"You're an egoist, Alex Keller," he mutters irritated to himself, fastening his pace, almost running, ignoring cold heavy water drops landing on his head.

How long did he knew her? Five years? Or seven? How long does he have this hopeless crush? Five years? Or... Yes, he was done for from day one. She had this certain warmth surrounding her, a serenity that contrasted sharply with the intensity of Alex's work. The world could descend deeper into a chaos, but she remained a constant in his life, a pillar of support, he selfishly was afraid to lose. So Alex Keller, the devoid of fear Echo 3-1, kept his mouth shut, just holding on to her, even as a friend only.

"A coward!" His insults are spilled through gritted teeth. Alex was ready to risk his life again and again, but didn't have the courage to confess his feelings. The stakes seemed too high, his chances - almost non-existent. Why would ever decide, he was the right guy for her after all?

He was almost never there, when something bad happened to her. Alex didn't hold her, when she had to put down her old dog - he was on the other part of globe, fighting. He didn't distract her with a movie night and snacks, when she had to wait for a result of a quite serious medical test - he was sleeping in a transport between two missions. He wasn't even there to cheer her up, after her project, she worked on so hard, got rejected - he has just taken the car to a service station and was walking out of it on his two. She didn't specify in the first place, when would the presentation take place, but Alex feels terrible for not asking her every week, every day, if necessary, when is the D-day for her project. And because of that, he found out the bad news per phone call.

She sounded exhausted. She was never a whiny type, but this time Alex heard tears in her voice. Too much effort was put into this work, too many sleepless nights. It broke his heart to hear her like that, and he panicked.

"...Useless dumbfuck." He stops for a moment, replaying their call in his mind.

For some reason he decided, he needs to make her laugh at any cost. Maybe it was the pain in how her 'hey, can you please talk to me for a few minutes?' sounded. But Alex was lost. At first, he tried his stupid jokes. As many as he could remember. When it didn't help - he switched to imaginary scenarios.

"Hey, you know, what would be funny? If you brought a soldier on your presentation! So that every time, your clients interrupted you or paid more attention to a view outside their windows - the soldier would harshly snap at them. 'Following every single letter of this debriefing could save your life, private!' or something like that..." Alex doesn't really control the words leaving his mouth as long as they make her laugh. And he actually succeeds, because in a few moments she starts to chuckle. So he goes on, telling her, how would her day would go, if she was followed by a military guy in a full gear and a death stare ready for anyone, who is about to cross her path.

"He would scare others off, you know?"

"With his glare or with his guns?"

"With his bizarre hairstyle. You know how your hair start looking after a week of constant sandstorms?"

Her laughter is a light, tinkling melody to his ears, reminiscent of wind chimes on a breezy day - light and refreshing. In reality, its the only thing on his mind every time, he has to endure through another sandstorm on deployment.

"... and at the end of the day he would escort you home and salute you."

"Wait, and a payment? I wonder, how much would it cost to hire such a guy for the day."

"Payment? Don't turn a beautiful act of an altruism into some banal deal! Dunno, maybe a forehead kiss?"

For the next ten minutes they discuss military payment strategies, barely containing laughter. When they say goodbye, a random phrase escapes his lips.

"Love you so much."

She laughs once again. Something deep inside Alex shrinks. He doesn't even hear her saying 'bye' - every other voice around him get silenced by a sinister noise - a symphony of shattered hopes and distant echoes.

He's an egoist to keep her in the dark, not shoving her his true feelings for ages. A coward, who could never open his mouth, even when the moment was right. A fool, who just blurted this confession out of nowhere in the middle of a joke. She didn't understand, he meant it, and Alex can't blame her honestly.

And now he runs to her place like a dog, running after a car carrying away his favorite person. He is desperate to the point, that he can't even start thinking, what would he tell her, once she opens the door.

So when he sees her tired, yet surprised face, his first phrase comes out as awkward as the confession itself.

"You weren't supposed to laugh."

She looks at him startled and confused for a few painfully long moments. As Alex understands, how puzzling that sounded without the whole context from his mind, he runs his hand through his wet hair and shakes his head.

"Alex? You're ok? I-I wasn't expecting you!" She drags him in her house and takes off his wet jacket, so calmly, as if he hasn't just said some complete nonsense.

