist in his stomach every time, a feeling between discomfort and curiosity that doesn't sit quite well with him.

New York may not have the moniker of 'android capital of the world' but there's enough of them around to make it difficult not to spot a couple of LEDs at every other corner. He was surprised at the amount of diversity in them, having seen models in a large variety of ethnicities so far, which was sort of weird to think about. It's dangerous to let people pick the ethnicity of their glorified robot slave, but he wouldn't want all androids to be an Aryan supremacist's wet dream either, and from the point of view of a company like Cyberlife it makes sense to err on the side of diversity. Still, he'd never come across – or even thought about the concept of – a child android. He'd stumbled upon the concept of those strangely realistic reborn dolls around back home before, but the idea that someone would mass produce something that looks – and acts – so much like a human child hadn't occurred to him until seeing that LED on the kid's temple.

"Sir?" a questioning tone pulls him back to the present and he looks up at the android cashier – something he's noticed is quite common at most large stores and almost guaranteed in franchises – realizing it was his turn to order.

He keeps stealing glances at the kid once he grabs a table for himself, not having planned to eat the meal there but too fascinated to leave yet. The android child and owner pair had taken the table opposite to his – which made it easier to watch them over the top of his phone without looking like he was doing it on purpose – and had been joined by a brown-haired and brown-eyed man, the same shade of brown as the kid's eyes. It makes him wonder about the kid's appearance and he analyzes it with more attention, noticing that the freckles resemble the woman's but the facial features and skin coloring are closer to the man's, and how do they choose that? Do they send pictures and let Cyberlife come up with a realistic mix, or do they have to configure it after the acquisition like altering a phone's settings? Are the child androids' personalities fixed or do they adapt to their owners like a child might absorb characteristics from their parents? He knows there are definitely more important things he should focus on, but that won't keep him from looking all of this up as soon as he makes it back to the hotel he's staying at.

The last week hadn't been quite as productive as the first three, or at least that's what it felt like when the first week had been filled with adapting his helmet's HUD into something like a computer and the following two with using said computer to remotely hack a variety of cameras and ATMs in multiple locations, enough to get him the necessary funds to buy a phone and rent a hotel room in a mildly questionable neighborhood, the sort where you shouldn't risk walking holding your phone but also won't be asked questions if you don't show your ID at the front desk and only pay in cash, with a little extra for the discretion. The suit had come with him, or at least the parts he may still find use for, all of it disassembled and divided into two actual suitcases he'd bought for that exact purpose and safely stored under the hotel bed for the time being.

He's currently working on establishing himself as an existing person, with plans to hack into the existing government records and create an identity for himself in the system, but that particular plan has been put on hold until he can get his hands on an actual computer instead of his improvised VR-helmet-like contraption. Unfortunately, that means more ATM hacking, which takes time and careful planning if he doesn't want to get caught and leaves him with enough free time for a couple of exploratory outings, usually to grab something to eat since there's no kitchen in the hotel room and one can only consume so many microwaved meals before craving something that hasn't come straight out of a box.

People-watching has never been his hobby, but he's found himself drawn to it more often than not every other time he's forced to leave the isolation of his hotel room and interact with the outside world, incapable of not noticing certain things and their contrast to what he remembers from home. Homelessness for example is a lot more evident, and most of the time related to androids, though it's anyone's guess whether the information on those signs is accurate or simply an attempt at appealing to those who relate to the anti-android sentiment. There are also a lot of protests regarding androids and their place in the job market, and he's even come across a couple of preachers ranting about how they lack a soul and are the work of the Devil, which is entirely debatable unless one is capable of defining what exactly delimitates a soul and proving whether or not Elijah Kamski – or maybe his mentor Amanda Stern – can be considered the Devil.

Tony had noticed the technology too, of course. It's advanced enough to give him pause but recognizable enough to not make him feel like he's stuck in a cheesy sci-fi, at least the non-android-related parts of it. A lot of holographic displays, which he was quite familiar with, and a more obvious use of nanotech than he was used to, something he'd personally researched before but hadn't dedicated any serious time to developing. He was pleasantly surprised when he came across a casual application of nanotech while glancing through a shop window, pausing after a glimpse at the Smith & White ad about auto-resizing clothes, and reading through the whole thing which also mentioned self-cleaning and color-changing fabrics. If he'd had any money to spare – he doesn't exactly empty every ATM, just takes enough to make a difference but not inconvenience the next person to use it – he may have gone into the shop and bought one of each feature just to pick them apart. He still might, but maybe at a later time, once he has access to a proper lab.

