Chapter Text
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” you huff to the android sitting on the operating table in front of you.
“Yes, there is. Look again,” says RK900, matter-of-factly.
“No, there’s not…” you draw out your words slowly to emphasize your point. “I’ve performed a full body scan and checked your vitals twice… Nothing’s wrong. Here–Look–” You flip around the tablet in your hands and present the android with the recorded results of your tests.
RK900 glances briefly at the screen with his cold grey eyes, “Yes, I see that your tests have come out negative, but my internal diagnostics still report a mechanical failure.”
You shrug dramatically, “I can’t find anything mechanically wrong with you.”
“You’re mistaken. Look again.”
“I’m passing you onto Amanda… this is a software issue…”
“It is not a software issue. My internal diagnostics report–”
“--Well, your internal diagnostics are wrong, buddy!” you shout. RK900 merely blinks in response. Your sudden outburst appears to have made no effect on him. His indicator light still shines a solid blue but the indicator is not immune to failure. You sigh heavily and explain, “Look, if your internal diagnostics are reporting a ‘mechanical failure’ and I’ve scanned your entire body and found nothing wrong with you––then you clearly have a software problem with your internal diagnostics.”
“Then fix it.”
“I can’t. I’m a mechanical engineer and software errors are beyond my purview.”
“You’re intelligent. You can figure it out.”
You raise an eyebrow, skeptically, “Uhh… okay, yeah, maybe? But that’s not my job! Cyberlife developed the Amanda AI for a reason. Her programming is far more equipped to handle your software issues than little ol’ me.”
“Your scanning equipment must be faulty. I have a mechanical error. Perhaps you should perform a more thorough full-body assessment.”
“First of all—Don’t tell me how to do my job, android!” You shout and then quieter, “But if a manual full-body assessment will get you out of my room—then fine.”
You clench your teeth, bracing for what’s to come.
The handsome android stands up and disrobes from his slick white and black uniform. Each article of clothing is folded perfectly before he lays bare-ass naked on the operating table. You look around the small room nervously. At Cyberlife, all operating rooms are made of four completely clear plexiglass walls. This is a safety precaution as much as it is a design choice. If an android were to turn violent, there are witnesses… and if it’s too late to save the engineer, the doors auto-lock and the walls are bullet proof.
However, when the androids you work with are so life-like, it feels awkward to have them undress in a completely exposed room. But, of course, this is only a projection of your human emotions onto the android models. The androids themselves see no issue with nudity. They have no sense of shame. And why would they? They were built to be perfect.
On his back, RK900 opens his chest cavity.
Don’t look at his cock. Don’t look at his cock. Don’t look at his cock, you chant to yourself.
You feel like such a creep. You curse Kamski silently for insisting that all the android models be beautiful. It would be much easier to act professionally, if they looked like goblins. And seriously, why do they have to be anatomically correct? All Connor models are assigned to the Detroit Police Department. It’s not like they’re sexbots designed for the Eden Club. But alas, Cyberlife’s dirty little internal motto is “All machines must satisfy all human needs,” which is just the corporate way of saying, “if a human wants to fuck it, it’s got to be fuckable.”
“Miss?” RK900 beckons.
“Ah! Right! Yes!” You shake out of your daze and approach the android on the operating table. You give his innard mechanisms a quick visual inspection. “Uhh… yep! Everything looks good—er normal!” You spin around looking for something to busy yourself with while RK900 puts himself back together. But, before you can walk away, the android grabs you by the wrist and spins you back towards him.
You gasp. Your freehand immediately reaches for the panic button hanging around your neck.
“At ease,” RK900 commands and for some stupid reason—you listen. You relax your shoulders but the android still has a tight grip on your wrist. He guides your hand into his open chest cavity, placing it on a valve that pumps blue thirium blood into this artificial heart. “Take a closer look.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, android...” and then you whisper low enough that the security cameras won’t pick up your voice on the recording, “But if you don’t knock it off, I’ll make sure you walk out of here with a bunch of new mechanical errors.”
RK900 exhales in response, but you swear it was a haughty laugh in disguise.
“But, sure… I’ll poke around to assuage your paranoia.”
“I am not paranoid. I have a mechanical error.”
You roll your eyes but continue a more thorough evaluation of his vital mechanisms. You gently press on a few wires to make sure they are securely plugged into his power supply. You check the values of his liquid coolant, and while the valves seem a little warmer to the touch, they are still within an average temperature range. “Yeah… I’m still not seeing any—” you stop yourself short when you glance up to meet the android’s eyes and you find the corner of his lips upturned in a subtle but cheeky smirk. “Are you—Are you getting some kind of sick thrill out of this, android?!”
His smirk dissolves immediately, “I am a machine. I derive no pleasure of any kind from anything.”
“Uh huh, sure…” you say unconvinced. “Because if you did, I would have to report this anomaly as deviant behavior to my supervisor.”
“I am not a deviant,” he states firmly.
