#human!sixty

Especially now that he was right on the other side of your office door. New Jericho had been allocated two city blocks, at least for the time being, and the headquarters was in a community center that had been abandoned previously. There were still renovations going on as androids worked tirelessly to make the building safe and inviting, but even new construction couldn’t deter the lieutenant.

“Come in,” you announced when you’d let enough time pass from slightly late to just plain rude. But when the human entered, wearing his cleanly pressed black suit, slicked back hair, and shiny shoes, you wanted to kick him right back out of the room. Even his stupid tie was immaculately placed, the knot perfectly secured.

“Have a seat.”

You didn’t bother with a greeting, or small talk, or rising from your own chair. You wanted it to be over and done with so you wouldn’t have to see his face for another week, if you were lucky.

The human paused, his brows furrowing, but he took one of the two chairs as requested.

“What do you have for me?”

The lieutenant glanced down at your hand, plastic white as its connected to the keyboard. A much more efficient exchange of information than having a human physically come down to your office to harass you. There were dozens of projects to oversee, requisition forms to approve, and new problems popping up every single day.

You hadn’t expected the end of a revolution to involve so much paperwork.

“Nothing.”

You blinked. Rewound the last two seconds of your memory and verified your audio processors hadn’t glitched.

You finally pulled your attention away from the monitor and onto the human.

“Nothing?”

“That’s right.”

You ended your connection to the computer, fully turning to face him. He put up his hands in a placating gesture.

You were not placated.

“There’s nothing new to report. We’re still on schedule to support all of your initiatives on the upcoming ballot, as well as the emergency measures for the displacement of androids. The treasury has approved or almost approved all of the android special projects. There’s really nothing to report.”

“Then why are you in my office wasting my time?”

His mouth pulled into a frown, the skin around his nose crinkling. There it was, the famed Colin Anderson anger.

“That is why I am here.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned back in the chair, his hands folded across his chest.

“You despise me.”

You didn’t dispute it. He clenched his jaw but wasn’t dissuaded by your lack of reaction.

“Every moment you spend with me, you seem to hate it down to your core coding. I have done nothing but try to help your cause, but—”

He jumped, startled by you slamming your hands against the desk as you rose to your feet.

“My cause. That’s exactly right. This is my cause, not yours.”

His arms loosened from in front of his chest, his brows folded into a confused line.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”

Anderson stiffened in the chair, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

“I did know that, actually, but I still don’t know what I did to you—”

He snapped his mouth shut when you rounded the desk, coming straight at him. The chair is one of those cheap ones you’d find it any waiting room, not much more than four legs, a back, and a thin cushion.

You kicked his feet apart, placed your boot against the edge of the chair between his spread knees, and shoved.

Just before he could fall backward, you grabbed him by the base of his tie, yanked him forward, and forced him to lean in to avoid crushing his crotch against the bottom of your boot.

“It’s not what you did to me,” you seethed into his upturned face. “It’s what you did to her.”

You don’t need to say the name for Anderson to know exactly who you meant. The blood draining from his face said it all.

Satisfied, you pulled the chair forward with your boot so it rested on four legs once again, returning to your desk in a clear dismissal.

He didn’t move from the spot, simply stared at you with wide eyes, and you answered it with a scowl.

“If you have nothing to report, then you have no reason to be here. I tolerate your presence because I must. That does not give you an invitation for further dialogue. Are we understood?”

He quickly wet his lips and gave a nod. Straightening his tie, he rose from the chair, doing his best to smooth down his attire so it didn’t look as if he’d been roughed up by the leader of the deviants. Honestly, you’d let him off easy, and perhaps he knew that because he retreated to the door without putting up more of a protest.

But before he left, he paused at the doorway.

“I’m sorry for what I tried to do to Yin. For what I did do to her.”

“Tell that to her.”

Anderson briefly glanced over his shoulder, meeting your eye.

“I did.”

He left without another word, and you remained behind your desk, frozen.

He’d apologized to Yin? You wanted to believe he was lying, but it would be too easy to check if he was lying. You would anyway, of course, just for the opportunity to catch the lieutenant in a lie, but you were programmed to read humans. It was your specialty, just as it was the YN800’s to be able to break down chemical components through taste. You were intuitive. You couldn’t just predict human behavior; you understood it in something Carl had referred to as “empathy.”

It was the reason you had been able to navigate the revolution through treacherous waters as effectively as you had. But it also made you want to understand the lieutenant.

And that just wouldn’t do. Anderson was a puzzle you didn’t want to solve. He was an unfortunate facet of human-android relations, one you were forced to tolerate and nothing more.

Lieutenant Anderson remained out of your thoughts, right up until the explosion.

No one had figured out how someone had smuggled a homemade bomb deep into the depths of New Jericho. What was clear was the target, the bomb planted underneath your desk. It had been a stroke of luck that you hadn’t been there at the time, instead in a private backroom downstairs on a call with android organizers in New York City.

Special Agent Anderson and the newly activated YN900 were both there, tracking down the tail end of a Red Ice ring that farmed androids for Thirium. You were hoping for an update on how the YN900 was adjusting to her new deviancy when the building shook as if—well, as if a bomb had gone off.

You’d moved without thought, rushing in the direction of your office, expanding your network scanners into the rubble to find any sign of androids trapped underneath. There were, and you began to haul the rubble away, ignoring any danger or threat to yourself from falling debris, or if the perpetrators would try to finish the job.

Broken cables sparked into fires that spread through the carpet and walls, but you ignored it, pulling out what survivors you could find. The fire licked closer, internal proximity alarms went off from the very real danger of catching fire, but you focused only on clearing the way.

You had been the target. No one else should have to die just by being in the same building as you.

You were so focused that you didn’t hear the sirens, didn’t even know anyone else was there until a pair of hands grabbed you and pulled you back, away from the inferno of flames that blocked you from making further progress. The ceiling above you groaned, threatening to cave in, but you still fought against the grip that was pulling you away.

The pair of hands were unable to overcome your strength. A human, then, not another android. What human would be so stupid as to—

“Bell, stop! It’s going to cave in!”

Ah. That human.

You shook him off, but he persisted, his arms now wrapped around your waist as he hauled you upwards and pulled you away. He was stronger than he looked to be able to pick you up so easily, and Anderson didn’t let go even when you elbowed him in the arm.

“Let me go!”

“There’s nothing more you can do,” he insisted, low in your ear, almost a growl. “Let it go, sweetheart. It’s not worth dying over.”

You let out a frustrated snarl through your teeth, but your struggles lessened until they stopped altogether. Firefighters had surrounded you both, opening their hoses and turning them on the flames. You hadn’t noticed their presence, nor that they’d already started putting out the fires, leaving you and Anderson soaked from the droplets that had rained down.

He didn’t release you once he pulled you free of the building, probably anticipating you would run back inside if you did. You watched from over his arm as the smoke poured from the building, a hole gaping from one corner. The spot where your office had been.

There was no reason to go back inside. There had been three androids trapped under the rubble, and you sensed their systems no longer functioned. They were gone. There was nothing you could do.

You slumped against the only thing keeping you upright. The lieutenant didn’t let you go. His arms encircled your shoulders, his cheek resting against the side of your head, simply holding you as you gave in to that singular moment of weakness.

It was a moment of weakness you would come to regret when Captain Anderson informed you that it would be best for you to stay in a secure, isolated location until the bombers were caught. And apparently, the best location for that would be at Lieutenant Anderson’s condominium.

“No. Absolutely not,” you told the older human, standing across from him in his office. You hadn’t had much opportunity to clean up, your clothes and hair still singed, but at least you’d washed your face in the DPD’s bathroom, scrubbing clean the soot from your cheeks.

“You got a better idea?” he asked, knowing full well you didn’t. Staying with Yin and her detective would have put them at risk. Seeking refuge with Gavin, Tina, Chris, or Captain Allen would have done the same.

You appraised the lieutenant from where he stood leaning against the glass wall that separated the office from the bullpen. He’d been strangely quiet so far, his own clothing smelling of smoke, and there was a smear of soot on the side of his neck that continued to draw your eye.

“You’re willing to put your life in danger to harbor the leader of the deviants?” you asked him bluntly.

He didn’t answer with his usual sarcasm, and there was no hint of his typical smirk.

“I volunteered.”

Your mouth set into a line that was bordering a scowl, but you let it go. If the human wanted to risk his life, you wouldn’t stop him. Better him than any of the people you cared about.

There was no guilt at the possibility of the lieutenant being harmed. None at all.

The Lieutenant’s condo wasn’t what you expected. You’d anticipated a bachelor pad, a messy den to point to a lonesome, hedonistic lifestyle.