And at that moment Alex understands: for two long he stayed in his very own trail of thoughts, his own context. She definitely deserved to know more about what was going on in his head. He no longer had the right to keep everything quiet for years and then dump such strange conversations on her.

So he touches her shoulder softly.

"Hey, don't bother hanging up my jacket. I might need it in a moment, if I sre-"

"Alex, you're scaring me! What is happening, why are like this?" A worry in her voice stings him with guilt. But he proceeds, ignoring raindrops still rolling down his face and under the collar.

"I know, we were playing around on the phone today. And I was incredibly happy to cheer you up. But the last thing I told you... You weren't supposed to laugh. Because I meant it. And before you slap my face for being such a mess - I know, it sounded as a part of a joke. But it wasn't. It wasn't for the last I-don't-even-know-how-many years. And if you give me a chance - I am ready to confess it properly. But if there's no need - I'd better just take my jacket and see myself out."

As he fell silent, the world around them seemed still. His eyes, always so attentive and kind, when she was around, looked deeply worried. Alex felt vulnerable, everything in him screamed to keep her by his side at any cost, to turn this all into yet another joke, so that she calms down and stays his friend at least. But Alex didn't let these feeling get better of him. He waited patiently and obediently, not daring even to breathe in.

She turned away, and hung his jacket on a hanger.

Alex has the opposite of a hair-trigger or short fuse.  Although he speaks his mind and tries to stand on the side of right, at least as he sees it, he does both with thought and intention.  He’s difficult to goad into acting against his principles or making a hasty decision.

Bearing his thoughtful & intentional demeanor in mind, he is sometimes reticent as he considers how to respond.  Don’t be surprised if he stares into space for a moment, holds your hands without talking, or seems lost in thought.  He would prefer not to regret his words, actions, or perhaps lack thereof.

Alex is a very tactile man.  He prefers to have physical contact with you whenever possible, even if it’s just to hold hands or touch your arm.  He doesn’t mind situations in which he can’t touch you, but it’s something that will bug him until he has an opportunity to reestablish physical contact.

He doesn’t use a lot of pet names, but will if you ask him to.  He likes to say “Hey, you” as he smiles at you, making eye contact that makes your spine sizzle.  He’s respectful of calling you the name you want to be called and doesn’t deviate from that even when he’s in a teasing mood.

On the topic of teasing, Alex is not mean-spirited.  He keeps things lighthearted.  If the person being teased doesn’t think it’s funny, then he’ll stop immediately.

He’s not fond of talking loudly at a distance.  He’ll insist on being close to you so your conversation can be at an intimate distance, regardless of what’s being said.  Even if he’s telling you what he’s picking up from the grocery store, he wants it to be a private, close exchange.

His love languages are physical touch (see above) and acts of service.  He admits to not being great at gift giving and sometimes he struggles to verbally communicate precisely how he feels about you.  He’s a sharp guy but, as mentioned previously, he puts thought and intention into everything he does and says, so he’d rather stick to his wheelhouse when it comes to making you feel loved.  He shows you how he feels, and he loves watching your reaction.  The way your eyes light up or your smile widens is all the thanks he needs.  But he’d accept a kiss, too.

"This is a crap." Another sheet of paper is getting ripped apart right before his eyes. Alex witnessed soldiers getting severe wounds, he still remembers seeing his own body changed by war forever.

But this hits harder.

You hating everything, that made you smile just yesterday, destroying hours, days even weeks of a hard work. Alex would prefer, if you took it out on him. Slap him in the face, scream, start a fight, anything! Just don't hurt, what he loves the most - yourself.

"Useless pile of shit. I just waste paint, paper, time and air!" Alex feels, as if something inside him curled up in a lump. He needs to stop this at any cost. Stop this, before you get to...

"Fucking waste of space!" He loves this work of yours with all his heart. Because to him, it screams your name. It is your voice, your eyes, your beautiful mind. And you destroy it.

Alex knows, it's better to give you space and time. This fire will eventually burn out, it will get better at some point. But he can't help it. When anybody hurts you, even if it is you yourself - his body reacts automatic. He scoops you up and drags you as far from your works, as it is possible.

"Listen to me, please! You are not happy with your works, I get it. You have every right to feel so. I just can't watch it, as you are hurting, and do nothing!" He presses his lips against your forehead, not caring for keeping 'friendly distance'. To hell all the formalities, when you feel that bad. Alex has to drag you away from this place, that only feeds your self-frustration.