“Good. But there is something wrong with your software, if your internal diagnostics are still reporting a mechanical error. Because—for the hundredth time—you have nothing physically wrong—”
“--What is distressing you?” he asks suddenly.
“What? Nothing? What are you talking—”
“--Your vitals are elevated.”
“Okay, well, first of all—don’t fucking check my vitals. I didn’t give you permission and I am not one of your suspects—so keep your little sensitive peepers to yourself. And secondly—I don’t know—I had coffee on my lunch break it’s probably just the caffeine or—-”
“--It’s not the caffeine,” he interrupts. “Your vitals were average when I came in and they remained average until I got undressed.”
“What are you implying, RK900?” you nearly growl at him. “And choose your words very carefully, because I am just about ready to mark your file for immediate deactivation.”
“I am not implying anything,” he states, coldly. “I was merely giving you the facts. The conclusions you draw from those facts are entirely your own and none of my business.”
“Right. Exactly. And my vitals, in general, are none of your business. So, fuck off. I have a right to privacy.”
“Sure.”
You successfully walk away from the operating table towards your small desk in the corner of the room. “I’ve had enough of you, RK900. Make yourself decent and I’m sending you to Amanda.”
You hear RK900 shuffle back into his uniform behind you as you fill out a request form for Amanda to perform a ‘baseline test’ to check for deviant traits.
Only once you’re certain he’s finished, you turn back around to face him. “This is your one and only warning, RK900. Do not come back to me for repairs, unless you are bleeding from the eyeballs or suffering from some other critical mechanical failure. My schedule is fully booked with androids that actually need my help. Just because you are a state-funded android that gets to cut in line, doesn’t mean that I will tolerate you abusing the system for every little cosmetic bump and scratch that you get in the field.”
His steel-colored eyes watch you from across the room with a bone-chilling neutrality. Your threats are obviously ineffective. You doubt he’s learned his lesson.
“Okay…” you sigh heavily. “Now, walk yourself back to the station and report to Amanda immediately. A failure to meet with her within the next two hours will result in an automatic kill-switch deactivation. Understood?”
The android nods once and leaves the room.
***
Your last few appointments of the day are particularly brutal and taxing. A demolition site disaster resulted in three critically damaged construction androids. By the time each limb was replaced and properly installed, it was way past quitting time and already dark outside for your commute home. The bus drops you off only a block away from your apartment complex, but when you round the corner you see several cop cars parked outside your building with their lights on.
You groan and assume there was another big drug bust. You’re nearly certain that your upstairs neighbors are dealers. Or, at least, you assume that’s why there are multiple sets of footsteps stomping around at all hours of the night.
But when you get closer, you realize that the situation is a little more serious than you initially thought. There’s crime scene tape stretching across the sidewalk blocking you from the entrance to your building and large red and blue stains marring the concrete.
As you approach the police perimeter, a cop starts walking towards you, “Miss, you can’t be here—“
“—I’ll take care of it,” a familiar voice interjects. Crouched beside the horrific stains and the owner of the familiar voice is RK800. The original prototype of the Connor model. Unlike the more advanced model, this android has sweet, deep brown eyes. You admit that the tenderness you see in those eyes is most likely just a projection of your own feelings. And that’s because this specific RK unit was the first life-like android you ever operated on at Cyberlife. It was just two years ago, before any other Connor model was made, that this android was rushed into your office covered in his own thirium. You were still just an assistant at that time but Cyberlife was inundated with broken androids from a violent riot downtown and you were the only one left available to operate on the dying android. Connor was barely clinging to consciousness when you ripped open his chest cavity and started fixing the leak in his artificial heart. The android cop was shot multiple times defending his human partner, Hank, and required six new valves and three bags of thirium to replace the vital fluid he had lost.
You were nervous as hell operating on such an advanced machine for the first time, but you held it together. You wanted so badly to save this valiant android from the frightening void of involuntary deactivation. Unused to working with sentient machines at the time, you tried your best to comfort the android as you operated on him. You even held his hand until the transfusion of adequate thirium levels was complete.
Later, your coworkers laughed at you for this. “It’s just a machine,” they said. “It has no emotions and feels no pain. You don’t need to coddle the hunk of plastic.” Since then, you’ve operated on androids with a more pragmatic and less emotional approach. But still, every time you see RK800 you can’t help but feel a fondness for the android—he was your first.
Connor stands up and strides over to you. He relieves the human cop from his obligation to scold you for approaching the crime scene. “Ms. L/N,” Connor says warmly. “I am not at liberty to divulge the confidential details of this crime scene, but I can assure you that neither of the deceased are your close relatives.”
“Oh? Thanks …” you say awkwardly. “I—uh … wasn’t even worried about that, but thank you for the confirmation.”
Connor tilts his head in confusion; It’s an adorable affectation that only the beta model seems to use. “Oh? Then what brings you to this murder scene?”
“Oh, just … my house,” you laugh awkwardly and nod to the building behind him.
“What floor?” He asks.
“Fourth.”
