#bleedingviolet rp

(Requsted from this post)

Another holiday season, another reason to be reminded of everything she'd lost and to mark how long it'd been since she last celebrated it with her family. Harper didn't want to ruin everyone else's fun, but it didn't mean she was going to participate in the festivities either. She probably wouldn't have even gone to the DPD's holiday party, but she'd swapped shifts with someone who didn't want to work during it. So she was stuck here, being the workaholic Scrooge.

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@wearejericho​ asked:  “  no.  don’t move.  you need to stay still.  ” (for blue from eli!)

Despite the other’s sound advice, Blue tried to scurry away. But he didn’t get far, his back hitting the brick wall behind him. Trapped. He was cornered. “Pl-please...don’t hurt me,” he begged, his shaky voice full of static. The AP700 was a mess of exposed wires, courtesy of Zlatko’s experiments; he’d managed to piece himself together, just enough to function--just to survive because he didn’t really know how to live. He knew he wanted to live, but that was all.

Since waking up, Blue had aimlessly been wandering the streets of Detroit, hiding from just about everyone he’d come across. Humans liked to hurt: he’d learned that from Zlatko. And none of his fellow androids had ever helped him. He had been forgotten, he had no where to go, and he was too afraid of everything to seek help.

A group of humans found him hiding in an alley and apparently decided to take out their frustrations. He didn’t fight back, didn’t even think to. Being subjected to pain for another’s amusement? At least that was something he knew how to do. Thanks to Zlatko’s modifications, his sensors simulated pain with every strike. The shutdown timer didn’t even alarm him anymore. He’d seen it so many times. And the pool of thirium that began to grow around him? A sorely familiar sight.

The detective makes her way inside the department, absolutely drenched by the relentless storm raging outside, carelessly leaving a trail of water dripping behind her. 

She doesn't seem to mind her current state at all, instead focused on the bundle of fur she held underneath her coat. It was a tiny, grey and white kitten, equally soaked by the rain despite Harper’s best attempts at keeping it dry.

The poor thing had been cowering in an alley nearby. Ideally, she would’ve taken it straight home, but she was still on-the-clock.

@unstable-androids said: “I feel like I can barely breathe.” [[ Colin, unstable-androids

With slightly more clearance than average police model androids, the HR900 was often sent to collect important documents that could not be sent securely via electronic means. Typically, this meant visiting the courthouse for warrant requests and the like, but on occasion, she ran errands for the homicide department--which involved visits to the nearby medical examiner’s office. 

Harper had briefly interacted with the android registered as Colin, but still trapped by her coding, she kept their conversations work-related. While nearly every android now lived freely as deviants, the HR900 had yet to ‘awaken,’ as it were. That’s not to say she doesn’t sympathize with her people on at least some level, but to her, emotions were irrational unless simulated to accomplish her work.

Harper could recognize the look of a Cyberlife representative from a mile away--and so when one stepped into the precinct, all work she was doing at her desk immediately halted. The detective’s blood ran cold. Her first thought is that they must be here for her. Well, if they wanted her back, it would be kicking and screaming. She’d sooner die than ever take a willing step back into Cyberlife Tower.

Her grey eyes observed the woman suspiciously, seething with silent anger, but she couldn't afford to make an unnecessary scene. Perhaps it’s nothing, just some diplomatic call from Cyberlife to the Captain, to check on the police model androids.

But the representative stopped short of Fowler’s office and panic tore into her chest as she heard what the woman had to say. She was certain they were referring to her—until the mention of an RK600 and all the attention was turned to Gavin. It didn’t take long for Harper to put two-and-two together. So, she wasn’t the only member of the DPD who’d been fucked over by Cyberlife.

Before she even registered it, Harper had stood from her desk with such force, it sent her office chair flying back on its wheels. Her heels clicked resoundedly on the hard station flooring as she approached the representative. The woman looked like she might say something pretentious and cleverly degrading, but before she could, Harper had landed a solid blow to her jaw. Her knuckles instantly burned, but God it was worth it to see that smug look replaced with fear.

@shotdownbutstillalive​ said: "Detective are you alright? You have been behaving differently the past few days"

Some weeks were simply better than others and it seemed Harper has virtually no control over when her trauma would decide to come crashing down upon her all over again. The detective had expertly crafted a mask, suppressing her symptoms behind it, but no amount of acting could hide the dark circles peeking through her makeup. Nor could she avoid the ever-worsening exhaustion as the days went by without proper sleep. Lately, she’d go home and pass out, only to wake up screaming from haunting nightmares. Her usual, pressed and neat appearance was likewise deteriorating. Her clothing gradually grew less formal and her hair more unruly. She’d worn the same, oversized jacket for nearly a week now—it was a security blanket of sorts.

It felt as though she were drowning behind closed doors, only just managing to keep it together at work. 

Admittedly, she was also on-edge, both the nightmares and excessive caffeine fueling her hyper-vigilance. So, she nearly jumps out of her chair, startled, as the android speaks up. Harper deftly sits on her shaking hands, effectively hiding them away. 

Harper had been working undercover, trying to track down the biggest players in a rapidly-growing ring of Red Ice dealers when she’d been jumped. It would seem someone tipped off that there was a cop hanging about--she held her own for the most part, but they had managed to disarm her initially and that left her at a grave disadvantage.

The detective had managed to call an auto-cab, ruefully putting in the coordinates to Kamski’s residence. Typically, Harper would take these injuries home, but this was far too severe. She couldn’t handle this alone and quite frankly, she’d rather die than turn to Cyberlife. She clutches tightly to the wound on her shoulder, where one of them had gotten in a jab with a knife--unfortunately, the thirium flowed through her fingers, showing no sign of stopping. It wasn’t the only concern; both thirium and blood poured from her nose, the two vital liquids turning a dark violet where they met.