"Let's go away, just leave this place for a while, please. Let me take you anywhere, where you won't think about your paintings for one evening, please! You need a break. Let me help!" He doesn't care anymore, how it looks from afar. A friend can carry a friend out of their atelier, hugging them so desperately as if their life depended on that.

He will do anything to shift your attention from the aching wound, that your workplace turned into. Alex will talk to you, whisper, beg, joke, lull. There is no point, at which he would stop, not a line, he won't cross, if he feels like it could help. He will reveal the most sacred secrets, he will surrender, confess. He will forget, how to breathe, sink on his knees before you. Alex will lose the sight of everything around. He will kiss your palms, that brought so much beauty to this world. Again and again, he will worship every finger, that dances around your canvas.

He won't fall asleep this night, not until he's sure, you're finally in peace.

Series Summary: Set in the world of Blade Runner (1982, Ridley Scott), less than a year after Eldon Tyrell's demise and a year before Tyrell Corp's collapse. Human police officer and former soldier Alex Keller volunteers for an experimental program through Krieger-Meridian Automata. Los Angeles is being torn apart by corruption and civil insurrection. When replicant!Alex awakens in a lab at KMA, the first person he sees is the engineer he would soon come to know more closely than he ever imagined.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, impolite/suggestive language, possible triggers for claustrophobia, incarceration, physical/emotional isolation, brief use of restraints, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, implied male masturbation, angst, intense emotions, abduction, implied violence, emotional ambivalence, moral ambiguity

Previous A/N:  Canon elements used from Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, some details are from Philip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” (the book upon which Blade Runner is loosely based).  I’ve ignored material introduced in Blade Runner 2049 since it comes 30 years later, and I make the rules.  Additionally, any material introduced through graphic novels and other media have been mostly ignored.

*= Suggestive content ** = 18+ MDNI content *** = Filthy smut, turn back while you still can

MASTERLIST (all @deadbranch content)

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

I recommend at least skimming the glossary before reading this series. Most terms can be understood via context clues, but this is a helpful reference.

HEADCANONS FOR THE TWO ALEXES: SFW & NSFW

I suggest waiting to read these until after reading PART 003 below, as these may contain spoilers of a sort.

PART 001

Alex wakes up in a research facility not realizing he is a synthetic entity, a replicant.  The engineer who greets him upon waking is more to him than he realizes. 

PART 002*

Alex Prime discovers an unpleasant truth.  Replicant Alex pushes the boundaries with reader.

PART 003***

Reader and Alex escape Research Tower One for the evening and spend some quality time alone.

PART 004*

Alex Prime gets settled with a blade runner squad in London.  Reader has a decision to make before the sun rises.

PART 005**

Reader and Alex-03 reluctantly return to the Tower.  Alex Prime settles in at London’s 141st Precinct and is reunited with someone who’s become important to him.

PART 006**

Alex Prime has concerns about the team’s newest assignment.  Reality is catching up to Alex-03 when he acknowledges that, very soon, he may never see Reader again.

PART 007

Things get more complicated for both Prime & 03, and for you.  Everything and everyone are about to converge at once.

PART 008*

You and Alex go out for one more night on the town before tomorrow’s plan to prevent him from permanently being marked as a replicant.  Everything changes quickly.

PART 009

The past is simple only in retrospect.

PART 010

You’re compelled to make a deal.  Everything that matters to you is on the line.

PART 011

You hold up your end of the deal and Alex Prime holds up his.  This is a hell of a time for the world to end.

Alex doesn’t remember waking up.  He doesn’t recall falling asleep.

He blinks slowly and tries to move his extremities, fingers, toes, and his jaw.

“Good morning, Alex,” a crisp female voice echoes through the room from behind him.  As he turns to look at her, he realizes his wrists are shackled to the chair beneath him, as are his ankles.

The unknown woman’s face registers a mild look of regret as her eyes dart downward toward Alex’s restraints and then back to his face.  “The restraints are necessary but are hopefully temporary.  I won’t bother asking if you’re comfortable, but are you hungry?”

Alex blinks again, his mind stuttering as he attempts to evaluate his current situation, to look for opportunities to escape.  The young woman’s brow creases as she regards him carefully, clipboard in hand and a pen carefully tucked into the collar of her blouse.  “Alex?  Please respond verbally.”