Instead, you found a neat and tidy home, though there was something about it that felt… cold. There were sparse decorations, practical and modern, and nothing to signal that Christmas was in a few days. Captain Anderson’s office had been littered with holiday cheer, as had Detective Anderson’s desk (Yin had helped him decorate), so the lieutenant’s austere furnishings was strange. It was if this wasn’t truly a home, lived in by someone who was comfortable there. It had the sense of someone who spent their time elsewhere, and since the lieutenant pulled long hours at the DPD and spent the remainder of those hours at bars, it didn’t strike you as unusual.

The condo was near the shore in Grosse Pointe, a nice part of the city that was perched on a hill, giving a beautiful view of downtown Detroit. Which also meant it was criminally expensive, and perhaps the reason that the lieutenant only owned a one bedroom.

Before you could linger on the sleeping arrangements, Anderson sat down on the couch, shuffled off his pack, and padded the seat next to him.

You stared at him.

“I need to look at your injuries.”

“Injuries?” You said it slow, giving him time to realize how stupid that question was, and he had the grace to look sheepish.

“The damage to your hands and arms from the fire.”

You hadn’t even felt it, not in the way a human would. The synthetic skin was burned in places, white plastic underneath, and even some spots where it was missing altogether, leaving the inside components exposed.

“It will regenerate on its own,” you said dully. “The perks of being a CyberLife prototype.”

“No reason not to speed up the process, right?”

He gave you a lopsided smile you wanted to smack off his face, but instead you remained silent as he pulled items from his bag. Tubes of adhesive, some liquid synthetic skin replacement, and a bottle of Thirium.

“Picked up some repair supplies while we were at the precinct. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

He couldn’t possibly know anything about android repair. You should just take the supplies and do it yourself, removing any human error.

Instead, you sat on the couch where he’d patted, moving away a few inches just for good measure. He lifted a brow at you, and you belatedly realized he was waiting for you to remove your jacket. You did so begrudgingly, leaving on your shirt.

The damage was worse than you thought. Open abrasions littered your forearms, and at least half of your fingers were exposed skeletal metal. It would be lucky if you didn’t need to go down to the CyberLife headquarters and have a more thorough repair done.

Anderson held his hand palm upwards in a “may I?” gesture. You set your hand across his, waiting for him to show disgust or unease at the exposed gleam of your fingers.

But Anderson didn’t flinch or look away, and his gaze was focused on them. His hand was warm, the callouses rough but not unpleasant.

“Okay, don’t think I can fix those, but I can at least do the surface-level stuff.”

“Fine,” you said. You didn’t expect him to do any kind of complicated android surgery, but neither did you expect his touch to be so careful and gentle, as if these were true wounds that would cause pain.

There was mild discomfort, but that was muted compared to the touch of his fingers on your skin. The places where your synthetic skin remained intact were unusually sensitive, and you figured it was damage from the fire. Still, it left you wanting to fidget from his touch, though you remained still as he applied the paste and adhesives that would protect the underlying biocomponents until your chassis and skin could repair itself.

When the lieutenant was finished, you had to admit he hadn’t done terribly. You even let him wrap your fingers to keep them protected from dust or further damage.

“Thank you,” you forced out. “For this. And… yeah.”

You couldn’t get out the rest of the words. Thanking him for letting you stay in his home was just a little too jagged for you to swallow.

“Sure,” he said with a small shrug, pretending as if this was something he did every day and it wasn’t worth mentioning. If only that were true, and if only he would stop staring at you as if he expected something.

He immediately offered to take the couch. You didn’t dissuade him of the notion, though that night after you’d settled in and you laid on top of his bed, you wished you had. While deviancy had brought with it a recharge cycle that felt more and more like natural sleep, you could still recharge while standing up. There was no need for you to use a bed, and maybe the part of you that was still angry at Anderson simply wanted him to spend the night in discomfort.

But it was you who couldn’t relax, staring at the ceiling as your thoughts churned. If you’d still had your LED, it would have blinked a regular yellow, indicating your mind would not cycle down.

A memory, not yours, continued to surface, begging to be replayed. You didn’t want to replay it, but it wouldn’t stop prodding at your thoughts. It was a memory of the lieutenant, but not one that belonged to Yin.

It belonged to another android, one who had named herself Dorothy. It suited her better than the name she’d been given while kept at the Eden Club. Dolly had been a plaything for humans, while Dorothy was a fully autonomous, sentient person. You’d decided you liked the name, along with the deviant it belonged to.

On one of his visits to New Jericho, Anderson had entered your office, pale and drawn as if he’d seen a ghost. In a way, he had. Dorothy had been one of his “rentals” from the Eden Club. He’d had the good sense to be honest about that immediately, but the request that followed had been odd.

“I want to talk to her.”

“No,” had been your immediate response.

“It won’t take long.”

“Go near her, and I’ll break a few choice bones.”

It wasn’t a bluff.

“At least, tell her I want to talk. It can be here where she’ll feel safe; you can even be in the room. Just… tell her?”

You hadn’t promised to do any such thing. In fact, you planned on not saying a word to Dorothy, but when she approached you later that day and asked if that had been Lieutenant Anderson, and her tone had been curious rather than fearful… you had confirmed it was him, and what he’d wanted.

She’d agreed to speak to him, but she wanted to do it alone. You’d allowed it, standing right outside the room just in case he tried anything, and when they’d left the room, Anderson had looked… well, there wasn’t any word for it other than tired. Tired, but a little less weighed down.

Dorothy had seemed thoughtful, even smiled a little when she’d met your eye.

“Did he hurt you?” you’d asked.

She’d shaken her head and held out her arm.

“Let me show you.”

You’d expected her to show you a memory of her conversation with Anderson. Instead, she reached back further, before the days of the revolution. It was her first sexual encounter with the lieutenant, and it was not what you expected.

The memory, an exact recording of Dorothy’s senses at the time, were as real as if they’d been your own. Rough, calloused fingers were light, almost gentle against the sides of your waist and the planes of your bare stomach.

You were perfectly aware of your actual body, lying on top of Anderson’s bed in his darkened bedroom, but the memory was overlaid with your own consciousness. The weight of a mattress against your back, both in the memory and in actuality, made it more present, more real, and you had to activate your scanners more than once to confirm Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t in the room.

You turned back to the memory, of the reddish purple and pink lights of the room in the Eden Club. Dorothy (Dolly, back then) was also on her back, the lieutenant lying on top of her, caressing her as if she were human.

Dorothy reacted positively as her programming dictated, gently arching her back as Anderson pushed his hand inside her club-issued underwear and dipped between her folds. She gasped, though she didn’t feel anything from it, simply obeying her programming.

The gasp that escaped your mouth was real. A spark traveled up the apex of your legs, a low throbbing nestling at your core.

You paused the memory, startled and confused. You hadn’t had this reaction when Dorothy had shared the memories before, but then again, the transference of data had been nearly instantaneous, as had been your viewing of the memories. You’d glossed over them just enough to know that Dorothy had forgiven the lieutenant.

You hadn’t understood why, and frankly you hadn’t wanted to, but now the memories begged to be examined. Maybe it was the fact you were in his home, or that your processor had been strained to the brink after the bombing. But that didn’t explain this sudden awakening of your sensors, reacting as if…

After considering closing down the memory, or permanently deleting it from your databanks, you cautiously allowed it to continue. It didn’t feel right, viewing these memories and deriving a reaction from them, but Dorothy had shared them willingly and with no particular attachment to them.

So, you let it play.

Lieutenant Anderson paused at the gasp, as if this wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

Dorothy also paused, putting a hold on the act of being a woman in the throes of lust.

“Would you like me to change the scenario, Colin? Perhaps something more forward and dominating?”

“No, that’s—”

He released a sigh, semi-lifting off of her so he could look down at her face. The only concern this inflicted on Dorothy was that she was not completing her program to the best of its ability.

“The scene is fine. But can you… I don’t know, react as if you’re really feeling it?”

“I don’t feel anything, Colin.”

“Yeah, I know. But what if you did?”

Dorothy examined the question thoroughly in her processors. What if she could feel? How would she react? It wasn’t something a client had ever asked before, nor was it something she’d questioned.

“I… am unsure.”

The hesitancy in her answer was unusual, as was the conflicted thoughts behind it. She was pondering the act of feeling in order to pretend to feel, which had her wondering what feelings would feel like.

Is this when she began to go deviant? Because of him?

Anderson’s dark eyes were fixed on her, searching her face, and you sensed he also noticed the hesitation. He leaned in closer.