He nods. “Good. Our perimeter ends on the third floor. I can escort you through to your apartment.”
You sigh with relief. “Thank you, Connor. I’d really appreciate that.”
Connor lifts up the crime scene tape for you to duck under and he calls back to his human partner, “Hank, I’m escorting Ms. L/N to her apartment. I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time—I won’t miss ya!” The old man shouts back with a smile.
With a protective hand on your back, RK800 steers you through the delicate crime scene and through your building’s dingy lobby.
“Have you seen RK900 today?” you ask Connor.
“I haven’t seen RK900 since 10:31 PM yesterday at the station. Is something wrong?”
“No! Nothing is wrong. In fact, he was in perfect working order when he came into Cyberlife this afternoon for his appointment.”
Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would it make a repair appointment if it weren’t in need of repairs?”
You shrug, “I don’t know. It was weird. I was hoping you’d have some insight as a fellow Connor model.”
“I haven’t run any diagnostics on RK900, but I’d recommend sending it to Amanda for a baseline test.”
“Exactly!” you exclaim as you gingerly hop over a new and mysterious stain on the vile lobby carpet. “I sent him straight to Amanda for a potential software error.” Then you lower your voice and lean in closer to Connor, “You don’t think he’s secretly a deviant, do you?”
Connor leaves a pregnant pause before responding, “It would be a detriment to the efficiency of the Department, if RK900 were compromised.”
“So, no? You haven’t seen any deviant behavior from that android?”
“If I witnessed a deviant trait, I’d be obligated to report it to Hank immediately. I’ll keep tabs on the RK900 android more closely.”
“Good,” you smile up at Connor. “I always feel safer knowing that you’re on the case.” You wink at him, teasingly. Of course, the beta android shows no indication that he picked up on your playful remark.
“Where are you going?” a twinned voice accuses from across the room. “This is a closed crime scene.”
It’s RK800-60.
The wettest wet blanket to ever wet-blanket. Again—this observation of yours is likely just a projection. He’s in all likelihood exactly as stringent and robotic as all other Connor models. And—it’s potentially just a minor cosmetic design flaw—but you swear his eyebrows are always a little pinched in anger or disapproval.
The first time you met the newer RK800 iteration, his left arm was bending backwards at the elbow and his jaw hung limp and askew. He was beaten bloody by a deviant android in the field. Once you fixed his jaw and he started talking… you could see why the deviant targeted his mouth. You were caught off-guard—deceived by the similarity of his brown eyes to the prototype’s. As soon as his jaw was screwed back on, he scolded you for your failure to fill out the proper paperwork before starting the operation. You very nearly ripped his jaw off again.
Connor answers for you, “Ms. L/N is a fourth-floor resident of this building. I am just escorting her through our perimeter.”
“She’s not authorized to be here and you should be outside with Hank,” the other android spits back.
“Ms. L/N has every right to access her apartment if it is outside our perimeter,” Connor defends. “And to protect the integrity of the crime scene, she needs an escort.”
“I suppose you expect Hank to taste test the fluid samples outside?” RK800-60 sneers.
“I already sampled the fluids and logged them into evidence. You’re welcome to go outside and double-check for yourself,” Connor says with a polite smile.
RK800-60’s eyes narrow at the two of you. His gaze is full of hate and suspicion.
Petty as you are, you wave emphatically to the android, and greet him cheerily, “Hi, 800-60! Nice to see you again!”
His mouth forms a smile but his gaze is unchanged as it follows you until the doors of the elevators close shut behind you.
“ Prick… ” you mumble to yourself.
You swear for a split second you saw Connor smile, but he sobers and makes no further comment.
When the elevator arrives at your floor Connor puts his hand on your back once again and walks with you all the way to your front door.
“Have a pleasant evening, Ms. L/N,” he says sweetly as you open your door.
But then something occurs to you, “Wait! Connor! Should I be worried?”
He tilts his head, “About what?”
“Uh–the murders that just happened here?!”
“Oh, that?---No. Everyone involved is dead—murder-suicide,” he says with a discordant smile.
“Oh, okay,” you laugh awkwardly.
Connor still stands close behind you. Some might even say unprofessionally close. You can feel the warmth emanating from his body. Surely, this is just a little hiccup in his Social Relations programming. Some guy in the coding department probably mistyped a number and now Connor thinks the appropriate distance to stand behind someone is only a few centimeters instead of a couple of feet. But part of you—admittedly, the lonely part of you—wishes there was something more to it than that.
You can’t help yourself.
You turn towards Connor and place a hand on his chest, “Well, don’t be a stranger, android.” Then, quickly, before you can decide that it’s creepy and unprofessional, you stand on your tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. Immediately, you feel yourself blushing—too bold, Y/N… too bold… You don’t have the courage to look at him afterwards. You’re too afraid of what his expression might be. Maybe he’s pissed and will report you to Cyberlife. So, before you can face any repercussions from your momentary insanity, you quickly shout, “Goodnight!” and disappear into your apartment.