His vocal cords feel dry.  “What is this place?”

You feel a twinge of guilt.

Alex’s eyes roll slightly, involuntarily, as he pulls against his restraints.

You’d spoken briefly with Alexander Keller-Prime, the designation for the human—original—Alex.

The reluctant eye contact, tendency to touch his left ear during his baseline Voight-Kampff-Meridian test, the nervous flexing of his index finger before he signed the final paperwork…all of it seems unimportant as you observe the replicant’s distress.

Alex’s third replication doesn’t have the memory of meeting you since Prime’s baseline imprint was captured prior, but you were not expecting him to feel this disoriented.

The first two iterations were critical failures.  One nonverbal, the other inexplicably violent.  Your team learned a lot from the first two.  You’re hoping to learn even more from this one, but hopefully not through post-retirement evaluation.

You jot down a note to make arrangements for a large polymer composite enclosure for the fourth iteration.  To avoid the need for restraints upon waking.

“You’re in the design laboratory at Krieger-Meridian Automata Industries.”  You drone mechanically as you pause in your writing to meet his glazed stare.

Alex’s eyes cut to the clipboard in your hand.  “What are you writing?”

That lingering guilt pulls at the edge of your psyche again.  You self-consciously place the clipboard on the basalt-topped table behind you.  As you slide your pen into the neckline of your blouse to secure it again, you notice his eyes watching your fingers, your neckline, perhaps something else?

“I was making notes...”

This version of Alex tilts his head toward you subtly as he waits for you to elaborate.

“…on how to make the next one more comfortable.”  You bite the inside of your lip after saying the words.  They sound colder and more clinical than you’d intended.  They always do.

As you'd expected, he looks confused.  You find yourself back-peddling.  Don’t tell him yet.  He needs time to adjust…

“I’ll be back.  We’ll put you in a room where you can move about freely.  Then we’ll talk about what you’d like for lunch.”

Alex recalls his chief recommending him for some program for making synthetic soldiers.  The literature was dense, but it mentioned applications to law enforcement and border patrol.

The pay sounded incredible, and all that was required was to cooperate in isolation for the better part of a year.

Piece of cake.

-

Current events had prompted LAPD to consider the unthinkable:  allow synthetic entities to wear the uniform.

Krieger-Meridian, the largest manufacturer of graded service replicants, asked chiefs of police in dozens of major cities to recommend their finest officers.  Tactically capable, well-versed in law and protocol, but also high-scoring on the newest variant of Voight-Kampff testing.

Voight-Kampff-Meridian scores subjects for emotion response, empathy, and critical hierarchical altruism under pressure.  It’s specifically designed for use on humans to determine baseline templating viability for use in replicant neuro-processing platforms.

In short, is their organic baseline function capable of handling ambiguity and complex emotions without destabilizing decision-making ability? At what point does the officer decide their own life is more important than another?  What sacrifices are acceptable for particular outcomes?

And are they lying?

-

Alex flexes his wrists and observes the red indentations gradually blur.  The pretty young woman with the pen in her collar and no name tag sits on the other side of the bars.  When the name-tagged attendants bring him a tray of food, she stands to leave. 

“No.”  Alex’s unexpected outburst prompts her eyes to widen, but she remains standing.  “Please.  I don’t want to be alone.”

She retakes her seat, a simple wooden chair set about a dozen paces away from his enclosure.  She doesn’t have her clipboard with her, but for some reason he can’t stop glancing at the pen.

Somewhat comforted, he picks up the metal fork next to his tray and takes a bite of the vaguely recognizable food in front of him.  He feels something that can only be described as a rush as the flavors interact with his tongue as he chews.

He closes his eyes.

“How does it taste?  Alex.”  You make sure to use his name, to help reinforce the concreteness of his surroundings and experiences.  Past iterations made from other baseline imprints experienced higher success rates if replicant subjects were called by the imprint’s preferred name, rather than a number or hybrid name-number designation.

Alex’s eyes open and they fix on you.  You are aware his irises are blue, having seen them briefly in your meeting with Alex Prime.  What’s more, you’ve examined each iteration replicant’s eyes in the last moments prior to scheduled initial consciousness.  You’d even been the final approver on the eyes that were selected for the Alex series.

But nothing prepared you for their current vividness, their subtle fire.  This subject is different.