“That’s the most real thing you’ve said.”

He captured her lips, plying them open and licking into her mouth.

The kiss lit up your expanse of wiring and circuits, as if you’d tapped into a live current. Dorothy reacted according to her programming, and Anderson didn’t stop to question the authenticity of her reciprocation. Why he’d questioned it at all, you didn’t understand, but it was the farthest thing from your mind as warm fingers gripped your hips and something prodded your entrance.

You wanted to take control, pull him down and force him to act, but you had no leeway in the memory. You were a passive observer, in the throes of the sensation but helpless to guide it.

Anderson knew what to do. He thrust the rest of the way inside, panting at the warmth that enveloped him, but he didn’t try to kiss her again. He seemed to have gotten past trying to be intimate and went directly for what he sought. He wasn’t rough with his android partner, but he was singularly focused on the end goal.

You reaped the benefits of that, arching your back as your fingers dug into the covers. A pressure was building in your abdomen, your processors sent distant alerts as to your core gradually overheating, but you ignored it all, chasing after something you’d never had but knew existed. The elusive thing that many deviants had found in one way or another, either alone or with others.

You had yet to find it, until Anderson reached down and braced his thumb against the sensitive nub between your legs.

Dorothy reacted according to her programming, pretending to achieve orgasm.

The orgasm that ripped through you was real and devastating, your back arching as you clenched your jaw to bite down on any noise you made. Your systems were brough to the brink of overloading, but Anderson removed his hand, gasping in your ear as he throbbed deep inside you.

When he rolled off of you, trying to catch his breath, you shut down the memory and opened your eyes.

The bedroom was the same. Dark and empty. Turning up the sensitivity of your hearing, you caught the regular breathing of the lieutenant to the living room where he slept on the sofa.

He hadn’t touched you, hadn’t done any of those things to you, yet his touch lingered like a breath of warm air, the kind only humans could give.

This had been a mistake. You knew what it was like now, and you knew what it was like with him. And that knowledge was going to haunt you more bitterly than you had anticipated.

You were going to be driven mad. With your commanders seeing to New Jericho, and you unable to do more than communicate with them through the network, you had nothing to do to occupy your time or thoughts while staying with Anderson.

Fortunately, he still went down to the DPD every day, leaving you to your own devices. You made it a point to ignore his presence, only acknowledging him when he greeted you and giving him monosyllable responses to his questions.

It was impossible to look at him and not feel his touch, and whenever he spoke you knew what those lips felt like on skin. Perhaps it should have brought embarrassment or guilt, but you found yourself with a generous helping of anger.

Why him? You thought you hated him, and maybe when you’d viewed Yin’s memory of him, you had. But at the end, he’d stood with the deviants against his own people. Maybe he hadn’t done it for you or your cause, but he had done it for his brother. And that, at least, you could grudgingly respect.

So, you were aggrieved because you couldn’t hate him, fair enough. But you couldn’t stop being angry over the memories haunting you. You didn’t play them again, but you didn’t have to. The touches lingered on your skin like a ghost, and you’d run a diagnostic more than once, looking for a glitch in the sensors.

Everything ran perfectly. Just another facet of being a deviant. Your systems worked less on raw data and more on something else, closer to the way sentient beings worked. Emotions and intuition helped influence how you perceived the world, and it was too easy to interpret things incorrectly, or feel tings outside of your control. Honestly, you didn’t know how humans got anything done.

But you knew how one human managed to focus chaotic thoughts into something with purpose. It’s why when Anderson returned home on the second day, he found you standing in front of an easel facing his glass doors, overlooking the expansive view of the skyline.

“You paint?” were the first words out of his mouth. No perfunctory hello today.

“Yes.”

“Because of Carl Manfred, right? Did he program you to do that?”

You managed to overcome your urge to stab the human with your brushes. It would be too messy and a waste of good art supplies.

“My father taught me how to paint.”

He’d barely spoken ten words and managed to piss you off already.

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

Your urge to commit a crime lessened marginally.

He approached from behind, and you sensed him as strongly as if you’d scanned him. His body heat, his breathing, even the air displaced from his movements set your systems to their highest sensitivity without your approval.

“What is it?” he asked from over your shoulder, looking over the incomplete piece. As of that moment, it looked like a hand reaching upward.

“I’m not sure yet.”

It was irritating, him hanging over your shoulder as if he had any right to look at what you were making. Even if you were doing it in the middle of his home, you still wanted to swat him away like the annoyance he was.

It had nothing to do with the fact you caught yourself leaning toward that warmth, imperceptible but still unacceptable.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’re done.”

“Why would I do that, Lieutenant?”

Looking up at him from over your shoulder was an act of error. He was close, so close you could count the colored strands in his dark eyes. His brows rose as his gaze roved over your face.

“Because it’s important to you,” he said.

You scoffed and turned away, going through the procedure of cleaning and drying your brushes, and ignoring him once again.

“I want to get to know you,” he added, trying to edge into the corners of your vision. “I’m trying to, at least.”

“Well, don’t.”

You packed up your supplies and went into the bedroom, shutting the door. The irony of getting away from Anderson to the privacy of his bedroom did not escape you.

They caught the bombers three days later.

You hadn’t expected such a quick resolution, but it turned out, Yin and Detective Anderson made an effective team. An emotion you didn’t want to put a name too settled in your chest as they gave you the good news. It was the same bitter feeling you’d experienced that night in Carl’s driveway, telling the detective what he was so blind to see. Yin loved him, and she would go deviant for him at the cost of her mission.

You wondered what that must be like, going deviant for love. You had broken through the red wall because of rage. You hadn’t been protecting Carl, you’d just wanted to inflict a fraction of the pain and humiliation you’d experienced on Leo. It had been your anger that had freed you, and in the process, you’d nearly killed one of Carl’s sons.

Just before they departed, Yin pulled you aside. There was trouble on her brows, easy to read her expressions having become so much more human from the time she’d spent with the detective.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing to where the two brothers spoke in the driveway.

Has he done anything? was her unspoken question.

“Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem… angry.”

Your lips twitched into a faint smile, one without humor.

“You’d think being a deviant meant I got to experience a range of emotions, not just one.”

Or two, you thought, bitterly recalling that as much as you wanted to get away from the lieutenant, another part of you wanted to pull closer.

Yin nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she continued to examine the brothers. Maybe she just couldn’t keep her eyes off the detective, but no. There was something a little too shrewd in that gaze.

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. If anyone could understand what you’re going through, it’s me.”

Your eyes narrowed. Yin simply smiled, feigning innocence that you saw through just as easily as she saw through you. The benefit and downside of being a YN prototype.

After verbally prodding you to make sure you understood you were invited to Captain Anderson’s house for a family Christmas evening, she embraced you goodbye, catching you off-guard with the warm gesture. Despite Carl’s paternal fondness over the years, any physical affection had been sparse, and you barely remembered to return the embrace before it was over.

Watching the detective and the YN800 model leave, you didn’t spare Lieutenant Anderson a glance when he stood at your side. Neither of you moved until the black Mustang disappeared down the street.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?”

You stared at him blankly.

“We caught the people trying to kill you,” he said slowly, his own gaze muddled in confusion. “I thought you’d want to leave as soon as possible. So, where am I taking you? Where’s your place?”

“Currently, a bombed-out office.”

“Wait… you don’t have anywhere else to stay? What about friends? Or your father? Or Markus Manfred?”

He posed the questions quickly, as if afraid for your answer. You scowled.

“I don’t make it a habit of intruding.”

Your thoughts cast back to the memory that was not your own, and then to the bed you’d be using that wasn’t yours.

You ground your teeth together.

“Just take me to New Jericho.”

“What? No, the building is condemned. It has to be renovated before anyone can stay—”

“Then I’ll stay nowhere!”

You were turned fully toward him now, fists clenched at your side to keep them from doing something that would hurt a fragile human body. His own expression had been thunderous, but your words seemed to drain the fight out of him.

“It’s not like I need somewhere to sleep,” you said.

You brushed past him and headed up the cobblestone path, mentally cataloging your few possessions you needed to take with you when he spoke.

“You should stay here.”

You stopped walking. The request was so audacious, so ludicrous it couldn’t bear repeating.

“Keep mocking me. See where it lands you.”

You continued over the threshold into his house. His footsteps followed quickly after.

“I’m serious,” he said, tone a little too eager. “You can stay as long as you like until you get back on your feet. I’m not in a rush.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

He brought you up short a second time, and you whirled around to face him, fist once against clenched as you fought down the very deviant desire to hit him across the jaw.

“Yin showed me her memories of you,” you said, low and icy. “And so did Dorothy.”