Androids, in contrast to every other piece of technology so far, are a marvel. He's spent more hours than probably advisable browsing through speculative videos regarding their biocomponents – keeping a distance from anything too autopsy-like because they still look human enough for it to be different from something like checking up on JARVIS' physical servers – and sometimes speaking to them during his outings if they seemed free to talk. One of the things he came to realize was that some androids had better social protocols than others, mostly those actually made with the objective of interacting with humans such as store clerks or companion models – though he could only speculate about the sexual companion ones – and now, according to the evidence right in front of him, child models.

A hand was suddenly waving in front of his eyes, interrupting his train of thought. "You lose something at our table, man?"

"Mh?" Tony frowns slightly, following the now lowered hand toward its owner and realizing it was the man who'd joined the android kid and the woman earlier. "Sorry, didn't mean to stare," well, not to get caught doing it anyway, "just hadn't seen a child android before."

The man let out a slightly incredulous chuckle, "Ya been livin' under a rock?"

"Something like that," he replies absently before giving in to his curiosity, "Does Cyberlife make them look like the buyers or do they just have enough variety that eventually one looks like someone's kid?"

"Nah, we figure all that shit out at home, there's an app," the man replies good-naturedly enough, "Listen, just stop starin' or you'll scare the wife, eh?"

"Yeah, I'm out anyway," he assures, motioning to his newly finished meal and standing from the chair, "kid's cute, take care."

"You too man," they part ways as Tony heads out of the establishment.

A phone app, he shakes his head in disbelief. What's it called, Build-A-Baby?

He shoves his phone into his pocket before he can actually look it up since that particular tangent might last a while and he wasn't about to let himself get distracted out in the middle of the street. The taxi ride to the hotel takes around fifteen minutes thanks to traffic not being completely terrible, so he's right back at his shitty hotel room with time to spare before he needs to focus on the ATM of the day. There is always the option of reviewing his plan for the millionth time, but Tony figures it's probably fine if he gives that a pass and looks into child androids instead.

He scrolls past the ads – numerous enough to show that Cyberlife's marketing budget must be through the roof – and the blog-type posts which are mostly rants either in favor or against the YK line – which is what the child models are – and riddled with bias, instead looking for more technical or at least official-looking pieces of media. A Twitter post tells him they can't really eat, a copy of a few of the YK200 manual pages informs him their child-like functions are entirely optional and can be turned on and off individually, and a complaint directed at Cyberlife lets him know that even though the androids are marketed with a shelf life of approximately 150 years, that estimate only seems to apply to their thirium pump – their equivalent of a heart – and not to every single part of it, especially when what keeps them 'charged' is a diet of regular thirium consumption.

A clip of an interview video dated two years back of some sort of talk show that invited a Cyberlife scientist to speak catches his attention, and he plays it without much thought.

"Thank you for joining us, Dr. Parker," the host is a pretty blonde that looks like the cheerleader type, all bright smiles and enthusiasm. They shake hands, and Dr. Parker offers a small smile, looking nervously away from the camera and at the host as if making an effort to keep her attention where it needs to be.

"Just Mary is fine," She tells the host. Dr. Parker has short brown hair, it's straight and shoulder-length with bangs and pairs well enough with her glasses. The whole thing looks professional even while her sweater nudges the look into the nerdy territory. "Thank you for having me, Trish."

"Definitely our pleasure," the host assures with a friendly smile, "After all, we're all eager to hear about the new Cyberlife line. YK, is it? Do the letters mean something?"

There's some scattered laughter, making it seem like that's not the first time the answer has been asked.

"The YK line, yes," The scientist seems more relaxed, as if the subject makes her situation more pleasant, and even risks a wink toward the camera. "It's a very personal project to me, as some have speculated."

"Would you mind telling us about it?" The host sounds a little more respectful, in reaction to Dr. Parker's change of tone.

"I've seen it mentioned around already, but… I lost my son, a couple of years ago." The scientist reveals, "as well as my husband. Plane crash," she adds after a pause, "I tried to move on, but losing them both at the same time… it broke something in me, I think."

There's a small moment of silence during which Trish grabs hold of Dr. Parker's hand for a short time in silent support.