“It’s delicious.  It tastes familiar, but…I don’t know what it is.”  He shifts his gaze away for a moment as he thinks, then returns to looking at you as though the answer may be written on your face.   Or perhaps on that pen that sits just above your collarbone.  You touch it subconsciously before you reply, the heat rising in your cheeks.

“It’s your favorite food, Alex.  The one you listed in your profile when you arrived.”  You smile softly.

Alex looks down at the food, swallowing thickly.  You urge, “Do you remember what you wrote?  You remember the taste, the smell.  What is it called?”

The reluctance of recall twitches at the corners of his mouth.  “Salisbury steak,” he says with shaky finality.

You smile.  “Yes.”

His eyes sparkle as he returns your smile.  He takes up his fork again and continues to eat.

Alex demonstrates his ability to read, perform calculations, and to do the basic daily tasks of hygiene.  He recounts stories from memory that Alex Prime had provided during intake.

His confidence builds as the fog in his mind clears.  Discussing his memories, preferences, and sensory perception seems to sharpen his mind, his identity.

Your assistant reminds you it’s time for him to be marked.  To ensure compliance with federal law, Alex must be tattooed in one of the distinct approved patterns to ensure visual identification as a replicant, even at a distance.

On your order the assistant pushes the appointment to next month.  Alex hasn’t been told what he is.  You’ll tell him soon, once his psych evaluation confirms he’s ready.

His physical and tactical evaluations are exceptional.  Alex’s outset skills almost precisely align in all categories with his baseline, with the potential to exceed them with proper training.  Physical endurance, stamina, lung capacity, resistance to chemical and biological agents, and tolerance to extreme heat, cold, thin air…all of the advantages of the obsolete nexus-6 series…

He has them all.

Alex asks you if he’ll get to meet any of the replicants made from his baseline imprint.  You tell him that it’s against policy and could jeopardize the outcome of the given replicant.  He nods, his slightly downcast blue eyes revealing his disappointment.

You excuse yourself.  While sitting in the bathroom you hold your head in your hands.  There’s no way to know how he will react to the news.  But he needs to be told.

Even months later, you still have nightmares about the first two iterations.  Neither of them got past their first week.  This Alex first opened his eyes 37 days ago.

“What happened to me, Doctor?”  Alex has taken to calling you Doctor.  He noticed early on that you’re the only person who doesn’t wear a name tag.  He made the correct assumption that you are indeed some kind of doctor.  An engineer, scientist, something like that.

You peer at Alex closely.  “How do you mean?”

Alex speaks carefully, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“When I came here, I seemed to be in bad shape.  And you…rehabilitated me.”  He thinks as he looks at his hands, flexes his fingers, and takes a deep breath.  “Was it a head injury?”

You can tell by his tone that he doesn’t know what to believe.  He’s fishing.  He’s trying to keep the conversation open, to get some answers.

He approaches you slowly—so slowly that you don’t realize he’s within the range deemed dangerous by the program.  It’s the same range parameter you set yourself before the first iteration subject opened his blue eyes.

Your attention snaps awake like a firecracker when you feel his fingers sliding up your elbows, his hands encircling your upper arms.  Three guards rush across the room to intervene, but you resoundingly order them to halt.

He holds both your arms gently, and you feel the warmth of him, his eyes bore through yours with a silent intensity you’ve never experienced.

This is intentional.  He suspects the truth and he’s reminding you that he’s alive…and deserves an answer.  His fingers squeeze gently, his eyes pleading with you.  You find yourself wanting to wrap your arms around him, to comfort him.  You push the urge deep into your chest to let it suffocate, to die.

Your voice sounds distant, even to your own ears.

“Alex…” You take a deep breath.

As a moment passes, Alex’s brows pull together in anticipation of another refusal of information.

“…I have something to show you.”

Almost 5500 miles away, Krieger-Meridian Automata’s London facility is quiet for the night.  It’s a quarter to midnight and the nightingale in Dr. Meridian’s office down the hall has stopped singing.  Dr. Meridian has a lot of money, power, both, to have a living bird.  Its voice is beautiful.

Over the last several months, Alex has followed the same routine.  He falls asleep after the nightingale falls silent each night.

Strange that a living thing functions like clockwork, but he’s grateful for it.

He hadn’t known what to expect from the program.  For six months of relative isolation, study, and testing, he was offered the equivalent of five years’ wages.  No contact with the outside world, just with KMA personnel and the resident AI.