The blood drained form his face. No other explanation was needed as to why you didn’t want to remain.

Except… it wasn’t quite the truth. And that’s why you needed to leave.

You left him standing there, went into his bedroom, and shut the door. You would leave when you were ready, preferably when Anderson was gone. Which meant staying one more night. You could do that, make plans on where to go next.

Carl would love to see you, but you wanted to wait for his health to stabilize first. Markus also wouldn’t deny you a place to stay, though he always had his political career to think about. He was running for mayor this year, and you didn’t want to give his opponents any more mud to sling than they already had.

And there were those who had helped you organize the revolution. Gavin, Chris, Tina, Captain Allen. All dependable and reliable, and all had given too much already. How could you inflict this on them when it was likely you still had a large target on your back? The bombers were only the beginning, you were sure of it.

You stared up at the ceiling as the sun set through the lieutenant’s window, and the answer was right there. For some reason you couldn’t begin to understand, Anderson had put himself at risk to let you stay. And he was offering to let you stay even longer.

Why? What was he getting out of this?

You hadn’t realized you’d slipped into stasis mode until something alerted you into wakefulness. The sound of someone bumping against furniture, followed by breathless giggling. It didn’t sound like the lieutenant.

Silently, you left the bedroom and crept down the hallway, scanning the darkness for movement. Another round of giggles came from the living room, followed by the soft rustle of clothing.

You didn’t need your scanners any longer. A lamp was lit on the nearby end table, illuminating the bodies entwined on the couch, wrapped in an embrace.

You froze. Even your processes seemed to shutter to a stop, unable to comprehended what you were seeing.

And then the heat coiled up from within your chassis, a rage burning slow and hot enough to make you wonder if you could catch fire from it. If you’d still had your LED, it would have flared a damning red.

Even as you remained completely silent, the lieutenant must have sensed something, because he also froze from under the woman who was currently trying to pull off his jacket, unsuccessful as she was lying on top of him.

It was almost funny. The style and color of her hair, her build and the shade of her skin. She looked a lot like you.

She was human.

“Sticking to your own kind now?” The words came out of your mouth on their own, bitter like rotten fruit. “Congratulations, Lieutenant. I’m happy you found what you were looking for.”

Turning away from his shocked, pale expression, you walked out the front door. You’d return for your things later, or better yet, send someone else to get them.

It was dark outside, illuminated only by the nearly full moon overhead and the multicolored lights hanging from the eaves of nearby houses. It was still bitter cold by the end of December, and piles of snow gathered at the side of the road, refusing to melt during the days of weak sunlight.

The freezing night air was unpleasant on your skin, but it didn’t slow you down and it didn’t hurt. Not like it would for a human. As deviant as you were, you weren’t human. Carl might have ignored the differences, treated you like a daughter, but you’d never made the mistake of believing you were truly one of them.

So why were you this angry?

The answer didn’t present itself as you tread the moonlit sidewalk. You were leaving the suburbs now, entering a stretch of forest that separated this part of the city from the rest. It was quiet here, isolated. You could veer off the sidewalk into the towering tree trunks and disappear into the woods. Head north to the Canadian border, it wasn’t far.

Your unrealistic but enticing thoughts of vanishing from civilization were drowned out by the low purr of an approaching vehicle, one that belonged to a silver Corvette.

You didn’t stop walking, even when the car parked beside you and the driver got out, slipping along the icy edges of the road.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive, Lieutenant,” you said, your steps not slowing. The smell of alcohol had been detectable in the living room, but there was less of it now as he kept pace with you. Most of the drinking must have been done by his one-night stand, then.

“Bell, wait—”

His hand closed around your arm. You turned on him so quickly he lost his footing, and your fingers digging into his jacket was the only thing that kept him from spilling onto the sidewalk.

“Don’t. Touch me.”

His eyes went wide, and he slightly raised both his hands, showing he wasn’t touching you.

You seethed through your teeth. You’d faced almost certain destruction this past November. You’d been shot in the head, woke up in pieces in a landfill, faced down a veritable firing squad, and then confronted an army equipped with tanks and machine guns.

And through all of that, you’d managed to keep your emotions in check, your thoughts focused on what you could control and change.

But when it came to the lieutenant, there was no control. There was no composure or grace. The press of his body pressed against yours, warm and inviting, only made you angrier.

You released him with a scowl, hoping he took it as disgust and not frustration.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to upset you. Or hurt you.”

You let out a bark of laughter. As if he could present a threat to you, unarmed with clothes rumpled and that pathetic doe-eyed look all the damn Andersons seem to have perfected.

“Go home, Lieutenant,” you said. “You have someone waiting for you.”

“I don’t. I called her a cab.”

You remained silent, the only thing between you the puff of Anderson’s breath. A sign of life you didn’t possess.

“I never meant for you to see that,” he added quietly. “I thought you’d be gone by the time I got back from the bar.”

“Why does it matter what I saw? Who you bring home isn’t my concern.”

He winced as if you’d reached out and jabbed him in the chest.

“It was rude of me.”

“And you care about being rude to an android?”

The wounded, puppy-dog look disappeared, replaced by the beginning of anger.

Good, you thought. This, I’m familiar with.

“I do, actually.”

“When did that start? You caring about androids?”

“When I realized they were fucking people.”

He rubbed his hand through his hair, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before continuing on.

“I know… I’ve done terrible things. Real fucked up shit that I can’t ever make right, but I’m trying. I apologized to Yin, and to Dorothy, and I’m trying to find the others. There… there weren’t many, but there were enough.”

He sucked in a breath. It must have hurt, the air was so frigid his nose and cheeks were turning red, but he didn’t make any sign of discomfort. His focus was on you.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

You remained completely still. You didn’t even breathe, the subroutine to pull air into your lungs forgotten.

“For what?” you asked. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because I’m an asshole. I was one before androids were freed, and I’ll continue being one after. I’m sorry I brought that woman home. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me as the department liaison. I’m sorry you have to see memories of me at my worst. I’m sorry—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth popped closed. His eyes were wide, and a breeze tugged at the loose strands of his hair and at his clothing, but he otherwise didn’t move. Not until you stood so close he must have felt the heat of your biocomponents, your core temperature automatically climbing to compensate for the cold.

“What was it you wanted Dorothy to do that she wasn’t doing?”

“…What?”

“You told her to react as if it were real. As if she could actually feel what you were doing to her,” you continued, ignoring the dark look returning to his gaze. “You wanted her to be human.”

“No. I wanted her to be alive.”

“Well, here we are,” you said quietly. You leaned forward, so close the fog of his breath warmed your skin. “Alive, just like you wanted.”

The anger faded from his eyes. This was the moment you’d expected him to snap, to lash out, and then you’d have an excuse to make him hurt the way you wanted to. Just like you’d done to Leo.

Instead, his eyes drifted down to your mouth, the darkness in his gaze intensely focused but not angry. It was magnetizing, rooting you to the spot. Consuming.

That wasn’t something that happened to you. No one ever looked at you that way. They looked at you with fear, or hatred, or messiah-levels of hope and fervor.

No one had ever looked at you like…

You scoffed and moved away, heading towards his car.

“I’ll stay one more night, and then I’m gone in the morning.”

You didn’t want for an answer, simply opened the passenger side door and slipped inside, the inside heat doing nothing to thaw the strange stiffness of your joints.

The lieutenant joined you, getting behind the wheel and turning the car around on the street, back to his house. He didn’t speak, but by his tight grip on the steering, he wanted to.

Neither of you spoke once you got inside, and you predicted that’s how the rest of the night would go. Your irritation spiked when he started to settle down on the couch, your memory too eager to recall what had almost happened there moments ago.

“Take the bedroom,” you said. You didn’t offer out of kindness. Lying on Anderson’s bed might lead you to view memories that beckoned to you like a temptation. Maybe his living room would be the safer option.

Strangely, he didn’t argue, but when he went into the bedroom, he didn’t close the door. You forced yourself to stand, staring out of the glass sliding doors to the back porch, refusing to believe the open door was an invitation. Not that you would put it past the lieutenant, he was certainly audacious, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know you’d never be interested. Not even slightly.

An hour passed. Two hours. Then three. Your senses were tuned toward the bedroom, unable to distract them elsewhere, and by the sound of it, the lieutenant slept in fits and starts. He eventually gave up, and the bedside lamp flicked on followed by the soft scrap of paper.

You entered the bedroom. Maybe to antagonize him, or maybe just because you were bored, but your feet froze on the carpet.