"I wanted my baby boy back," she continues, "I had just been promoted, there's a lot of freedom to experiment at R&D, and I guess seeing all of the behavioral tests with androids made me think of a way I could still have my little boy with me, even though he was gone. It took- god, way too long, but I finally managed to pitch my idea to my superiors and actually head the project forward." A smile breaks through her somber facade, "Watching my baby come to life was the second most rewarding experience of my life."

"May I ask what was the first?" The host teases, breaking some of the tension in the room.

"Peter's birth, of course," The scientist chuckles, wiping away a stray tear. "The YK line is my pride and joy, because I know they're going to help a lot of people like my Peter's helped me put some of my broken pieces back together again."

"Thank you, Mary, for sharing that with us," the host tells her in a sympathetic tone. "Now, I'm sure we're all wondering-

Tony closes the video, something between sympathy and disapproval coursing through him at the thought of just- building a robot to replace a dead child. He knows he's got no room to talk, his coping mechanisms are shit, and his AI is literally named after the one decent parental figure he's ever had in life, but it's not the same. JARVIS isn't Edwin Jarvis, he doesn't feel like the caring yet strict butler who put him to bed early but caved into reading him stories to sleep, but more like what he would imagine a nagging older son to be like, always sassing him and disapproving of his more self-destructive habits. It's a homage, in the way some people name their kids after their parents, not an attempt at bringing the dead back to life, and somehow that feels like an important distinction to make.

I miss him, he realizes, the feeling suddenly thick enough to become lodged inside his throat as if attempting to suffocate him. He could, if given the necessary equipment and time, probably rewrite every single line of code responsible for JARVIS' continued existence. That doesn't mean it would be his JARVIS, and he'd rather deal without him than try to replace him.

A sudden beeping noise nearly has him jumping, a reminder of his plans for the night, and he closes all YK-related tabs on his phone before mentally running through the plan one final time. Not that he doubted himself, he's done this over a dozen times so far, but one can never be too careful when risking jail time. Tony puts on a face mask and dons a black hoodie – finally looking the part for the criminal acts he's about to commit – and climbs down the stairs two steps at a time without sparing a single glance toward the front desk. It's a bit of a walk toward the spot where he plans to call for a cab – no need to make it easy for someone to trace his path back to the hotel – so he shoves his hands into the pockets of the hoodie and starts walking.

He's only two streets away from that night's taxi spot when a loud noise from the alleyway he'd just walked past has him stopping in his tracks and retracing his steps back toward it like a fool who's never watched a single horror movie in his life. Thankfully what meets him at the entrance of the alley isn't a jumpscare, but two men dragging an android between them and the sound of a car – not electric by the sound of it – approaching at high speed.

"The fuck you lookin' at?" One of the men snaps in his direction and Tony has the sense to take a step back.

"Nothing," he replies with a frown that only deepens when the other man's hand reaches inside his jacket, "just walking."

"Keep walking then," the one with the hand inside his jacket suggests, though it's clearly an order.

"That your android?" He blurts out just as the approaching car stops right by them.

The android dangles between the two men like a puppet and may have looked asleep if they were breathing, but the lack of movement in their abdomen just made them look dead. Androids usually breathe as a cooling mechanism, which is unnecessary in stasis and makes it difficult to tell a 'sleeping' android from a deactivated one, especially when the android's hair is covering the LED.

"Obviously," the first man replies, pulling the other toward the car.

"Is there a problem?" The third voice belongs to the driver, a large woman with half a shaved head of dirty blond hair and a nasty-looking scar from her lip to the side of her neck.

"Not sure," the man with the hand on his jacket replies before watching the other shove the android into the back of the car and turning back toward Tony, "We gonna have a problem?"

He glances toward the man's hand, the back of the car, and the woman before shrugging slightly, "Nah, I'm good," he tells them, turning back around and counting his breaths as he just keeps walking.

It's not dead, he tells himself.

I couldn't have done anything, he insists, trying to convince his traitorous mind.

There was nothing he could do about it, even if the android wasn't theirs. They might have been armed – the hand never left the jacket but it could have been holding a gun – and they would probably have escaped anyway. The worst they'd get hit with was probably a larceny charge, and the last thing Tony needed was to get involved with the police while his main source of income was hacking ATMs and he technically still didn't exist.

All those reassurances don't stop him from replaying the scene in his mind all through the night.


Tony better get used to it :)

BTW my FFnet readers, there's a Pinterest board with the cast for this fic which I update as the characters appear. The link is, unfortunately, only available on the AO3 version of this story. Just thought I'd mention it.

See ya next chapter!