Three months in, he’s relieved to know he’s halfway done.

He rolls over and smiles at the woman next to him, turned away in slumber.

-

Thankfully he’s been permitted to keep a holo-companion.  He’s never had one before and feels silly when she first introduces herself.

Alex asks his liaison if he could change her appearance, personality, maybe even her knowledge base.  The liaison gives him access to the library to choose one for himself.  He has permission to talk to any and all holos available in the database.

As a former soldier and now police officer, he’s curious about topics that have nothing to do with the miliary or law enforcement.  He decides to treat the next six months as an opportunity, not just to make money, but to expand his horizons.

He interacts with holographic facsimiles of different historical figures, celebrities, artists, and scientists.  He quite enjoys discourse with several, but for the most part he just asks a few questions and lets the holos talk until they run out of information.

One evening as he’s allowing the feed to scroll through the scientific holos he runs across a familiar face.  More specifically, he recognizes her voice immediately, his back turned as he prepares himself for bed.

Alex turns and is staring at the holographic facsimile of the beautiful doctor who finalized his intake paperwork in Los Angeles.  He can’t remember her name, so he interrupts the holo to ask.  He watches the holo fluster for a moment before replying.  He’s unsure if that’s normal.

Out of propriety and respect for her background, position, and hard work, he calls her Doctor.  The holo smiles.

Intrigued, Alex takes a seat closer to the holo projection column.

Perhaps the next six months won’t be so lonely.

-

The Doctor rolls over in the darkness, her face peaceful and beautiful.

They’ve never known each other’s touch since holo projections are incapable of physical contact, but he’s comforted by her presence.  She knows he sleeps better at night when her sleeping form is the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes and her smiling face his first sight when he wakes.

Alex is grateful.

Her eyes flutter open after he watches her for more than a minute.  “Can’t sleep?”  Her voice soothes something in him he didn’t know was there.  A wound that bled in secret for years that perhaps can mend now that it’s in the open to be cleaned and tended to.

He whispers, “No.  But I will.  Just don’t go anywhere.”  He smiles and reaches toward her, imagining what it would feel like to touch her hand, to run his fingers over her skin.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alex.”

He knows this will end.  He can’t keep her.  And she’s not real.

None of this is real.

Not…real.

Part 002

@brewed-pangolin

@twoshields

@argella1300

@smoggyfogbottom

@0skyreaper0

@gcing-back-to-505

@sofasoap

@delicatemortal

@tapioca-marzipan

@embers-of-alluring

@captainpriceslover

[London 141st Precinct]

“The beard and the mustache look good on ya, mate.”

“You sure it’s allowed?  They don’t allow it in LA.”

Gaz tilts his head at Alex.  “Have you seen our chief?”

Alex opens his mouth to reply but shuts it.  He instead crosses his arms over his chest, an eyebrow quirking upward as he waits in line at the armory.

Without turning, he asks the burning question that popped back into his head this morning.  “Gaz.  What was the Piccadilly incident?”

It was Gaz’s turn to open his mouth to reply but then shut it in resignation.  Alex does him the courtesy of motioning that it’s fine, a conversation for another day.  Perhaps over a pint.

SGT Chelsea looks like they’ve seen more exciting days as they hold out the scanner for Alex’s arm.  The display directs Chelsea to which case to pull from the back.

As they slide it across the passthrough, Alex thanks them as he flips open the carbon fiber case to inspect his assigned weapon.  Flipping the case shut again and pocketing his ammunition, he follows Gaz to the range.

[Los Angeles]

Alex kisses the back of your neck as you attempt to get dressed.  You’d given him your answer and he took it well.  As though he has a choice.

Your body, heart, and mind are at war.

Your body wants to return to bed and have a fourth round of love making.  You’re sore from your previous activities, but you want this like you’ve never wanted anything else.

Your heart wants to tell him the words that will break him and make him turn away.  They’re the words he needs to hear so that he’ll walk out, disappear into the crowd, perhaps escape the oppressive fate of legalized slavery by fleeing into the exclusion zones to the east.

Your mind says you’ve made some bad decisions—that you’ve jeopardized the program, the company, everything…by letting your emotions and physical desires get involved.

-

When Alex asks you to run away with him you very nearly say yes.  You instead reply, “Not yet.”  Alex is silent for a moment before he nods, his eyes downcast toward your mouth.  His lips part in one final bid for your agreement.