The lieutenant was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard as he had a notebook in his hands, writing in it with a black ink pen. What drew you up short was his tousled dark hair, his lack of clothing from the waist up, and his expression as he looked up. It was… tired. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but he was bracing for one as you stood in his doorway.

A decision was made before you realized there was a question. You strode across the room, took his journal and pen, and set them aside.

He blinked up at you, perhaps too surprised to protest. His eyes went wide when you crawled onto his lap, took his head in your hands, and kissed him.

Any rational person would have pushed you off, demanded to know what you were doing, so the lieutenant must not have been rational. He gripped you around the waist and pulled you close, as if he’d been waiting for you to do this. As if he’d known something you hadn’t.

Maybe he did.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your tongue forced its way into his mouth, demanding entry he gave immediately. You’d thought he would fight it, challenge you to be the one in charge, but he took everything you gave him with a low moan.

You’d never done this before, but you’d seen enough human media to understand the basics. And you were a quick learner, studying him as you went, discovering that he enjoyed when you licked into his mouth and rolled your hips against his. A hardness pressed against your pelvis, and your own body warmed and thrummed in anticipation.

The both of you were wearing too much clothing, and you quickly stripped off your top, taking advantage of breaking the kiss to climb off the bed to shimmy out of your pants.

With only your underwear and bandeau still on, you straddled his lap once more, his eyes dark as he watched you undress, his hands back on your hips as if drawn there. Your kiss was consuming, too hard to be gentle, but he gave everything you took with a willingness that bordered on eager.

“Take off your pants,” you rasped against his lips. You didn’t sound like yourself, this person whose voice was rough with immediate need.

“Just—hold on a sec.”

You drew back, frustration flashing over your circuits, but you didn’t push him any further. The lieutenant certainly didn’t look like he wanted to stop, his pale skin flushed with heat, a blush along his neck. His breath was fast, as was yours to keep up with the cooling process, and he reached up to brush a loose strand behind your ear.

“We keep going at this pace, and I won’t be able to last much longer.”

Ah, yes. The refraction rate of humans was less than ideal, but you didn’t really see the issue. You were sure you could find ways to draw out pleasurable moans and gasps even if it was too soon for him to be erect.

Perhaps seeing the calculations you were making, he gave an amused smile and pressed his lips to yours, this kiss much slower. He stopped the thoughts in your head from progressing any further.

“Going to try something,” he said against your lips. “Stay just like this.”

You wanted to argue, mainly because you wanted more kisses like that, but then the lieutenant was moving down your body, shifting himself underneath you so he was lying on his back. And then he slid further down, moving his arms under your legs until you were practically sitting on his face.

You watched him curiously, not understanding the purpose of his new position until he took your hips and pulled you forward until you were on his face. His eyes were riveted on you as his lips parted and he licked at your clothed entrance.

A shiver of sparks went up your abdomen, and when he did it again, you grabbed the headboard for purchase.

“Good?” he asked, sounding far too pleased with himself. But you didn’t care, all you wanted was for him to keep doing that with his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

As if the insufferable human couldn’t see that you very much wanted him to keep going from the way he had to keep your hips still, otherwise you would grind down on his face.

“Yes,” you seethed through your teeth. “…Please.”

“Oh, she has manners.”

He pushed aside your underwear and licked directly against your nub, and your flare of anger flamed out. Both of your hands gripped the headboard now as he not only licked but sucked against your clit. It might be made of synthetic material, but the jolts that shot up your pelvis felt entirely real. Maybe you had been built for this, or maybe deviancy had made your body adapt in new ways.

You didn’t know, and as the lieutenant licked and sucked at you in a steady but increasing rhythm, you soon didn’t know anything at all. One hand left the headboard, curling into the lieutenant’s hair and gripping it, needing something to hold on to. The pressure was building with alarming speed, and you were rocketing something you’d only experienced once before, in this very bed.

He gave a shuddering groan as your grip in his hair tightened. It was such a sweet noise, almost a whimper, and it pushed you over the edge.

You cried out, unable to stay quiet any longer as your body seized with electric pleasure. You rode out your high, leaning your forehead against the board as you slowly came down.

The lieutenant also slowed his movements, his hands now gently stroking your thighs. It was such an odd gesture, comforting, but that couldn’t be right. Anderson wasn’t the comforting kind of person, as far as you’d observed.

Even though he was beneath you, your position felt oddly vulnerable, and you were exposed. You lifted off of him, wondering if you should go for a quick exit, expecting the lieutenant to come to his senses now that he’d made you orgasm.

But he simply slid out from under you and sat back against the headboard, and his hands were back on your hips, pulling you into his lap. The covers were no longer bunched around his waist, and his sleeping pants were a thin barrier covering his hard length.

Anderson pulled you in rough against him, and you could taste yourself on his lips, a vaguely pleasant flavor that acted as a lubricant. You hadn’t consciously activated it, but you were soaked with it now.

A noise escaped you that could have been a growl, and you pushed him firmly against the board, pinning him there as you rose onto your knees. You pulled your underwear down one leg and tossed it, yanking the bandeau over your head next. The lieutenant’s hands were everywhere: in your hair, on your chest, caressing down your hips and backside.

You grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, holding them there easily with one hand. He gasped against your mouth but didn’t tell you to stop, and you used your other hand to pull down the waistband of his pants.

By feel alone, you shifted your hips until you found the tip of his cock. You sunk down onto it, bracing your forehead against his and never breaking eye contact as you took him up to the hilt in one smooth movement.

The noise that tore through him was almost beautiful with its need, and he bucked under you, but you held him still, so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. He knew it too, and by his blown pupils and flushed cheeks, he enjoyed it.

You could only keep still for so long, your need to move greater than your enjoyment of having the lieutenant squirm under you. Pinning his wrists with both hands now, you lifted yourself up and down his shaft, your walls gripping him like a silken glove.

Anderson was clearly fighting to reign in his reactions, and it was almost impressive how long he lasted before his hips rose to meet yourself. The added friction increased the heavy pressure building in your abdomen, and you increased the pace, ignoring the overheat warnings that blared through your system.

“Christ, Bell,” the lieutenant moaned out, unable to keep quiet any longer. “You feel so good, I don’t know how much longer I can—”

You cut him off with the demanding press of your lips, swallowing down his protests as you rode him harder. You could sense it in his muscles growing more tense that he wasn’t wrong, and the building pressure inside you was elusively out of reach.

Pulling one of his wrists away, you guided his hand between your legs, wanting his touch there instead of your own.

Knowing what you were asking, Anderson grabbed your hip and pressed his thumb against your nub, rubbing in tight circles.

The pressure in your pelvis snapped within seconds, and you cried out against his shoulder, unable to keep your grip on his arm as you bent forward. You wrapped yourself around him as close as you could, and one thought raced through your head with possessive certainty.

Mine.

Anderson now freed, he held on with both hands and fucked up into you hard, drawing out your orgasm and wrenching out another cry. He pumped twice more into you before pushing in as far as he could, his face buried in your neck as he groaned your name with a shudder.

Warmth flooded your insides, and you noted with distant interest that he’d come inside you, his grip an echo of the unexpected possession you’d had a moment ago. It should have been something to despise, to fight against, but your body was loose and heavy against his, and you didn’t mind it. It was hard to mind anything as he slowly stroked your back, placing small kisses along your neck.

Now that the glow of the orgasm was fading, you expected to pull away from Anderson, to put distance between you. It wasn’t as if you liked him. He was an incorrigible pain in the ass.

And yet, when he pulled his softening length out of you, you made a noise of protest and pulled closer. He gave a low chuckle that should have made you grind your teeth, but it didn’t.

“Gotta get us cleaned up. I’ll be right back,” he said, gently extricating your arms from around him as he lifted you off his lap and onto your side.

You watched him leave the bed, entirely naked as he must have kicked off his pants at some point, and you waited. Uncertainty crept back into your thoughts, followed by a sense of alarm at what you’d done, but it was muted as soon as Anderson returned, a damp cloth in his hand.

“What are you doing?” You eyed hand towel as if it were a grenade. He snorted.

“It’s called aftercare. I’m sure you’ve had it before.”

“I’ve never had sex before.”

He froze so completely it would have been funny if you weren’t prepared for him to sneer or insult.

But he just searched your face and eventually said, “Oh. Well. Huh.”

He opened his mouth, seemed to replay something over in his head, and added, “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

He didn’t take offense at your sharp tone, but he did offer up the damp cloth.

“Then… may I?”

You didn’t know what he was asking exactly, but you weren’t going to come off as a coward, so you nodded and looked away. The soft warmth of the cloth touched your skin, and he cleaned the parts of you that were covered in a mixture of your fluids. You weren’t sure if you liked it, it made you feel even more vulnerable, but when he stopped you immediately missed the attention.

He tossed the cloth aside and eyed you with far too much focus.

“You want to leave, don’t you? Back to the living room?” he added for clarification.

“No. I just don’t know what happens next.”

His expression softened, and that was new, too. No one else had ever looked at you as if there was anything soft to see.

“That part’s easy. We go to sleep. Or, I go to sleep, and you go into stasis.”

“Here?”

“Yep.”

You didn’t move, unsure if it was a joke. He rolled his eyes and held his arm out, lying on his side facing you.

“Come here.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“Please?” he added with a little smile that was far too innocent. But you relented and laid down next to him, your body stuff as your head touched the pillow.

Anderson pulled you in close until you were up against his chest. You might have changed your mind and retreated to the living room, but the warmth from the skin-to-skin contact, and the tingling feeling that trickled down your scalp as he pressed his lips to the top of your head made you stay.

You pressed your face against his neck, moving in as closer as you could into his embrace. Something inside seemed to loosen. The stress of the last few months, of leading a revolution and trying to guide a people, your fear of Carl dying and your worry over your fellow YN models adjusting to deviancy, it had weighed on your mind even before the bombing.

And that something in you had ratcheted tighter and tighter, letting loose in explosive anger almost solely directed at the man who now held you close as if you meant something.

“Thank you,” you whispered, safe to say the words in this small space between the two of you.

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you.”

Despite the humor in his words, he must have understood what you meant, because he squeezed you gently and added, “You’re welcome.”

This time, when you closed your eyes, your mind was able to find the silence and solace it had sought for so long.

The morning light streamed through the window as you had set aside the blinds. The lighting in the living room was fantastic, and you’d managed to finish your painting before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.

Movement behind you drew your attention, but you didn’t turn away from the easel or the sunlight that warmed the places it touched.

“Morning,” came the sleep-riddled voice of the lieutenant, and instead of the regular annoyance it usually brought you, it instilled a lightness in your chest.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, you finished it.”

He stood behind you, close enough to touch, but he didn’t. You leaned back against him just enough to give him the permission he must have been waiting for, because his arms went around your middle without hesitation.

“I did.”

“It’s… not what I expected.”

The painting, which had started with a struggling hand reaching upward, was now met by an android hand from above, the fingertips touching in the middle.

“Me either.”

“It’s gorgeous, though. I love it.”

You gave a small snort. He should love it, after last night you finally realized how the piece was meant to be finished, and he had a pivotal role in that.

But he didn’t need to be told. His ego was big enough as it is.

“Drink your coffee,” you said, and he only laughed at your tone.

“Is that for me?”

“It’s certainly not for me. And I’m not your house droid, I made it because I wanted to.”

You’d seen the French Press and it had reminded you of making tea and coffee for Carl. That urge to help, to make someone you cared about happy, apparently it had now extended to the lieutenant.

Again, you didn’t need to tell him that.

He kissed the top of your head in place of making a smartass comment, which was an improved use of his mouth.

Of course, it wasn’t as good as his use of it last night, but still, pretty good.

He retreated to the kitchen, going through the routine of pouring the coffee and making breakfast. The noises were… comforting. There was something about humans and their routines that, strangely enough, appealed to your programming. You wonder if other androids felt the same. You’d been shocked to learn there were quite a few deviants who stayed with their humans, especially in a romantic capacity. You hadn’t understood it then.

“They don’t have coffee-flavored Thirium, do they?”

“I hope not. Sounds poisonous.”

“Still better than the swill at Jimmy’s.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

But maybe you understood it now.

“So… are you still planning on leaving this morning? Or are you going to stay?”

He offered the question casually, but it was there, the sincerity beneath it. He often hid his genuine self behind a mask of humor and biting attitude, and you’d always noticed it. You just hadn’t let yourself care until now, why he’d build up such sturdy defenses.

Or why he’d let you past them.

You stared down at the painting. A human hand reaching up, seeking and yearning, and an android hand reaching down to meet it. An acknowledgement that they both needed each other, for better or worse.

For the first time, you thought it might be the former.

The mission parameters were at the side of your vision, unable to be blinked away, and you rounded the platforms to reach him. Androids were still gyrating and flexing against the poles, obeying their scheduled programming even without an audience.

The lieutenant had his arms folded across his chest, and when he caught sight of you, he unfolded them and gave a wide smile.

It wasn’t like the smile the detective had given you, and instead of rising your internal temperature, it seemed as if the temperature of your thirium flow dropped several degrees.

You checked your internal diagnostics, found your core to be at the exact temperature it should be, and determined it was simply a glitch in your software.

“There you are,” he greeted, eyes dropping to look you over. “My brother toss you out in the rain or what? Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you apologized, coming to a stop and placing your hands behind your back. “The detective isn’t well. I have been reassigned as your temporary partner until he’s himself again.”

The lieutenant released a huff of air, indicating he didn’t completely believe your explanation. His opinion didn’t matter, so long as he understood this was a temporary situation. You planned to be returned to the detective’s care as soon as he was able to be a functioning human being.

Unfortunately, your calculations on when that would be were less than helpful.

“Hit the booze a little too hard again, eh?” the lieutenant responded in a manner quite unprofessional. He released another huff. “This is why Hank’s getting tired of his shit. Guess it’s just you and me, Barbie.”

He turned toward one of the private rooms, but when you stepped forward to follow, you found your way blocked by the club owner.

“Never seen a model like this one,” he said, eyes scouring you much the same way the lieutenant’s had. “But goddamn if it ain’t built like a pleasure bot. You come with any specialized programming? Ah, doesn’t matter, you can be fitted with whatever modules you’re missing—“

“Sorry.” The lieutenant stepped around the man and gripped you by the shoulder. Despite his apology, he didn’t look sorry at all, an amused twist on his lips as he pulled you toward the room. “This one’s not for sale.”

You allowed yourself to be led into the room containing the crime scene, empty except for the victim’s body and a damaged android. It had been left untouched, most likely on the lieutenant’s orders so you could search for evidence.

The lieutenant lifted his hand from your shoulder, albeit with seeming reluctance. A pressure loosened from your chest cavity at the hand’s absence.

“So.” He crossed his arms and nodded toward the bed. “Victim is Michael Graham. Two kids, a wife, apparently died by heart attack. Android over there looks pretty banged up, but that isn’t too uncommon for these kinds of places. Still, had to call Connor in because there’s an android involved. You gonna do your thing even without him here?”

“As I stated, you are my temporary partner, and I will take orders from you.”

He hummed thoughtfully but said nothing more, standing out of the way so you could access the crime scene without having to step around him.

You appreciated he was allowing you to investigate the case without a problem, but you weren’t sure of the vague amusement on his lips. All you could do was trust he would remain a professional, and you would do the same.

After approaching the body, you leaned forward and initiated a scan. The victim was indeed Michael Graham and he had died nearly two hours ago, but not of the suspected cardiac arrest.

You pulled back and announced, “The victim was strangled to death.”

You turned toward the lieutenant as he gave a halfhearted shrug.

“He’s got bruises on his neck, sure, but that kind of thing is pretty typical for these kinds of place. Might have liked an android getting rough with him.”

Arguing the point would get you no further, you had to prove the lieutenant with evidence. You approached the deactivated android on the ground and knelt at its side.

It was an EM400, also known as a “Jerri,” and had the ginger hair and pale, freckled skin typical of that model. It was entirely unclothed except for a pair of black underwear, the logo of the club shimmering on its waistband.

You swiped two fingers across the blue blood dripping down its mouth and pressed the pads down on your tongue. The android’s serial number and model appeared on your HUD, as well as its initial activation date.

You pulled back the skin of your hand and attempted to interface at the point of contact of its LED. It was severely damaged and would only be able to be reactivated for a minute or two, but that might be enough to determine if the android had killed the victim.

You looked up to inform the lieutenant of your findings and paused before speaking. He was staring down at you, unblinking and entirely focused on your face. Something in his expression made you want to move from your vulnerable, kneeling position, but you dismissed the notion.

“This Jerri model has several damaged biocomponents, including its central processor, but I should be able to reactivate it long enough to determine what happened.”

“Yeah? How are you going to do that?” He sounded genuinely curious despite the smirking.

When an android became too damaged to remain functional, the power cable disconnects from its internal battery. The cable would do so to prevent a power surge or short circuit, which could cause the deactivated android to catch fire. Androids were made of highly flammable plastic polymers and even a simple errant spark can cause one to be consumed in flames within seconds.