“Please…”

You can see the torment in him.  As you hold each other in silence, you list off the preparations in your mind, all the critical pieces you’ve been collecting since the beginning to stop KMA’s operations.  They’re not ready.

Your eyes close as Alex’s thumb caresses the side of your neck as he kisses you.  He lays you back against the pillows and parts your thighs with tentative fingers that become more insistent as he senses the hunger in you.

He kisses away your tears as you bury your emotions in each other.  Each thrust feels like an exchange of power, of transmuted emotional pain.

It feels incredible.

You enjoy each other as though it may be the last time.

You have the means to make this right.  The determination you need to follow through is hidden in little moments shared between you and Alex when you can’t remember being separate beings.  Your fate is tied to his, and his yours.

-

Alex lets go of you when you push at his hands.  He lets you finish dressing as he bends to pick up his trousers.  He watches you from across the room, the hint of a smile on his lips.  He comments on your glowing skin and that you will be all he thinks about for the rest of his time in the Tower.  Maybe longer.

He’s reminding you that he’ll be awaiting your decision despite his compliance.  Alex is at your mercy, and it breaks your heart.

A glance at the bracelet tells you it’s almost time.  If you take the over-rail, you’ll arrive at Tower One before the guards resume their rounds.

As the gloom and glow of the city speeds past the window in front of them, Alex holds the Doctor’s hands in his as they share a bench on the over-rail.

“Prime has sleeve tattoos on both arms.”  Her words bludgeon Alex’s denial of their circumstances, the sound dampening materials inside the over-rail car punctuating the pointedness of her observation.

Alex reaches up to hold her head against his shoulder as he attempts to nestle against her for the short trip to Tower Station.  He doesn’t know if he’ll be allowed to touch her again after their return to reality and he wants to make the most of this.  He closes his eyes as he squeezes her hand.

“He does.”  Alex confirms out loud as he braces himself internally.

“When you woke up…the first time…you were not wearing a long-sleeved shirt.  I’m sorry.  I should have learned that from Iteration 02.  I bet that was how he knew too soon and then cascaded.”

“Yeah.”  Alex rubs her neck gently as she returns the hand-squeeze.

“I gathered that you were different…from the very beginning.”  She looks up at Alex, into the bright blue of his eyes.  “If you knew you were a replicant in the first two hours of life, but your neural platform didn’t cascade that means baseline 03 was the most stable of the imprints…”

Alex bends to kiss her.  She’s warm, kind, brilliant, beautiful…and they’re less than three minutes from Tower Station.  Always running out of time.

“I didn’t tell you that I knew…because I wanted to see how long you would keep the information from me,” Alex says as he caresses her chin between his thumb and curled index finger.  To soothe the guilty look in her eyes, he kisses her again before continuing.  “I know your heart.  You didn’t do it out of malice.  But...for the next two minutes I just want to kiss you.  Please.”

They continue to embrace until the over-rail comes to a halt.  They almost miss the sliding doors at Tower Station, as reluctant as they are to let go of each other.

Sunlight breaks above the pollution line as they sneak through the east entrance.

Alex relishes the warmth at his back as he tries not to consider when he’ll see the sun again.

The federal tattoo artist is scheduled for Monday morning.  It’s Saturday.

Alex seems to be resigned to his fate, that he will have the tattoos by end of day Monday.  Why wouldn’t he be?

You have a card to play, but sooner than you’d planned.  You swear silently and take a deep breath.  At the top of your vision, you see Alex react.  He’s looking at you, his face creased with concern.

Two panes of security glass and about fifty yards separate you, but he’s become especially attuned to your movements, facial expressions, and, when given the lack of security glass, your voice and your scent.

You open the mic to ask Alex’s attendant to conclude the current assessment and retest his reaction times to sensory stimuli.

By his expression you can tell Alex hears your instructions to the attendant despite the audio feed’s discreet placement in the attendant’s ear.

To make sure you’re not imagining it, you tell the attendant to take Alex to isolation room four after sensory-reaction testing.

Alex’s eyes meet yours through the glass, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.  He heard you.  The room with neither ears nor eyes.

The blind spot.

When you enter ISO-4, Alex is waiting in the same chair in which he first opened his eyes.