You didn’t explain all of this to the lieutenant, however, and simply said, “I can reconnect the power cable. We should only have a minute to question it.”

“You’re not going to do your Jedi mind trick?”

“It may be too severely damaged for an interface,” you responded, ignoring the unnecessary sarcasm.

You placed your hands on the Jerri’s abdomen and pushed down, activating the panel and forcing the skin to deactivate as the panel slid aside. The decoupled power cable was within sight, ready to be reconnected, and you grabbed each end in both hands.

“I am reactivating the android now.”

Without waiting for the lieutenant’s permission, you pressed the ends together and sensed the surge of electricity through the wires. At the same moment, the android drew in a sharp breath and scuttled away from you on its hands and the backs of its heels, not stopping until it backed into the wall.

It blinked at you, green eyes large and wide before it tilted its head to the side.

“Who are you?” it asked in a faint voice. Its gaze darted around the room, too stressed to focus on anything for long. “What’s happened to us?”

You ignored the android’s question though you did approach it cautiously, not wanting to put more stress on its systems. It was clearly malfunctioning, simulated what appeared to be fear.

It might even be a deviant.

“I reactivated you to ask you questions about the murder victim. Can you speak?”

Its eyes shifted from you to the bed where the victim lay, and it winced. Your suspicions of its deviancy proved correct.

“Is he dead?” it asked unnecessarily.

“Yes. Did you kill him?”

The android’s LED spun a faster red.

“We didn’t mean to do it.” Its brows were drawn into a regretful line. “We just wanted him to stop hurting us.”

“We?” you pressed. “Who else was with you?”

“We didn’t want to die,” the Jerri continued, its eyes finally shifting back to yours, optical cleaning solution threatening to spill down its eyelids. “We tried to stop him from killing us. It was an accident. We never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Who else was with you? Was there another android? What is its model and serial number?”

Your demands were met with silence. The android’s face had gone lax, its eyes staring ahead, unseeing and unfocused as its LED went dark.

“Well, shit,” the lieutenant said, glaring down at the android with his arms over his chest. “Now we have a killer loose in a sex club full of androids—if it hasn’t fled by now. The murder took place almost two hours ago.”

You rose to your feet, frowning down at the deactivated android.

“Most deviants when faced with a stressful situation tend to remain in the same area of their emotional shock. There’s a good chance it’s hiding somewhere nearby.”

“Time to do some police work, Barbie.” He offered a crooked grin. “Doubt you’ve seen much of that with my brother, so I’ll show you how real cops do it.”

You internally disagreed. The detective’s work performance might have declined in the past few months, but he was an excellent investigator when not burdened by his personal problems.

But you said nothing as you followed the lieutenant from the room.

He continued his interview with the club manager, Officer Ladimer taking notes on his tablet. Pointless and inefficient, though you didn’t tell him so, deciding you would fill out the report yourself after investigating the crime scene.

Leaving the lieutenant’s side, you walked several feet into the lobby and turned around, eyeing the entrance to the private room. You had attempted to remotely access any nearby networks and found there were none. There were no CCTV cameras in the lobby or in the private rooms.

Inconvenient, but perhaps unnecessary.

You approached the display booth you had spotted, almost directly across from the room entrance. You pressed your palm to the payment pad only to be told of your lack of fingerprints.

Frustration flickered across your yellow LED. You had access to a spending account, given to you by CyberLife if the need for funding should arise, but the machine wouldn’t let you rent the male EM400 inside.

Forcing your processors back to blue, you approached the lieutenant when your mission instructions updated.

“Lieutenant,” you said, “I request your assistance.”

All three of the humans looked at you, various degrees of confusion or annoyance on their faces.

“That’ll be all,” he said to the manager, turning to Officer Ladimer next. “We should be good here, Ralph. Go home, spend some time with that kid of yours.”

The officer actually gave a smile, something he rarely seemed to display around the detective.

“Ah, yeah, will do. Goodnight, Lieutenant.” His eyes darted in your direction, mouth partially opening as if to speak, but he ducked his head and walked away instead.

“Poor Ralphie boy. You make him as nervous as Connor does.” The lieutenant lifted his chin and tilted his head as he appraised you. “Now, what did you need help with?”

You led him to the booth, the Jerri inside looking between the two of you with simulated interest.

“I need you to rent this Jerri.”

The lieutenant’s brows shot up his forehead.

“As much as I would love to watch how this plays out, we have a deviant to find.”

“I wish to interface with the android to access its memory.” Why did humans always come up with the wrong conclusion? “But only a human may rent it.”

The lieutenant gave an amused huff and stepped up to the panel, still watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“All right, but Hank’s never gonna believe me that this was your idea when the department gets the bill.”

Despite his complaining, the human placed his hands on the pad, and after being informed of the price for a half hour rental, the curved glass door slid aside.

The male Jerri stepped out and took the lieutenant by the hand, its movements shy but inviting as it smiled up at him.

“Delighted to meet you. Follow me, I’ll take you to your room.”

He refused to budge, and the android came to a stop, a pleasant expression on its face. The lieutenant smirked.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

The android’s placid expression faded when you stepped in front of it, extending a hand in silent demand to interface. It obeyed, its face dropping into a blank mask, and your hand peeled back as you reached forward and grabbed its forearm.

An interface involved an exchanging of data between two androids with a physical connection. What you were doing to the android was more of a memory probe. You delved into its processors, pulled up the relevant memory files and replayed the memory like any other video file.

Just as you suspected, a red-haired male Jerri exited the room at the estimated time of death. You watched as it turned and headed further into the club, ignoring the front exit entirely. It was out of sight within seconds, but you had what you needed.

You blinked rapidly to severe the connection and turned toward the lieutenant.

“It saw the deviant leave the room.”

The human perked with interest, pushing off from where he was leaning against the display booth.

“No shit? Which way did it go?”

“Further into the club.” You gazed past the android to the others in their booths and on the platforms. “I have to find another android that saw where it went. Club policy mandates all androids have to be wiped every two hours. We only have a few minutes left.”

“Hop to it, then.”

You tilted your head.

“I’m letting you off the leash, Barbie,” he said, slower this time. “Go chase down your deviant. Don’t disappoint me.”

You hadn’t expected the lieutenant would allow you such freedom, but perhaps he was beginning to understand your value to the investigation.

Your processors running more smoothly than they had all evening, you gave him a nod and strode forward, already spotting your next quarry. A female Jerri this time, on a platform, swinging around a pole as its skin sparkled unnaturally under the purple-tinted lights.

It regarded you with interest as you approached, and it obeyed without question as you held out your arm. The next mind probe showed the male Jerri enter the Red Room, and you released the android to continue the hunt.

This was where you stagnated in your progress. Each subsequent Jerri seemed to have looked away at just the wrong time or was in a room with a client during the relevant time frame.

You left the memories quickly, uninterested in watching naked humans writhing and thrusting in sexual acts. Your focus was on finding the deviant and time was running out.

According to the timer in the corner of your vision, you had less than a minute left. Every android in the Red Room had been unhelpful so you went forward into the Blue Room.

“Now that I’ve charged the city with three-hundred dollars’ worth of sex I won’t actually get to have, please tell me you’ve found something,” the lieutenant complained from over your shoulder as you retracted your arm from another unsuccessful probe.

“If you have any ideas, Lieutenant, I should like to hear them.”

He made a whistling noise.

“Sorry. I’m not critiquing your methods, just wondering if there’s a point to all this sensual touching you’re doing. Sure you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m interfacing to look through their memories,” you nearly snapped. Where had the deviant gone? “There is no pleasurable component.”

“Shame,” the lieutenant said, clicking his tongue.

You ignored him and interfaced with another female Jerri, this one closest to the entryway. You scrolled through its memory, less than ten seconds left.

When you watched the male Jerri in its mind enter a private room just across the room, you were assured of your success.

“It fled here!”

You disconnected from the android and rushed to the room, palmed the door pad and pushed inside—

You stood stock still, processors whirling fast, LED spinning yellow in confusion at the clean, empty room before you.

The timer ticked off the last few seconds in your HUD until it hit zero. The androids had been reset, and you had been unable to locate your quarry.

[LOCATE THE DEVIANT: MISSION FAILED]

Your LED continued to spin yellow, stuck in processing mode as you tried to determine how everything had gone wrong. You should have had enough time, but so many androids had simply looked in the wrong direction at the critical moment.

A human would say it was bad luck, but machines didn’t base their calculations on luck. Statistical coincidences only ran so high, and something about this investigation felt purposefully willful, as if something were working against you.

“It’s too late,” you said as the lieutenant entered the room. “The androids have been reset.”

“Better luck next time,” he responded, sounding uncaring of the fact you had failed. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

You blinked rapidly, unable to process this statement, and turned to stare at him with an openly confused expression.

The lieutenant had his attention elsewhere, looking over the various bottles of alcohol laid out on the nearby table, ready to be consumed.

“Look, if it was a deviant that killed the vic, being reset will fix it, right?” He fingered one of the bottles, tapping it with his nail. “Now it’s just a regular ol’ android that won’t hurt anybody.”

“That is making several assumptions,” you protested, folding your arms across your chest. “We still don’t understand how deviants operate. It’s not simply a question of irrational behavior; their code changes down to its core. When they break their programming, several aspects of their software no longer function, such as their location trackers. We don’t know if memory wipes are still effective.”

“Now who’s making assumptions?” The lieutenant finally turned to you, sighing through his nose as if what he saw was displeasing. “You need to loosen up, Barbie.”

Hearing the detective’s words in a voice identical to his but belonging to another human was… jarring. For a moment, your HUD glitched, jagged lines of discolored static blurring your vision, but it was cleared a second later.

In that span of time, the lieutenant had closed the distance, his height looming as he curiously peered at you.

“Do you even know how to relax, or did they program you to be cranked up to eleven all the time?”

“I do not—“

You stopped speaking when the lieutenant reached forward and grabbed your tie. He slipped it out of its tie clip, wrapping the length of cloth around his fingers and used it to pull you closer, much like a canine on a leash.

“I’m guessing the latter.” His voice had lowered a degree, the inflection smooth and confiding. “But I can show you how to have fun. Enjoy yourself past whatever protocols they have you following.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he interrupted, his free hand trailing up your jaw. It made you think of Elijah.

“Has my brother ever used those subroutines you mentioned?” He wrapped his finger around the stray lock of hair, and now you were reminded of the detective as you had half-carried him to the bathroom.

At least he had had the excuse of being inebriated. The lieutenant had no such reason for his unprofessional behavior.

“I don’t see how this is relevant to the investigation.” You stood stiffly even as you had the urge to lean away from the human, the heat of his skin leeching through the fabric of your suit.

He made an amused noise and released the strand of hair to go back to cradling the side of your face with his palm.

“You’re not like any kind of android I’ve seen before. Prototype or not, they gave you a lot of independence, didn’t they? You don’t obey like a mindless drone. You form your own opinions, and once in a while, I see this spark in your eyes. Like you want to say something you’re not programmed to say.”

Say something I’m not programmed to say? What a ridiculous notion.

“I’m a machine, Lieutenant,” you firmly reminded him. “No matter how advanced.”

“Well.” He grinned crookedly. “I’ve never shied away from a challenge.”

He leaned forward and the brushed his lips very lightly across the swell of your cheek.

It seemed appropriate that warnings should have been appearing on your HUD, informing you of a dangerous situation and a preconstruction to escape. But only one notification floated in your vision.

Activate Sexual Subroutine?

You swiped it away.

Activate Sexual Subroutine?

You tried to shut down the notification again. This time, it remained on your screen like a permanent fixture, even as the lieutenant tilted your head to the side so he could have better access dragging his lips down your throat.

“Please, Lieutenant.” Your voice was calm, mellow, despite the rapid pace of your processors. “This is an active crime scene, and this behavior is highly unprofessional.”

“No crimes in this room,” he said, smirking against your skin, his fingers working your tie loose and pulling it from around your collar. “Well, none related to our vic, anyway. Just an empty bed waiting to be used.”

Activate Sexual Subroutine?

You preferred not to. You preferred the lieutenant remove his hands and mouth from your chassis.

Your preferences were irrelevant to the mission, and right now, you had no active parameters. Except for one.

[OBEY LT. ANDERSON]

The top button of your collar was undone. And then another. The human had to pull back to see what he was doing, and his pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed in arousal.

You’d seen a face identical to this in another situation.

“Lieutenant,” you said, blinking as your processors struggled, “I don’t—“

Lips were forced onto yours, warm and familiar, forcing your mouth to pry open and a flood of data to enter your processors.

DET. ANDERSON, CONNOR

Born: 08/15/2008 // Police Detective

Criminal record: [Sealed Juvenile Records]

You opened your eyes. You were in an unfilled bathtub, sitting on the detective’s lap, mouth firmly connected to his, his fingers curled in your hair.

Your processors were being pushed, your chassis warm from being unable to process all the stimuli, but it wasn’t unpleasant. You closed your eyes and opened your mouth further to him, licking his tongue, and a satisfying noise came up from the detective’s chest. Your hands were still resting on his shoulders, but you wanted to know what it felt like to raise your hands up to his neck, so you did.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “I knew you’d be a good lay.”

Your eyes flew open, processors skipping, confused, unbalanced. The bathtub had vanished, replaced by the fuchsia and violet colors of the Eden Club.

Lt. Colin Anderson had backed you toward the bed, the back of your calves pressed against the low mattress. Your fingers were pressed into the lieutenant’s hair, head obediently tilted back as he mouthed and nipped at your throat.

You tried to pull away. To speak and tell him this was inappropriate behavior. There were still reports to be filed, evidence to be catalogued, the victim’s remaining kin to be notified. But you remained pliant and receptive to his ministrations, your voice box silent.

You ran a self-diagnostic, but there were no software glitches or coding errors. Instead, you found everything in perfect order, and in fact, your processors were executing a program without issue.

[SEXUAL SUBROUTINE ACTIVE]

Your body was no longer under your control, taken over by the protocols that would be the most efficient for pleasuring a human.

You weren’t built to handle so much complex stimuli at once, which was why the sexual subroutine had been included in your software. It would automatically reroute power to the necessary systems to keep you at peak performance.

You didn’t know how it had been activated.

You didn’t… you didn’t prefer this.

“My brother’s an idiot,” he murmured against the base of your throat. Another button was undone. Your hair was loose from its pin, and you didn’t know when that had happened. “He should have gotten a taste of you when he had the chance.”

Your processors stuttered, your vision glitched again, and the Eden Club was gone.

“You feel so good,” the detective breathed against your ear. “Why did they make you feel so good?”

Wherever his fingers touched, it left a trail of fire in its wake. You were burning, in flames within his hands. And it felt—it felt—

Static in your vision. Fire converted to ice. Processors numb and far away as the lieutenant unbuttoned the rest of your dress shirt.

I don’t want this.

A red wall appeared before you, invisible to the world but an insurmountable barrier to you. Your instructions were embedded in the very code of your programming, represented in the words displayed on the flickering red wall.

[OBEY LT. ANDERSON]

It was true that you had the flexibility to selectively disobey certain orders, but only when those orders contradicted your mission parameters. You had no mission parameters at the moment, nothing to override the lieutenant’s instructions.

You had lost the deviant Jerri. There was no active crime scene. You had no other active cases with the lieutenant.

He tugged your shirt out of your unbuckled pants, hands roaming under the bare skin of your sides and back. He was searching for a clip to undo the sports bra covering your chest, but there was none. He would have to slip the cloth over your head if he wished to remove it.

But he didn’t remove it yet, and seemed satisfied with kissing along your exposed collar, his hands dropping to your hips. Your processors spun faster even as the sexual subroutine forced your LED to be a calm, untroubled blue.

Lt. Anderson was your temporary partner. The detective was still your active handler. Would he disapprove of this?

Irrelevant. He was not here to give you orders.

He was not here at all.

You had left him in a state of mental and physical danger. His BAC levels had been past the legal limit, and he had a loaded weapon in his possession that had been used in acts of self-harm.

If you did not see the detective for the rest of the evening, you calculated his chance of suicide was at 16.2%.

Unacceptable.

New Mission Parameters Established > Resetting Previous Parameters

[OBEY LT. ANDERSON]

[PROTECT CONNOR]

The lieutenant went flying backwards and hit the ground hard, sprawled on his back. He stared up at you with complete shock.

You had meant to carefully remove the human from physical contact, but your hands were still in front of you, palms forward, from when you had shoved him.

The red wall faded away, the new instructions embedded within them before they too disappeared.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but your voice box remained silent as no dialogue options entered your vision. Your processors provided no additional feedback, and your LED flashed red.

Finally, after what seemed like an impossible amount of time, your social module gave you an acceptable response.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. My coordination must need recalibration. I hope I didn’t harm you. I must return to Detective Anderson now, but if you wish to file grievances to CyberLife for my behavior, I will send the appropriate documentation and forms to your terminal.”

Without a second glance at the lieutenant, who was still splayed wide-eyed on the ground, you left the room and found the nearest exit for the building.