No shackles bind his wrists and ankles, but he seems bound all the same by the emotional tethers that have developed as a result of his captivity.  You try not to consider your role in inculcating his passive acceptance of his circumstance.

As the door latches behind you, he stands and appears to be awaiting your permission to approach.  You extend your right hand toward him, your face feeling tight with apprehension, and he all but lunges at you.

His blue gaze scalds you with its brilliance as he studies your face before kissing you as though you’ve not seen each other in half a lifetime, as though you hadn’t made love five hours ago.

Your body relaxes against Alex as he breathes new life into you, his mouth reminding you how touch-starved you’ve been.

“I was afraid you’d deny what happened.  That you’d put distance between us.  I…don’t want to lose you.”  He lowers his voice as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

You soothe him by meeting his desperate affection with fevered kisses of your own.

“I could never…I will get us out of here.  But we can’t leave yet.  Soon.  You’ll be free.  We will be free.”

Tears course down his cheeks as he laughs softly into your kisses.  You taste the sea as he picks you up by the backs of your thighs and sets you down on the basalt-topped table.  Alex stands between your legs as you wrap them around him.

Alex’s fingers slide up the outside of your thighs and under your skirt, the same skirt you put on quickly this morning after sneaking back into the Tower.

Having left Alex in his room—his cell—was the hardest thing you’ve done.  In that moment, you’d questioned whether returning to the Tower was a mistake.

Perhaps you should have fled when Alex asked you to.  You could be two hours past the wasteland checkpoints by now, well into the Mojave Exclusion Zone.  The border guards only scan chips when entering the infrastructure zones, not when exiting.

Krieger-Meridian Automata must be stopped.

He holds your hip with his left hand, the fingers of his right crossing over your left thigh and gently pushing at the edges of your panties between your thighs.  You gasp, “Please…”

Alex’s fingers slip between the crotch of your panties and your skin. The intrusion of his fingers makes you grab at his waistband.  The muscles beneath the fabric flex as he bends to tease you.  Your mouth drops open as your thighs attempt to spread wider of their own accord.

He whispers against your neck that he needs you.  You gasp as he teases you, still sore from this morning and last night.

You promise to meet him tonight in his room.

[London 141st Precinct]

Dr. Meridian sent a courier this evening to drop off some equipment and assessment modules for gathering additional data for triple prime finalization.  A holo-column was included among the equipment.

“You know I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Alex.”  The Doctor’s holo looks at him as though she’s standing in front of him.  There’s depth to her facsimile even if he can see the details of the wall through her image.  Her eyes seem alive, as though there’s fire, passion, emotions in them.

Alex’s brain knows better, but his heart sees what it wants to see.

“Why did you shut me down?  And where are we now?”  The doctor doesn’t sound upset.  Her holo-column allows the appearance of her walking about the room and gives the impression that she’s taking note of her surroundings.

He pushes this knowledge into the back of his mind and tries to enjoy the moment.  Alex felt so very lonely without her.  The idea of living in a fantasy is more appealing than enduring bleak reality alone.

“I was about to move from the KMA compound to the 141st Precinct office. You were…shut down for transport.”  Alex swallows thickly.  It’s partially true, but it wasn’t the reason for him disconnecting her column from the network.

“What would you like to talk about, Alex?”  Her body moves in a cyclical pattern that loops every few minutes depending on whether she’s standing, sitting, or laying down.  Unless engaged in a specific activity she’s meant to look like she’s still moving—fidgeting—so she’ll seem more lifelike.  Alex assumes the other holos do the same thing, but he doesn’t recall.  Doesn’t care.

“I’m getting ready for bed…can I tell you about my day?”

“I’d love that.  After, would you like me to tell you about platform cognitive cascade and how imprint dichotomy affects baseline stability?”  She smiles as she commences the animation cycle for preparing for bed.  She glances back at him for his response.

“Absolutely you may.”  His heart swells as he watches her.

By the time Alex is ready for sleep, so is she.

As she lies on the bed next to Alex she asks if he’d like her to remove her clothes.  After some thought, Alex says yes.

Her holo disrobes and lays atop the coverlet, as facsimiles cannot use blankets or other tangibles.

Alex holds out his hand, imagining that he can feel her hip, the dip of her waist, then the slope of her ribcage.

When he pleasured himself at the KMA compound he would always turn off the holo-column.

Tonight, he decides to leave it on.

PART 006

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